Lai Lai Hei

I'm positively sure that everyone writing anything today is making a reference to the holidays. As I expressed in my prior post, I greatly dislike this time of year. I can't wait for it to be over, the miserable holidays!
Evelyn is sitting next to me on the couch, and Sonja is in the chair across from her. I can tell by their facial expressions that they're fighting, so I pulled out an earbud, and I hear "Sonja! Don't call me fat," and Sonja replies "I'm not! You're not at all!"
This is one of the reasons why I'm so extremely spiteful towards humanity; society. Why do weight and appearance have to be such an extremely big deal? That's what I want to know. It's effects are painful and long lasting. They ruin lives. I don't want this pain and worry to rub off on my siblings like it has on me. It's not fair.
In the past month, I've been on four different antibiotics due to infection from my surgery, and I believe because of that, I've avoided getting my best friend's cold, and my boyfriend's cold. Now I'm off any type of medicine besides my inhaler, and what happens? I wake up this morning with a cold that roars! How's that? :p
Well, I do not wish you happy holidays because I dislike it all. Do not misinterpretate, I'm very content right now, I just hate Christmas!(:

It's almost here; it's almost gone(:

What should I say? Not Merry Christmas because I dislike the idea of Jesus and his mother. I cannot say Happy Holidays either, because I hate this season. I can't wait until March, or something like that. It's such a terrible, corrupted season. On the other hand, I'M FUCKING HAPPY!!!(:

We don't need to whisper

The snow is beautiful. It makes the world so quiet, and that's a thing I used to feel I never got enough of. Things have changed, though. Every night I lie awake and listen to that silence. It screams into my ears, louder than anything I've ever heard. Sometimes I wish I could sleep more. It's not so bad anymore. I hope being able to think so much is not a bad thing, else I'll be insane by the time winter is over.
School is hard these days. It's mostly chemistry that's bringing me to tears. I'm failing it right now because I had to take regence, and we all know I'm not nearly as smart as my brother, or my cousin. I can barely pass it.
I suppose there are more important things right now than writing here. I'm considering stopping again. Maybe it's time to talk to someone about what I really feel beneath the surface.

She blinked. The stars fell like tears on her cheeks against the ever darkening sky.

Pull me under; I'm not afraid.

Terrible day again, but what can I expect? I have my ACT tests tomorrow, then I'm gonna crash at a friend's house. I don't know what was wrong with me today. In all honesty I tried as hard as I could to be happy, but I completely failed. I was quiet the entire time in lunch and I started crying before sixth period. I feel so bad that Austin has to deal with me. The poor kid doesn't know what to do, but then again neither do I. I just feel this inexplicable heaviness inside of me.. it's terrible. I want to be better, and I believe I can if I try harder. I came home and slept today and I'm planning on going back to bed in a few minutes. Here's something I wrote.

The lighting was far too dim for me to distinguish any features on her face, save for the fact that Pearl was very pale, and very beautiful. I wanted to reach out and pull her into my arms. I wanted to tell her it was ok, and that she did not have to go, but I knew none of these things could be.
So I let Pearl go. She tried to smile, but only managed to turn the corners of her mouth upward in a pained fashion. There was another moment of silence, and then Pearl gave a slight wave with her delicate gloved hand; turned, and walked away from me. I could hear her shoes on the cobbles. I hadn't seen her since.
That had been ten years ago, and I was now a grown man of twenty-seven years old. I do not believe in hope any longer.
I lived absolutely alone in this world and I wish it were fine with me. It made for an excellent imagination, and I was a writer. It wasn’t always like that, though. I had used to have family and friends, but eventually everyone will leave you alone in the world, and you must be content with simply having yourself. But sometimes even I struggled with that idea.
She came to me on a fine autumnal day. The leaves had begun to turn about a week before, and a chill wind had swept forth, bringing rains and sometimes even sleet. It was one of those sleety, dark, dismal days. I was in my cottage’s study, warm and working on an old novel that I’d failed to finish. It is to my remorse to say that my luck hadn’t changed on that point.
There was a gentle knock on the door. I looked up, reading glasses sliding down my nose. After a moment of consideration I dismissed it as the sleet and turned back to my novel. It was a good idea, I had to give myself that, but the storyline... oh, it was a wreck.
The knock came again, and this time louder. It didn’t stop, but kept right on going. Very quickly it crescendoed into frantic banging. By then I was out of my chair and stumbling through my study toward the entrance of my small cottage.
“I’m coming!” I yelled, tripping over a rug’s edge.
A gust of wet, cold wind greeted me as I pulled the heavy oak door open. The weather was ghastly. I squinted through the tempest in search of my visitor.
“Hello?-“ My voice cracked. She lay at my feet, rain soaked and shivering. Half -conscious. I wasted no time in scooping her small body into my arms and rushing her into the house.
Once there I set her on the sofa, threw a blanket atop her quivering being, and worked hastily on building up the fire. That was how I met Sophie.
It was a number of dank, windy days before she decided to come around. I stayed by her side at every moment, praying that this young girl wouldn't loose her life in my stead. Thank God that she didn't, too. I was reading a book when her soft voice reached my ears for the first time.
“What are you reading?” It was no more than a murmur. I looked up, fumbling the book in my hands and managed a surprised smile.
“W-why this is called Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë.”
“Isn't that a lady's book?” She frowned, seeming to think it through quite a lot.
The girl was thin. She had black hair that was in a tangled mess, and pale skin that had a n embodying sheen to it. But the part about Sophie that struck me the most were her eyes. They were a blue so light that they were almost gray, with a sea green around the edges. They spoke words without her mouth uttering a sound.
“It can be anyone's book.” I replied, matter-of-factly. “What is your name?” She took a long time to reply.
“Sophie. Sophie Hansen.”
“Lovely to have met, Sophie. You musn't be from around here. I'm Henrich Faber. Faber is fine.” She looked tired, so I did not press her with the ordinary questions such as why she showed up nearly dead at my doorstep, and why she was in the middle of the woods.
I lived in Germany, in a small cottage fit for only one or two. There were no others living within twenty miles of myself. The woods were so deep that even I didn't dare venture too far into them. It irked me beyond belief that this girl had stumbled through them and to my tiny cottage. Had she followed the thin dirt road that trickled off of the highway? If so, why?
She told me I had nightmares. I asked her how she knew such a thing, and Sophie replied that she simply knew.
“I haven't heard you in the night, Faber,” she said, looking out the window. Then, turning to me, “I just know.” And it was true. I hadn't slept one night in ten years without them. I began to feel uneasy about Sophie.
The next week I decided that Sophie was well enough that I should bring her into town. I had to turn her in, of course, but she protested. The girl's eyes were wide with fear and she stepped back.
“No, you musn't do it! You cannot do that, Faber!” Sophie's voice trembled and tears welled. The girl backed herself into a corner and hid behind a curtain so that I could only see her feet. She would not hear of going back.
“Sophie, you're someone's child, aren't you? Don't you think it's only right that you go back to where you belong?” I tried to sound kind, but I believe my voice showed nothing but anxiety.
“NO! I am not someone's child, and I'll never be!” Her voice cracked. I did not speak of the matter any further.
It was strange to have another person in my home, let alone a young girl. I couldn't believe that I allowed her to stay. She was quiet most of the time. I usually found her curled up by the fire reading or sleeping; mostly sleeping.
Sophie caught me off guard far too often, and I suppose that was one of the worst things to loosing the freedom of loneliness. I could not be myself, for I was too painful to be true. She easily saw through that illusion, that screen that I had tried to put up.
“Tell me about yourself, Faber.” She said, standing in the doorway to my study. I had my head bent, laboring over my works. I hadn't heard the floorboards creaking under her light step, nor had I heard the groan of the heavy living room door. I usually did.
“What do you mean?” I didn't look up.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“I grew up in Bremerhaven, by the sea. I lived simply, did not finish school, and began to write. My family was killed, and I moved here to be alone.”
“That's not what I mean, Faber.” I didn't look up.
“Sophie, please.”
“Tell me about her. About Pearl. I know.” Her voice was steady, strong.
The silence stretched on for minutes, perhaps hours. I refused to look up, and Sophie refused to leave her perch in the doorway. I swallowed nervously.
“Pearl-” My voice broke, and clearing my throat barely did it justice. “She was.. everything. I don't know life without her. Why must you ask this now, Sophie?”
“Because, I want to know what she was like.” Again that strong voice. I was beginning to hate her for it, since I, a grown man, was near tears.
“We met when I was fifteen, and I would not call it a meeting of good fortune..
“She was the daughter to a wealthy merchant. His prestige among the people of my town was great. Of course that didn't stop a determined, lonely young boy such as myself.
The first time I saw her was on the beach. It was a day truly granted to us by god, for it's beauty is immeasurable to my vocabulary. Let us simply say that the skies were clear, the leaves full, the gulls in flight, and the sun's beams soft and silvery on the fine northern beach.
Pearl was running. Her brown hair had fallen loose of it's braid and strands of it whipped in her face. Her snow-white dress was stained with mud, and her breathing came fast, but still, Pearl ran. I still remember the look of terror her eyes betrayed.
I was standing by the waves when shouts reached my ears. Turning slowly, I saw her coming up the beach, and behind I spied two grown men giving chase to her. My eyes caught on the gold star on her dress, but for only a second. I looked about myself and realized that there was no one else but myself and these others.
My father had always taught me that everyone was equal. It didn't matter what a person looked like, and what they believed. They should always have a chance. When I saw Pearl running, screaming, these things reached my mind and I grabbed her hand. Her breath caught, and she regarded me with panic.
“Come on!” My voice cracked.
I pulled her up the beach with me, and the men pursued.”
I snapped back from the story to find tears standing in my eyes. Sophie still stood in the doorway, her face expressionless. No words could reach me, and the silence deafened.
I cannot take the liberties of saying that life went back to the way it had been, because for the first time in ten years I was not alone. It was strange to be constantly aware of another's presence. Sometimes she scared me, though, because for a reason beyond my mind's ability to perceive, Sophie reminded me chillingly of the one person I did not necessarily want to remember.
For instance, in early November, Sophie decided it would be good of her to arrange my study while I was asleep.
“As a thank you,” she told me sheepishly, later.
To better understand, my study is a sanctuary. I know very well that a place of the earth cannot even come close to the peace and safety I longed to feel, but my study was the closest I believed I would ever get. It was my place, and no one was to see the things I wrote, unless they were specifically allowed.
I awoke to a freezing room. Telling myself it was strange, since Sophie usually kept the fire built, I pushed the covers aside and listened for her.
She was unusually quiet to me. The girl was calm, but never silent. A frown creased itself across my face, and I stepped quietly into the hallway. The floorboards creaked underfoot as I made my way cautiously down the hall.
And there was Sophie, sitting in my big chair, knees to her chest, and reading a writing of mine. I froze. The only thing that made sense to me was- was Pearl. The perfect frown on her face, the way her lips were pressed together just so. The expression of deep concentration that could very well be anger too. Then it clicked, and I felt a raged panic overtake me.
“What.. what are you doing?”
My shout broke the uneasy silence and her head snapped up. Sophie was back, and she dropped the piece of work. Her mouth tried to make words, but failed at first. I believe it was because she was not used to my yell, so I took a breath.
“Sophie, please come out. Living room. Please.” It was almost a pleading tone.
She had been reading nothing more than a short story of mine, and as soon as that became clear, my heart sunk in guiltiness.
We sat in silence for a long while. I couldn't bring myself to look at the girl. Outside snow began to fall. The first of the year, to be specific. Sophie looked up suddenly. Her expression was stone cold, her eyes narrowed in a chilling way that I cannot necessarily describe as angry.
“What have you to hide, Faber?” I couldn't bring myself to answer. “You know nothing of pain,” she went on. There was a choke in her words. “Do you know what it's like to not be.. real? I.. I can't explain. It's rather simple, really.. but all the same. I can't.”
“What do you mean?” My voice was quiet, eyes averted to the floor as though it was suddenly interesting.
“I told you, I cannot say.” The wind outside blew the snow harshly against the glass, filling the silence.
“Sophie how do you expect me to understand?”
“Just keep telling me, then.”
“I'd rather not.”
“You owe me it.” I looked up at these words, and felt a surprising anger surfacing.
“I.. I owe it to you? And how, pray tell, is this so? You showed up half-dead on my doorstep and refuse to tell me anything about yourself, save for your name, and for some strange, damned reason you think it's your bloody right to know everything about my past? Who are you, Sophie? No, what are you?” My voice rang in the silence, but still, Sophie only looked at me. Her curious eyes shimmered, and with another waver tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I said you wouldn't understand. It's not my fault, Henrich. I swear.”
“Very well.” The guilt was once more overwhelming me. “I don't know how, but we got away.
“She watched me curiously as I kept a lookout.
“What's your name?” Her voice held a slight rasp from running. The girl traced the gold star on her dress unconsciously with her finger.
“Henrich Faber, you?” It felt strange to be talking to a Jew. On the surface I felt like a terrible person, disobeying everything I was taught. But there was something else; something deeper. It was blurry and unsure at the time.
“Pearl. Pearl Yanovich. Do you like exploring?”
“How old are you?” We hid under an overturned row boat. The sun's rays were streaming placidly through the cracks in the top.
“Fifteen.”
“And you would like to know if I like exploring? Do you smoke?”
“Oh gosh, no. It takes away from adventure.” At this I had to give her a grin.
“Was a test, and you passed.”
She was particularly tall for her age, with dark locks of black hair, and fair, beautiful gray eyes, and thin lips. She had on a plain sea green dress and knee socks, shoes long gone.
We sat under that boat for a very long time talking, and for some reason, the doubt and the wrong seemed to fade. There was something different about this girl that I couldn't seem to ignore. I couldn't put my finger on it, but we promised to meet again soon in that place.”
This section I finished with a remorseful smile.

