Happyy Holidays

Okay, so I was a little hard on myself. I deserve a post with a smile on my face. I love my family, and overlooking everything, I have a pretty good life. Nah, it's pretty awesome. I have a lot of people that love me back, I just need to try harder. I hope I don't forget this valuable information as always;) Anyway, Happy Holidays! I hope everyone is well, and enjoying their Christmas, or whichever Holiday you choose to celebrate!:)

Ranting.

For a couple of years now I've dedicated at least two hours a day to working out. I run outside when I can, but now it's too cold. So, here's my workout I do in my room:
140 box jumps
2000 jump ropes
200 weighted lunges
ab ripper x
extensive yoga/stretching
If I'm not doing this, I'm swimming, or running at least seven miles. So someone tell me, why the fuck am I so fat? Why am I gaining weight?
It's not fair. I struggle with an eating disorder for three years, then okay, I'm going to stop making myself throw up after evening meals or whenever I decide to late night eat a shit load of food. And okay, I stop, and I start gaining weight. So I can't lose weight because I'm already eating healthy and working out, what do I fucking do, starve myself? Make myself puke? I just got my bikinis in the mail that I ordered for Jamaica. They look like absolute shit on me. I look like fucking cottage cheese woman. My fat is spilling out at every place it gets a chance to and I look like a glob of dough. I FUCKING HATE MYSELF. No wonder I'm fucking single! I'm a FUCKING FATASS. I've been humiliating myself this whole time. I may as well off myself. I'm breaking down. Why do I even bother?! GAHHHH. I don't want to go to Jamaica anymore and embarrass myself on the beach. FUCK THAT.
And to confirm this: I was looking at women's crossfit profiles the other day and my dad pointed to someone that weighed the same as me and said oh, she's big. YEAH I GET IT. I'M FUCKING FAT! I'M DISGUSTING. GO AHEAD, DAD. SAY. IT. AGAIN.

New realities, singularities, breaking all illusions

I think this time I'll get out ahead. Come Monday, although it's near Christmas, I'll collaborate with my mom and make some phone calls. It's time that my issues aren't ignored and stored in my family's back room of denial. Some people don't like to admit these things, but I only find it difficult to say to my family; I need help. I want to erase it right now and pretend it never traversed the corridors of my conscious mind. But that would do me no good. I have to face the evils of which I've nurtured and let grow inside me. If I'm to do anything of importance, I have to stay alive. I would like to say I didn't need my old friends and family to help, but the truth is, I do. I need them more than ever.
I suppose that's why this entire process has steadily become more impossible for me to face. My friends barely speak to me anymore. They always have things to do and I'm never included. I talked to Cassi yesterday and she informed me that she was at the movies with "everyone", a word when placed here means, our entire circle of friends, minus me. I have since faded from their realm of importance, it seems. I've been replaced by someone else.
As much as I'd like to insist that I don't need her, I need her now more than ever. She's my best friend, my soulmate. I'm so close to falling apart. If only I could write here the thoughts that cross my mind every night, but I cannot, only because I'd be under surveillance in a psych ward before I could say, save me. Cassi is the only person with the ability to make it all better. She can make me laugh when I feel as though it's imperative that I die, or when I can't feel anything at all. When I've had a bad relapse she can always talk me into starting over and trying again. She's the only person with sense enough to slap me in the face when I call myself fat, or discuss how pointless my life is. Sometimes I'm even afraid to describe to her my thoughts because of how I know she'll react. She'd punch me as hard as she could, and yell, "stupid fucking retard! If you say that again I'll literally cut your face off!" That's what I need. I don't want anyone's damn sympathy, I want Cassi hitting me and telling me to snap out of it.
Why does this matter? It appears my best friend no longer has time to see me. She has her own life and friends to tend to, and there's little I can do to change that. I'm far too afraid to tell her how angry I am with her. I'm so angry, because the entirety of the summer, save for my agonizing depression over Austin, consisted of her promises. Promises that we would spend every weekend together, that she would occupy my Sundays, and moreover, that she would always be there for me.
None of this happened, as you can imagine. She's far too busy I suppose. Although, I am a nursing student and I still would have forced myself to make time for her, because I love her so much. I'm not sure I have anything else to talk about. I need to make a list of the good things going on in my life so I don't end this post as sadly as the last.
1. My family. Yes, they're a bunch of assholes more than half of the time, but I've learned that by teasing me and making me look a complete fool, they're telling me how much they love me. They're not here for me when it comes down to life and death, but how can they? I've already mentioned the room of denial. I still love them, and we have a ridiculous amount of fun together.
2. My ability to write. I don't believe I would be here without an outlet such of this.
3. Jamaica. Yes, I will disclose that I'm spending an ungodly amount of money on a trip to Jamaica with my three older sisters. I'm extremely stressed about next semester's expenses because of this, but hopefully I will make it through. I hope this trip helps me.
4. Running. Something as simple as this is what keeps me sane. It's sad to me that it's begun to snow, because I can't run outside when the weather is ill. For one, there isn't enough space on the roads and I fear I would be run over by the snow plow. And secondly, my asthma wont allow such a thing.
5. Swanson. He's my little kitty and as stupid as it sounds. I need him to cuddle with at 4 a.m. when I can't sleep. It happens every night. There is such a thing in nursing called pet therapy. Swanson is my therapy kitty.
I can't think of anything else at the moment, besides the practical things such as food and shelter, but I don't care about that at the moment. I live a rather empty life. Oh wait, I'm not supposed to end this post sadly...
My oldest brother, Ben, and his wife, Ashley, are finally headed home tonight. I haven't seen him since June. He's going to ship out to Afghanistan soon. I can't wait to see him. He usually lectures me about life for about twenty minutes every time I see him. He barely finds room to breathe, he talks so much.
And Christmas is soon. I don't know if it's something exciting, but it's something.

Thoughts

I tell myself over and over, things will get better. That's what I've been saying for six months now. Although my hopes for this have faded from time to time, I have moreover clung to it. I usually make it through a day with a somewhat positive outlook; it's when I'm all alone at night that I feel life is all too difficult to force myself through. I lie awake until four or five, sometimes I pace. Thoughts of my dreary existence flood my mind. What have I?
There is the constant fear of my appearance. I relapsed, to say the least. The pressure to be skinny and beautiful and perfect and have friends (of which I have few, is ever present. I try to manage what I eat. Salad, yogurt, oatmeal, water. Sometimes I slip up, and I have to pay for that. My legs and core are sore from working out and I have cold symtoms from running in the cold. I want to lose ten pounds before I go to Jamaica, but I'm far too afraid to weigh myself. I know the number will be higher than I would like. I fear it will be in the 140's. Obese Molly. I should be 120, more like 115. It's difficult to function when I feel like I'm swimming in my own lard.
I have very few friends. I go about my life with no one to talk to. I have two good friends from school, of which I only see when there is school, and I'm on vacation right now. This means I don't see them. I have my family and church. Oh god, how I hate church. I hate everything they talk about, and I'm even beginning to dislike the people there. Sometimes I regret deciding to "go back." I thought it was my only choice because I was so overwhelmingly miserable and suicidal. But it's not helping. The thoughts of nonexistence still exist. I doubt my parents see it to a great extent. I'm the girl who smiles all day and falls asleep with tears in her eyes. That is, if I fall asleep at all. All my old friends are gone. They don't have time for me, and I feel as though I'm the only one who cares.
School has already proved far too difficult for me, and I haven't started nursing yet. I barely passed my anatomy and physiology class, so I decided if I cannot pass that, I have no hope for nursing. I'm simply not smart enough. It means I'll probably be dropping out after next semester and joining the army or something.

Writing

I've begun something of which I have a very good feeling about.

