I CAN'T HANDLE THIS

SAVE ME

RIP OUT MY INSIDES AND PAINT THE WALLS WITH MY BRAINS

REALITY.

I DON'T NEED YOU.

I DON'T WANT YOU.

Peace of mind

I have a journal now, so I don't write online much. I use tumblr too.

I think I am doing the right thing. I just need to not crumble under outside pressure and my own fears and doubts and overanalyzing everything.

I want to post this just so I can remember it happened.

jacob

i know what i said

?

in that message i sent you

and I want to take it all back but I want to know how you feel about what i said

because i honestly think you're the only boy who'd make macaroons with me and let me wear frilly dresses and paint murals on the walls at 4am

Well honestly ..we don't know how things will work out

but it's kind of out of control

I don't want to overcomplicate things

and spend our time worrying

instead I just want to be happy and in love

and have things be simple

or try to keep them simple

if we can't, we can't

but until then there's nothing to say that we can't just be wonderful and in love

6:40 PM

you're right

i was freaking out so much after you left in april that I told virg I wanted to break up with you because I felt like nothing was going to work out

but why?

because I like being super committed and serious with my relationships because i will do anything and everything to make them work but there's just too many complications with me and I didn't want to make you put up with that. I was going to break up with you and then not date anyone until I had moved out and then start dating again so I could have a normal relationship where I wasn't such a freak all the time

mom called ... fuck sec

but then I realized I was 20 and you are 18 and I have a very long time in which to

keep going

oh

ok

ok

get my shit together and we could just see how long we can last

even though I dont want to see how long we can last

i want us to last

that's it

basically

oh mern

because i could never find anyone like you if we broke up

you would

and i dont want to

break up with me?

don't

don't even say that

to save you from me

oh shush you're an amazing girlfriend

and you mean the world to me

and save myself some pain

and I'll do anything for you

because I love you with all my heart

so no talk of break ups over stupid things like that

can you just

stop

worrying so much?

like

it's hurting my heart

sometimes

can't we just

love eachother and be happy?

i depend on you too much. you and school are the only stability i have

is that too hard? if there are problems we'll deal with them

no

im sorry

okay it's okay my girl

I didnt used to be like this

I love you

im so crazy

i'm here for you

i love you

and I'll always be here for you

no matter what happens

I'll always be here

my girl I love you so much

you're wonderful

how can you be 18 and be so emotionally mature

i was so scared all day

about tomorrow night

i couldnt eat

or sit still

I know bby

i'd been crying so much that the babies came over and started shoving ice cream in my face and petting my head

my dad said he wold bring me sleeping pills

I'm sorry I'm such an emotionally demanding mess, tell your mom I said hi!

she said hi to you

It's okay mern

stop worrying about us

i'm here to stay

and I love you unconditionally

just let's both worry about you

why are you so perfect?

Tell me all your secrets. I want to feel you.

Boys...they can see color in everything right?

They can hear colors.

Why is no one else interested in this? This might be the most intimate way to get to know a boy.

The idea that my mind might get cramped by stupid shit as trivial as the past disgusts me.

I wish that wedding over the summer had been more fun. I wanted to hide my shoes behind one of the giant decorative pot plants with my little sister and run around looking in all the banquet halls and pretending they were our secret clubhouse.

She's too old now apparently.

At 13.

What was I doing at this age? Besides that?

Running around with all the little kids playing hide and seek tag. You had to go run through the masses of people- all brown, all encrusted in star covered fabrics you couldn't remember the names of for the life of you- to find whomever's poor parent got picked that night to be base.

My biggest concerns used to be trying to steal an extra slice of cake and coming up with lies to feed my parents about the absence of friends in my life and not missing Digimon (RIGHTAFTERSCHOOLMOMWEHAVETOGOSTRAIGHTHOMENOWORELSE) and reading the dictionary before bed.

I spent too much time in the library now that I think about it. Working there, sitting there, volunteering there, half-living there.

The smell of the dust on the dust-jackets ("wipe it off"), cheap ink on the older paperbacks ("be careful they're ancient"), mindlessly alphabetizing everywhere ("These are JFic not Reference"), dodging between shelves pretending you were Indiana Jones (Encyclopedia shelf was the get-a-way plane), renting out tapes to try and teach yourself French ("Je voudrais un bouitille du eau minerale, si vous plait"), seeing the curly haired librarian of 10 years comment each day on how she remembered when "OhmadearyouwereITTTTTTYbittybackthenyepyepyepy'allcomebacknowyaheard?".

!

I figured out what it must be like for people who can draw! They see it as just another part of life and I suppose since they have the skill they just accept it as something as trivial as having teeth in their gums and eyes in their skulls.

It's like that feeling when your mother was asleep that one afternoon and it was sweltering outside so they had you locked inside like a caged monkey. You were four years old, goddammit. You had things to do and places to see and they locked you in the house and left you to it (unless you were one of the respectable ones who escaped from naptime- fuck naptime), suffocating you with those musty off-white walls of your family's first house ("the starter home," my father would say. "We're not going to be in apartment for long" was another line at this stage in life). You'd look at the linoleum floors that your mom worked so hard to keep clean and curl your wretched little grape toes into the cheap synthetic rug of the living room relishing in how the scratchy feeling felt against your perfect baby skin. You'd stand there, all four puny feet of you, and you gaped.

There were no adults. You were somehow magically all alone (I always made it a point to check for fairies at times like these).

You were free.

But you don't stop to relish this moment-no, that would be a waste of your time and you're all about productivity at this age.