Continuation of worst week ever..

Today it snowed like a bitch and they didn't close school; they delayed it. I can't spend time with Austin this entire week because my parents are out of town. I see him for a few minutes in school and in lunch, but that's about it. To make matters worse, he's not talking to me right now. It's unclear as to whether this is because he's angry or some other reason. He talked to me.. but was very blunt and hasn't for hours now. It's probably me being dramatic, but it's uncharacteristic of him and I'm a stressed mess. UGH. I can't wait for this fucking week to be over.

Today was once of those 'worst days ever'. It was one of those in which I'll probably remember, but I will not like. I'm frustrated beyond repair. I don't even FEEL like writing about today. I suppose I'll attempt to leave it behind, unsuccessfully, of course.

And she too, was lost in the grey.

December third. Christmas presents for anyone: zero. Hair dyed: Once! I'm miserable. This week is going to be terrible! Tomorrow I'm taking my SAT's (six hours long??!) and then I have to work at the stupid dome. How terrible:( AND to top it off, my parents are going on vacation, and I'm not allowed to go over to Austin's the whole time. Ugh. It's extremely depressing. I miss him already:(

December. Ohh joy!

I suppose lying on my floor and sobbing could not possibly have been the answer, but it was close enough for me, because I have no real answer.
My mood flipped, as it always does. I found myself overjoyed to be alive and to have Austin. It's something of value to me, partly because I'm learning to speak my mind. I find myself often too afraid to communicate how I feel. That shell is finally coming off. I can speak. It's a bit like the book, one of which I've come to appreciate since ninth grade.
Sunday was.. unspeakably fun. When I go over to Austin's we lie around and talk about everything. There's no such thing as boredom. I rather prefer to call it adventure. We decided to play the 'guess what food I just put in your mouth?' game. So I was blindfolded first, and I remember American cheese (ew!) and apple.. cobbler? Not sure. Me, being devious, couldn't be as simple as that. I knew the moment poor Austin was blindfolded he regretted the game. (That would be from my hysterical laughter as I looked for something to make him eat!) Let me just say it took quite the lot of coaxing to get him to open his mouth. And to what? Oh, not much.. but a spoonful of garlic powder!;) So, so sum it up, Sunday was a good day.
I thought I was going to return to school this week overwhelmed with work. I had three tests to make up, but other than that I did perfectly alright. I'm working on keeping from becoming overly stressed at little things. Progress? I can't say much.
This morning the world awoke to a gray, depressing rain. The chill wind blew at the house and the utter wetness was all too dreary to me. I'm already beginning to hate the cold. By lunchtime the snow came, and within an hour or two, everywhere was covered in it's malicious blanket! I did not have a proper coat. Come to think of it, I do not believe I OWN a proper coat. To say the least, I froze on the bus, at home, at cleaning, and I'm freezing now. My room is dark, and I'm huddled under cover. I most certainly should not be awake right now. Oh well. I just hope my mood can hold up, or my SAT tests on Saturday will turn out terrible.

I just want to let it go for the night. That would be the best therapy for me.

Today is the same as yesterday. I have nothing to say.

Today has been overly depressing, and although there have been attempts to convince me that it's not my fault, I know deep down that it is. My room has been my prison of choice today, and I have chosen to not leave it. It's quiet and warm, and a very good place to be angry, hopeless, and depressed. It's a good place for me to cry my eyes out for no damn reason. Oh, aren't I lovely?
There's is not much for me to say right now. I have no way to express my anger. I want to break something. Most of it is because I cannot find a reason for my attitude.
I feel like I have no future, which is not true. I even came close enough to wish that the end would come already, or I'd make it. But I won't ever do that. I made a promise.
I feel depressed on account of the above feelings. It's the worst feeling, but things could be worse. I don't feel like being optimistic. I have a reason for being so angry right now, but I'm keeping it blocked away. I certainly cannot tell Austin at the moment. I don't want to yet. I already tried to, and it didn't make an impression on him.

