Oh no, my feelings are more important than yours.
Oh, drop dead, I don't care, I won't worry.
Let it go.
I want to say that that's how I feel about him, but it's not. We talked last night. Yeah I know, great idea talking to the person who stole your most precious virtue, but it seemed like the right time. What did I find out? Just that he cares for me and wants us to work things out when we can and that he will always love me. I know it's a load of bullshit but I can't help but to believe him. I guess that's the way it works. Someone breaks your heart but you can't help but go back to him. I hate to say that I'm confused about him. A part of me still believes he's good. It's like I still believe everything he told me. But what the fuck does that matter anyways? He raped me. And yes, I've finally said it. It's the first time those words have ever slipped from me. But it's the truth. And you can't hide from the truth can you? For so long I've been playing it down. Like it was nothing. We were just kissing and it got out of hand. But that's now how it went down. Not at all. And I think I can finally realize that. I know I should let him go. I know I need to forget about him and try to resume a normal life, but that's not possible. At least not now. When we talk on the phone he's just a completely different person. I don't know how to describe it. When I see a picture of him I feel like I have to throw up... I don't feeling like diving that deep into myself right now. I have to finish that puzzle (<3) before my crazy friends come over and tear it all up. Love you guys.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Truth Of My Youth
I've just realized that I will never be able to write a book. It's a little bit of a depressing thought, but I've gone through worse. I think I'll get over it. I hate being so uninspired. I can't think of anything even remotely interesting to write about. Of course, I'll always have thoughts, but I just can't work them into beautiful sentences like I used to. I either try to hard and it ends up sounding too mature, or I don't try hard enough and it sounds like a sixth grader writing. I guess we know now how I came up the title for this thing.
Well the shower calls my name and so does this disgusting house. Does anyone have a biohazard suit? No, well I guess I'll just have to brave it.
Well the shower calls my name and so does this disgusting house. Does anyone have a biohazard suit? No, well I guess I'll just have to brave it.
It's A Wonder
It's official. My sister doesn't care for anyone but herself. Our house is a complete mess. I woke up this morning with a note on the chalkboard telling me to please wash the dishes so she could run the dishwasher. Two days ago she told me to empty the dishwasher so she could wash her dishes and load the washer. Tomorrow I can almost guarantee that I will be not only washing the rest of her dishes, but loading the dishwasher, and probably cleaning the whole fucking house for tomorrow night, when she will, most likely, trash it again. But this isn't how I want to start my day. I have other things to talk about and these trivial house-cleaning details have nothing to do with them.
For the past couple of nights I've had dreams that my life was a horror film. I don't know why, or even how I've come to have these dreams. It's not like every night before I go to bed I watch Saw or some other disturbing movie. For some reason I always wake up thinking about how all my friends have died, and I'm the only survivor. Last night I was at the mall with Stevie, Cameron...Who else I don't know...Miranda maybe? Anyways we were leaving and Stevie's mom (yes your mom, Stevie) was piling people into her car because they were going to get ice cream. I told her that I couldn't go because I had ridden my bike. I walked down a flight of stairs because I thought that was how I could get to the last level of the garage where my bike was at. The lower level turned into a hotel and maids were cleaning every room and I was tripping over vacuum cleaners' power cords. Then, Cameron followed me downstairs and out of a room two maids came with their faces torn off. They weren't like, bleeding, or anything. They just didn't have any faces. Anyways I ran upstairs and Cameron stayed and, I guess, got his face ripped off as well. Stevie's mom was waiting for me upstairs and she started cursing at me and telling me she had to leave and she didn't want to wait for me to find my bike. I was bawling, and trying to tell her about the maids with the ripped off faces, but I couldn't seem to get it out. I was running around still trying to find the entrance to the garage and I found a security guard who was shutting down the garage and I had to beg him to let me get my bike. I grabbed it and ran up some stairs and I just remember thinking "I have to go to Brandon's!". Basically, I woke up then. And I think something even stranger is that I can remember it in that great of detail.