A quick pre-cursory glance allows you to take in the uncomfortable rented furniture your mother had so begrudgingly picked out at the Rent-a-Center or the local pawn shop, the shitty TV your dad bought at a yard sale (no cable, shit was expensive), the ugly knick-knacks your grandmother made mommy put up on every available surface...

AND THEN...that's when you see them.

The "oh!" face (the one that fills all your grandmother's ancient picture frames), the hand clap (quiet as burning autumn leaves slapping the pavement), or the shifty look, JUST to make sure you were in the clear (shit's about to go down).

It's that motherfucking green and yellow box. The one with the colors in it.

Your mother would hold them up in your face day after day, saying something important about each one- but you could give less of a shit really- all you knew was that some you liked more than others, some were sad, some were the same color as Dad's tie and some were the same color as your favorite Hotwheels miniature.

MamaMomMommyMummyDaddy'snewsleepoverfriendSharon- whoever- would lay out big squares of imposing white paper on the floor, over that shitty synthetic carpet. The colors wouldn't work properly there and they always got taken away too quickly.

But then you look around at those warm, crumbling off-white walls (dripping with the last minute plasterputty that clung desperately to the edges of the ceiling trying to cover the cancer inducing asbestos the broker assured your father wasn't there) and you know what must be done.

Sheer passion. Sheer energy. Sheer focus.

The box is ripped open, it's contents strewn across the floor, you observe your magnificent canvas. Without any further ceremony, you start grabbing the colors- some would feel the thin paper wraps of the crayons growing hot in their chubby fists, others' skin would sweat against the thinly lacquered wood of the pencils, and- if you were the king of kings and struck the absolute jackpot that glorious, spectacular afternoon- you were lucky enough to feel the chubby plastic markers slipping between your fingers as you grew tired of standing on your dinner roll sized feet.

But finally,

FINALLY-

there it was.

Your masterpiece.

Unabashedly streaked across the walls the color of off milk.

Beautiful, unreserved, pure imagination.

It simply was what it was,

the most glorious undertaking of that particular day (You had really only lived so many days, you see).

And with that short burst of approval at what you had accomplished (some were not so lucky, their masterpieces ended with shocked gasps somewhere three feet above them, coming out of the bedroom at exactly the wrong moment), you moved on to the next thing.

That's what I think it must feel like for people who can actually draw. There's no recognition of it as art. It's just a natural flow of desiring to create, creating, and then moving on.

WELL I'M JEALOUS.

AND EXHAUSTED.

AND SO SO anxious.

I have to post this so I can remember that it actually happened.

If you tried to bring god into my life, I'd be closer to you, even if it didn't work

it's a very personal, beautiful thing

you have to understand that you accepting me is still so ridiculously weird to me i have to keep checking

and I think that there is some of god in our relationship

because love is the most powerful emotion i've ever felt in my life

it's overwhelming

in a good way

it makes me hurt sometimes

but it's a good hurt

I used to be very, very empty

because my life was mundane

and now that you've come into my life, i've filled this emptiness with you

and it's this

weird, wonderful sensation

when we were together I honestly felt like

the world could fall apart

and I wouldn't care

i'm sorry

im being weird

no you're not

Easier said than done

I've finally acknowledged my mediocrity head on.

I could write you volumes about how I feel:

Each and everyday I find new ways to be disgusted by myself.

Rip a butterfly's wings off and see how long it lives.

Let's see if I can achieve at least one of my fantastic goals by the time I turn 20.

Everything I said I'd never do, I've done now.

Everything I set out to do, has yet to be done.

I've realized that I have a connotation for everything. To make myself comfortable I associate everything I see with memories- sights, feelings, smells, tastes.

People are too demanding; They're so wary of giving love that they refuse to even accept it nowadays.

I'm looking for a job or an internship and I've finally found a focus that I can agree with.

I'm actually the happiest I've ever been in a very long time, the fact that it's too good to be true is the only thing that has me so melancholy.

I just want to design layouts for magazines, write about music culture and be organized for the rest of my life.

I've learned to be laid-back enough to where I'm comfortable with the feeling.

I'm happy.

:D

Ignore this.

Weak people are usually the ones who know exactly what the world is dealing them.

This steady refusal to accept what is real is the only thing keeping most people on some sort of track.

When I say I've "burnt out" I mean I'm exhausted. The day I burn out for real is the day I'm going to disappear. Fade away, melt away, into the wind, like so many leaves, burnt orange by the sun.

Rhythmic prose. I know I messed up. I knew I should have done the History English double major and gone to my pre-law meetings. All my teachers were right about me, I liked making things harder for myself just so I could make myself feel better. And here I am talking about how I'd like to do something perfectly instead of finishing something but doing it half-assed.

My whole life has been half-assed. Why am I so fucking weak?

The apathy is the only indulgence I allow myself so I don't completely crack.

I can't motivate myself.

I'm so scared sometimes of what tomorrow is going to do to me that I don't even want to move. That in this moment- here and now- living, breathing- I'm safe. Untouchable. If I move, if I get up...everything will go wrong.

My mother was right about me. I've spent my whole life waiting for Godot.

Crippling insecurity.

Why won't you leave me?

The boy I'm in love with loves me for me but I don't want him to see me.

He's more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.

Entertaining notions. I smoke a lot. It's a problem now. I like the feeling too much. I didn't know you could feel like that.

I feel so beautiful.

I've never felt beautiful before.

Also this obsession with smoke is becoming a nuisance. I keep burning myself on purpose. Just to see what will happen. Skin blisters in the most appealing way.

Time to go re-watch Red Dragon and hope one day I meet a blind boy to fall in love with.

All my life I wanted to be self-destructive. And here we are.