Composure

"Do you want to talk about it?"
She manages to choke out a laugh, staring at the distant city. The hilltop's tall grass shimmers in the breeze.
"Do I ever want to talk about it?"
"No."
From there the silence between them droned on. It created an ever widening trench. Above, gulls soared, and the sun peaked from behind the clouds. It was only dully warm on her cheeks, but the tears sparkled all the same.
"You don't always have to be strong, Molly. You don't have to pretend you're alright. No one's perfect." His voice seemed far away, but the words still cut through her. She could not bring her eyes to him.
"I.. I want to be okay. For you."
"Then talk to me, and let me help you."
She could see the tall stone buildings of the city. They were white. It seemed that the far away paradise could never be reached. It was too far for her, anyway. Tall, green trees stretched up from within it's depths. It was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen.
"How can I start." It wasn't a question. Her words were defeated by the tears, the gasps from crying. "I lied to you from the start. I was never okay. It was something I told myself. I said it would happen with time.. b-but it hasn't."
Her eyes lowered to her lap, where his hands had come to rest atop hers.
"And that's not the end. It's my fault for not seeing-"
"No, don't you ever, ever say that!" The girl's voice rose and echoed into the city. The sun went away.
"Then tell me what you want, and I'll be here for you every step of the way, Molly." He took her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead. A shudder ran through her, and she closed her eyes.
"I want to live to see tomorrow's sunrise. I want to see it fall behind the hills in the west, too, and I want you to be there with me. Always."
-Lilium

Never enough

It's there, lurid fingers wrapping around her neck. They're cold. They're angry. She can feel them tighten. It doesn't matter what tomorrow is, and it doesn't matter what yesterday was. The depression always comes for her and she's like a soldier unarmed facing the dragon.
"That's what it is." Her whisper is soft. The girl lies on her side. The floor is cold, hard beneath her. Eyes are empty, staring out into an ocean of nothing; it's greyness stretching on forever. "A fight that I'm going to loose."
Outside a snowflake falls, and her breath comes in.

Hurrah for community college- because I'm not smart enough!

This past week has been one of the most stressful weeks of my life. I had to miss Friday and I will be missing Monday and Tuesday because of my surgery yesterday. I knew this the entire week and struggled endlessly on trying to get all my work in on time. Lucky me! The fucking library at school lost my entire essay for Civics. The ENTIRE fucking thing. So me, crying, went to the teacher and informed him that he wouldn't get it until after Thanksgiving vacation, and that I was sorry. He told me that it was my fault.
So, I got my report card. Incomplete for civics. 'Molly failed to turn work in on time.' Funny. I'm the only person who had to write that giant fucking essay because I transferred in after five weeks. I'm on fucking probation even though my lowest grade is Chemistry- 82. Regents chem, too. Fuck the school and their goddamn policies. I hate them so much.
I had my surgery yesterday, and the dentist said I was going to look pretty swollen because he had to dig so deep for my wisdom teeth. That, my friend, was an understatement to the extreme. I got blood all over my shirt and fainted in the shower this morning. I'm in so much pain right now I can barely think.
To top off this entirely LOVELY affair of a week, I got a letter from Crouse School of Nursing today. I had filled out the application including my dates for SAT's and ACT's, and sent in a transcript with the entire application form. They said my Algebra grade from 9th grade (when I was fucking 14??!), although it was passing, was too low. They also said I don't have my SAT/ACT grades, and a few other things. Essentially, I'm not getting accepted because of my algebra grade. Basically all my plans for next year have fucking collapsed on top of me. I'm a fucking failure and I have to go to STUPID GODDAMN community college. I can't even manage to get into a school. Even if I wasn't graduating early they wouldn't accept me.
So now that I'm having a breakdown.. I have to live at home for longer and I don't even know what I'm going to do. I don't want to live here. There are too many kids, I'm going to have to go to church more, and it's so messy and stressful and terrible no matter what I do. I cannot even think. (That may have something to do with the pain killers that barely work, by the way.)
So I'm thinking OCC, living there. If they have a nursing program I'll take it. I'll just be a fucking failure, while both my brother, Aaron, and my sister, Mariel, attend Crouse because they're smart enough. Worst day of my life.
We're having Thanksgiving tomorrow, so I'll just sit at the table and be miserable. That's fine with me. I wish I could go for a walk, but I can barely stand. Austin was supposed to come over but I look like so much shit I can't stand the idea of him seeing me like this. So a few friends of Ben are coming over, and I don't want to be here.
Sometimes I wish I hadn't made Austin that promise.. that night. We were sitting against one of Sam's dad's tractor things. It was before we were dating, and we were just good friends. I honestly didn't know him that well. It was a party, and everyone was playing Man Hunt. We randomly decided to hide together, and found this spot. So, creeping through the dark and laughing hysterically like maniacs, we crouched behind the piece of equipment and waited, stifling laughter. After about ten minutes we became restless and made ourselves more comfortable, and began to talk.
About two hours passed, and we didn't even think about the game anymore, but just sat there talking about everything. That was when I realized how deep he is, and how funny he is. I had already started having second guesses about who I was with. Of course I didn't DO anything, but I knew that I liked him. Those feelings I suppressed, though, because he told me all about this girl he had liked for years, and how bad he felt because she hurt herself over her boyfriend. From there we began to talk about self-inflicted pain. He mentioned my arm. The scars are still very visible.
It's true, I didn't know him that well, but Austin took my hands and made me promise- promise I'd never, ever do that again. I did, and I haven't since, but sometimes I wish I could. It's times like these that I wish I hadn't made that promise. I would never, but I never learned how to get my stress and pain out in another way.
Anyway, I broke up with Sam soon after that. It wasn't because of Austin- I thought he was still into that other girl. I just knew that Sam and I weren't meant to be. He never cared enough for me, never ever made the effort. I was his little side project, always getting pushed further away. So that ended, and then Austin asked me to hang out with him, and pretty soon I knew I liked him like crazy. We hung out a few days a week in August, more so in the end too.
It was one of those weird things. He told me he had given up on liking the other girl, but I always thought he was better than me, and didn't dare to hope that he felt the same way back. We went to the movies with a few other people, and now that I think of it, it was SO obvious! He say in the back of the car with me, and we both had our hands on the seat about three inches apart. Then in the theater he sat away from the other guys and had me join him. I feel slightly foolish about this, since it was so obvious. The thing was, I swore to myself that I wouldn't be the one to make the first move. For all the other relationships I've ever been in, I've always made the first move, so I swore this time the man could do it.
Nothing happened that night, and I still doubted that he liked me. I didn't feel good enough. A few nights later I was at a family party, and he and I constantly talked to each other. (of course)I suppose that was when he couldn't hold it in anymore and called me. He told me everything, and I agreed that I felt the same way. This was about a month after breaking up with Sam.
We ended up hanging out the next day. I always had to tell my mom that other people would be there, because we weren't even together. She hated the idea of me hanging out with anyone outside the church in general. She still does. It wasn't a lie, since Jimmy was there. In time he left, and Austin and I went on a walk to the park. It was a little awkward because we hadn't further discussed out feelings and neither had made a move.
He layed on the picnic table, and we just.. talked. This memory is pretty blurry, since these always are, but to make a long story short, he kissed me, and I've loved him ever since. It's been three months, and I have to say, this kid saved my life one way or another. I haven't struggled with my eating disorder, nor have I cut myself.
Of course, when everyone figured out we were dating (a month after I ended a 6 month relationship) they assumed I was some sort of whore who cheated on Sam. He hates me now, but there's nothing I can do about that. I guess it's the way things turn out. I felt terrible about it for a few days, but I won't ever hate him. I can't be that kind of person, because I've made too many mistakes in my lifetime.
I didn't expect this to come out today, but it did. I'm calmed down a lot by thinking of it, so I suppose it can be my escape. Community college (the thought still makes me cry) wont be that bad. I'm going to be fine:)

November.. I suppose.