The patio was cold beneath her. She watched vacantly as a leaf blew across the gravel drive. It was momentarily caught on a fallen branch before being snatched away in an updraft. From there it was lost in the gray sky.
The lawn was trampled, still littered with champagne glasses, some shattered, stained plates, and gold streamers. Cigarette butts too, she thought. The tents, tables, and chairs had long since been packed and taken away, but everyone was far too exhausted to bother with the trash. She imagined that it would linger for a day or two before one of the gardener's feet were swelled down enough to pick it up. How typical.
It had been a magnificent party, from what she could recall. It had taken months to plan, only to end in one night. There had been lights in the trees, an orchestra playing on stage. Swarms of people she had never met circulated, dancing and talking and laughing. She had wandered by herself for some time, first sipping champagne, then gulping. The rest was a beautiful, sickly blur; the last of the summer breeze drifting lazily through the crowds of wealthy friends and strangers.
She put her fingers to her temples and let out a sigh. She had recently woken on a desk in the library, sprawled barbarically. Her party gown was a disheveled mess. There was puke in her bent, crooked, brown curls.
Delia forced herself to stand, only to lean against a railing. She swore underneath her breath.
“Alright, Delia?”
The young woman jumped. She turned to see her mother-in-law's wrinkled old face peering down at her from a few steps above.
“Of course, Mrs. Sinclair! I was merely catching my breath. What a party,” she exclaimed, feigning exuberance. “Goodness me, I haven't had a sparing moment to bathe and change into something fresh. Do excuse me.” Her tone had altered into one of business and Delia Sinclair brushed past Alta, her husband's mother.
She had never found Alta in any way amiable, and she had long since given up on being anything but a formidable acquaintance to the old bat. As Delia struggled to keep composure on her way to her rooms, she recalled the moment she had met William.

I crashed. I guess having no one in my life has finally gotten to me. It makes it even worse when people say no, I'm not alone, that they're here for me, because I know they're not. I commute to college with my siblings and all my friends are wrapped up in highschool. I don't even want to call them my friends anymore. Cassi lied to me and said she was busy last weekend to hang out with Austin's new girlfriend. Where does that leave me? Fucked over and out of the picture. I really have no one, at all. I don't see or talk to anyone. I go to school and go home, and now that school's over I don't know what I'm going to do. Stay home? I'm really hoping I get hit by a car.

I've begun a new story. Everything that used to bother me doesn't anymore. It's been like this for the past month. The one person I feel I cannot replace has found someone to replace me, and I haven't cried about it. We're actually friends. I don't care to see his face, though.
I'm almost finished with my first semester. I have a few friends, I have my family, and I finally have control of myself. I didn't make the two month streak for my eating problems. I had a few problems, but it only means I have to try again. It's been three days so far.

Enough Said.

Terribly written, but I made my point.

She wanted to remember this feeling. It was that everything would be alright. Lilium stood in the sultry, still cemetery. Her breath could be seen on the air. The trees were brittle and dead, the sky gray. Dim sunlight slanted across the graves, and crows cackled in branches above. Leaves rustled below. Somehow, it was beautiful. And she knew everything would resume. She would resume.
"If you do anything with your life," she told herself, "be sure it is that you recall this moment."
It was that in which she chose to be happy. For the last time, she swore she would do it, and she didn't need anyone else. She could do it by herself. Just as people made their luck, she was to fabricate her contentment. It was no matter that her life was falling apart, and she had few people left. She had Lilium. And within Lilium was a wild spirit longing to be free from the chains in which she was bound. Those of depression and fear.
A smile slowly crept across her lips. Lilium smiled. She knew it was the beginning of a new chapter. She could overcome an eating disorder, so she would overcome this, this pathetic sadness. There was nothing truly wrong.
She turned and commenced her run. The sun did not shine, and the birds did not sing. It began to snow. But she was happy.

At the present I'm lying awake in bed, crying and wondering at my pathetic existence. When will I finally get hit by a goddamn car? I don't understand why I feel this way. Why I cry. I feel as though the small things that I have control over are too, slipping from my grasp. I have no safety, and worst of all no one to fall back on. My life has becomd a monotonous cycle of school, trying to give a fuck about church, my family, and empty weekends where I sit home alone (unless I've gotten myself into attending a church function). I haven't seen my best friend in weeks, I've been told I'm cheap, spineless, unwanted, disliked. The only people that text me anymore are guys that want one thing. Well you know what? Go fuck YOURSELVES, because you're not fucking me. That's what I am. I am not real anymore. For once I want someone to talk to me with no other motive. I feel so incredibly angry and pathetic and useless, I do not believe I can articulate my exact emotions. The only thing I know is that for once in my life i would like to be happy and know that I wont be absolutely miserable a week later. It always comes. This fucking cycle! I'm not going to make it. I can't anymore. Not like this.

*sigh

She trailed a hand along the dried grass. Her steps were careful, quiet. Late fall had risen upon the world. The leaves were shriveled, and the trees beautifully indisposed. The November sun appeared fainter than usual, hanging behind ill humored autumnal clouds. Their gray masses loomed over the upcoming lake like a greedy man's hand over diamonds.
The blue satin of her dress caught on weeds. Bristles prodded her feet. But she walked, pushing clumsy ringlets from her eyes. The hill came to it's crest and the tall grass ended abruptly. Below her was the lake, faced with jagged rocks and overhangs. It's surface was a shattered glass even in the dim afternoon. A lukewarm wind whipped against her, pushing her toward the edge, and she let out a sob.
The girl looked up desperately. She let her hands slip from their wringing grip in her hair and fall lifelessly to her sides. A strap of her dress slid down her shoulder, and all around her, the girl's world collapsed. She watched everything she had ever known shatter, combust, go to hell.
It was metaphorical, of course, but it was how she felt. Everything was gone, and every breath a lost cause. Her eyes caught the water below, agonizingly far.
“Pearl,” his voice was soft, and kind, and cautious. She did not turn.
“It's over,” Pearl whispered. “I don't believe I can hold on any longer.”
“Look at me.”
“There would be no point.”
Before she could protest, his arms were around her, gripping tightly against the wind.
“ There is always hope, Pearl. Even around the darkest corner.”
“I don't know how anymore!” It came as a scream, a cry for help.
“Then come back,” he whispered, holding her closer, “come back to me.”

That small excerpt of thought is what I want. I want someone to help me, and love me. He wouldn't break my heart, or break his promises. He would save me. That's what everyone wants, someone to save them in one way or another. But we rarely get what we wish for, do we? I believe I'll have to wait a very long time to be lucky and deserving enough for such a person. When I'm told that I deserve the world, or that I should get only the best, it makes me want to scream. Those are the people who have no idea who I am.

I shouldn't have to tell people, but eating disorders are not a joke. I don't think there's anything that makes me angrier than when people make jokes about bulimia or anorexia. It's the same thing with suicide. Not funny.
There's a girl I know who's a bit overweight, but she's active. I don't know about her food intake, but by the looks of it she eats pretty normally. Today she said, "I need to lose weight. Anorexia starts now. I'm gonna puke after every meal." And she started laughing. There's a small chance that she has stuff to hide and is saying this to cover it up, in a way, but I do not think so.
I don't think I've ever been so angry in my life. I wish there was more outreach in schools for this type of stuff. I mean, so many individuals suffer from it. I remember not knowing who to go to, so I just.. let it happen. It's not acceptable. Just a thought. I don't understand why people would think it's okay. It's like making fun of a mentally disabled person right in front of them, except they wouldn't really be aware of it.
I'd like to add that I haven't relapsed yet!(:

I'm fucking fat.

I really should be studying, but I feel as though it will help if I get these thoughts out of my system.
Today marks one month of my recovery. I have neither binged nor purged in an entire month. It has been six months since I've been able to take strides such as these. I am not proud of myself, though. Not in the least.
Every minute a thought passes through my mind, reminding me of how I so hate myself. I hate every breath I take, every smile, every tear. I hate how I look and how I feel. I hate that it's my fault I'm alone. I hate how I walk, talk, laugh, interact with other people. I hate every ounce of fucking fat on me. I hate when I can't run because I'm too tired because I'm disgusting and out of shape. I never pick out new clothes to wear after I eat because I feel as though my entire stomach is jutting out from me. I feel like my arms are sagging out of my shirts and my love handles are bunching out of the top of my jeans. I feel like my face is a glob of dough and my legs are lumps of cottage cheese. I'm hate how I feel disgusting every waking moment of my miserable little existence.
That is all.

