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13 June 2005 @ 01:35 am
Oh no! I just realised something! No-one has ever commented on my LJ. I am so terribly crushed!

Oh yeah, no-one reads it. How silly of me.

Carry on, invisible, non-existent people!
Current Mood: shockedshocked
Current Music: Johnette Napolitano- Suicide Note
13 June 2005 @ 12:56 am
Another update! How utterly impressive! Not really, as no-one actually reads this pathetic attempt at expression. Well, no, it isn't an attempt, nor is it expression. Expression comes in the form of bright red warmth, lines of crimson drawn over alabaster white. There, almost poetry, is it not? I just remember, I did write a piece of poetry. I shall go dig it out of my school satchel presently!

Well, it's terrible, as I wrote it whilst bored in my English class. On the off chance that someone bothers to read this LJ, please do not judge me upon this poem. I do not typically indulge in such stereotypically whimsical pursuits.

"My lord who sleeps in sepulchre deep
His dark winged mistress by his side
He does but rise from the cool dark earth
To greet a howling wind, a ghostly moonrise
And I, ever his shadow, follow

The trees bend long, whipped to et fro
His wife cries her malevolent delight
For who but he, my mighty dark lord
Might rule this ashen, wicken night?
Heed him, quiet, careful now

Cloaked in winter, death icy et sharp
He strides across the barren, empty earth
Long white fingers, sharp as a wolf's bite
Steals children from slumber, leaving coals
Blackening in the hearth

His mistress follows in his sweeping wake
Kissing him whenever she may dare
Staining their lips a crimson, bloody red
Dripping with innocence, so Death may smile
As only my lord may

Silent, silent, carefully, quietly, quickly go
Creeping past the royals' marble tomb
Where they lie, wreathed in shadows barbed
Until the next haunted night, summoned once more
As I do quietly wait."

Did we catch the subtle musical reference there? No? "Where they lie, wreathed in shadows barbed" is a reference to my much beloved Wumscut album, Wreath of Barbs. Buy it. Pretend that poem contained a subliminal message, so that I can convince people that I am endorsing their product, and get money.

I do so love daydreaming. Everything can be almost perfect. Although it does, on occasion, disturb me that my daydreams often seem to involve first hand experience in death. I wish to know what it feels like. That cold sharp steel. Sometimes I run a blade along the veins, just for that thrill, that fleeting happiness. I can't press down, not yet, but I can dream.

"I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, That the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had..." ~ Gary Jules, Mad World.

"Every night you wrote another line with a bloody, broken bottle... And every day, you wish it away... Why don't you pull the pin on that grenade you coddle?" ~ Johnette Napolitano, Suicide Note.

It's not every night, though, anymore. At one point it was, delightful crimson my everything. Lately, though, I'm too tired, too.... nothing. Is that good? Maybe it means that freedom draws near. Wow. All of a sudden I am reminded of King Arthur. If only I could think about them. Alas, indeed.

I am so cursed with indecisiveness. I know that death is the only way I will ever be free. Especially in light of my report card. I know now that I shall never attend University. The best that I could hope for would be to get a retail job somewhere I enjoy. Some witchcraft supply store, or a bookshop. And then what? Spend the rest of my life as a mindless automon, slowing getting dumber? Having to live my life in a dream, because otherwise I will realise the sheer torture of it.

Why even wait? I know that I have no other option. I have often said that I would rather die than be stupid, and I truly mean it. Then, it's because I still dream that I cannot accept it. When the time comes, I will accept that my dreams are false, and there shall be no hesitation. I almost did the deed last time, when I suddenly realised the truth. Even as I write this, it is not truth to me. I am someone else somewhere else, writing about something which I know nothing of. Maybe it is not indecisiveness, after all. Humans are supposed to want to survive, so it is some moronic survival instinct. To what end? I shall be of no benefit, no significance to the human race. Thus, my survival is unimportant. I am merely wasting resources.

This is pointless. One of the most famous literary quotes acts as a better summation than my pathetic intellect could ever create;

"To die, to sleep. To sleep perchance to dream... For who knows what dreams may come, once we have shuffled off this mortal coil?"

