currently: *the world has me on her knee, and she's spanking me*

*listening to Velvet Acid Christ, Fun with Knives*

I am such an escapist. No matter how prepared I am or how well I feel things about another person, I cannot deter pain at all. Didn't I tell you all that I knew what was to come? Didn't take a psychic to see this all fall apart. Maybe I was kidding myself all along. And I set myself up for it. Yeah, I must be a masochist afterall.

And it's just as well that I don't explore giving a shit, anymore. It isn't easier to not try. Nothing is ever easy. But I can go back to being heartless and refrained. Or I can at least pretend for a while before finally reverting back to my old ways.
And suddenly, that seems very welcome. In fact, the pain that accompanies it is more welcome than what I am feeling now.

Save yourselves.

5:15am

Well, I succeeded in making Rask hate me. It was, as I thought, how it would end. It was hard coughing up the bullshit and pretending to be high and mighty. It was hard pretending to be someone I am not. It was hard to make him hate me. But if he hadn't..... Gods know how it would have ended.

And I feel slightly certain that he won't be reading this, my audience, because he hates me so.

He is in love with his lifelong friend. I knew and still I longed. I'm a fool.

Love had one chance with me. It was to be for life. And I chose wrong. Or I should say, I was cursed.

He wanted me to be angry with him. But how could I when I knew what was to happen? The only thing true that I told him not too long ago was that I do blame myself. I truly believe that he didn't want to face his love for her, so he wasn't lying to me when he said he loved me, too. I know he did. It's not his fault that something happened. In a way, I'm glad I got to see the cold side of him. He hid it from me for so long. He was always the one trying to cheer me up.... And the one time he was down and I tried to cheer him up, I couldn't. But she could. That's love.

So, hey, the destructive romantic is on the market. Well, not just yet. Maybe in a few years. Back to the batting cage. Experience can be both good and bad.

Yes, I'm off my nut right now. Well... when has that not been true?

Look for darker things to come. I'm sure they will, for I destroy everything I touch.

10:51 am

*listening to The Cure, Bloodflowers*

All my dreams were bad. Bad in that they were reminders.

So, I got up and got in the shower. Scalding hot. Melt my hair folicles hot. Then, I curled up on my knees until the water ran cold. My head against the bottom of the tub; I just shivered.

Now here I am... awake too goddamned early on my day off. My stomach's burning. I can feel my pulse on every inch of my skin. I feel like I'm going to be violently sick.

But Fyx is fine. She's going to drive out into the middle of no where, peddle to the metal, and scream.

If you think about it too much, it's somewhat funny. I have nothing to scream at but ugly drawings. No real face. How pathetic.

And whatever effort I was pouring into becoming human is wasted. I'll admit, he almost had me. For a while, I was really trying. I cared for myself just enough and almost had an inkling of self-confidence. But I guess in the end, I've proven everyone who's ever told me that love can fix me wrong. Love made me see things in a brighter light, but it wasn't enough to overcome whatever foul beast has taken the place of my humanity.

Bitch.

Well, you were right, too, weren't you?

I'd like to laugh out loud at that. I don't think I'll be laughing for a long time.

Supper was sealed up in aluminum last night. The thought of eating makes my stomach turn.

Living on in others in memories and dreams is not enough, and it never is. You always want so much more than this.

Oh, gods, I am reading far too much into Cure lyrics.... Maybe Someday.

My worldly possessions mean nothing. Anything I can touch means nothing. It's what I can't touch right now that matters.

I don't know how to feel anymore. And the last thing I need is a pep talk. Anyone who says a thing to me at this time is likely to walk away with one eye, for I will have torn the other out and eaten it.

Sometimes I morbidly wish that a cancer is eating me away inside and that these are my last days. Silly, isn't it? And I ignore all health problems I have, hoping for the worst.

"I said 'I love you,'" I said; you didn't say a word

Goodbye.

1:57 pm

currently: I feel like roadkill.

*listening to Tool, Aenima*

You know very well that writing is my only catharsis. So here I fucking am again.

I drove out to the park. I watched black and white geese (imagining they were swans) as they led their young around in the water and on the banks. I turned the radio. There were too many people around to really have a break down, so I just sat and stared blankly at the water for a while.

I have a final in three hours. I tried to study when I got home. Reading about the Renaissance is difficult when your brain feels like someone stuck it in a blender and hit "cream."

But you know what? I'm going to be okay in a few... whatevers. I'm not well with time frames.

I just want to put my head in someone's lap and close my eyes for a while. But there's no lap on which to rest. No one to pet my hair and tell me I'll be okay.

I want to lift this cement slab off my heart and be able to think again. For a little while, at least.

This introspective BS is killing me. Slowly.

I'm playing the loudest, angriest music I have. I'm screaming and singing and flipping off the gods. I don't think they're noticing.

I'm looking at my reflection in the six inch blade of a hunting knife. It's sharp enough to split hairs... or skin a small animal. I'm going to stab something. That felt good. Not very satisfying, but it felt good.

I don't think I'm going to drink. I'm afraid that if I do, I'll never stop, because alcoholism is so very deliciously easy to fall into. But we'll see. I have a strong will when it comes to stupid things like that.

I've had the will to carry on this far. No reason to suddenly give up. But don't think I'm not trying to come up with reasons. Somewhere in the darkest portions of my soul, there is a longing to make it all stop. I live to spite what people assume someone with my thoughts will inevitably do. I live to spite you. To prove you wrong.

Okay, end of rant for now.

6:45 pm

currently:

*listening to Metallica, Reload*

I think I aced my final. That's good at least, though I'm sure my overall grade is shit. I was too distracted this semester.

I'm going for a record--the most mumbling Fyx can accomplish in twenty-four hours.

I keep wishing that yesterday didn't happen or that everything everything was in my head.

Can't eat. Can't think. Can't function today. I'm running on water and cigarettes. All because of a big, ugly lie. A lie I made myself believe.

Hey, ma, look it's me

At least I don't have to worry about answering the door with a rifle now.

Going to burn myself out at the gym tonight. Exhaust every last bit of energy in me until I can't lift a finger. I need the distraction.

If Justin isn't busy, I'm gonna try to see him this week. I'm in the mood for closure. Or reflection. Or bullets.

Which Black Daisies character are you?

the destructive romantic