Reflections

I should hope that in the future I can articulate my anger, distress, dynamic moods, and sadness in a more affluent fashion. Wednesday night was not one I savor. I'm very sorry to have frightened anyone that possibly wastes their time on reading this by my previous post. In most respects I am okay. I am alive.
I've heard more than once that I shouldn't make my personal problems so public, but I do not listen to such advice. First of all, there are very few people that bother to read these thoughts of mine, and secondly, what good are emotions if they aren't shared with the world? Words have so much beauty, awe, sadness within if arranged in the correct way, and I believe everyone should have a chance to experience them. We can write because it provokes another to think, to experience, to relate. I find no reason to keep my emotions bottled up, or in any way to myself, when another human being would willingly read them and relate to their own life. Perhaps they will find the beauty, pain, and suffering I so disastrously attempt to express. My words are screaming from within me, and I cannot suppress what I feel needs to be said. There is nothing wrong with that, because I find today there are very few that would think to spend their time on something such as words.
In the past month my life has taken drastic turns down a road almost ancient to me. For a long time I knew it was coming, that a fork would bring me back to it's ancient ruts. I haven't stepped foot on it in what feels as ages. I could see it running parallel to the road I call "my way", but pretended I did not see it. Now I find that my life has taken the worst turns I can bear to let it take, and I have found myself too emotionally ill to make it through a day without wishing I would be erased from existence. Yes, for a long time I avoided this old path, but now I find myself standing at it's doorstep with no other option in sight. It is now that I take a breath of cold, autumn air and step forward. I feel the discomfort and unwillingness rise up in me, and push it back. I have no other choice but to give up all I've allowed myself to know for the past three years, and start anew. I must say farewell to the love lost and the tears shed. I've wasted enough long nights staring at my wall, and wondering where I went wrong to lose everything I ever cared for. It is goodbye to a life of destruction.
Even I know it's not completely my fault. There is a clinical aspect to my illness that needs drastic attention, but even I know it shall be pushed aside. We will pretend it is a false existence. Yes, I will be fine; there is no such chemical imbalance within me that makes me want to slit my wrists in a bathtub or feel so overwhelmingly excited that I think I can fly. (Dream Theater, About to Crash reference). Besides my bad decisions, it is the very core of my sadness, my problems. But still, my family will pretend it is not there. Denial is a beautiful thing until someone gets hurt.
I'm not sure there is anything else I need to say today. My stomach still hurts, and it is my fault. I've cleaned my room, done laundry, and drafted an essay for English. Already I'm stressed and overwhelmed about next semester. Nursing school will most likely be the death of me, and I say that with no remorse. It is beautiful out, and while I'm in a comfortable, terrifying place between happiness and sad, I will try to enjoy what life has to offer.

Everything's all torn apart again. My life is nothing more than a fucking mess, one that I could have prevented if I never met you. I don't understand why I have to love someone that I cannot have. I don't understand why God wants me to want to die every waking moment, because that's honestly how I feel. I feel like there's no option for me. I've run out of choices. Fuck all the stories where people end up happy because it never happens.

Autumn

I'm trying desperately to get my life back on track. Just an update. I'm terrified of everything. I just want to feel safe.

healing.

It is strange, the ways we choose to heal. I found a person who appreciates my every aspect, the good and the bad. He isn't afraid of my moods, and is fearless when it comes to my eating disorder. He likes talking on the phone, doing weird things, and is content to sit and talk about life. He is everything that you weren't. I still cry at night, and I still miss you. But I let go. Sometimes letting go is the only thing one can do, so I did. With complete honesty, I can say my life is better than it was with you. It is strange how we choose to heal. We try by covering up the pain, trying to forget the past. Somehow I'm confident that it will work for me.
On the other hand, it's almost the weekend. I ordered a new phone on Tuesday night, and it should come today or tomorrow. So far, the mail and the UPS have come with packages for other people and none for me. It's like a big tease! Tomorrow night I get to see Alex. His college is about an hour and a half away, so I see him on the weekends. It works out very well for us. We will probably see a movie or something. I don't really mind what, it will be nice to see him. On Saturday, I'm going to see Dream Theater in Albany, which is about three hours away. I'm going with my papa, two sisters, and Joe. People find it very strange that I'm going to a progressive metal concert with family members.
Kathryn and I have shared a room for about a year and a half now, and we've had very little space. At the present, we have two mattresses pushed together on the floor, with a little bit of walking room. We've finally convinced our dad to take down the sauna, since it's never used. I'm not sure that it's even hooked up. We're very excited for that to happen, and have decided that we will re-paint our room, hopefully forest themed:D
All in all, life is going very well. I start nursing courses next semester, so my life will become very busy. I finally have new friends. For the first time in about five months, I feel as though my life is finally beginning to come together. I hope it is not like last time, where I knew very well that it would come crashing down. I'm praying that this time it will withstand me: my moods, eating disorder, everything. In a way the past chapter of my life's collapse was not my fault, but when I look at how everything went, I see that it could very easily have been my doing. I refuse to let that happen this time. This is new. It is perfect. I will not let it slip from my grasp.

Dog bite

Yesterday all signs led to "Stop running, Molly!", but did I listen? Of course not. I forgot my phone, I didn't turn around when my hammie hurt, and I decided to take a different, more difficult route. And what happened?
I turned the corner, pushing myself hard. There was one house on the right, with a large yard and a lot of trees. I could see a horse farm behind it. Then I noticed them. Three dogs came running from behind the house, two small tan collies, and a very, very big dog. She had long white hair and a deep growl in her throat.
I was so focused on running I thought nothing of it. Dogs often run out and smell me so I continued as I was. Before I realized what had happened, I was lying on the ground with the big dog on top of me, and I was screaming. No one came out of the house. I pulled myself up and sprinted. When I reached the bottom of the hill I stopped. I was breathing hard, sobbing, and shaking uncontrollably. I looked down to find blood flowing steadily down in two places on my calf. It actually wrapped it's mouth around the back of my leg! The dog's teeth had dug in deep enough to drag me to the ground. I was in such a state of shock but I couldn't feel the pain.
After about a half a mile of sobbing, limping, and feeling helpless, I found a house with someone home. I was able to contact home and was brought to the hospital. Yay, what an adventure! All is well now. It only hurts a little. I just hope the poor dog doesn't get put down. It's not her fault she's scared of runners.

Actual life..haha.

Maybe it's time to write about my actual life, instead of making parallels through writing. Well, I went to see a therapist today and I hated it. She made me talk about things I hate discussing, in front of my mom. I felt humiliated and disappointing. She then gave me a pamphlet for partial impatient care that I do NOT want to attend. I got so angry and embarrassed by it, I decided that I'm going to do everything in my power to get better by myself. I don't want to be special. I don't want to be like that, so I decided that I'm done. I'm going to be better no matter how hard it is.
I said goodbye to Austin.. again. I don't expect any type of reader to understand it fully. I'm sad and I feel like my heart's been savagely ripped apart. I knew it was time to let go. I don't think letting go is sudden, but it's a process that takes time. We've been broken up for over four months now, and sometimes it feels like jut yesterday he broke up with me. People tell me I'm dramatic and to just forget him, but they don't understand the kind of love I felt for him. I don't expect them to. Each love is individual. I think only he and I understood it. I still don't completely get why he let me go, but it's over now. A part of me is happy that I'm forcing myself to do this. It's all I can do. I know that if he can't love all of me, he's not the right person. It kills to say that.
School is going well. I am passing everything, and I work hard to get all my work done. I got approved to start nursing courses next semester and I'm terrified. One thing, I will feel AWESOME in those scrubs(: I also made some friends. I have two pretty close friends from Crouse, and met some pretty awesome people from Onondaga community college through my friend Kerry.
What else.. well I haven't run in about a week. During track I pulled my right glute/upper hammie area and I didn't stop running. It ended up being permanently damaged and I strained it again last week. It hurt terribly, so I've spent the past week thinking of different things to do. I've kept up with my yoga, biked, walked, jumped rope, and did lunges (which hurt).
I'm off to attempt running right now. Wish me luck!

SYMBOLISM.