Winter is coming, and as dreary as the November weather is to me, I somehow find beauty in it all. There is a stifled excitement and prospect of the coming snow. I hope that I will not one day regret these words, but I believe this is the best school year I've had yet. Of course the work is rather difficult; two years in one can do that, but I feel so.. glad! There are so many things right now that I would not change for the world.
Nothing of real consequence has happened to me lately. It seems almost everyday passes with some sort of happiness that I do not hope to change. Yes, the stress is sometimes more than I believe I can handle, but somehow it always is okay. I'm having all my wisdom teeth pulled on Friday. Yay. I'm slightly nervous, but moreover non-commentable on the subject. (besides the fact that I get drugs. just KIDDING)
My oldest brother, Ben, is leaving for the army this coming Tuesday, so we are having our Thanksgiving early, on Sunday, and we're having random house guests over as well. One of which may be my boyfriend. I'm guessing it will prove to be very interesting, since we've been together for almost three months and he has not met any of my family besides two of my brothers. Of course I may have swollen chipmunk cheeks on sunday, and if that is the fact, I would not like to have him see me in such a horrifying state, as it is. Good thing I'm a vegetarian. I don't have to worry about not being able to eat Turkey, eh?:)

This is Never Over

Everything's withering; dying. And I'm terrified. I tell myself that this winter- this winter will be different. I'm going to be better in so many ways. That's what I tell myself, at least. If I were to pray, I would pray for that. The road to recovery is bumpy. There are potholes that throw me off into the muddy ditches of failure. From there, I have to pick myself up and say that it's alright, and climb back onto the road.
I carry my pain with me. To some it, may seem minimal, and perhaps these things that I cannot allow to slip through my fingers are, but in my eyes they will never be.
They say that pain fades, and in a sense, yes it does, but it leaves behind something even worse. That is fear.I have a fear of what I could become if I allowed myself. I know that it will very slowly eat away at everything I've ever been. It will destroy me. God, for the sake of those that love me I cannot let it happen! I must be strong this time, not for myself, but for my family, my friends, for those I love.
I'm getting better, and I hope. I believe that's why I sit here now, writing in a place I swore to never write again. It's not as though I woke one day to discover I love. No, I learned it, and it learned me. There is this unexplainable connection that we humans allow ourselves to feel. Since the dawn of time it's been such a fascinating subject to almost all. I cannot say I feel any different than those, because I feel it too. It's not incredibly clear why I feel the need to say that, but I do.

I know the face of anger, of pain, of sorrow, of happiness. I know the face of depression. It's always flipping itself over inside of me and I can never decide of which I want to be. In reality, of course, I want the feeling of joy to overflow in me. I want to be the person who's always smiling. I know a few people like that. Not me. I'm the person always struggling to smile through their tears.
It always feels right on the inside, but I don't know if I'm right or not. I don't know what is right. I feel like no matter where I am, I'm feeling a personal pain. Perhaps I'm too self-centered. That feeling of happiness is there.. but then it fades and I'm in the darkest dark. Within minutes to sometimes hours, though, I'm back to the first, and I can never say why I felt the latter. It's a terrible affliction.
I want to go to nursing school, and I've chosen the one I want to go to. My faimly is skeptical. They want me here, and there, but not where I want to be. Every single fucking choice I make is contradicted by them. I feel as though they look down their noses at me. I'm always wrong. Always.
It's always "you shouldn't be doing that. You should break up with Austin. You should go to the meeting. Go to church. You shouldn't be doing a sport. You should go to norway, not school. You should go to CCC." Why don't they just kill me? Evidently I'm doing everything wrong. And here, my friend, is an example of my anger.
I don't know how this bad seed has sprouted within me. I do not like the feeling of it, though. I dont like the bipolar. I want to be happy, and good. For the most part I am that. There is always something inside me that likes to hinder it, though, and that's what makes me angry.
I suppose that's enough.

Life is pain. Sometimes I get so low.. so stressed..but that fades. It all fades. For some time I can forget it all. Then it's back. I'm only creative in my mind. When it comes out here it looks like throw up. Let's just say that the next few months of my life are going to be hell, besides one little thing. That saves me.

I'm tired and stressed and angry. I hate being like this. I hate crying. I hate being a total child about everything, but sometimes.. GOD I can't fucking help it. I'm so uncontrollably angry right now that I DONT CARE to make my writing pretty. I dont fucking care. There's only one fucking thing in my life write now that makes me remotely happy and I cant even be near them right now. God forbid I stay up a little late with my friends. God forbid I spend my fucking weekend how I want to.
Ha. God forbid. What the fuck is god? I dont know, and I dont care. Even if he's out there, he can kill me 'cause right about now I don't give a damn if he does. I know I'm angry, but I dont want to think about when I calm down and this all seems irrational. Because right now I'm crying and I can't even have anyone to hold me in their arms.

Breathe

She left the window open. Maybe it was an accident. But nevertheless, a late summer breeze swam sincerely through it. It whispered through the dim, cluttered bedroom. She lay on the bed, asleep with the diary of her life open on her chest, pen still in hand. The breeze gave a determined sigh. It flooded through the room and turned the page over. The next was clean. New.
That's how I feel today. That's how I've felt for the past week. I feel as though a new page of my life has been turned over and great things await me. Perhaps they do not, and begind the next door lays disappointment. But maybe not!
School is not bad. I'm trying to graduate early but everything isn't set in stone quite yet. I'm somehow managing a job, sports, and school. Not to mention church activities, which I most respectfully attend...
Things have changed a lot. So far I don't feel any of the changes have been negative. I don't feel I should write them here yet.

I watch it all collapse. It never seems to last as long as I need it to. A beautiful mistake, a wound without a trace. Was it ever even true?
I fucked up again. That's the only way I dare put it. Pretty soon I'll be worth nothing.

Caught in the tide line

Things change. It's amazing to me how much they can do so, too. Summer's waning into autumn and the life that was so fresh in spring is dying; withering. I know that soon coldness will consume all that I loved of this world until next year. That seems so very far away right now.
Everything changes. Sam and I grew apart in some way that I still cannot comprehend. Yes, we're still close friends and I don't think that part of us will ever change. But now he's gone to school and I'm still here, living my life. I'm trying to keep my head above the growing tide line. I believe it's only a matter of time until it consumes me whole. No one knows how we feel. They had their own breaks but this is ours. I don't know what to think about it. Sometimes I feel relief, but mostly I feel that never ending fear. It is one I can't describe.
Life is not all bad though. I work with two of my brothers. I wont say where, just because I hate it more than anything (almost). I still have my friends. I know which are the true ones because they were always there even when I was in the worst of depression. The ironic thing is, my mother always told me that my friends in the church are always going to be the ones that I remember no matter what because they truly love me. When these tough things happened, though, I couldn't find them anywhere. Truth be told, I haven't seen that part of my life in weeks. It's relieving. I feel as though I can breathe a little.
I think that's all I can say for now. In time the pain will heal, of course. I can still say that Sam was the one who saved me when there was no one else. We will always be the best of friends. I can smile at that.

Sometimes the things that feel like they're the best are not meant to be. And that hurts.

Vegetarianism:)

I've been a vegetarian for almost a year, and I'd like to share that fact! Some people are quite rude when I tell them this. Some ask how I can deal with finding foods that agree with my diet, and how I stand not eating meat. Let me tell you: it's not as hard as you think:)
It all started when I watched a documentary on America's meat industry. I'd thought about going vegetarian before, and this movie confirmed my ideas. I am disgusted by everything that goes in in those factories. In my mind it's not worth the guilt and (go ahead, laugh) emotional pain I feel for the life that has to deal with that. It's a massacre everyday, and I hate the idea. So I decided: I would not be a part of that.
At first it was hard for me to take meat out of my diet, and I found I was hungry all the time. I ate way too many carbs. After a while it got easier, though, and I was able to find foods that I enjoyed eating.
These days I eat a lot of salads, healthy cereal like cheerios, cottage cheese, yogurt not containing gelatin, peanut-butter and jelley (natural peanut-butter), and wheat triscuits with toppings like cottage cheese ect. Mexican food is also an option. If you're looking to loose weight vegetarian is also an option, seeing that you get enough protein. I lost 5-10 lbs:)
So here is my lunch for tomorrow. Yes, I do eat eggs. I know it's probably not right, but my mom wont let me be vegan right now, as I run alot. Tonight for supper I ate a piece of cinnamon-raisin toast with swiss cheese on it:)

....

This would be me and kathryn. Obviously I'm the one wearing the glasses, of which I do not regularly wear. I usually have my contacts. Can you not tell me and kathryn are sisters? haha:)

I am just a rough draft

Life is the most confusing, difficult thing in which I must try to wrap my head around. Once I've figured out what might make sense, it doesn't anymore, and I find myself circling in a pit of confusion, only to wake up the next morning and find that it's changed. Does that make sense? Perhaps not to the onlooker. For this I'm sorry.
Now that I've brushed that out of the way.. I have to say this, in third person.
She wasn't as free as she wished to be. They whispered behind her, about the ways she carried herself, the way she was. They didn't approve. Everything about her was wrong. That was how it was seen, and such was evident to the girl. She didn't believe that they cared that it pained her so.
"It's not a dream," she whispered, her voice no more than a slight rasp. The girl stood protected in the eaves of a great pine tree. Below her the ground seemed a mere illusion, and the world spread out before her was the only real thing. It very well could of been a paint canvas; the ultimate masterpiece. "I want to fly," she screamed, letting the tears out. Why was everything wrong, when it should be right? She'd betrayed everything she knew to be the truth. She was nothing but a liar. And she knew she couldn't fly. Instead, she'd fall. No more lies for the ones she loved. No more pain.
Sometimes it works better for me to write things in third person. I don't know why, but it makes me feel better. I'm going to bed now. Goodnight.