And it is for such dreams that I live, and I shall die.
Current Mood: blankEmpty
Current Music: Sarah McLachlan "Angel," Johnette Napolitana "Suicide Note"
11 June 2005 @ 07:21 pm
Wow, so soon an update. Well, I am bored. I should be doing homework, but I am not feeling particularly inspired at the moment.

Hmmm, apparently I should go visit my cousin Matthew in London. Not the fun east-end, no, of course not. The snobby, yuppy-ish west. I'm sure that would just be pants. I do hope you took note of the sarcasm there. Sigh. Oh well, it's not as though it shall happen.

Those snobby bitches at school have been gossiping about me again. It's getting utterly ridiculous, you would think they have something better to do. I shall show them, one day. I do so look forward to it.

I just went shopping with my father. The lard-arse express has returned! I mean it; chips, corn chips, sweets, chocolate, chocolate biscuits, it's disgusting! Although I was positively gluttonous today. Damn dinner, and it's excessive calorie count. Why the hell can I not live with something other than two obese swine? The amount they eat is atrocious.

I do believe I have found a new role model! Audrey Hepburn was 5'7", the same as myself, and weigheda delightful 103 pounds. She was terribly beautiful. So, aside from Keira Knightly, she can be another role. And suggestions for other gorgeously thin women, do tell me. I can't even imagine what it must be like to be as gorgeous as her. I'm so obese. Ugh.

Yesterday was a good day, though. I had 3 mugs of tea, a ton of water, and chicken noodle broth for dinner, which was disgusting! I would kill to be able to go on a proper diet. Maybe I ought to just kill my parents. Hmmmm, there is something I must go ponder....
Current Mood: disappointeddisappointed
Current Music: Lacuna Coil
09 June 2005 @ 07:54 pm
Another day. I want to scream, and smash something, but I won't. Anger is inappropriate, I'm not allowed to be bad-tempered, or pissed off, or stressed, or upset. I can't be cheerful, but I'm not allowed to be anything else. They all make that perfectly clear.

Hmmm, there may be a change of plans. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner! I wish I had access to a laboratory, life would be so much easier. In any case, I think the date is set. It just depends, I guess.

I'm covered in bruises. Much better than cutting in some ways, because I can hit myself as hard as I can, without worrying about "accidentally" fucking up. I can smash the wooden handle, steel rod, whatever, into my leg, and I can almost lose control. It's never hard enough, though. I despise it, I loathe it. I just want to kill it.

It's back to being ignored. My parents, when they aren't yelling at me, just completely ignore me. Like I don't even exist. All the teachers pretend I don't exist, unless it is to inform me of how unworthy I am of existence. Everything you read about death, people try to convince themselves that someone will miss them. Maybe someone will miss them. Not me. And I don't particularly care, anymore.

There is so much that I could write, or say, or scream, but I can't. At the same time as there is everything, there is nothing. No words, no... anything. Nothing.
Current Mood: apatheticapathetic
Current Music: Carmina burana
21 May 2005 @ 11:09 pm
Every night
You wrote another line
With a bloody, borken, bottle
And every day
You wish it away
Why don't you pull the pin
On that grenade
You cuddle

I wanted to believe
Bodies swinging from trees
Struggling to stand
With your head in your hands
A stoic last stand
Of a dying man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
That I did not understand

Every night
The questions poured out
Of your wounded eyes
Damn dark things
Every day
You used to pray
Listen to the black raven sing
You wanted to believe
As you were falling to your knees
Struggling to stand
With your life in your hand
The sad last stand
Of a broken man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
That I did not understand

I wanted to believe
As I watch your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
That I did not understand

And the questions pour out
And the questions pour out
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
The sound of you falling
I did not understand
As the trembling heart of a man
Did not understand
The sound of a trembling heart

~ Suicide Note, Johnette Napolitano
Current Mood: blankNothing
Current Music: Suicide Note, Johnette Napolitano
21 May 2005 @ 10:12 pm
Girl of 16, whole life ahead of her
Slashed her wrists, bored with life

Didn't succeed, thank the lord for small mercies

Fighting back the tears, mother reads the note again
16 candles burn in her mind, she takes the blame
It's always the same...