She is standing on a withered path. A terror is slowly building inside her, and for now she holds it back; she suppresses it.
The sky above is navy, scattered with a thousand burning lights. It is like funeral boats pushed out to sea. Their fires are bright against dark waters.
She can see herself there. The sand is cold and damp between her toes, and a bitter wind is blowing to sea. The dead are laid among boughs of pine, their swords set honorably across their chests. All around her, she can hear the weeping of mothers, fathers, wives, as they say a final goodbye to a piece of their lives.
The boats are set aflame and pushed off. The villagers pull their cloaks closer and watch. Then they turn and leave.
She doesn't understand this parting. She doesn't understand how they can let go. But the girl is back at the path. Here there is darkness in both directions, and she knows the boats are simply a memory she held on to; the night she had bid farewell to her brother. Unlike the others, she had stood by the water until dawn, until she could no longer see her brother's boat.
A wind blows down the path, and a bare branch snags at her arm. She pulls away fearfully. Autumn has passed. The trees are naked and winter is fast approaching.
The girl bites her red lip. Her dark curls blow across her face. She knows which way home is. Home is safe, warm. But it is sad. She does not want to believe it, but inside, beneath that terror, she knows what home it is. It is that vicious cycle which refuses to change and love. She knows returning means only hurt and loneliness.
Now the girl looks to the other direction. She has never left home. The other way is a mystery, an adventure. She knows this, but a fear has welled within. She does not know what this new life wields. It may be the same sadness, and for that reason, she is standing in the dark among the trees.
Then the girl remembers her brother. He had hugged her before he left, and in that embrace, he had whispered in her ear.
"Don't be afraid of change. Letting go does not mean saying goodbye. Not forever."
She knows now what she must do. And with a determined set face, she steps into the unknown.

Eye roll.

I don't want to write anything here. I've been told I'm selfish and talk about myself too much.

Reflection Essay for English

Okay so I kinda lied and took the viewpoint of a sibling because I didn't want to be so blunt to my professor about my personal problems. It was just a good topic.

“She needs treatment,” my mother said from the kitchen. It was midnight. I was curled up in my favorite place to sit, the corner couch, trying to finish a paper. I don't think my parents ever realized when I was in the room listening to their conversation. I was surprised they were actually talking about getting my sister the help she needed.
It's not to say that my parents were bad at taking care of us. My mother loved every one of her sixteen children. She showed it openly in the way she managed us, packing lunch, making dinner, tucking us into bed through the years, reading stories. My father was more subtle in his affection. He was quiet, always busy with work, and he rarely spoke to us. I realized that he truly loved me when one night I left the house without a word. Upon returning some hours later, I found him crying with worry. It hurt to see him like that, and I haven't done it since.
No, my parents loved us, and they surely had good intentions. Unfortunately, sixteen kids is a heavy burden to manage, and I don't believe anyone can carry it without stumbling. Because of the sheer amount of children, my parents had trouble paying attention to us and giving us the individual time we needed to feel that we mattered. I can say this personally, and I can say this secondhand.
It was a chilly night in November when we discovered my sister's illness. It should have been two years before, but no one noticed the quiet sufferer she was. It saddens me to know that I realized all of the signs after the fact. For the sake of her, I will call her Ophelia.
Ophelia was tall. She had blond curls that stretched to the small of her back, and large green eyes shaded by dark lashes. She liked to talk, and was known for her extremely humorous side. Everyone in my house was a fan of her outrageous and inappropriate jokes. For one year we went to high school together, and I sincerely recall how the boys watched her come and go. She had the aura of a princess. My sister was the pursued in our small school, and I could tell she she loved it.
Things were different at home. No one noticed her come and go. I shared a room with her. Everyday she came home from school and set her books in a neat stack on the floor. They would be ignored for at least another two hours. Ophelia never cared to worry about school when she had to run. Running was her drug when things got stressful, or so I had thought. She would return an hour or so later and disappear until dinner.
Our dinner table was nothing of a quiet affair. It sounded like a thanksgiving dinner when the loud, irritating, extended family was invited. We had two long tables pushed together, two benches against the wall, and unmatched chairs along every other edge. There was barely enough room to walk. My mother would serve the plates. The younger kids fooled around and argued, and the elder engaged in drawing conversation of politics, such as the pros and cons of the health care bill. To top it off, there was always a baby crying and a dog barking. My sister was involved in all of this of course. She strongly believed in libertarianism if I remember correctly.
No one noticed when she disappeared after the cleanup. And no one noticed when they didn't see her for the rest of the night.
Ophelia began to quiet at home. She was easily stressed. I can say this confidently because I was not a clean roommate. I let my laundry fall behind and left wrappers and crumpled papers everywhere. I never made my bed or took out the trash. My sister would walk in from her shower and begin to pull on her face. I learned this was her sign of stress, or that something was wrong. She would put her hands to her cheeks as if to say, “oh no!”, and then pull. Her fingers left traces of red, and if things were very bad, scratches.
“Molly,” she would say, “this room is unacceptable. I am trying to be calm. Believe me, I am trying. Please, please take care of your shit. I can't take it! I have so much work. I can't.. I can't..” She would trail off and pull on her face some more.
That spring, Ophelia began track. She would come home at six o'clock, and have dinner, which she ate in unscrupulous amounts. Then she disappeared. Though she loved it, track added to her stress level. She barely talked to me or anyone else in the house, and still, my parents, my family, persisted in not taking notice. Sometimes I would walk into our room and find her crying for no particular reason. She would apologize and continue to cry. Things continued to digress throughout the summer. The colorful Ophelia was gone. She faded into someone else, like a painted house among wind and rain. She had dark circles under her eyes, lost weight, and cut she herself. My sister broke up with her boyfriend and found another guy. She was home less frequently and when she was, Ophelia closed herself off in our room.
I started my ninth grade year when she was a senior. She ran cross country that year, and for a while it appeared that her life had gone back to normal. She still attended dinner and disappeared, but Ophelia began to laugh again. She smiled and talked to me, and the messy room became less of a problem. It didn't last long. By the time we were halfway though the month of October, she had a relapse. The old girl was back. Stressed, angry, tired, depressed, and gone all the time.
November. It was snowing outside, and the angry, cold wind blew in across the yard. Cross country was over. Ophelia ended her season with a sprained ankle and an asthma attack. Dinner that night was roast beef, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. I decided I would slip away from the table early to avoid clean up. I was tired, cold, and there was food on the floor in which I would have to clean up. I abhorred sweeping.
The hallway was dark. The only light I could see was a thin strip under the bathroom door.
“Where's Molly,” I heard from the kitchen, “she's supposed to sweep tonight.” I quickened my step and unthinkingly reached for the door handle. And there I saw Ophelia.
I slammed the door, and sort of numbness fell over me as though I had just been punched in the stomach. Everything suddenly made so much sense to me, it was sickening. It made sense, her stress, her thinness, her depression. It made sense, the way she disappeared, and folded her arms to hide herself from the world. The way she cried.
No one had seen. They were too busy to see her come out the bathroom wiping her mouth on her sleeve, clearing her throat. My mother didn't see the large amounts she had for supper, and my father didn't notice how she compulsively ran. We didn't notice how much she put herself down. Ophelia busied herself so she could hide from the problem, from the world. She cried because she felt hopeless. She cried because we didn't see her slowly killing herself. She couldn't stop, and not one of us, for two and a half years, helped take the dagger out of her hand.
“..she's going to be fine, Della.” I came back through and glanced at the clock. Twelve thirty. My parents were still talking in the kitchen. My mother grabbed hold of another pan and began to scrub it.
“We don't know that. All I want is for her to make it through college. I tried to get her to make phone calls but she says she's too busy.”
“Why don't you make them,” my dad asked, leaning against the counter. He gasped and stepped away with a wet shirt.
“Why don't you?”
I left the room. I didn't know if my parents would ever come to a conclusion on who was going to make the damn phone call.
Ophelia was awake when I closed the door behind myself and crawled into bed. I told her of their conversation. She began to cry. My sister wiped at her face furiously.
“I'm sorry. It's so stupid. I'm so stupid. I'm tearing the family apart. It was okay until you found out. I don't blame you.. it's just that everything's worse. Even Austin broke up with me. He said he couldn't handle my mood swings. Do you believe that? I ruined everything,” she sobbed.
I did my best to reassure her that all she said was untrue. I even ventured to tell her not to flatter herself. She mattered, but her crisis was manageable and curable. She wasn't enough to ruin the family. I told her I would listen. She wasn't alone. I would be there every step of the way, because even I had problems that no one saw, and no one noticed. Perhaps they never will.

No words for so many

My mom is always telling me to be careful about what I write, but I don't care anymore. I don't care who will read this and exclaim, "Oh my, this girl has serious issues..", because they're just another person. We're all flawed. It's not like anyone really reads this anyway. I know of one person who does.
Sometimes I lay awake at night and cry. I cry about all the terrible mistakes I've made, and the many that are inevitable. I cry because I feel so desperate, so lost, so disgustingly pathetic. Some will argue otherwise, but I know in my heart of hearts (whatever that means) that it's true. I don't know where to begin.
The past year, minus summer, has been the best year of my life. I was with the kid of my dreams. I can't tell my mom that I still so desperately love him because I'm afraid of what she'll say. "Give it time, you're young, that was just a highschool relationship, he wasn't even a good person", etc., but she doesn't understand. He was so much more. He mean't so much more to me than a highschool relationship. What we went through together does not even qualify as that. Things that I cannot bring myself to write, or even say, for the matter.
so to be blunt, I love him to death. Moving on doesn't work. It's so painful to see how this summer unfolded. It was a wreck of me crying and abusing myself in any way possible. Now I'm crying as I recall striving to get him back. He didn't want to. He had to figure his life out. He told me my emotions were too much to handle, and that he could not make me happy. The truth is, he's the only thing that makes me happy.
Me unable to let go is a major contributor to my depression, which has steadily worsened over the past six to seven months. It's not just him that makes me hopeless, it is all the issues I deal with. And that nothingness. Sometimes I lack an explanation for my sadness. Those are the days when my body physically hurts and speaking is near impossible. I'm sorry to my family and friends that I can't be who they want me to on those days. I'm getting help now.
I hate smelling like puke after every meal. It's disgusting. And I hate the taste of food when it comes back up. I hate all the phlegm in my throat and the grittiness in my mouth. Sometimes it's in the shower, sometimes in the back field, but the majority is simply the toilet. I'm disgusting.
It's not even that I think I'm fat, it's that for two and a half years I've struggled with this and for a long time I've found the feat of recovering impossible. I do not think I am thin, nor beautiful, I'm afraid. It's difficult to articulate this fear and uncover it's origins. I suppose I fear if I do anything right, things will get worse. That's how it always is.
There are many more things I could write here. I could talk of losing friends, losing my hair, starting school, being stressed, the dreaded conversation I avoid. But I won't. Between the time I started this passage and now, my mood has steadily declined. All I know is that I'm crying, and now I must start the long ascent back to a state of stability.
All I can say is that things will get better. Because I force myself to hope.

August.

A sort of silence has settled over them. The sky is still blue, speckled with clouds, and the grass is still tall and green, shimmering in the sunlight. The breeze pulls it. Leaves rustle, and birds chirp in bush.
But there is a silence. It is painful, dreadful, and it pulls at their hearts. It weaves it's way between them an spills out through their unspoken words. She sits facing away, looking out to the field. Her hands are folded in her lap, and her back is an uncomfortable, stiff line. She is trying not to shake. He is standing, watching her. His fists are balled up, and he trembles. Still the silence stretches lazily, greedily, in the warm late summer. Finally she speaks.
"Just say it, please. I need to hear it from your mouth. Not from my mind, or from your friends."
He hesitates. The bitter words form in his mouth.
"There.. there isn't anything between us. No more. We're done forever. It's.. it's over."
Now she turns. There is anger, clear as day on her face. But she doesn't cry.
"Don't stutter! You mean it so firmly. If I have to accept it so easily, just say it!"
"I mean it. It doesn't mean this is painless for me."
Now the tears come. She lets them fall down her face and into her lap.
"Don't tell me this is painful for you, don't you dare! You made this decision. I have to accept it. I have to decide what to do with it. It's like taking everything I ever cared about and so thoroughly destroying it so that I can never piece it back together! Not with you, or anyone else," she cries.
The wind picks up. It pulls his hair over his eyes. He unclenches his fists and closes them again. He bites his lip and shakes his head.
"Listen to me. Sometimes people drift apart, because things aren't right. Then they see each other again and everything's perfect. They're where they need to be. Sometimes we must simply resume."
She stares at him with helpless wonder. She looks tired, pale, desperate. Everything has been taken away from her.
"Don't make me hope. Please, don't do that to me. Holding onto one breath of a hope is enough to kill me."

Fuck it, I'm gonna be blond.. gradually(:

I can do this.

we could've had it all, rolling in the deep

I've "started school", as in I had orientation. I start for real the 22nd, and I'll most likely have a job. So that will be good. Things haven't gotten any easier for me. Not one bit. I still lie awake and cry, and it's still the only thing I can think about. I don't understand why I can't let go, why it hurts so badly. It was a little over two months ago that we split. I simply do not understand the ranges of pain. Dull to sharp, my unsettled stomach. I force myself to eat, to smile. I don't want to do it anymore, but I promised to hold on. Sometimes I want to abandon promises.
It's strange to me. I've never felt such attachment. I tried to like other people, I truly did. I tried to move one. It's not working. Anyway, there's me as of now. Look how well I smile even though I feel hollow!

If i could sleep i would like to die in it. That way at least they cant say i killed myself. Im so tired im nauseous. And so angry. im angry and depressed about everything and the more i think about itthe worse it gets. Yes, id love to die in my sleep.

Lets cut these ties

Its my fault. I would love to say my last post was in the least rash, but I cannot find it within to me admit such a thing. I hate myself. I hate how I am. Today I spent with someone dear.. I would kill for that opportunity. Yes, i had a lot of fun, but when we headed toward the soccer fields I felt the depression settle in. With everything I have I tried to wave it away. Then I tried pushing, then shoving. It settled over me nevertheless. I was helpless. So I left my friends. Classes start on August 15 and I abandoned one of the last chances I have to be with my friends. Brilliant job, Molly! What the fuck is wrong with me? Now I'm sitting home bored, wishing I could change my mood so I could be with them. So I could be with him.

Over the course of the last month, I learned the only way to get out unscathed is by trusting no one. Unfortunately I did not achieve this. There is no winning in my life's history. Whoever I learn to love hurts me, so I will choose not to love, besides my very best friend. If that turns around and fucks me in the ass, I will truly be alone.

She always thought summer would last. It's warm kiss, the comforting breeze, the wildflowers that grew among thorns. She would wander through the endless stretch of hills and the brilliant woods. Nothing could harm her in that perfect world.
But the winds of change swept in, just as she had feared. The months of bliss ended in darkness. The sun had been hidden away. Now she was left standing in a grey courtyard, leaves blowing at her feet. She wore nothing more than tatters of the past, a single tear marking her cheek as she watched in morose. Summer fled down a back street.
This world she spent a very small time in. Before the autumn rains began, she was gone, standing lonely in a silent wood. The snow fell slowly around her. A wind blew bitter and menacing. The the still. She knew this was her place, this cold winter.

Time to be depressing! I hate everything.

I need to see your face to keep me sane, to make me whole

So things aren't turning out like I'd like them to. This is no surprise, as I've not made life easy lately. It's the end of the year, and seeing that I'm doing two years of school in one, I have loads of work and other, outside forces that are irritating and stressing me out. I'm sorry that I snap and get upset about little things, but I'm only half the factor of why things were falling apart. We agreed a break was in order. While it appears effortless for you, it's absolutely killing me. If this ends in a permanent break, I will spend months in agony I'm sure. It's not up to me, though. It's all on you.

I do not know what's wrong with me. For over a week now I've been getting extreme headaches and migraines almost everyday. Today was the worst. I have three detentions this week for wearing 'short' shorts, which I refuse to change out of or stop wearing. Every time I'm caught wearing them, I get a detention. It's totaled four now. Anyhow, I had one today, but I skipped and rode the bus home because I could feel a headache coming on. That was a catalyst to today's migraine, but what else could I do?
By the time I got home I could barely walk. I layed down on my bed (Which is blankets on the floor. As I've expressed prior, I hate beds.) I felt much like Emily Tallis from Atonement, in that I couldn't possibly do anything but listen to the noises around me and try to avoid thoughts of my raging head. There were, foremost, birds singing and the sound of the curtains against the window, pushed gently aside by the breeze. Then there was my brother playing his acoustic, a slamming door, whose vibrations made their way quickly down the house. It was an explosion in my mind.
I didn't do anything but lay there, eyes half closed, tears streaming down my face. I can't imagine the kind of pain some people go through, because I can barely endure this. I'm just.. ehh.. dramatic.

Musing

It's difficult to find the words to describe how I feel about you. I feel as though I've found something warm, safe. As soon as I feel that overwhelming comfort you slip from my grasp, like a breath on the wind, and I'm trapped in a cobwebbed corner waiting for you to come back. So I can loose you again. You do come back, stumbling against the wind and ask me to open my arms and pretend nothing's gone wrong. I always accept, and we start over.
I wonder how many others have contemplated this exact concept and wondered, just as I do, what is worth it. Where do we quit? I do not believe I'm ready yet. I still cling to hope that things will work out.
There are just a few short weeks of school left. I'm practically dying to graduate, but at the same time I feel pain. Of course, the adults reading this probably roll their eyes and sigh. It's just high school. It's the only thing I've known outside of the church, and it's the first time I've acquired friends that I feel I've connected to. Unfortunately a lot of the seniors are still not too fond of me, and my best friends are juniors. I don't know what this means. The only thing I can say is that I tried. I gave myself one year to become good friends with the older class, of whom I hadn't known well prior, besides a few. These I am good friends with.
Tomorrow is the last day of track, as I have no chance of making sectionals. Last year I did, but not this year. I pulled a muscle in March, and I tried to let it rest. Unfortunately, knowing Molly, I'm terrible at taking breaks from running. Both my right knee and hammie never healed and I've run only moderately good times this season in terrible pain. It's strange. Last year I was excellent at the 1500, but this year I'm five seconds away from sectionals for the 400 and an entire 20 for the 1500. It only means I'm faster. Every time I run I cry because of the pain and frustration. Running was the only thing I was good at, and I'm not anymore. It doesn't matter because I'm graduating, but I wanted more than anything to make sectionals this year. It kills me that I'm not good enough. All of my friends, both girls and guys are going to sectionals. What the fuck am I supposed to do next week when they all have sectionals track practice? Sit home and knit? I have to take almost an entire month of after tomorrow to heal. Maybe I'm just selfish and jealous. I don't care that they're going, I'm frustrated because I'm not. This has been the worst year athletically for me ever. In cross country I had an asthma attack at leagues and was put in an ambulance. At sectionals for xc, I sprained my ankle terribly in the mud and had to be take out of the race. To sum up my running career: I'm a fucking failure.

Sunshine

I had a heart stopping realization the other day. I had gotten home from the track meet and was freezing, wet, and all around tired. I went into the bathroom to take a shower and while undressing, had to do a double-take in the mirror. I blinked, studying my face and the smooth, imperfect curves of my body. It hit me like a bucket of cold water.
I'm beautiful. The green eyes, blond hair, defined jaw. I looked my long, thin torso up and down, following it's wider parts carefully. I'm perfect for me.
For the first time in my life I don't care what others think of me, and what they have to say. I don't mind if others think I'm ugly and fat, or if they think I have a perfect body and a gorgeous face. I care about what I think, and for the first time in.. so long, I love myself. It's one of the best feelings in the world. It was so exciting I called my best friend and told her through tears. I told Austin too. He smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and only said, "It took you long enough. I already knew that you're perfect."
It's called something new. It's called rebirth. It's called freedom.

Innocence and Instinct.

I believe that is life's composition. Innocence and Instinct. Either one is doing something purely out of ignorance, or they're doing it because in SOME shape or form they believe it is what they must do. It is right.
Prom happened this weekend. There is a terrible picture of Austin and I, but all the same us. Today is out nine month. I really do appreciate everything about him in some way(: I do hate how a lot of people tell me I have terrible taste. No matter what they say I'm still going to love him. It only matters what I think.
I'm registering for fall semester classes, and I realized that I wont have class on either Thursday or Friday! I hope to god this means a job, more running, or free time in general. I won't mind a job, though. I'm probably putting my hopes far too great, and next year will be terrible in some way. How should I know? My stomach is knotting up and my palms are sweating at the thought of it. Oh god.

Things I think about

Here are some things, long and short-term and I'm excited for:
1. Tomorrow. I get to be with Austin!
2. The end of the school year. I'm anxious to graduate, and for summer. I don't mind school, but I'm ready for a new page. Thank God I doubled up!
3. Monday. Yes, I have to go back to school, but I get to go to track practice! I love running, especially with my friends.
5. Friday. I'm not particularly a person who likes to dress up, but I'm a little excited for prom. I guess it's because I get to go with Austin.. yet again, haha.
6. Today. As it is Saturday, the day is an open book with a clean page. The only thing set in stone is that I will go for a run. Other than that, bring on the adventure!
7. Real Spring. It's still gray, cloudy, windy, and cold. The leaves are almost here and for me, that is real spring. It will be refreshing.
8. Swimming. I need a cold, clear lake to jump into, particularly Cranberry Lake!
9. Ice cream. Everyone knows that spring and summer equal vanilla soft serve. This is one thing I will not stress over eating.
10. The first weekend in June. All eleven girls in the family are going to the ocean in Delaware! This is going to be interesting.
11. Emily buying a house. There's a possibility that I will get to move in with my sister for when I got to college, since her work is RIGHT next to my school.
Things I am anxious for:
1. Running today. I can't relax until it's done, and it's done well.
2. Tomorrow. I get to go to Austin's relatives house, which I'm nervous for.
3. What I will eat today. I'm terrified that I will loose myself. I had a relapse last week, and I'm starting all over again.
4. Next year. I'm terrified of college. It's exciting, yes, but I have far more things to worry about.
5. My story. I want the one I've finally begun to write to work.
6. My relationship. Who isn't anxious about this? Sometimes I think I'm in too deep.
7. What I'm doing today. It's exciting, but at the same time I do not want to spend the entire waiting to do something.
8. My body. I hate how obsessed I am. I hate it. By the end of this year I'm going to earnestly say that I'm beautiful. I can't yet, but I still have a few months. I believe in myself.

Tonight will be the night that I fall for you, over again

I hated the realization that I am scared. The idea of being alone left me curled in a corner asking myself why I put myself through the things I do. I suppose the answer is that because in the end, the pain is worth the happiness.

I'm tired of waiting.

Circus Maximus makes everything better. This weekend consisted of me doing nothing on Friday night, while my best friend worked, and the rest of my 'friends' went to Zach's house, in which I was not invited. I suppose I just never caught wind of the subject at school. Yesterday was better. Me, my mom, and all the younger kids went to the library and then got subs from my friend's work. After this, I went with a friend to lake onario and we walked around for a bit in the freezing rain. It was actually quite relaxing and I enjoyed our conversation. We ended up driving a man who's car broke down into town, at which point I pulled my comrade aside and pointed out that this was a scenario just like those from Criminal Minds. I said that we should not give him a ride, because he was too nice and he was going to kill my friend, Sam, and rape me. He rolled his eyes at me, a small smile playing across his lips.
"Relax, Molly, I got this," he said in an extremely sarcastic tone. So we took the man to his friends' house and everything was fine.
Sam and I then commenced to be pulled over where we were accused of having pot on our persons and badgered by the officer for being the ages we were and hanging out together. Silly Sam told the officer this:
"Don't worry officer, I'm not her boyfriend. We're just friends. She has a girlfriend." Why thank you, Sam. That is just what I wanted him to think.
Having nothing to charge us with, the officer was forced to let us go, and I spent the night at my absolute best friend's house, Cassie.
Here is why I love Cassie:
1. We are always thinking and feeling the same things.
2. No one ever appreciates our sense of humour but each other.
3. She listens to what I have to say and is sympathetic.
4. I can say anything I want around her and completely be myself.
5. She adores me for who I am(:
Today I went with Austin to get his tux for prom. (An affair I am absolutely not excited to attend and absolutely abhor!) He told me that we couldn't actually spend time together today, even though it is Sunday, the day of the week in which we always hang out. The rest of the weekend we do whatever the fuck we want see each other in school during the week. I was quite put off, especially because his explanation was that he was tired from soccer and he had to get his tux. I already knew this wasn't true.
I looked him in the eyes and informed him that he should simply tell me that he's going to a friend's party, involving other friends, some girls. I already knew, thanks to Cassie. He looked a bit embarrassed and admitted that yes, that was why. Why couldn't he just tell me, instead of lying, I asked. I wouldn't have cared, I just do not appreciate being lied to. I keep telling myself that I don't mind that his friends don't like me, because why should they? I'm just a senior with them this year, when I should be a junior. I can't simply expect them to like me. I also understand that people rarely like couples at their parties. I am not well-known nor well-liked by them, but still, I am tempted to be depressed by the entire situation. Austin and I will spend time together if I can make time for it. I'm not mad at him for the entire party incident. I understand that he didn't want me to be upset about not being invited. I'm merely disappointed because he's blowing off our day together, which we had established a policy in which we would not do such a thing. Oh well, I know he still loves me; I can tell by the way he looks at me, the way he whispers it. The only reason I put up with his nonsense, I feel the same way. I feel it makes up for how extremely depressed and moody I myself become. It is not rare.
So now I sit on the floor in my room recording this extremely useless information, putting off the job of cleaning the stairs, foyer, and my room.