Question life, then die.

Sometimes I dont understand myself. Why must I do the things I do? I figure that my mother probably reads this, so everything I write has to be censored. I can't really speak my mind and let people know things that happen, things that mean something. I know that I should have an open relationship with my parents, but it doesn't mean that they would like everything I have to say.
I don't really know what else to say. My life consists of work, shower, bed, and wishing I could see Sam more often before he leaves for college. I feel like breaking down and crying and leaving him all because sometimes it hurts, and I want nothing of it. Then again, that would not really help, because I love him. The tears of pain can be good, and if I left him they wouldn't. They would hurt more and I'd miss him. I think I've hurt him enough, to say the truth. He deserves so much better than what I can give him. I.. I just don't understand.

Today is an absolutely brilliant day, which leads me to ask, why am I inside? I have problems, and I want to face them. There remains, of course though, the question of how I am to approach them. I do not know how I possibly can, really. They are there and fiercer than ever. Do I talk to someone about them? No one knows how to help. That's how it seems to me, anyhow. Whenever I muster the needed courage to ask someone about them I get the same answer. "...Molly.. I dont know what to say. I'm sorry, I don't know how to help you." I feel so lost and helpless.
I think I need a long walk.

Waning of July...

I'd just like to say thanks to Heather, who sent me some books! I've started out reading The God Delusion, and I rather like it!:)
Today I'm sick, so I'm doing nothing of consequence. The end.

Smile;)

These are pictures from the return of my absolute best friend and brother. (kid in the orange:P) I love Aaron to death, and I know more than anything that he cares about me and wants what's best. Sam came home too, of course. I adore the kid. He's one special guy and anyone who takes that for granted is really missing out. Anyhow, the little girl is Camille, the youngest. She'll be three in November, but we all still refer to her as 'the baby' In face, we call her and Charlotte, the four year old, 'the babies'. At this point everyone is hoping that my mother will have "just one more". We don't want Camille to be the last. And of course the goofy looking girl is me hahaha:)

The days begin and end in sunlight

I am so full of life! I can smile, and I hope.. I'm shining. The long summer days have whipped past, leaving me shocked, dazed, and happy. There is still the month of August, and it will be a particularly busy one. I know, deep down, that it will be a sad one too. That is something I hide in the back of my mind and hope will fade. I do not wish to face it.
Today is Friday. It's pouring beautiful rain outside, and when I woke to that I could do nothing but smile. I love the slight chill so that I have enough gusto to put on socks, and how wet I'm going to get this afternoon when I go for a run. Aaron is home from Norway, but I do not think I will coax him still to do something with me. He's busy cleaning up.. something is changed in him, and I'm guessing that is due to his sitting in the church meetings. I do not care, though. He's still my Aaron, and we'll have an amazing rest-of-the-summer together!
Sometimes I credit myself with my ability to be persuasive. I told Sam yesterday that I would very much like to spend some time with him apart from my BROTHER Sam and I shooting at his house Saturday. He said sure, and I proposed tonight after he's finished his shift at the pool. And turns out, he's taking me out to dinner. How nice is that? I did not expect it, and I suspect it will be more than a humorous affair, knowing Sam and I.
Well now I have other things to do. Aaron and I need some plans:)

Open your eyes

Maybe I vowed to stop writing here, but for some reason I cannot. It's the only place I can write what I feel, and I've decided to hell with the fact that my mother reads it. I'm a pretty good girl, am I not?
Yesterday was Thursday. According to the church schedule Thursday is the youth meeting. Since it is July, mike, the 'youth leader' shows transmissions from the meetings in Norway from the summer conference over there. In my mind this means one thing: two hours of torture.
The good thing about transmissions is that I get to see my cousin. She's pretty awesome, but I feel as though in some ways I must be the one to look out for her, to make sure she isn't doing things that she'll one day regret. I wish I had a friend like that, and I know there are some who might have tried. At least I can be that to someone.
I noticed something about her tonight. There were five fading cuts on her left wrist. It makes me so sad to see this. I pointed them out, asking how, and when. She tried to brush it off and make it seem like a small deal. I used to cut a lot, and I once tried to commit suicide this way. I know what she was doing, and I know it's really a big deal. So I took her outside. People were giving us looks. Of course, the two girls leaving the church get up and leave during the transmission, right?
Once outside I hugged her and told her it was alright, and that she needed to talk about it. I was there for her. She began to cry.
"..It was a fight, with my mom. I wasn't sposed to be on the computer and she told me to get off. I said no, and she told me to give her her phone back. I said no, so she grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. She was yelling and swearing, and she had her hands around my throat. So I yelled 'fuck you!' and ran. She sent my sister after me, and told me to never come home." She was hysterical.
I told her that whenever she felt like she was going to explode and needed a release that she must call me. I was a little afraid for her. What I did not tell her is that she must listen to her mother when asked for something. It didn't seem like the right time. What do I do about this? I'm not sure, but I remember that helpless feeling, like I was alone. I didn't know who to talk to. At least she knows she can talk to me.

My apoligies.

Goodbye:) (not in a suicidal way!)

I awoke this morning to be greeted by the beginnings of a headache. The only thing running through my head, though, was that I needed the toilet. I suppose that could have been close to an accident. At that point doing my workout ball thing and going in the pool was out of the question. My brains were close to exploding point. I cannot run right now as I've pulled some muscles in my hip. As you can probably imagine I'm not handling the idea of two weeks off of running well. Running's what I do, and wrapping my mind around a workout routine not involving it is impossible.
Alas, I got myself on the bus after a bowl of Special K (hahaha) cereal. I was wearing a white short sleeved shirt which I knew wasn't a good idea. There was something that I didn't like about it.
Making it through the day with such a pressing headache proved more difficult than I had perceived that morning. (I'm sitting here writing this at 8.30, about to go to bed. I've taken about 8 tylenols today and still, the bloody headache.)
Is there anything intriguing about this post? No, not at all, and I'd be very surprised if you're still reading it, my friend. Speaking of friends I was able to talk to a friend for the first time in.. months. It had been a while. I feel like something has changed and I'm not sure what it is. At the same time nothing has changed, though, and that makes me smile:)
Anything else to write? No, not really. I begin to drone at this point. How sad. Like I've noted before, my writing is as bland as anything when it is real.
It's loud and stressful here. It's strange. Camille is two and she's quietly playing dollhouse behind me, but STILL, it's so damn loud! I know exactly who's making all the noise, too. She's loud and stressed as hell. I don't want to make quick judgements, but I dare say if she.. went to bed, per-say, it wouldn't be so bad. That's all I have to say tonight. Goodnight. And by the wayside, today was an excellent day besides the headache. They always seem to be with Sam around:)

When Day Breaks

I was utterly alone; that was a fact, and most of myself wanted to feel sorry for it. I wanted nothing more than to reside in my own misery..and most likely drown in it. But the latter told myself no. It was not them. They were not the cause of my loneliness, but rather myself. And who had taught this revolutionary idea? I could give the credit to the church, but unfortunately I see it as a very human idea. One must be responsible for their actions.
And besides, perhaps there is something changed about you that the others in the church see which you cannot. I tell myself this with the hopes that I can indeed change my mind. I want to believe that it is my fault that I felt as an outcast among the church members this weekend, and that I should try to fit in more. A part deep down agrees. But moreover I like to be sullen about the idea. They see that I'm not interested in what they believe, and they take that badly. In my mind they see it as a mission. A 'Save Lilium!' mission. I certainly don't mean that in a wrong way, of course. My life is precious and according to what they believe... me..leaving the church can only mean eternal damnation no matter how one looks at it about the spectrum. How unfortunate. I suppose I can afford to be carefree about it because I do not do bad things, and moreover I'm exuberantly happy.
Everyone has their bad days. Mine happened to be today. I found myself desperately alone among 800 others, and my friend, that is a challenging thing to do. Somehow I managed it! What a little snake am I! It happened to be the day in which Sam had sectionals so I could not spend time with him even if I wasn't at a religious function. In my mind I make the best of it although I wish to be elsewhere.
As I've most likely described before, Aaron is my closest friend. Perhaps it hasn't been so much like that over the school year because I've changed in ways he sees as sad, and I see as a revelation. I'm sorry. The summertime, the sweet, beautiful, luscious summertime, though, is a completely different story. Last year my brother and I spent everyday together. We biked to places or found things to do at home. Unfortunately this summer will be different. Aaron will be gone for an entire month! Oh what am I supposed to do with myself? Many of my friends will be gone. I'm hoping to actually spend time with 'school mateys' as I call them. And I will try to get a job. My mother and sister are trying to convince me of staying in a different place, in a church location for a few weeks. I've 'regretfully' declined, though. The only good reason.. no two good reasons I have are these: 1. I do not want to be in the church. So sorry, but I will go my own way, and I will not turn into a disappointment as I've seen so many others do. 2. I want to spend as much time with Sam as possible. When school starts again he'll be going to the west part of the state and according to him it might be a few months until I see him again. That does not please either of us, as can be imagined. I can't afford to be away for a few weeks when I could be with him. You might find it unintelligent or..some other thing, but he is very important to me. In more than one way he's changed my life for the better, made me so much better, so much more. I do not think I'll ever be able to thank him for that. And I do not believe anyone else will understand. That's how it always is.

