Unbearable Misery.
Current mood: uncomfortable
Category: Writing and Poetry

It's a Monday afternoon, no different then the rest. I'm alone, doing my recent secret addiction, smoking. Chain; one after the other. Flicking the ashes into an Ozarka water bottle, partly filled with liquid. The airs filled with smoke, due to no open windows, and I'm slowly coating the entire room with a film of smoke fog that is destined to remain on every object in my room. I don't have to worry about anyone reading this, mainly because no one cares enough anymore, and secondly it's hidden on my profile. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired. Half the time I'm just gazing into empty space. Where to begin.

Agh, my apartment, maybe. It's a mess. A disaster. I never make my bed anymore. Clothes are constantly scattered. Everywhere. Dirty, clean, mixed. Shoes; piled. Shelves, so disorganized I want to discard it all. Dust on every breakable, screen, shelf, desk. Dishes can remain unwashed for days. Garbages will overflow until we just start setting stuff on our counters. If you would have told me a couple of months ago that this is how I was going to be living. I would not recognize that person. I wouldn't believe it. Yet here I am. Surrounded by all this shit. And I'm disgusted. I miss my old room. My old house. I miss my yard. I miss getting the mail. I miss playing my piano. I miss Mom. I miss Dad. I miss sitting on the deck and reading. I miss being annoyed by his loud party music. I miss coming home and pretending I'm not drunk. I miss sneaking out through the garage door so I wouldn't wake my parents. I miss looking out the front window with Annie. I miss getting bar food. I miss 4th street. I miss home. I see moving out as a horrible decision I made that may be my first regret I have to date.

I have this new life. The complete opposite of my old. I have this adult life, wishing I could go back. Take me away from these shitty-ass apartments. Take me away from these bills. Take me away from the healthcare, and my poor paying job I have to go to every day. Oh, yeah; my job. A crappy job. Where the workers judge me, and the moron customers spaz. The only place that would hire me with my horrible work history, and grade D personality. A place where at least one person quits everyday, and a new training class comes up the next. I've been there for about six months. Not one person remains from my training class. They're all gone. They're all lucky. Quitting after 6 months will appear as if I'm not loyal. Quitting would take away my benefits in which my stupid epilepsy calls for. I was warned that the job was Hell. My response was hawgwash. Typing and helping deaf people? How rewarding. The computers date back to '95 with software I can only assume was created by a volunteer worker at The Salvation Army. I shouldn't be there. I should be at school. I should be making something of myself. Instead, I work at a crackhouse on the Eastside making 8.25 an hour.

Here, my room is ten times smaller, Jessica's mean, Annie is so unhappy and resents me still to this day, the street name is Sneve and all that surrounds me are fast food places and a couple bars that I'm too young to visit. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired.

I have virtually no friends. The ones I have are out living their own lives, leaving me behind. I got Sims, but he, like a normal person socializes with others, and has many many other friends. Everyone use to say I was too good for him. Where are they? He's all I have left. And even things with him are constantly shaky. He hurts me at least once a day. He wouldn't lay a finger on me, but I'm already too emotionally scarred from him. My hands are tied.

I feel hideous. Inside and out. My bulges of fat won't go away, no matter how hard I try, or what sacrifices are made. My personality turns people off. All I want is to be beautiful. To feel beautiful. To be loved. But as long as I'm this awful person, no one will. Jamie claims he loves me. But never proves it. All I get from him are lies. I give him so many chances, and he throws them away, knowing that I'll just give him more. Second chances, 3rd chances, 10th chances. And why not? Why not do what you want if you know you're going to get away with it? Makes perfect sense to me. I'm the fine definition of a push over. I'll try to stick up for myself, but I'll just end up apologizing. I always apologize. Fuck.

I'm a wreck. In every aspect, I am a wreck. I cry all the time. I'm so unhappy it almost hurts. I panic more and more. I tense up. There's no end to it. What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck do I think I'm fucking doing? I'm dead. That's how it feels. I feel numb inside. And for the minute that I can experience any feelings, all it is is sadness. Dead. I'm tensing up too much now. I can't write anymore.

Currently listening : Sunsets and Car Crashes By Spill Canvas Release date: 2004-04-20

9:28 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

I’m here for you.
Category: Writing and Poetry

Can I take a break?
From this thing called my existance?
Only for a minute,
and then I'll continue living.
May I relax?
If only for a moment.
Maybe two.
Since med's aren't an option,
what am I to do?
Foggy.
Hazy.
My life has become unclear with time.
Please, go ahead.
Take what's mine.
My soul,
innocence,
and childhood,
all wrapped away to where I can no longer trace it.
I can't bare it.
Help.
Help me find my way back home.
Where a hug meant love.
And happiness lingered in kisses.
It's what I've been missing.
I'm so alone.
Are you alone?
Too soon to tell?
Well, then.