We must simply resume

This week is for learning that I can put myself first in some situations.

I'm so tired. So, so tired of this world. It can be beautiful, but at the moment I'm here to complain about it because there's only one person that would listen to me and agree, an d she's five hours away.
There's no need to fret. It's stupid dramatic shit that won't mean anything very soon. Mark. My. Words. I'm almost through with this.

Life is terrifying. It is difficult. It is frustrating to all breaking points. But life- the vitality of everyday.. it's dazzling.

The days are blurring together in an endless slur of unimportance.

[something rather cheesy]

Sunday morning, and the first day of Spring. I can smile at that, and I can smile at the fact that for the past few days I've done nothing but force myself to not be angry. It has helped, and for reasons unknown, I've been able to function as a normal human!
I used to hate Sunday mornings with a burning passion. They meant that a), I had to get up and go to church, and b), tomorrow would be Monday and I didn't want to go back to school. Now it is like this: a), I get to get up, and curl up with Austin for the entire day, no interruptions included, and b), tomorrow IS school, but I don't mind anymore. Life is good. My parents have, for the most part, stopped forcing me to church activities and I believe it's given me a sense of balance. It's so much less stressful and I really am grateful for that.
Well, I'm off to seek breakfast and such. It's going to be a good day. Let's make it a good week too!(:

Elegiac

It's none other than a day in which I cannot make myself believe in vitality. Although sunny and lukewarm, the world is a cold and lonely place. No matter how we try to surround ourselves with friends, family, love, we will always be alone. I think of all the suffering this world has to offer, and so little joy it contains. We are invariably alone.
It was all non-coincidental. I put myself through the pain, trying to glare at factors which brought me joy. I failed. I dwelled on that of which made me cry; sink into that dark desperation. I am well aware that no one else will understand the feelings I embrace. They are my personal hell.
Austin was in a dark mood today, and I tried to be lighthearted in order to cheer him up. He only replied with the question of why I try to do so, because I am always miserable. It was a bullet to the heart to hear those words from his mouth. I am often miserable, even if I appear happy. I have a believable mask. It was a terrifying, depressing truth.
Whenever I write here I promise myself that tomorrow- tomorrow will be better. I will prod through the darkness of the day for the good things. I will smile. This time I will promise myself no such thing. I will rely on a slight sense of hope that tomorrow I can be less self-absorbed.

I. Am. So Fucking. Angry.

I don't have anything to push me to exist. I want this week, this month to end. Everything, everything is wrong. I don't know how much longer I can last until I break.

Mah kidd

This is Austin and I, when he finally met my family. I don't care for the types of remarks I get from my siblings or relatives. I don't care when people tell me I've bad taste. I think I'm the one who looks terrible in this picture! We're graduating together, and I'm extremely thankful to have this guy in my life. He's the thing that kept me together this year, and I'm getting that much closer to recovery because of him. I don't care what anyone says, I love him and I owe him the world<3

Through desperate eyes we long for the horizon, where the sun is rising.

We are all lost and broken in some way. It is how we manage those things that makes us strong. I wish with all my heart that I could be stronger. For me that means taking control.
I imagine my mind as the large expanse of a wheat field, and I am some small vessel wandering through it, lost. I trail my hand across the tops of the wheat and smile faintly. I will probably be lost here forever. Lost in this constant twilight, the air beginning to turn cool, and crickets singing. Although this idea is daunting, my heart warms. After all, look at what I can create!

You're running forever, chasing the wind

Let me begin by saying one thing, and that would be that I've too much time on my hands. I do not like to have my mind held captive in my room or house, waiting for insanity from my own thoughts. It would not be so bad if my best friend wasn't working, and my boyfriend's mom wasn't sick so I could spend time with him, or, even better, he would stop being a pansy and come over my house. That's not possible anyhow, seeing that he's no way to get over here. Neither of us drive, and my sister refuses to do anything nice for me these days. I suppose it is because she so disapproves the course I've chosen for my life. That is alright.
I've spent the entirety of this vacation in my room waiting for it to be over. I admit, I've cried about everything and nothing. It's childish of me, but my frustrations can be let out in no other way. I've no ideas in my numb scull for a story; a problem that drives me absolutely mad. I had some sort of fabrication of two brothers (or sisters) who betray one another, but it's proved a hateful task and will not work.
I haven't even TALKED to Austin in almost four days now. It does make me upset, but moreover it makes me angry. Something needs to change or else I wont be able to deal with this much longer. He hasn't even met my parents, for god's sake, and we've been dating for 7 months on Tuesday. It doesn't bother me that much, I imagine the prospect of meeting my family somewhat terrifying, but it needs to be done. I suppose I'm done complaining about that.
This week my mother, and everyone older than I besides Mariel are gone down to Oklahoma to see Ben graduate from BT. After this, he'll go to Texas to go to medic school. I realized that I most likely wont see him until sometime in summer, and I began to cry. This would be another crying about everything and nothing happening. Oh, vacation and the fact that everyone else has plans but I, I truly hate you.
Well, now that I've cried a bit, I have the impulse to cut my bangs, but I can't, track commences in 2 weeks! There is something to look foreward to. Even if I'm completely lonely, I still have running. Wah:(

It's not a silly little moment, it's not the storm before the calm. This is the deep and dying breath of this love that we've been working on.

Failure.

I suppose lying to myself is not the resolve. Sitting on the floor in that small room, nose running, eyes watering. The unspeakable. I went almost two days without it. My failure will not pull me down into it's lair, will not wrap it's dark arms around me and put me to sleep, forever a slave of it's painful task. No, I will stand, and I will continue to chip away at my task. This is not over.

This one is for you

There comes a point in one's life where they must stop acting as though the entire world is against them, attempting to foil their happiness every time they breathe. I think that point needs to come for me. I'm tired of letting my feelings ruin potential happiness. I just need to relax and let life smack me hard. And I will not flinch.

Drama

Sometimes it helps to have friends that wanna do shit with me. Just throwing that out there. not really, though. It would seriously help if I didn't have to plan on going to church every fucking weekend. What kind of retards have church on a Friday night?? And they wonder why people who leave are so extremely spiteful. They ask for it, in my opinion. I HAD to plan on church tonight so I could have Sunday, and then I got left home because there wasn't enough room. So now when all of my friends are out, I'm home alone in my room. One more year. One more year.. of this bullshit. I don't know that I can do another year of this. I don't want to exist.

L'espoir.

I was talking to my friend's mom today, and she said, "I admire people who have hope. The best thing you can do is stay positive!" It made me think. Everyday all around me scary things are happening to myself and others, and I react to everything in the worst ways. So, I decided I should make a list of things that make me happy and keep me going. Things that give me hope.
1. Spring. I can't wait for the snow to melt,so I can get back on the roads and run!
2. June. That means graduation, and something new. It's terrifying, but exciting at the same time.
3. Austin. Yeah, okay, go ahead and say, "he's just a guy", but it's the longest I've been this close to a person, and every time anything happens he's extremely encouraging to me, and no matter what kind of mistake I make or have made, it doesn't bother him. I have a lot of self-esteem issues and things of that area, and Austin is always smiling and telling me that it's nothing, I'll be okay. The fact that I have someone near to me always willing to listen and spend as much time with me as possible is huge.
4. Emily. My sister has so many qualities that I too want to have. I want to be less self-centered and consider the people around my more often. I want to do what I can for them.
5. Track. It will help me relax more about myself, and it will keep me busy. I will probably get stressed, but in the long run, that stress is way better compared to winter's darkness. The snow is beautiful, but I hate it for what it does to me.
6. My mom. God, I do nothing around this house. I try sometimes.. but I honestly do nothing. There's no justification for how little I am around, but my mom is still supportive of me. I need to be around more. In the end, my family will matter more to me than a stupid story I'm writing that no one really cares to read. I love my mom because no matter what choices I make, no matter how it pains her, she still loves me just as much as any other child, and encourages me. She doesn't put me down for making different choices and that means the world.
7. Cassi. She's my best friend, and we've both talked eachother through tears, and laughed so hard we've cried. I hope I don't loose her, and I hope we aren't lost to eachother within a few years. I know that happens to people, but I need her in my life. We're basically twins in all that we do, except she doesn't find Christian Bale as attractive as I.
8. My dad. Thank god I don't have a dad who refuses to let me do anything. Thank god he doesn't force me to every church thing possible, and is going to kick me out the day I turn eighteen because I don't like the church. We have a compromising system, and I'm thankful that he sees my point of view, and no matter what he thinks of it, allows me some freedom. It could just as easily be the other way around.
9. Ben. I can talk to this guy about anything, and when things go bad, he's the one that will talk to me for three hours straight and make me look at the bright side.
10. Good people who are non-religious. I'm a stubborn person, and I will not bend. When I see people in this world who are good, with no religious obligation added, I have hope. It is possible. It's possible to be good without the delusion of 'it's for god, so I can get into heaven', because if those people with religious views had no god, they would be terrible people. This is why I love people who are good for no reason. They give me an extreme sense of hope.
11. Myself. This is the most important thing. I am strong in some ways, but weak in most. I have hope that someday I can be the best possible, and I can overcome these things that hold me back. I can be loving toward others, and good. I have so much to look forward to in my lifetime. The story will end, but I will leave behind my footprints. I will leave this place happily.