~ Blasphemous Rumours, Depeche Mode

I don't know what to write. There is so much going on, but there are no words for it. I don't have any words. So much for an extensive vocabulary. I don't have one, though. There are so many words I don't know. I'm a moron, anyway. Even if I had the words, I couldn't write them, because if it is something that truly means something to me, I won't let it outside of my head.

Maybe the discovery of betrayal did affect me? I don't think so, though. It's just... everything. Everything, and nothing. The war in my head, between the knowledge, and constant external reminders, that I am an idiot, a stupid moron who shall never amount to anything, and wondering why people seem stupid.

I keep buying all these books. Trying to fill that gaping abyss that is where I think I used to enjoy... life. Everything, anything. When I apologised, he said it was ok, I "looked like I was having fun." I wasn't, though. I was hyper, but it is the hyperactive desperation of insanity. Except I am not insane, because I will never be like them. I almost remember happiness, when I think about MB, walk through the buildings in my mind. Then I remember, and I want to scream, cry, and... I have no words, and complete control. I will never lose control. It's a fact, undeniable and inevitable, that I should ironically succumb to my inability to do so.

I know how I'll do it, now. I don't think there is a question about it. There is more research to be done, though. I know, though. The most comforting thing in the world. The only problem is that now I wonder if I should bother continuing as things are.

Why are you still alive? What do you live for? What keeps you going every day, keeps you from giving in to that voice that keep telling you what you have to do? I thought about this for hours the other day, and I arrived at a conclusion; I have only one, and it is not one. I am living in the vain, impossible hope that things will improve. I am hoping that I shall have something to hope for. Therefore, my reason for living is a pathetic excuse, an abstract justification for my wasting space and resources.

It's not the only reason, though, truly. Fantasy is. When I talk to people that no-one else can see, they talk back, they don't just ignore me like everyone else. They actually give a fuck about me. I can be something other than a fat, ugly, stupid loser. Somewhere where I matter, where I count, contribute, am something more than a waste of space and resources. I realised once, that it is never going to be real. I was going to kill myself, that very afternoon. I went through the motions and everything, until one of those "imaginations" convinced me otherwise.

How do I know that it won't be better? How do I know that I won't be re-incarnated where I belong, somewhere where I can live, not just exist, but truly live? Or that I won't just inhabit a world entirely of my own construction? In any case, what would it matter? If none of it happens, if it is all just blackness and consciousness no longer exists, how the hell would that be any worse?

Argh, I don't know. I want to do it, so much. I guess the next time reality convinces me, I will. It's just that when reality isn't real for me, I can't imagine the knowledge that my life is never going to be this, because that isn't real in my non-reality. I could think about it, but it isn't the same. What am I going to do? I'm such a fucking coward, but my cowardice is lessening with every day, I think.

Released from sorrow, sin and pain
And freed from every care
By angels hands to Heaven conveyed
To rest forever there

~ Epitaph on a Gravestone
Current Mood: blankNothing
Current Music: HIM
12 May 2005 @ 10:15 am
It is intriguing, you know? A few weeks ago, finding out that she betrayed me yet again, never mind that it was last year, would have probably upset me. And yet I found out last night, and it really doesn't. Maybe I am finally getting used to being constantly betrayed? It has come too late, though. I am finally starting to realise a few truths, and actually live them;

1) Trust No-one. That has always been one of my rules, and yet somehow I kept fucking it up. Not any more. I can honestly say that I am now completely dishonest. I tell no-one anything, because I really don't care anymore.

2) No-one gives a fuck about me. Again, I kept having all these stupid, stupid little delusions that someone would actually give a fuck about me one day. Not any more. I am finally starting to realise that no-one really does care, and neither do I.

3) People are lying bastards. Oh wait, my mistake. I knew that all along. It's just that now I have proof that everyone is a lying, backstabbing bitch. How convenient, the things that people forget to tell you you.

4) Other peoples promises mean nothing. Apparently I am the only person who actually keeps their word when they give it. It puts me in a very difficult position indeed; I have been betrayed by someone who swore an oath, and I will never seek retribution, because my word means something. And yet I don't even care. I feel bound by more than my word not to do the same, because I genuinely feel friendship for them. I am a fool indeed.

Even these things I don't really care about any more. I don't care about anything. As long as I pass my classes until I drop out, it makes no difference to me.

Hmmmm, it has been a while since I updated, hasn't it? Well, my right arm is now equally scarred, with over 50, to match my striped left. I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. I have also discovered the wonderfully painful world of cutting up my disgustingly bloated stomach. It burned for days. Then of course, their is my right leg. Over 30 cuts, most of which are around 10cm long. The shortest is 5cm, the longest is 18cm. Quite an achievement, I think.

I have resumed contact with two of my oldest friends, too. Sid and Anna, the only friends in the world that I will ever pretend to trust, because of course I shall not truly trust anyone, but they are not going to betray me any time soon. Together, the three of us shall become the greatest power that the world has ever seen. Unstoppable.
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
Current Music: Static-X
20 April 2005 @ 05:22 pm

You Are Edward From "Edward Scissorhands."

You are very shy and often misunderstood. Innocent, sweet, and artistic, you like to pass your days by daydreaming and expressing yourself through the arts. You are a truly unique individual. Unfortunately, you are quite lonely, and few people truly understand you.

Take The Johnny Depp Quiz!
14 April 2005 @ 10:19 pm
It's been two days since I enjoyed myself. Two whole days since I cut. And it's fucking driving me nuts. I can't stand it. I am in control of it, that's what people don't get. I could stop if I wanted to, but I don't want to. I don't think I am going to make it to three days, fear of "infection" be damned.

God, mother and father were trying to bring up the subject the other day. Father saw something on SI on "Dr Phil," (fuck I hate him. Stupid drawling hick), and so was lecturing me on "oh, poor Sister, her life is so terrible, so horrid, I can understand why she felt she had to do that."

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? The two biggest catch-cries nowadays are "I am bullied," and "I cut myself." Generally neither has happened. The got called a bitch, like sister dearest, who more than deserved it, or like her at school. They "cut" themselves "all the time," and yet wear the skimpiest clothes, and have no scars. And their clothing leaves nothing to the imagination. What the fuck is with all these people?

47 cuts on my arm at the moment, or thereabouts. Plus the few deep ones on my legs. I am considering starting to use a razor blade. It doesn't inflict as much pain as my beloved dull blade, which sucks, but it is still pain, which is better than nothing. I tried cutting my right arm with the dull blade, but it is so damn hard! Maybe I will try again tonight. Yeah, I think I shall.

Goddamn they annoy me. Yes, all I do in my LJ is whine. Who else am I supposed to tell? The only people I have ever been honest with just turn around and tell me precisely what I really don't need to hear. Sure, to them it is just a simple few words, but they don't get it. Just like everyone else.

Then there are all those stupid dreams about finding some great guy who actually gives a fuck about me. Please. Laugh my fucking arse off, that's not going to happen. If there was some wonderful, wonderful guy in close proximity to me, he would either be chatting up one of the bitches, or shoving me and laughing, or just laughing at the sheer hideousness that is me.

I hate mirrors. If it wasn't for mirrors, or the existence of other people, I think I could possibly almost fool myself into thinking that I am not the most fucking hideous creature to ever walk the face of the planet. I could never convince myself that I am not a fat blimp, because I just have to look down to realise that. Or just consider myself for a moment.

I don't remember the last time I was happy in my life. I don't remember what it feels like. When I watch M*A*S*H, I am happy, because I am in their world. There, I just watch, I don't have to realise that I am fat and ugly, stupid and talkative, a loser and a loner. Plus, I could almost pretend that they see me, and give a fuck. Like that'll ever happen. But hey, that's life.

I can't wait until the day. Carpe Diem (noctum?) indeed.
Current Mood: melancholymelancholy
Current Music: Evanescence