9:56 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Unicorn.
Category: Writing and Poetry

My name is Daisy. I like to run free. Sometimes I get scared because some
people hunt unicorns. Some people don't think we are alive. Of course we're
alive. We're the ones who make you feel happy and jolly. I live in a castle. My
dad is the king. My mom died when I was little. She died because she got shot
by hunters. I have six other siblings. Their names are Honey Princess, Prince
Zac, Sweety, and Rose. They are nice. There's another unicorn. His name is
Shy. We call him Shy, because he is shy. We found him crying in the rainforest
on our get away to the mountains up north. I'm home alone most of the time. My
dad is always saving someone or getting food for us. The rest of them are
playing with their friends. I bet you are wondering why I'm not playing with my
friends. To tell you the truth, I don't have any. I've been here for eight years, and
I haven't made one. Well alot of people want to be friends with me. I had my
one friend four years ago. She was my mother. She was my one and only friend.
And I can't risk losing one again. I run around alot, but I'm lonely. Well thanks
for coming by.

by
    Emily Sue Binkerd 3B
Tri-Valley School SD
                       Miss Froehlich's Class.

1:22 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

am i not pretty enough?

Am I not pretty enough?
Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much?
Am I too outspoken?
Don't I make you laugh?
Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?

I live, I breathe, I let it rain on me.
I sleep, I wake, I try hard not to break.
I crave, I love, I've waited long enough.
I try as hard as I can.

Am I not pretty enough?
Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much?
Am I too outspoken?
Don't I make you laugh?
Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?

I laugh, I feel, I make believe it's real.
I fall, I freeze, I pray down on my knees.
I hope, I stand, I take it like a man.
I try as hard as I can.

Am I not pretty enough?
Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much?
Am I too outspoken?
Don't I make you laugh?
Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?
Why do you see right through me.

- Kasey Chambers.

11:07 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

blessing in disguise.

"It's like the past is constantly being blown around in your head like sand, and that sand is slowly flying away. Some sand gets stuck in the corners of your brain, some gets polished up and looks nicer than it did when it came in, and other sand combines with unrelated sand, and stuff becomes mixed and much less clear than it used to be."

- Andrew. 

Currently listening : Boston [Ringle] By Augustana Release date: 06 November, 2007

1:15 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Soon I will be Leaving.
Current mood: cold
Category: Blogging

I fell asleep tonight around seven, out of pure boredom. Two hours later I wake up to Samantha Jones having sex on my television. I cuddled with my dog Annie for a few minutes, whom was sleeping next to me, and then got up and did the only half source of entertainment i had: computer. The longer I stayed on, the worse I felt. I stayed on so long, that my mood was altered completely. I felt like complete and utter shit. No crying. No sobbing. Just the feeling of pure sadness. I eventually had had enough, and got off the computer. As I lay restlessly in my bed, I see a little box come up on my computer. By my luck, someone had instant messenged me. [apparently i had forgot to sign out of msn.] So now I'm back on the computer. Emotions,etc. still the same. Bright Eyes songs probably do not help, but I must admit I'm looking forward to that, even though I haven't talked to the only people I know who are going. So I might just be there alone. Who knows. Every scenario, I'm making it worse. I'm thinking of a couple weeks ago, and I feel like a fucking idiot, I sucked, and I know it. I'm thinking of my age, and lately it's just killing me. I'm getting the feeling that no one wants anything to do with me. My respect for my mom is completely gone. I went searching in her room, but found nothing. I will try again tomorrow. I miss my dad like no other, and he's been gone for over half my life making money for my mom to blow on drugs. If there was a way for me to move to Boston, I'd be there. Seattle or Boston. I'm moving there. But look at me now. I can't even get out of Crooks. People say I have it so easy. They have no idea. They really don't. I need out. My license is my first step.

11:04 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

boo reinstated.
Current mood: jealous
Category: Writing and Poetry

11:33 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

to whom it may concern.
Current mood: confused
Category: Writing and Poetry

To whom it may concern;
It's getting colder now.
With warmer days now blurred.
I have my doubts.
Another season has come and gone.
With memories made, gathered, remembered,
Let me close my eyes.
I refuse to remember.


Let the seldom of heartbreak linger.
Let it do as it damn well please.
Crashing down,
I will fall to my knees,
But for what it's worth,
I will not admit to a single regret.
So if that's what you're hoping for,
Please, Sir, do not hold your breath.

Good-bye season of grieving,
Good-bye to what I thought I was needing.
Good-bye all the weeping.
Good-bye, Sir.

To whom it may concern;
I'm lost now.
I'm terribly sorry, Sir.
But I WILL NOT BOW.
Lash, Crash,
this is my plea.
What you tell me is bull.
Lies, secrets, I can detect.
Sad, petty man.
I find this simply pathetic.

I'm forced to do something against my will.
Threatened.
Raped? Killed?
I've had it!
The failure is not mine,
It is your's.
Screw love.
This is fucking war.

To whom it may concern;
I will not do as I am told.
I am 18 years young,
Not 18 years old.
I'll take my mistakes,
Learn from them, or live through repeat.
Regardless they are mine.
And eventually, I'll defeat them.
The secrets that are spoken of,
Will eventually spill out,
When that day comes,
Self pitty will not be allowed.

So please, Sir.
With all do respect,
Value my heart.
And lie mercy to death.
Settle what needs to be settled.
The battles that are too tired to continue on.
Please allow to be put at rest.
To whom it may concern;
I thank You.

Currently listening : Greatest Hits By Journey Release date: 01 August, 2006

12:14 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment