I think I'm breaking.

No, breaking is too hard and fast a word for the emotions - or lack thereof - I'm feeling. It's more like crumpling, like an internal implosion. You know that delicious feeling you get when you slowly crumple a piece of paper down to flatness, when you crush a can? Demolition is in our natures, only sometimes, others don't even know they're hurting us. Sometimes I don't even know I'm hurting myself until it's too late.

Over the past week, I've had at least five people come up to me, just randomly as we pass each other, to ask if I'm alright, if I'm okay, if I'm fine. I force a smile, say "yes" or some variation with just enough emotion, and then continue. It's not like I can talk about feelings face to face. It's too weak of me. [UPDATE: I was smiling and someone still asked me if I was okay.]

I've been avoiding people at school, yet desperately seeking them out. I wish I could tell them all to go away, while I hope desperately they'll ignore me.

I've been stupid lately. I have too many scars from everything I've been through, both inside and out. Only one person has even come close to figuring it out. No one will. They didn't last time, or the time before that. I have to tell people for then to notice. And I won't.

It's really strange. I feel more perfect that I ever have before, but I feel more hopeless and useless and despondent and worthless than I have for a few days. These feelings come and go, and somedays it's all I can do to hold the mask in place, while I hope so much someone will notice the mask and ask better questions. After all, does anyone really expect an answer other than "okay" or "fine"?

Stop asking. Stop asking if I'm alright because I'm not. I'm breaking. No - crumpling.

Love II

your blank canvas heart cracks
shards of golden light and stories
drift around your conch shell ears
you are the midnight gloaming
silent and serene, you stalk
through your witching hour
your eyes, as golden as the light,
are dead cold sharp like ice
you will not speak to me again
not even for the promise of gold
of silver of bronze of love
you are incapable of love
you have no beating heart
no lovers' touch no waiting shadow
your panther paws pad onwards
speaking costs too much
the price is far too dear for words
cast adrift, you dreamily spiral
on through the tossing glitter
over the lowest fairy bridge
you do not dare to land
they will steal you for your heart
it is more perfectly empty
than any before, even though
you protest your imperfections
the panther is your bower bird
it collects gold, ice, silence
it would collect one other
but alas, it is long lost
you have searched years for it
you have lost the most important
emotion in your life and death
you are nothing without it
but more imperfect with it
it makes you blind crazy foolish
it is everything you are not
it is love

Haiku VI

The perfect torture?
Being so close to you, yet
unable to touch.

Halloween

One.

Two.

Her breaths came like tiny clouds, condensing in the miniscule breezes.

Three.

The gentle thudding caught her notice; idly she peered through lashes heavy with evening dew.

Four.

There were only the trees, the lake, and the sweet birdsong that entered her head and richoched around her skull.

Five.

She half-sat, feeling the cool dry grasses crunch and prickle at her bare legs.

Six.

Seven.

Still it continued, almost too quiet to be noticed under normal circumstances.

Eight.

He murmured something quietly from beside her. She slipped softly from his arms. The sensation of bare skin barely tickling her soft flesh made all the hair on her arms stand up with a delicious tingling.

Nine.

The wind caught and buffeted her. Out of the long dry grass, there was no protection. Dust stung her eyes.

Ten.

She thought she could pinpoint the noise as coming from behind the copse. She tripped over abandoned jeans, their knees so close they could be kissing.

Eleven.

She scooped up a lonely picnic rug, wrapping it around herself. Her breasts bounced up and down with each step till she was forced to hold them still.

Twelve.

Crunch, went the dry grass beneath the hardened soles of her feet. Twigs snapped but she still pressed on.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

The metallic tang of blood caught her nose on the breeze.

Fifteen.

She tripped over something in the grass. Something that should have stayed hidden was shown bare to the world.

Sixteen.

The thudding, louder now, covered her strangled scream.

Seventeen.

The rug slipped from her shoulders she ran

too

slow

Eighteen.

too

late

her breasts

jiggled too much

pain.

He

Nineteen.

sat

up

Twenty.

And she fell into his arms

Twenty-one.

and she was sobbing and he murmured

Twenty-two.

soothing words and there was blood

Twenty-three.

on her foot and the thudding was behind her

Twenty-four.

and he

fell

silent

Twenty-five.

and she could feel its breath on her nape and--

Twenty-six.

Over the other side of the copse, a man was walking. His breath was icy clouds on the bloody wind. He sensed something wrong.

He tripped over a discarded pair of red splattered jeans. Their knees were so very close that they could almost be fallen lovers.

Twenty-seven.

Valentine, Age 13

Valentine is unhappy and dreadfully so. But then again, sadness is an emotion, and Valentine does not possess them, as it has been told many times before.

Valentine would be with friends, but it has none, except the pages and books and characters.

Valentine doesn't quite know what it wants to do in life yet. It only knows that it doesn't want to be in this house with the screaming mother and the deathly calm father.

There is water on the book. Valentine doesn't understand where it came from. Something breaks in the bedroom. Valentine's father's voice is still calm. Valentine doesn't care about the breakages and voices anymore because the book is ruined. The book is everything and it has been desecrated, Valentine's secret place ruined.

Like everything else it touches.

I Am Human And So - TRIGGER WARNING

I do not deserve to feel
fear
ravaged by your eyes
as you undress me
with the very same eyes
that beheld your wife
when she was still perfect
as they have beheld
so many other women
before and after me

I do not deserve to feel
helpless
as I fear your hands will
reach closer to my bra strap
I cannot push you away
my arms ramen noodles
my brain pounded fruit
my teeth white pebbles
so I cannot bite you as you
force yourself towards me

I do not deserve to feel
nothing
as you breathe
moisture on your breath
in your scraggly beard
spittle and worse in my hair
you made me dirty
drenched me in your scent
marked your territory
you are done
finally
and I am empty
as you dress
kiss me, mouth foul
leave
your wife would cry
for she does know that
my father should not treat me so

Haiku V

Perfect sunny day
Only disturbed by car sounds
The picnic was great.

Haiku IV

sometimes my hands are
slippery, blood coating them
my fingers shiver

water droplets for words

I didn't know
not even when
her prying hands
in my bed that
winter night
so long ago now
p
a
u
s
e
d
slowly
"What is it?"
silence.
the worst kind of noise
is that that doesn't exist.
"babe" she whispered
water droplets for words
"what's this on your breast?"
and even now
waiting room chairs
hard beneath my bruised legs
the words come
as if through a dream
water droplets for words
"cancerous lump"
water droplets for words
drip into my mind void
cancer
c
a
n
c
e
r
that killer of thousands
it has me now
am I never to be released?
c
a
n
c
e
r
water droplets for words
drip in one ear
and out the other
down down they fall
water droplets for words
were never my friends

Letter to the X

Okay. There's going to be a lot of swearing because I am done hurting over this. Buckle up.

I have dealt with your bullshit for long enough in silence.

I won't name you, but mostly everyone who knows me in real life knows exactly who I'm talking about.

I'm, frankly, done with being too afraid to really fall for someone because I'm so terrified something like what happened between us will happen again.

If you ever find this (and you know damn well who you are) go fuck yourself. My parents want me to forgive you or feel sorry for you.

It's never ever happening.

So, before I get to the incredibly hurtful one which still can make me feel like shit, have some background, filled in by your oh-so lovely (you always hated my sarcasm and loved your own, didn't you?) and semi-hurtful email. I can't get to the skype ones anymore, but worse stuff than this happened.

This is several months before the breakup.

-------------

Hello beautiful,

From the scraps of random messages that have come through, I think you said something like 'I am sorry there is nothing I can do'. Well there is something you can do. You can be there. But you don't seem to be very good at that. Even when you say you will. That is part of the my current... Problem... Please *****, try to keep your commitments... And if you can't (I really, really don't want you to give up any part of your life for me) please could you tell me before? Just a short 'I won't be on' would be very much appreciated... Please... Yes, I am still annoyed at you... Not very much though... Probably less than I should be... I am going to stop talking now... Hope to speak with you in the morning...

-------------

This is the backstory, above. Still referring to me as beautiful, despite being asked not to.

Here goes.

-------------

Assuming you'd care and actually do something about it, I think you realising how selfish you are being would be the best thing to happen to this relationship. Unfortunately I think there is about as much chance as that happening as me winning the lottery. So I am sending you this email. When I said I don't want you to give up any part of your life for me, I was lying. I realise now what a huge mistake on my behalf saying that was. The only thing is, I said that because I was making up excuses for you, so I could forgive you. Something, I realise now, you don't deserve.

First things first. I can't believe you have the nerve to get annoyed with my parents for taking me on holiday again. You knew full well I was only coming back for three days before we were leaving again. They have given up a lot so I can stay in New Zealand. Admittedly my parents have flip-flopped about those 3 days many times now, and I don't blame you for that. But I am your lowest priority, and that hurts. Lets face it, you only want this relationship if you can squeeze it round the rest of you life and not have to make time for it. I have done quite a lot for you, considering I have had very little opportunities. This relationship isn't going to work if I am the only one making time for us to be together.

And your lying about us to your parents really hurts. I don't understand why you did it. Why did you do it? Tell them the truth before I get back. Tell them when I asked and when you answered and what you answered. That is as far as I want you to go, but you can go as far as you think is tactful and necessary. You get extra brownie points if you fix it today. Don't I deserve at least that?

Please try and do this. You have no idea how much I want to forgive you. But I don't think doing so without evidence of your commitment is wise. I don't want my first relationship to be an 'unhealthy one'. I want it to be 'mutual' in almost every aspect. I hope you have a nice week, and I am sure that we will meet shortly after I get back. I trust that you will at least try. I trust that you will understand what position I'm in. I trust that you care about me. Maybe we can speak later. Who knows?

___

--------------

Below is the letter I wish I had the balls to send.

--------------
Dear ___,

I can't fucking breathe every time I read this. Every time your words are like a knife in my side. I still don't truly believe you knew what you were doing, how much capacity for hurt you held in your hands. The only times I ever read this message are the times I want to feel pain.

Let me walk you through it, to figure out why it was so fucking wrong, shall we?

"Assuming you'd care and actually do something about it..." Dude. I care and you knew it. I care about everyone and you were the one person I thought would be able to see that. Pulling this shit is seriously below the belt.

"...I think you realising how selfish you are being would be the best thing to happen to this relationship." Ouch. But honestly, who wants more from me than I am willing to or can actually give? Who's the true selfish one here? I give everything I have, and you were supposed to know how much I cared about you that you would be okay if I cared about someone else for a change, because you would know I would always come back to you.

"When I said I don't want you to give up any part of your life for me, I was lying. I realise now what a huge mistake on my behalf saying that was." All of this is 'ouch' so I'm going to stop saying it. See, this is where I should've said "fuck you" and walked. You were supposed to fall for me for who I was, for my personality and that alone. No one should try to change anyone else. Especially not someone they're romantically involved with. Trying to change someone else is a sign of a manipulative personality, and that is not healthy.

"The only thing is, I said that because I was making up excuses for you, so I could forgive you. Something, I realise now, you don't deserve." If I supposedly didn't deserve that, then why the fuck weren't you walking? I obviously wasn't good for you! Why would you stay with someone who you had to make excuses for? That aside, yeah I actually fucking do. I deserve a lot. I'm still trying to get that through to my stupid brain after you fucked me over.

"First things first." Then why didn't you open with this? Moron.

"I can't believe you have the nerve to get annoyed with my parents for taking me on holiday again. You knew full well I was only coming back for three days before we were leaving again. They have given up a lot so I can stay in New Zealand. Admittedly my parents have flip-flopped about those 3 days many times now, and I don't blame you for that." Dude! The fuck? The worst I did was act sad! I was upset you were leaving for so long. You would be - and you were - if our situations were reversed. All I did was a couple of '...'s and a couple of sad faces. Maybe I asked why you were going away so much. Because I was literally just curious! And why are your parents this big a deal? This isn't about your parents. Let's get to the big things.

"But I am your lowest priority, and that hurts." Okay, so this is true. I took you for granted, tried to fit you around the other parts of my life. This is the one thing I have always admitted.

"Lets face it, you only want this relationship if you can squeeze it round the rest of you life and not have to make time for it." Then why did you stick with me?! Walk away now! Obviously I'm not good enough for you or whatever. Find someone better!

"I have done quite a lot for you, considering I have had very little opportunities." Yeah, keep fooling yourself. Quite a lot?! No. Having sandwiches in a park isn't 'a lot'. Stop fooling yourself. And you've had plenty of opportunities. You and your family are lazy shits who do fuckall. I am always busy. We come from completely different lifestyles, places in life, backgrounds, and places on Earth. We should've known it wasn't going to work.

"This relationship isn't going to work if I am the only one making time for us to be together." Again - then walk!

"And your lying about us to your parents really hurts. I don't understand why you did it. Why did you do it?" Have you met my parents?! They would flip if they thought I'd acted irrationally and without thought. Also, they tend to be irrational themselves. And why does it hurt you? Actually, this is seriously hypocritical of you, who couldn't even tell your parents the truth about when we got back from our walk (don't worry, dear readers, nothing happened).

"Tell them the truth before I get back. Tell them when I asked and when you answered and what you answered." Um - no. Fuck you. Ordering me around is a big fat NO. Look, if you've given both of us two reasons to walk out of our relationship in as many paragraphs, then, well... Perhaps we should BOTH walk out. Now.

"That is as far as I want you to go..." Oh, thank you so much. Giving me permission to talk to my own family. So kind. Fuck you.

"Don't I deserve at least that?" No. Stop trying to emotionally blackmail me. What's worse - it works. Really fucking well.

"Please try and do this. You have no idea how much I want to forgive you." As you've said earlier, you forgiving me is out of the goodness of your heart, and not because I 'deserve it' or whatever.

"But I don't think doing so without evidence of your commitment is wise." I am not committed to you. We have figured this out. I think by this time, I had actually started using my commitments as a way to avoid you.

"I don't want my first relationship to be an 'unhealthy one'." Okay, why is this in quotation marks? You've obviously been getting relationship advice from your parents. It's my first relationship too. I make mistakes too. Just because you think yourself to be above mistakes doesn't excuse them.

"I want it to be 'mutual' in almost every aspect." ALMOST EVERY?! What the fuck? Almost every? What are you trying to say?! And the fucking quotation marks, dude!

"I hope you have a nice week..." NOT NOW I CAN'T

"...and I am sure that we will meet shortly after I get back." What makes you so sure? What if I suddenly have a bunch more commitments after this email? Odd, hmm? Also, still ordering me around.

"I trust that you will at least try." Hmm. Whatever.

"I trust that you will understand what position I'm in." Position you're in?! I'm getting yelled at by my boyfriend. Again. What position can *you* be in?!

"I trust that you care about me." Well maybe you trust too much! I don't care about you! Whatever care I had for you you wore down till I was nothing, till I had nothing left.

And no. Don't pretend you didn't think this would hurt me. You fucking did. I'm done pretending, especially to myself.

There is more to say about other parts of our relationship and letters, but this is my response to this.

Fuck you
*****

It's sad (I think), that I can't see a message alert from you without having a fullblown panic attack. It's not sad because of how you hurt me. It's just sad because of how little I can cope.

Dear Harriet, Love Amber

Dear Harriet

This was supposed to be our night.

This was supposed to be perfect and then She turned up and stole you and

ruined

everything

And NO we cannot be friends so STOP ASKING me to get along with her.

Look, I'm ignoring the fact you CHEATED because I think you'll be happier with her than me but... it's just not fair.

So stop asking me to smile whenever you see me because it's not happening. You broke my heart into itty-bitty pieces and I know some can be put back together by someone else but I wanted you to be the one to fix me when I fell down.

I didn't want any of this to happen when I introduced the two of you, and that hurts even more because if I had just let Her get kicked out of college and stop her from asking me for smart friends that could tutor her than this would NEVER have happened.

And oh, god, I'm so terrified standing here in front of a group of your friends. But that's what you get, I guess, after you dump the one person you thought would always be there after they weren't. Especially if that one person was of the same gender, because gay means happy and that's what we were supposed to be! Happy! Because lesbians stay together forever, everyone knows that, even if one of them isn't exactly a full lesbian because oh, if she's with you or lots of women she's chosen to come out of the closet! but no that's NOT how it works, bi is bi no matter who they fall for or how many times they fall for someone like that.

H, I don't know why I'm defending you so much here! We went through so much of this I guess, I just needed to know I could say it on my own terms, instead of just backing someone else up. Just thought you should know, no matter that you're probably here with your new girl. I need to tell you, to get closer to Closure - I love you.

Love
Amber.

A Collection on Depression

China

I have tried to smile -
can't you see
you're breaking me?
I am brittle china.

Every Day

Every day
a smile takes longer.
Every day
I walk shorter
Every day
my hole grows deeper.

The Broken Leg

You are on a walk through a park when someone shoots you in the kneecap. You start to fall backwards into a hastily placed pit behind you. You scrabble at the edges of the pit, but because you were shot yesterday in the arms you have no strength to stop yourself falling. Some will desperately cling to the edge nonetheless. Some will have not even fallen, and just kept going, ignoring the pain. Some will have not even felt a thing, because their bulletproof vest protected them. You weren't so lucky.

You fall and it seems like forever.

You fingertips are bloody by the time you hit rockbottom from trying to find a hold in the walls.

You lie there, trying not to cry. But sometimes you can't help it.

Once you're at the bottom of your personal pit, you have options. There is a tiny glimmer of light at the top. You can call as loud and long as you can, in the hope that someone will throw you a rope.

Or you can wait in the blackness with no sustenance until your leg heals or you starve to death. If your leg ever heals, it will heal wonky and wrong. Then you can dig fingerholds out of the hard hard rock and slowly crawl to the top. On the way, either you make it, or someone puts another bullet into you and makes you fall to the bottom again.

-Emma Blackery's metaphor I took a step further

//Questions - have you ever suffered from depression or known someone who has/is? What have/did you do?//

Character Introduction - Valentine

Meet Valentine, who's 18, in my alternate world. Valentine is my first attempt at creating an asexual panromantic genderqueer character. It's kinda confusing - I mean, I've written for gay/lesbian characters, this is just a step up.

Valentine is a real bookworm, who's been locked away and secluded from society its entire life. It focuses on study, preferring its books over the company of others. Valentine doesn't know many other people outside the university, its school, mother, and father. It wants nothing more than to help people, but is too scared to get close to people for fear of showing weakness.

Valentine is intended to be worked into an already running story, alongside Rose, who's being written by my cowriter. We really wanted a trilogy and have enough ideas for it, we just need more characters to beef up the narrative.

The most difficult thing about Valentine is the pronouns, I think. While I love the pronouns zhe, zir, and those ones, I'm using 'it', 'itself', and 'its', for ease of understanding with the eventual audience and my cowriter (and it didn't seem right for Valentine). Because Valentine was raised as a girl I know those (female) pronouns better, so it's difficult switching. I mean, i don't know any trans* or genderqueer people personally, but I think I would try to address them by their preferred pronouns. It's just difficult to write, as I can't refer to a book as 'it' anymore because Valentine uses it as a pronoun.

Writing with someone else is difficult, especially as I'm almost trying to prove here as my fellow writer has expressed doubts about whether it would be a good idea, but let me run with it anyway. I seem to have influenced her slightly, as she's writing with a pansexual character - though I'm not sure if she/her character knows the word. We were doing character quizzes when these questions came up.

So, in our novel (yes, I'm writing one btw), we have (main characters):

-*White pansexual/bisexual (still deciding) cisfemale
-#Black disabled (blind) straight cismale
-#White (assuming here) pansexual cisfemale
-*White (maybe?) autistic asexual panromantic genderqueer
-#*Plus a whole cast of characters of all sexualities, races, and genders

Pretty much almost a whole spectrum? Well, sorta. We cover between us quite a lot of human types, though. The ones marked * I'm writing for, the ones marked # she's writing for.

All very very fun! Quite a bit of work goes into it. I might write a Valentine piece up here at some point!

I like this character introduction thing! I might do a couple of them, actually. I'll write for Asuka, my other character (above).

Questions for readers:

1 - Do you read this?
2 - What do you think of Valentine?
3 - If you were genderqueer/trans*/other or already are, what pronouns do/would you prefer? What do you think of the ones I've chosen for Valentine?

Weird poem (testing iambic metre)

I can't stop it
I just do
I won't stop it
I don't love me or conformity so this will not rhyme with 'do'.

That counts as a rhyme, doesn't it?

Shit.

Haiku III

My heart will flutter
when I see your welcoming
grin - or so I thought

Haiku II

Writing poetry
was meant to be easier.
Hannah - you liar.

Travel

I wondered how it would feel, as I sat there with my ticket to that foreign, otherworldly place in my hand. Would it hurt, leaving behind everything I knew? Or would I be able to sever ties to my old life like scissors against rope? What would it be like, over there? Would there be anyone waiting for me? I clutched my travel notes, pills, and waterbottle in my hand - my only carry-on luggage - so tightly my knuckles turned white, as I played with my curls. My sleeves almost slipped down, and I didn't bother correcting it. Somehow, things like that didn't seem to matter anymore.

I shifted in my seat, waiting for something. Was I waiting for a call? I was pretty sure that didn't happen here. Or even for a farewelling party? No. No one would come to see me off. They'd probably be too upset to let me go. After all, it was a big change in everyone's lives. Somehow, I thought, the person who would be affected most by this departure would be me. The others would be sad after they realized I'd slipped away without telling them, sure, but they'd get over it, over me.

I took my travel pills, to stop me from getting airsick on my voyage. Fourteen of them. I'd been saving them, almost hoarding, for this special trip. Should wash it down now and get it over with, I decided, and drank a deep gulp of vodka.

Love I

Sir, with all due respect - how can you judge me on who I love?

How can you possibly be the judge, jury, the end all and be all in regards to the depths and breadth of human affection?

Let me tell you, it goes beyond your book-learned rote and legal legislation. Love is not something that can be defined on Wikipedia, even though there may be an entry for it! Love hurts and burns and heals and makes whole and breaks apart and it is a driving force equal to that of magnetism. It exists everywhere, and tiny things can drive whole people and groups of people apart. So how can you dare tell me I cannot celebrate openly and widely the one person I would ever kill for?

I look at him and I see a god.

I touch him and I feel a god.

He touches me and I know there is a god!

I want to cry his name from the rooftops while keeping it safe inside my heart because it is too precious to see the outside world.

I want to tell everyone in the ceremony that is sacred to me that I love this man.

The god I see and feel and love is not you, because while your god proclaims hinself as the god of love, he is far too harsh to love, if he cannot tie himself to another person or let them love another. That is how I know he was not real, because there is no real love in his life or books.

Have you ever loved? I don't mean dedicate yourself to another person for life for the purpose of wealth, power, or status, but because you cannot see yourself able to walk another step if they are not close to you.

Have you ever watched someone walk away from you? And have you ever let them go freely, because you can't bear to see them unhappy with you, but would rather they were happy with someone else?

Doubtful.

This is how I know you are not real, and that this will all pass someday.

And no, there is not a leak in this roof. The builders will not need to be called. Except maybe builders of the heart, because you sure need one.

Good day, Sir.

Harm - TRIGGER WARNING

It's such a stupid thing to do. Meaningless. Purposeless. My fosters would kill me. Self inflicted pain is attention-seeking, they say.
But now? They're out of town, and I have free rein of the house.
I have very carefully selected where to burn. I will burn on my hip bones, because the marks can be covered in the shower with my hands, or by my knickers in the school changing room. I have no relationships, so that's no issue either. No one will know.
No one has to find out.
Yet, somehow, the first time, after I had made it through school cursing my stupidity on cutting the wrists where it can be seen, I still wanted one of my friends to notice. To affirm that there was someone who cared.
Not that there probably was, in all honesty. My friends didn't exist. I dreamed them up. My family were dead. My foster parents only communicated with me in the fewest possible words. All connections to me were cut after That Night.
Ha. Cut. An unfortunate choice of words. Not that I was doing that tonight.
It hurt and it was beautiful. It was over too fast. Fire vanishes too quickly. It doesn't hurt long enough.
But then the burns come, and they sting and sting and sting and sting. Especially when you drip water on them. I hiss. The lighter crumples to the ground, its strings severed, like mine.
I clutch my hip to me and rock backwards and forth, holding back a whimper. Making noise would be conceding defeat. Telling myself I can stop because I'm hurting 'enough'. No. I deserve more than this.
So I grit my teeth and drip more water onto the fresh burns, using my foster mother's water dripper tube thing.
I laugh at the pain and once I've started, there is no stopping me. Luckily, laughter is happy, and no one will come knocking at my door, unlike with screaming or crying. Still hysterical, I fall backwards and crack my head on the bedhead. I collapse. Lights flicker. Spinning.
I lie there until I regain my senses. This time, I am numb. I feel nothing. I am prepared again. My feelings are gone - pesky things!
I am a sea of solitude.
No one will come.
No one will find out.

A Note

I feel i should make a note here.

The majority of my work is purely fictional. The nonfiction i may mark, depending on my mood and how well i wish to hide my feelings.

Names will be changed as i see fit, contrary to the note at the start of this blog.

Note concluded.

Haiku I

I almost lost her.

I wish I could cry. She just-

No coping tonight.

-A haiku about a friend who attempted suicide.

It's my fault

It's my fault they put watchover on the laptop my fault i can't concentrate my fault i can't breathe my fault i have panic attacks my fault i cry alone my fault i can't calm the fuck down my fault i don't know what Im doing my fault i care too much my fault i care too little my fault Im gonna fail the assessments my fault i don't care about them my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault i have to stop blaming others because it's my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault

Why is it so difficult for people to understand that I just can't feel anymore? Nothing's working. I should be working or writing or something other than just sitting here staring at a mindless game I'm far too addicted to. It's like my emotional connection with others has just been dying as I've gone on the internet more and stuff. And then, when I want to get upset about something, my tears dry up just as quickly as they come. It's annoying - and no, I can't think up a stronger word than that because I HAVE NONE.