What the heck is this???

I could see, even through the damp lighting of the flickering gas lamps that her pale lips trembled. Pearl brought her delicate gloved hand to them and held back a sob. She regarded me painfully with her large, soft brown eyes. They welled with tears and spilled over. Pearl brushed at them with a shaking hand, but she had already lost all chances at being anything close to calm.
"D-don't loose it, then, Lilium." She manged grimly. The beautiful young woman before me offered another mournful look. She brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes and tucked it into her disheveled bun, the diamond butterfly clips clinking noisily.
My older sister put her hat on. She tried to smile. A bitter nod.
And she turned away, disappearing into the night. I stood still looking after my dear Pearl. That was the last time I ever saw her.


I began to write this today. I'm not sure what it is, but I love the idea, and I hope to continue with it. I must say, I'm vastly irritated today, and I feel guilty.

If there's no one beside you when your soul moves on, I will follow you into the dark.

I woke this morning with the immediate feeling that I would have what I like to call 'A Stupid Day'. And I was very correct.
I tried to do my math work first period and failed miserably. It turned out that I could not accomplish the simple task of finding the surface area of a stupid cube. So could I do my math work? Hell no. And what next? Oh yeah, how about that sixty bloody seven you got on your math test, Lilium? Huh? Oh YEAH! And if you're too stupid to do your homework you're going to bloody fail. Not only am I stupid, but my teacher cannot accomplish the bloody damn feat of showing us how to do something.
"Um I have a question?"
"WHAT? What is it? We don't have very much time. Do you REALLY not understand that?"
(Feeling stupid) "..Never mind." *fails at doing math homework.
Next was gym class, in which we golfed. Lilium cannot golf. She doesn't know how to hold the f*cking club after it's been demonstrated, let alone hit the gosh darn ball! UGH! I cannot play golf.
"That was an excellent hit!" -Sam after I've missed miserably. I hate gym, specially because my boyfriend is amazing at sports. God, and good at math. His "low score" this year was what.. %97? I'm illiterate in the two things. Of course the things I can do.. He cannot so much.
Oh well. It was just a really stupid day. I hope tomorrow's not so dumb, and I want my retarded hip to get better so I can run. I feel disgusting. ANYHOW, I think to sum this all up: Lilium is probably getting her period! :P

Prom!

Last night was prom, and it was great! We had tons of fun, and the best part was that I got to spend the whole evening with sam <3 Of course afterward almost everyone was going out to drink ect, so Sam and I went to his house and watched a movie. We ended up falling asleep together on the couch:)

What have I to hide?

Sometimes, she had to admit, just sometimes it really hurt to remember it. But she wasn't dramatic. She knew it was her fault.. all of it. All the scars. Sometimes she tried to convince herself that it was not, that there was some other involved, the reason for her memories. But Lilium knew it was but a mask, no matter what they told her, and most of all, what she told herself. It was her fault no matter what angle it was looked at from. Her fault.
She found that sometimes even a glance at what she had almost become brought her to tears. It made it impossible for her to survive as such. That was not always, though. Sometimes when her being was stable, a gentle, warm breeze tousling her happiness, she could remember, and she would not care. It was the past, she told herself, and it could fall asleep forever with it's friends of dust for all she cared.
Lilium wished she could grant herself that attitude more often. Almost always, it hurt.
She woke that morning without the slightest idea that anything would be different. It always took her so long to dress, because she wondered, would he notice if she looked better? Would he care? Probably not, but there was a small part of her that said yes, you want to look nice!
He wasn't at school that day. Of course. She wasn't surprised. And that night, when she got home, disaster (or so she thought) met her face to face. And Lilium found that he no longer wanted her. He no longer cared, no longer loved. Perhaps it had been completely false. Maybe he had never loved.
She didn't think she could survive. What else could make sense in her head? Be alone, without him, her best friend, and what she thought more. Not ever. Lilium didn't feel as though she could breathe, and in her racing mind she let herself do something that never in her life, had she been level headed would do.
It was at an instant that she regretted that choice, and she prayed to god (whom she had trouble believing in) that it could simply be forgotten, left behind.
In short, he found out, after he had again decided that he 'could not live without her'. And he hated her for it. Told her terrible things about herself, how she was worthless.
In all of this Lilium lost her will for life, lost all the will inside, and she tried to end it. Now looking back she sees that the scars still sit as they were imprinted, a reminder of her mistakes, her stupidity. And it hurts. She didn't talk to anyone. Everyday she wished that it had worked. She didn't wish to exist.
It had been another dismal day, one of which she spent alone in silence, worrying about her own problems, trying to conceal the pain. And he approached her for the first time on months.
"I.." He started slowly, quietly. Lilium could not bring herself to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry." Though surprised, she did not look up.
He sat down beside her, and she moved away a slight.
"Lilium, I'm sorry. I.. you.. didn't do anything wrong."
"What do you mean. I ruined everything." She was on the verge of tears.
"I was with someone else the whole time."
And now she felt anger at this realization. Dead, flat out anger. Everything she had ever done, everything. All her misery. For what? She never wished to speak to him again. Never.
So now she sat, still as death, thinking. The sun's rays were cast diagonally across her scars. She had them, they were there, and she had been stupid. That had to be the end. There was no more mulling to do over the subject. It was gone. Gone forever.
Lilium had changed very much. She had moved on. And best of all, Lilium was the happiest she had ever been in her life. It didn't matter anymore.

Make your own bloodied sunset

Alas, my friend, it has indeed been a while since I've bothered to update you on my rather monotonous life, and I do not mean that in a bad manner. No, besides a few small (or large) problems that I deal with in my everyday, I doubt that my life could possibly get much better than it is.
This past week has been interesting, and perhaps not all bad. I had to spend a few days alone in school because of a certain trip, but I figure that it's naught but excellent practice for next year when Sam will not be around at all in school. I shall barely see him.
I was at my invitational today, and had just ran my 1500. (in which I got 5:49, my best time, 9 secs away from sectionals. (damn!) 3rd place..) I was completely out of breath and frustrated with my time. Anyhow, I was walking and all the sudden someone grabbed me into a hug and kissed me on the cheek. Sam! I hadn't expected to see him until sunday or monday, at the latest, because of the trip, so it was indeed a nice surprise.
I did fairly well today, I think. After the meet, in which there were high winds and pouring rain as I left, I went out to Victory for the Northeast May conference where there were a few hundred people. (church stuff) Oh joy. I didn't do much but wander around and awkwardly say hi to people whom I am not very close to. I suppose the best part of today was that once again my friend from Missouri surprised my by showing up. It was nice to catch up with her as I haven't seen her in over half a year. A lot and not much has changed at the same time.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I get the privilege to sing for a band, which should be fun! After the conference ends I'll go to a practice. I'm pretty syked about the idea, and if anything it'll be a good chance to spend time with some other friends. It is not as though I do not love my friends in the church, because I do, but there is just...something. I sat there in silence tonight, not knowing what to say. Everything that wanted to creep out of my mouth would have sounded wrong, and I'm not sure how that would have turned out. I find myself much more comfortable around these other friends, and I feel as though I can more easily express myself. Moreover, I'm not silent around them. Me in silence is not a normal thing. It usually means there is something very wrong. Also, I slept through the entire youth meeting. I could hear what everyone was saying, but it doesn't register. Something about listen to what the brothers have to say in the meeting instead of chewing gum, or something. Ironic, isn't it?

Track Invitational

I love running, simply put. I don't know where I was before I could run, because it's part of my everyday life, besides today because it's my day off haha. Yesterday was a track invitation in which I ran the 1500 (1 mile) the 800 (1/2 mile) and did long jump. There were probably six schools participating so of course I didn't win anything- I didn't expect to win anything, but I broke all my personal best records, which I think is something to be proud of. I also kept right behind Jordan, the best girl runner on the team, so that's something I consider an accomplishment. I thought she would cream me but it didn't turn out that bad:)
My time was 5.57 for the mile, which means I cut off fifteen seconds and am seventeen away from making sectionals. I think I can do that. I got 2.53 for the half mile, and I can cut that down. The best part about that race was that I passed around three girls and didn't let them pass me afterward. And Sam's really been pressuring me to sprint out the last 100 meters. I did that:D And long jump? That needs work. I broke my record by a foot, though. I got 12'3''1/2 feet, and sectionals is 14 something. I think I can jump that far, I just have to refrain from faulting. (My foot goes over the line) Anyhow, yesterday was a good day. My dad let Sam drive me home, and that was nice. When I got home Charlotte insisted that I learned to drive (haven't gotten my permit yet) and bought a new car. Haha she's funny. And that's me and Jordan below:)
Well it's Sunday, and I've no idea what I'm doing today. I want to go somewhere for the afternoon, though.

*woops

I wrote this story, and I rather likes the themes I used and overall simply amusing. There is some language, so read it at your own risk and dont'e be offended. By the way I wrote it, so you cannot steal it.

He stumbled backwards, a wheezing breath catching in his throat. With a wrinkled, shaking hand he felt for the counter behind himself and missed. Space was suspended for a few terrifying moments and time slowed.
The next thing Frank knew was that he laid on the floor, frozen with shock, and the cooled, bloody mess was soaking into his green cardigan. It was strange to him, really. The only thing the old man was considering was the fact that he could never wear this particular outfit again. He stared up at the water stained ceiling, took in the gray, subdued room.
“Isn’t it strange, Tilda?” He whispered to his wife’s body. “I would think that any other man in this situation…” He paused to clear his throat, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head from the fall. “would certainty be going mad, for they’ve just murdered the one person, the only person that truly loved them back.”
He bit his lip and released a pent up sigh. Outside the wind was teasing the bare trees, abusing at the house with it’s cursed yowling. Frank knew the only thing he had left to do was to simply dispose of his recently deceased partner’s body. But how?
The old man let out a groan as he forced his brittle body to sit up. It felt the same as sitting up from bed every morning, besides the fact that the woman beside him, sprawled out in a bloody array would never sit up with him, never again. All the soreness from a long life of hard work came back as Frank pushed himself to his feet and planted his hands on his hips.
The room before him was in absolute disarray. Just ten minutes before it had been a completely normal place. Now it was home to a crime scene.
“And you’re the wise ass that set it up, cracker.” He muttered to himself, reaching to turn on the tap.
It was an old, Victorian style home of three stories. Frank couldn’t remember the last time his poor, aching legs had allowed him past two flights of stairs, so the very top remained alone, gathering it’s own friends of dust and cobwebs. In the living room there were a few overturned chairs, but the rest remained as it had, with its tacky décor as Tilda had liked it.
But the kitchen, on the other hand, was in quite the disposition. The counters were liberated of any kitchen utensil, and all lay shattered and ruined on the floor. Itself, the floor was stained in blood, and littered with a woman’s body. Frank stared at her for some time, trying to accustom himself to the way her right shoulder protruded more so than her left, how her soft, gray hair was now in a hateful mess of crimson.
“Oh Tilda.” He whispered in a soft voice, weighed with sadness. “What am I going to do with you?” Of course she didn’t dare respond in so reposed a state as she was.
Frank hobbled to the window and parted the musty lace curtain. He remembered very clearly that they had been a wedding gift for his wife and himself. Now at the old age of fifty-five they had certainly seen better days.
Outside all things were normal. The wind made the day seem even more so gray, and the houses of the neighborhood seemed to be especially cramped. Frank winced, for at that moment he felt as though all eyes were on him, and on his sin. And panic began to set in, diminishing his strange calm.
He rushed back into the kitchen and began to drag drawer’s out of their places until he came upon the black garbage bags Tilda had, for some insane reason of hers, insisted on buying in bulk. Ripping one out of its package, Frank set about cleaning up his half an hour old crime scene in the wrong order of ways. His old heart complained over the heavy-duty work of picking up the corpse and shoving it into the bag. By the time he had finished, his back ached in the worst kind of way, and stars danced before his eyes. He set her down in the living room, not minding the fact that blood on the outside of the bag was getting all over the worn rug.
It took the man four hours to clean up the scene, including coffee and newspaper breaks, of course, to turn the kitchen back into what it had once been: a ram shackled mess. No one would know the difference.
Now he collapsed into one the of the cheap, plastic green chairs from the seventies and let his head hang back, sweat dripping down his wrinkled neck. He coughed a few times and lit a cigarette. God, murder was hard. Frank wished already that he had chosen a plastic bag instead of a knife.
“And for what?” He wheezed, taking another drag. Tilda had never allowed him to smoke in the kitchen, but that didn’t appear to be a problem now. “Why did you kill her, you cat loving pussy?” Frank didn’t know. Was he going insane? He sat still for a moment, studying the tiny specs of dust in the dull light from the kitchen window. There had been no reason, really.
He thought about all the stories he had read in the paper about murders. The killer had always had some damn fool reason to deplete their loved one, but Frank couldn’t recall one for his. He had simply stabbed the crap out of her.
“Alright, old man, you’ve gotta do somethin’ with her.” No matter how much he really, really didn’t want to, Frank brought himself back up to his weary feet, now visibly hunched over. He glanced at the clock and scowled. It was already twelve-thirty. He looked down at his clothes and sighed. There was no way these clothes could be cleaned up. His kaki, forties-style pants had dried blood all over the seat, and his favorite green sweater was crusted over in a thick layer of the stuff.
The stairs groaned and complained just as badly as his legs did, and Frank bent over, planting his hands on his knees at the top of the stairs for a breather. He slowly brought his head up and stared into the mirror before him. He was shorter now, than he had been in his earlier years, and his bare head resembled a rotten peach. Now, deep, blue-ish spots carved out the places under his eyes and his veins had begun to show themselves at his temples. The old man sighed and stretched up to standing. He shed his clothes and clomped down the hallway, liberated of man’s burden: fabric.
Frank sorted through his meager supply of clothes until he found an old, faded t-shirt, some loose drawers, a pair of ripped factory pants, and his aged corduroy jacket. He forced a smile onto his face as he buttoned his cufflinks.
“It’s the big day, Tils.” He muttered under his breath. “Wanna go swimmin’, or do ya want a big hug from the cold ground?” He wiped a spot of saliva from his mouth as he descended the stairs. “Ya know, Tilda, I always lived my life with no regrets. I think ya should take it as a compliment that this is the one thing I’m really havin’ trouble not regretting.”
The house felt empty. Too empty. Frank stood in the living room for a few moments, staring at the black garbage bag on the floor in front of him. A part of him wanted it to start moving, and for Tilda to rip a hole in it and climb out. He could see her, a wrinkled old woman standing before him covered in blood, mangled. She would plant her hands on her hips and give him one of her famous exasperated sighs, a smile surfacing just below.
“Frank Wichoswski! What in tha hell were ya thinking?! I ain’t ready to be dead!”
He smiled at the image of her in his head and waited a few moments, half expecting for it to truly happen. But it did not. The bag remained still and the house still kept it’s eerie, empty feeling. Frank slowly bent over and shoved his hands under the edges of the bag.
He could feel his wife’s limbs through the thin plastic and he shuddered. With a great heave, he lifted the bag up and saddled it to his right shoulder, spine giving a few painful cracks.
“I’m much too old for murder.” He mumbled, stumbling towards the front door.
Soon the old man was behind the wheel of his 1986 Oldsmobile, shivering in the late autumn air. He glanced in the mirror at the trunk, which refused to close all the way with Tilda inside. There had been too much crap inside, seeing that Frank’s exceeding laziness prevented him from clean the damn thing out. He had use a bungee cable to fasten it, nerves on end. With a look at the revolver on the seat beside himself, Frank put the car into reverse. Getting this scheme over with would prove a difficult task and Mr. Wichoswski didn’t have a clue as to where he was off to.
Frank turned off his road and poked his way through the suburbs. His philosophy was that yes, he was an old man, so he would drive like one. A person shouldn’t try to be something they’re not. He also had an intense fear of being pulled over. He was afraid Tilda might give him away.
“You ain’t a murderer, Frank, so why ya acting like one?” He put his foot lightly on the gas pedal and nudged down Sven st.
A sudden bump dragged a wheezing gasp out his throat, and there was a muffled clumping noise, barely audible to his worn ears. A glance in the mirror nearly stopped his already tiring heart. Behind the car, in the middle of the road, was the black garbage bag, torn open.
“Fuck!” He breathed, stomping on the brake. The car lurched to a stop two feet farther and Frank struggled with the sticky door for a moment before he was able to rip it open and pull himself out.
He hobbled down the street, head swinging in all directions for onlookers. Getting this body back into the car without arousing suspicion was going to prove quite difficult. He was just about to hoist the bleeding bag into his arms when the peal of a siren almost killed him with surprise.
A blue and white deputy’s car pulled up beside him and an overweight man peered out the passenger’s window. He had a thick brown moustache, eyes obscured by large, green tinted shades, and was chewing gum in a rather obnoxious manner.
“Watcha got there, fella?” He smacked, pushing his cap back on his balding head. Wiry brown hair stuck up in all directions.