Detail is a funny thing. Sometimes I can remember the smallest details that have nothing to do with the actual situation. Like Diana will say "Remember that time we went hiking?" and I'll say "Yeah, we were hiking behind that couple with the blue backpack.". Sometimes I wonder if anyone experiences this phenomenon. Like, I feel like such a weirdo being able to remember things like that. I feel like everyone thinks I pay extra attention to detail because I want to remember everything about my life. UNTRUE. And I think you can figure out the details I'm talking about. Like how Meet The Spartans was replaying in the background, and how his house smelled like old cigarettes and body odor, and how he had a water bed, and there was a condom wrapper lying in the middle of it, and how the sweatshirt he gave me smelled like Axe. But there's also things about that night that I can't remember, and probably would not like to anyways. Like how I woke up with a gash on the side of my head, or how I got upstairs, or how I woke up on the water bed without my shirt on. That's kind of a pattern though. First the kidnapping, now this. Next time it's going to be something really embarrassing like...a lock in or something. Which, by the way, I'm going to try and see if we can do for TASH. AWESOME.
So that's my story this morning. I'll most likely come up with more to say and have 23095823098 more entries today.
When I imagined my life leaving my body,
I could picture a clear and singular soul
taking flight, its shape nearly the shape of me,
but fogged through. I could imagine the ground
steaming as my body was given up, the very air
unendurably still. But if there is such a thing
as a soul inside me, I would rather it not
feel like I've left when I have left the world.
--What I Hope Dying Is Like; Billy Merrell
For the past couple of nights I've had dreams that my life was a horror film. I don't know why, or even how I've come to have these dreams. It's not like every night before I go to bed I watch Saw or some other disturbing movie. For some reason I always wake up thinking about how all my friends have died, and I'm the only survivor. Last night I was at the mall with Stevie, Cameron...Who else I don't know...Miranda maybe? Anyways we were leaving and Stevie's mom (yes your mom, Stevie) was piling people into her car because they were going to get ice cream. I told her that I couldn't go because I had ridden my bike. I walked down a flight of stairs because I thought that was how I could get to the last level of the garage where my bike was at. The lower level turned into a hotel and maids were cleaning every room and I was tripping over vacuum cleaners' power cords. Then, Cameron followed me downstairs and out of a room two maids came with their faces torn off. They weren't like, bleeding, or anything. They just didn't have any faces. Anyways I ran upstairs and Cameron stayed and, I guess, got his face ripped off as well. Stevie's mom was waiting for me upstairs and she started cursing at me and telling me she had to leave and she didn't want to wait for me to find my bike. I was bawling, and trying to tell her about the maids with the ripped off faces, but I couldn't seem to get it out. I was running around still trying to find the entrance to the garage and I found a security guard who was shutting down the garage and I had to beg him to let me get my bike. I grabbed it and ran up some stairs and I just remember thinking "I have to go to Brandon's!". Basically, I woke up then. And I think something even stranger is that I can remember it in that great of detail.
Detail is a funny thing. Sometimes I can remember the smallest details that have nothing to do with the actual situation. Like Diana will say "Remember that time we went hiking?" and I'll say "Yeah, we were hiking behind that couple with the blue backpack.". Sometimes I wonder if anyone experiences this phenomenon. Like, I feel like such a weirdo being able to remember things like that. I feel like everyone thinks I pay extra attention to detail because I want to remember everything about my life. UNTRUE. And I think you can figure out the details I'm talking about. Like how Meet The Spartans was replaying in the background, and how his house smelled like old cigarettes and body odor, and how he had a water bed, and there was a condom wrapper lying in the middle of it, and how the sweatshirt he gave me smelled like Axe. But there's also things about that night that I can't remember, and probably would not like to anyways. Like how I woke up with a gash on the side of my head, or how I got upstairs, or how I woke up on the water bed without my shirt on. That's kind of a pattern though. First the kidnapping, now this. Next time it's going to be something really embarrassing like...a lock in or something. Which, by the way, I'm going to try and see if we can do for TASH. AWESOME.
So that's my story this morning. I'll most likely come up with more to say and have 23095823098 more entries today.
When I imagined my life leaving my body,
I could picture a clear and singular soul
taking flight, its shape nearly the shape of me,
but fogged through. I could imagine the ground
steaming as my body was given up, the very air
unendurably still. But if there is such a thing
as a soul inside me, I would rather it not
feel like I've left when I have left the world.
--What I Hope Dying Is Like; Billy Merrell
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Save Me
I wish I was on of those people that could sit for hours in front of a computer and type about everything that comes into mind. I'm too picky. Every sentence I write has to be perfect and make complete sense. I get so into fixing my writing that I completely lose sight of what I was writing about in the first place. Maybe this time I'll just write and see where it takes me.
And now I can't think of anything to write about. Nothing seems worthwhile. I have no effort to put into this. I wish I was better at just writing how I feel. Everything has to be so perfect to me. I wish I could just let all my feelings out and not have to worry about the flow or the grammar or any of the junk we learn in English class. But I can't do that. I feel like I need to segway into each separate idea that I have. Which, when you think about it, is not the way true thoughts are formed. Right now I'm listening to the most upbeat music and all I can think about are the most depressing things about my life. I guess that was enough of a segway.
Everywhere I look I feel like I can see Tim. It disgusts me even to type his name but I need to get over the name. Not everyone named Tim is a rapist, but the only one I got to know is and now whenever I hear that name I will not be able to forget that. I wish that I could party with my guy friends again. The past couple of times anyone's had a party I can't even will myself to go because of drunk guys and that one experience I had. But in my defense it was quite a horrible experience to have had. I just want to be able to trust all the guys I know again. I can still feel myself cringe every time they're near. Yes, of course I know that not all guys are horrible, but I still can't get over it.
For so long I've talked about how comfortable I've become in my own body, and thinking about this incident makes me realize that I'm not, not even close. I can't stand almost every part of myself, but complaining just makes it worse. I hate looking of pictures of my whole body. It just makes me realize how much weight I've gained since last summer. And right as I started to get back on track IT happened. I know it's almost been a year, and I know that getting over it is the best thing to try and do, but I still hold on to hope that he will apologize and we can go back to having our whirlwind romance with all the joys of being loved. The sad thing is, I know I would go back to him if he asked. That's going to be the death of me.
So long for now, I'll leave you with a verse.
Is that what Heaven is like--four seconds
and a splash? You spend your whole like afraid
of stepping out of the body that has become
all you know. And when you do step out,
or leap from that windy edge into all of that
brightening light, maybe you'll wish
you could go back and die over and over.
-Heaven; Billy Merrell
And now I can't think of anything to write about. Nothing seems worthwhile. I have no effort to put into this. I wish I was better at just writing how I feel. Everything has to be so perfect to me. I wish I could just let all my feelings out and not have to worry about the flow or the grammar or any of the junk we learn in English class. But I can't do that. I feel like I need to segway into each separate idea that I have. Which, when you think about it, is not the way true thoughts are formed. Right now I'm listening to the most upbeat music and all I can think about are the most depressing things about my life. I guess that was enough of a segway.
Everywhere I look I feel like I can see Tim. It disgusts me even to type his name but I need to get over the name. Not everyone named Tim is a rapist, but the only one I got to know is and now whenever I hear that name I will not be able to forget that. I wish that I could party with my guy friends again. The past couple of times anyone's had a party I can't even will myself to go because of drunk guys and that one experience I had. But in my defense it was quite a horrible experience to have had. I just want to be able to trust all the guys I know again. I can still feel myself cringe every time they're near. Yes, of course I know that not all guys are horrible, but I still can't get over it.
For so long I've talked about how comfortable I've become in my own body, and thinking about this incident makes me realize that I'm not, not even close. I can't stand almost every part of myself, but complaining just makes it worse. I hate looking of pictures of my whole body. It just makes me realize how much weight I've gained since last summer. And right as I started to get back on track IT happened. I know it's almost been a year, and I know that getting over it is the best thing to try and do, but I still hold on to hope that he will apologize and we can go back to having our whirlwind romance with all the joys of being loved. The sad thing is, I know I would go back to him if he asked. That's going to be the death of me.
So long for now, I'll leave you with a verse.
Is that what Heaven is like--four seconds
and a splash? You spend your whole like afraid
of stepping out of the body that has become
all you know. And when you do step out,
or leap from that windy edge into all of that
brightening light, maybe you'll wish
you could go back and die over and over.
-Heaven; Billy Merrell
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Strange
It sometimes amazes me how fast everything happens. I feel like only yesterday Diana and I were in the awkward stage of holding hands and not being able to look at each other when we talked. And now I can sit on her shoulders while she changes the oil in my car and think nothing of it. I've become so comfortable in my own skin. I'm ready to move on to bigger and better things. I know that's the most cliche saying but I don't think anything different would work. It's possible that, after six months, I'm finally moving past the "big R" and I feel like no one can touch me now.
I know this is my first post, and I've tried countless blogging sites. Maybe this time I can stick with something and I can finally get all of my thoughts out legibly instead of the sixth grader hand writing that comes out in my book. I feel like this is a good start for me and I want to end with something good.
I know this is my first post, and I've tried countless blogging sites. Maybe this time I can stick with something and I can finally get all of my thoughts out legibly instead of the sixth grader hand writing that comes out in my book. I feel like this is a good start for me and I want to end with something good.
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