I'm just

nope I can't do any more of this tonight. Fuck schoolwork (sorry parents), I'm just going to sit here and vegetate because I can't connect with anything and I can't concentrate and I want to do stupid things but I CAN'T so I'm just gonna sit here.

im out

I'm Scared

I did not think that when we got lost together, trying to find our way back to a place we only half remembered where it was, that that would come up.

That one thing, the deepest darkest secret she had never told anyone - and that she would tell me. I did not expect her to tell me. Me! A girl of barely eleven summers who she had known for just two days. I did not expect to find out that she had been raped by her father. I did not expect that anything like this could happen to me. It always happens to someone else. But it doesn’t. It happened to me. Thing like that are horrible, because you think, what if? What if I had done something else, what if I had done nothing, what if I had done something else what if I had known earlier? There are too many what ifs in life and I have dealt with too many of them to know what to do with myself.

Trying to help people... it screws you over. I think I try to help people because of the haze of anger that swallowed my house. I remember going to my room. I remember hiding beside my bed so the thing that dwelled in the haze would not kill me. I remember watching my sister fall. I never remember seeing her hit the ground or what happened afterwards because she was swallowed up by the haze as well. I did not think I would spend the rest of my life trying to help the people I thought were trapped in hazes like mine because I remember how much it hurts.

There are five people who depend solely upon me. They won’t talk to anyone else. We have complete trust between eachother and they tell me anything and everything. They talk, I listen. I should not have to deal with four other peoples’ lives while I am still trying to cope with my own, while I am still trying to put back together the pieces of my own life, while I am still running from my own personal haze while I am still trying to live. I did not think that I would have that many people depending only on me. I did not think I would have to help other people while I am still trying to help myself and failing. I did not think I would have to help people while I am still having difficulty walking through each day. I was having difficulty putting on clothes I am having difficulty staying away from sharp objects with so much capacity for hurt. I am having difficulty keeping myself calm enough to remember to breathe. I have to keep busy because I have to keep working, and if  I stop working I have to remember everything and that day and that is not something I want to or can relive again. I keep busy so I do not have to think. I did not think.

I cannot sleep because if I sleep then I remember. I remember everything, I remember the responsibilities that people are putting on me that are driving me insane. I cannot cope with all this pain when my pain is still destroying me from the inside out. I’m scared that I’m not going to make it out the other side of all this hurt and pain that is not even happening to me. I’m scared. I’m so so scared.

Broken Me and Broken You

I know I am in trouble when my hands shake, and my eyes fill with tears, and the walls in front of me blur with foreign objects in my eyes yet unshed. I cannot breathe for fear that I will inhale your scent one more time.

I know that I am broken. I know nothing is going to be able to fix me, least of all myself, and I cannot help but cry. And yet you sit there and you look at me. Can’t you see I don’t want your pity? I do not want anything from you anymore. I am done taking your pity, taking your love, taking your life. I suck it like a leech. I can see that you are unhappy. I can see that you do not want to be with me anymore.

I can see that this is not how you thought you’d spend your life. I am sorry I wasted the best years of your life because I am never going to get them back either. I wanted to spend them with the boy I thought loved me, not you.

Not you.

You hurt me too many times to count, yet I still stayed beside you, because I cannot bear to walk away and see that pain in your eyes. I cannot bear to stand, some days, because I know I will just end up on my knees again - against my will - by nightfall.

And you wonder why I cry.

You wonder why I won’t even meet your eyes in the mornings, when at night I still lie on your chest, counting your heartbeats like sheep until I fall asleep. I used to wonder this. I still wonder if you know what you’re doing is really wrong. If you can’t see anything wrong with it, if you think this is normal, then what if it is? What if I’m the crazy one who needs to be locked away, like all my friends are? What if it’s me?

I’m not sure if I can be fixed. But I do know I don’t want to be fixed by you.

Update 1!

Wellllll I forgot this pretty quickly!

Okay. I'm gonna go edit something to stick up here so it's not just an empty space of blogness.

Be right back!

Hahaha she liiiiies I will be quite a while!

Maybe.