Frank blinked, biting his lip. He was momentarily distracted by the deputy’s collection of StarWars bobble heads.
“Uuuuhhh…nothin’, sir… you see, my wife was making me clean out the basement.. and there was a…” The old man paused and glanced around. The officer raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bag on the ground. “…a deer! Yes, there was a deer in the basement, and I couldn’t find my gun… so I hacked it up!”
“I see…” The deputy gave another look at the bag, still seemingly unsure. “Need any help with that? Looks like a mess. I might have some paper towels or extra bags in the trunk.”
“Don’t bother yourself with it, sir. I’ll be fine!” Frank smiled. He shook all over, feeling unreal. The officer gave him a prolonged stare before nodding. He spit out his gum and put the car into drive.
“Well if ya need anything just call us.”
“Of course.” Frank grinned, knowing that holes had already been shot through his story. Firstly, how was there a deer in the middle of the suburbs? There wasn’t a forest or even a field for miles. And secondly-
His heart almost stopped, for there, hanging out of the bag, was a limp, purple tinted hand with red fingernails. For a moment Frank almost believed that his wife had returned from the dead. He hadn’t noticed it there before… -had it been there?
“Well I’ll cya l-..” The cop cut himself off and stared at the bag. His sunglasses slid down his nose. “Sir..” He began to get out of the car.
Now Frank backed away. He groped behind himself for the car window, and when he reached it, opened the door. The overweight deputy was struggling out of the car and reaching for his radio. Mr. Wichoswski grabbed the revolver from the seat and in a single heartbeat fired the gun, eyes squeezed shut.
The poor police officer, whose nametag read Arnold Smith, gasped, dropping the radio. He stared down at the bloodied spot buried deep into his chest and stumbled backwards. Tears formed in his eyes. And he fell to the ground. Within moments he was gone forever.
The revolver was still poised, wielded by a shaking hand. Frank tried to blink away the image, but the blood still spilled out onto the street, and the old man still had a mess on his hands, though now he was considerably more so fucked. It is imperative that I use such a vulgar phrase, reader, because all things considered, it is such a good phrase to use! Frank was now dealing with two murders, one an overweight police officer, dead in the road and not getting anywhere fast.
He looked around now, eyes wild. The feeling that he was being watched was almost smothering. It felt as though everywhere there was a being peeking from behind a curtain, peering from behind a tree, watching him from satellite tv.
Mr. Wichoswski bit through his lip nervously. He threw a garbage bag from the cop’s trunk over the body and commenced with dragging him to the car, leaving the horrible trail of blood behind. He, in such distressed, out of mind- out of body state, did not think to consider cleaning up the blood. There was no time to dilly-dally.
The driver’s back door was always difficult to open, and this time Frank sincerely cursed himself for not buying a new car in the past twenty-two years. His spine cracked profusely as he hoisted the limp, bleeding corpse into the back. His hear raced in such a way that he swore pulmonary failure was upon him.
“Ya damn fool, Frank!” He grunted, shoving at the body. “You’re screwed-“
“Watscha doin’?” Frank spun around so quickly he smashed his arm on the door.
In front of him stood a young girl, raising herself up and down on her toes, brown pigtails bobbing back and forth. She grinned, revealing a wide smile lacking her two front teeth.
“Bug off! I’m busy, kid.” Frank’s scratchy voice was riddled with thick mucus.
“Didya catsch a deersth?!” She squealed. The old man gritted his teeth. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes.
“You wanna see what’s going on, kid?”
“Yesth!”
“Well too bad, then! Didn’t your mamma teach ya any manners?” He growled.
The girl’s smile vanished. She blinked and took a step back.
“FINE!” She turned on her heel and stomped off, probably off to terrorize some other poor, innocent, defenseless old man.
Frank felt a little better now that he had left that damn fool second crime scene. He glanced in his mirror and sighed, annoyed at himself. There was an obnoxious lump in his back seat, barely covered. A ratty, thin blanket with faded pictures of Ernie and Bert from the children’s show, Sesame Street, screamed suspicious.
He turned onto the highway and drove west, towards a sparsely populated area where he himself had grown up. Memories of the bare nothingness aroused themselves and rolled over in their deep slumber in his mind.
He is a boy no more than twelve. The kid wears dirty slacks rolled up at the ankles and an old sweater despite the heat. It’s worn at the elbows and it’s rough threadbare has nearly reached it’s breaking point. But he doesn’t care. It’s green, and that’s what he likes. His hair’s in a thick, black disarray, and his freckle spattered face shines in the bright, hot sunlight.
Frank struts over to the chicken house, proud to be helping his father. Scared to make a mistake that’ll land him in his room, ass red, purple, throbbing.
He opens the wire and slips inside, careful to not let the half dead chickens out. They’re suffering something terrible in the heat. He throws feed and collects eggs, being the most cautious he’s ever been in his life, he thinks. It’s so long ago that sometimes it’s hard to remember the details.
“Frank?” His father is coughing as he lights up a cigg.
“Yes sir?”
“Gotta go into town. Coming?”
“Yes sir!”
It takes forty-five minutes to reach Lawton, an almost non-existent town far from anything real. There is nothing but a small group of houses, a courthouse-jail-county office-post office, and a general store.
The truck seems to let out a long, tired groan as his father kills the engine. It sighs and crackles in the July heat. Frank likes the noise. He likes everything about automobiles.
But the thing he likes the most, more than anything (besides green sweaters) has to be the general store. His father is buying seed, since their stock was lost in the barn fire the previous year. The boy wanders through the isles, memorizing the precious products over and over. He marvels at the hair gels and the candy selection. Frank doesn’t dare ask for anything, though.
A mind cloudy with thoughts was one of the most irritating things possible, he thought. It was especially bad when he was in such an exhausted state, thinking the same thing over and over, trying to finish a single thought. Frank was tired. He wanted to be rid of these bodies as soon as he could. Again, his asked to the car, and perhaps the dead officer, why did his rob himself of his wife? No answer. He didn’t know.
The trees grew thicker at one point and the houses became farther and farther apart. Soon in the evening’s twilight their lights ceased to exist. There was nothing out here, as Frank remembered it, and he had missed it more so over the long years in the suburbs.
Soon the trees thinned once more and so did the grass. It was dry and windy, cold in the late autumn’s presence. Frank rolled up the window and pushed down his sleeves. God, he had missed this damn place.
And at last the place showed up. It was an old abandoned quarry. He remembered it closing in his younger days.
“Christ, that was years ago. Remember that, Tilda? We used to go swimmin’ in there!” His voice was scratchy and nervous as he glanced in the review mirror.
The water was at the same level, surprisingly. Frank knew that by the time the bodies were discovered he’d probably be dead. He hoped so, at least. He was nervous to die, suddenly, because he knew Tilda would kill him all over.
He hauled them out of the car. Frank’s heart pounded like a jackhammer as he shoved rocks into the garbage bags.
“One..big..shove!” He grunted. Almost there. Almost to the edge. He would be pissed off if he almost made the edge and then died. Very much so. It felt like a reality tv show gone wrong. Who did this?
“Insane people, that’s who!” Tilda whispered playfully in his ear.
“Ya.. think, Til?” He was breathless. Almost to the edge.
They hit the edge a few times going down, but the bodies smacked the grimy waters with a splash that erupted over the vastly bare landscape, and sunk to the bottom, probably to be heard of again sometime, as things go.
Frank stood up and dusted his pants. And he cried for the first time in years. It was the real crying too, full out sobs and tears stained cheeks.
“I’m fucking insane, ain’t I?” He gasped, rubbing his face. “I didn’t even give ya a proper funeral!”
The old man stood for a long time, watching as the night faded and dawn raised. Life was so long, but so short at the same time. He felt the heavy guilt of having taken the life of Tilda, and even the policeman. It wasn’t fair. He lit a cigarette and sighed.
“Oh well. Maybe today’ll be flawless, Tilda. Can’t be so without you. Waddaya gonna do, though? I got stuff to do, I suppose. Someone’s gotta read the paper and spend hours in the store. Of course I won’t buy anything. It’s just what old people do, and I ain’t one to break the tradition.” He took another look at the dawn. It was cold. “Goodbye, Tilda. Please don’t hate me for this, because I love you so dearly.”
He drove back towards the suburbs, nearly nodding off several times. It had been years since he’d stayed up all night. He didn’t relish it, either. All the other fogies would be up now and curious as to why he was coming home and sleeping.
He’d been so lost in his thoughts, so absorbed, that he barely reacted when the car took on a shocking jolt. When it registered, Frank slammed on the brake and shakily climbed out. He clomped around the backside of the car.
“Goddamn it.” He breathed.
Before him, lying mangled in the road was a little girl with brown ponytails.

I hate the truth in "a picture can paint a thousand words"

Narcissism.