I've spent today's entirety sitting on the floor in my room crying and reading "Atonement", because I'm a failure at life and I can't deal with things.

I just don't know anymore. I feel stuck in the middle like I don't belong. I feel unwanted tonight; that's just me being selfish. Or maybe not. I feel like I'm being messed with by the one person I thought wouldn't do that to me. A part of me is screaming her hopes that it was a misunderstanding.. he didn't mean it. But how could he not?

Erase myself, and let go of what I've done.

I fucked up that night. So what, don't we all? It was 10:10, and I had just returned from the youth meeting. I decided to jump on my Facebook for a moment. Nervousness had been eating away at me all day. All week, actually. I should have seen it coming. And there it was, the message from one of my best friends. He knew.
Everything rushed at me so quickly I couldn't think. I was too hysterical to try to be logical. The only thought that crossed me: I don't want to exist.
So on Wednesday, January 27, at 10.13 pm I put 32 slashes to myself. I remember the blood. Oh god, the blood everywhere.
Since then I've come a long way. It's been a year, and I'm a completely different person from what I was. There is nothing that's the same. I guess I'm proud of myself for becoming different. A lot of things have happened since that night, and everyday I'm stronger. I'm thankful for everyone that helped me through it.. pretty much helped me get over myself in a sense. That would be my mom, my oldest sister, and Sam. I know he doensn't care to talk to me anymore, but I will always have him to thank. I have things to do now. I have living to do(:

Dodge Ball

Here is a list of things I want to do:
1. Run faster
2. Forgive
3. Live
4. Not be ashamed of the choices I make, and the things I've done in the past.
5. Have a more open relationship with my mom
6. Keep my friends close
7. Make my relationship work
8. Walk on my hands
9. Write some more
10. Make sectionals this year
11. Smile everyday(:

Today me, my bestest friend Cassi, and basically the cross country team competed in the dogeball tournament. Cass and I only made a team to get back at our bfs' since we weren't allowed to be on theirs, because we're 'bad at dodgeball'. Funny, though, they had to have two girls on their team.. one of which I utterly hate. I have my reasons, and notice the list. Am I trying hard to forgive? Heck no! Not yet, at least.
Anyway, I was the past person in, and there was one in on the other team. My disadvantage was the fact that he was amazing at throwing, and he caught my ball:/ We lost the second game too, but the awesome part was out outfits. We were wearing our rainbow SHORT shorts from cross country, knee high socks, and headbands. I may put a picture up sometime haha. Anyway, it was really fun, and Austin admitted that I'm pretty damn good at playing dodgeball, so HA!(:

January twenty-seventh is coming. It's on Thursday.

White Waters

I see a silhouette. It's sinks into the shadows, but I can feel my fears standing still. Like a cold wind that whispers through my hair, it's words are like clock work. I know where I'll find myself in little time, and soon after that I believe I'll feel as though all hope has vanished. I will drown in despair.
I've tried keeping a coin in my pocket, and I've tried pulling on my hair as a reminder. Why, then, do I find myself in the same miserable alleys? It's this evil I've committed myself to for a year and a half.
Today.. today has meant nothing to me. I had a thought. I looked at the children, and realized that they have a few short years to be what they are before growing up. Then they must spend sixty years acting as though the world doesn't scare them. That's how I see it, anyway. The world still terrifies me. I can say that because I'm still a kid. I scare me.
There isn't anything on my mind. I have the wish to sleep forever right now. I know that with the skip of a stone I'll be whispered away to another state of mind, and there I will question myself. Why did I feel so hopeless yesterday? There is always tomorrow, and there are people that love me and would do anything for me, so why was I so depressed? Why, goddammit?
I cannot go far away. Today the weather is almost a lukewarm, but not enough so that the snow would begin to melt. I cannot go far away, so I can only paint a picture in my mind.
There is a lakeside, overshadowed in a place by great willow trees, whose old roots stretch tiredly into the water, sliding slowly over rocks as time strolls on. The water is cold and clear, and looking down, you can see these roots and the silver fish that hide among them.
The banks are overgrown with soft, deep green grass, and the sky overhead is a dull gray. A breeze blows in off the water. It's soft and cool, tasting of the lake. You lay next to me in the grass, resting your head in the palms of your hands. It is silent, save for the sound of water gently lapping at the shore. It is perfect.
We can hide here until the snow melts.

Hallelujah

Those are just some pictures I thought would be fun to put up. I wish I hadn't cut my hair, but it will grow back. I really want to make the picture of me sitting in the shopping cart with pads my senior picture, because I never take anything seriously. Well, almost nothing haha. Well I have a high fever so I think today's going to be a homework/writing/movie day.
Last night I was with my kidd, Austin. I was fine the entire day, and then around 18:00 I started getting a really bad headache and was freezing all over. I felt bad for getting a fever, but he didn't seem to mind. The only problem is that I hate being babied, and he.. well, likes to do that to me sometimes hahaha. Anyway, he had me listen to this, and I started crying. It's a really good cover. My favourite part is:
She tied to you a kitchen chair, broke your throne and cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1_o-VGp-t4

Chasing the Wind

Sometimes we sit forward in our chairs, so prepared to embrace life. Sometimes we forget that this is it.
That's how I've felt this week. Even though I failed miserably today, I did well for two days straight. That's a major accomplishment for me. I almost literally tackled Austin in school today, grinning like a fool. I gave him a huge hug, and I just couldn't stop smiling. He asked me what was going on, since Austin is well.. Austin in the morning. Tired, a bit disheveled, and not ready for my random spurts of hyper. I simply told him that he should be proud of me, and I suppose that was enough explanation for him. I doubt he had any idea what I was talking about, but it was okay.
I don't feel like he should be anymore, after my failure. I'm not miserable, and most of all, I'm not hopeless. I did well for two days! That means this time I'm going to do three.
I'm really hoping for a good weekend with Austin and Cassi.. and all the rest(:

This vicious cycle; something's broken. It's so unnatural. I'm not okay.

who should we look to if all we know is burning branches?

For the first time in what seems to be forever, sleep has enveloped me in her warms embrace. For the life of me I cannot escape her alluring smile; soothing whispers. the aspect of sleep nears indescribable, to be lulled away into a world of paradise, fears, and misery every night. I hope I will not have to envy those who can sleep peacefully every night anymore, although sometimes I will miss the silence.
My mind is like the aftermath of an earthquake. Every time it turns itself over I discover new fears and worries that need to be sent on their way. There are many things I can say no to. I can deny the painfulness of those things, but there are some that I can't say no to on my own. It's no matter of how many times I tell myself I can, or how many times I'm told that all I must do is say no. There was even the suggestion that it's because I'm selfish. Maybe so, but all of these things haven't benefited me whatsoever. It's still there. It still roars.
All I know is that life is happening.

They're lucky I like the number 11!

New Years resolution my ass! The only resolution I've made is to restrict the sodas I drink to purple drink (grape), which I only get about once every 1-2 months. Therefore, I'll almost never drink soda! Cool, man. I have nothing else to say. The idea of a 'new page' is bullshit. I'm still going to be forced to church activities and I'm still facing the same problems. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy, but all the same, nothing has changed. I guess that's up to me, even if it means hurting my family and changing myself.