I'll Take My Time, Well Now It's Time To Go

My mom is pretty childish.
Exhibit A:
I said, "I love my cat."
She replied, "But he's my cat, they're all my cats."
I'm completely serious when I say that she has the mentality of a seven year old.
My step-dad too, he tries to beat up every guy that I talk to; he's somewhat of a delinquent in general.
We all have developmental problems, I'm sure.
Oh, anyway, I've been trying to write for a few days now, but I'm extremely brain-dead after a month of rigorous testing.
I hang out with The Crew (Satan's ex-friends), or at least what's left of them.
It's been interesting, and you hardly ever see the entire group in the same place anymore.
After they graduated the group disbanded, I'm going to use letters instead of names here.
But normally it's just M and C from the original group, though they've added more people so that it's different entirely.
Ivy always says how sad it is that there is no Crew anymore, because "we were part of it."
I guess we were in a way; she was because she was dating M, and I was because of her and Satan.
It's funny though, I was never an official part of the group.
Now I've gotten in on my own, but it's a far cry from what it used to be.
The entire Crew and whatever girl Satan was interested in at the moment would go cram into his tiny room to smoke weed.
They taught me to use a butterfly knife and we used to smoke out of Satan's red plastic bong.
When they all dropped out and he got his card The Crew split into two different groups.
Satan and a couple of other annoying people, and then M and a couple of new people; the rest of them went their own ways.
Hanging out with them would characterize pretty much all of my Sophmore year, surprisingly I don't miss it.

Sex and Lies in San Diego

Hmmm, it's just something that I have to say....to no one in particular.
I'm a pathological liar, but I have my reasons.
No one needs to know what's really gone on in my life.
I'm hiding the bad, the not so good and everything in-between.
Some of the lies were to cover up other lies, some of them were to cover up the sad or scandalous truth.
Now my entire life is one big lie.
And no one will ever know.
It's true that you have to acknowledge the past before you can forget it.
I've just recently began to unearth all the things I've buried, it's been a long process.
I used to dwell on everything that happened between Satan and me, because I was trying to distract myself from everything else.
I lost my virginity in a hotel room, not to Satan, not even to a guy that I liked.
I lost my virginity to a guy who was almost thirty.
I just layed there, stoned out of my mind, listening to some angsty punk music that I put on just so that it wasn't quiet.
I've felt terrible since then.
I've felt terrible since I screwed that twenty-five year old on his living room floor, I've felt terrible since I let Satan guilt-trip me into giving him head; I've felt terrible for a long time, about a lot of different things.
But truth is that you can't change the past.
I wanted one goddamn person to love me, just one.
One person who is always there for me, who helps me grow without criticizing me, someone understanding, who I'm happy to see.
I don't believe in love anymore, I'm not the person I used to be.
I'm not innocent, sweet, kind, or anything like that; I can't be.
I've been ridiculed by my peers my entire life.
When I'd go to birthday parties or even at my own birthday parties I was always an outcast.
Always crying, when I turned nine all my friends locked themselves in my room and wouldn't let me in.
When I turned six my cousins completely ignored me at my birthday party.
I had no friends in fourth and part of fifth grade, because I went to a rich school and I was socially awkward.
Because I had never gone to a school for more than a year and half the time I didn't go to school at all.
I sat under this big tree and read during recess, I convinced myself that books like Harry Potter and Lord of The Rings were real.
I escaped into my own delusions.
A shrink once told my parents that I lived in a fantasy world, it was true.
My mom criticized me for this, and she criticized me for everything else.
Why didn't I tell the shrink this, the court mediator that, my dad something, and why did I do anything.
Why was I even breathing?
My mom used to ground me from reading and writing, I don't remember why she ever grounded me.
I didn't have chores or anything, and I was too young to do anything bad.
My grandmother was always my only friend.
So what happened when I couldn't see her or after she died?
Well, with no father and a crazy mother I did what any teenage girl would do.
I went and found some boy to love me.
And when he screwed me over I found another one, and when I got sick of it I popped pills.
I thought my step-dad was gonna save me, because he couldn't stand living with my mom.
He said he was gonna take me with him, he's been saying that since I was twelve.
I'm seventeen now; they're still together, still unhappy.
I thought Satan was gonna save me, because he was like me.
He had been screwed over by parents and girls, and we were so good together.
Like we just belonged, it felt right.
My step-dad (who I thought I could trust) messed that up, but I don't think Satan could've saved me anyway.
You have to save yourself, no one else can.
It always goes this way, I hope it gets better though.
Everytime my mom talks about my future I have to hold back my thoughts.
I don't know how to tell her that what she wants is impossible, and that she's partially to blame for it.
I mostly just feel sorry for my mother, because she'll never really open her mind to anything.
She will live off her regrets, and the memory of people who have wronged her.
She will spew liberal political propaganda onto anyone willing to listen, and she will shut out the words of her only child....because she doesn't want to accept that her daughter is different than she wanted her to be.
Life isn't a novel, so I won't quote any novels; but it's pretty damn close, so I'll quote myself.
"Everything changes, nothing stays the same forever, you get through it one way or another, so just don't cry, don't you dare cry."
And I swear I won't cry, I'll never cry about the past again.

Alice in Psycholand

The feeling you get when you want to end your life is fueled by the realisation that it's over.
I mean to say that you realise that there's no point anymore, because there's no happy ending at the end of the road.
You don't get to somehow manage to accomplish an impossible feat and then get rewarded.
Instead your life force slowly fades away until you're cold in a grave, or ashes to the wind.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust", as they say.
And my brain just spins itself around into a grotesque mess, because nothing seems to be worth it anymore.
People have this notion that if they work hard things fall into place, the harder I work the more life shits on me.
And when you don't try, when I sit on my ass and smoke bowls, life STILL shits on me.
I'm ranting, and bawling my eyes out, I've had a migraine all day and I'm convinced that I'm Schizophrenic.
I'm clinically, chronically diagnosed with something called Major Depression.
Chemical imbalances and all that shit, chemicals.....
God doesn't exist, and if he did he would hate me.
I know this for a fact, because you can't look for some external force to save you.
You have to save yourself, or die trying.
Which should bring me back to suicide, I've failed a lot at a lot of different things....
Including suicide.
Not to say that I really wanted to kill myself before, I just wanted to spark change in my life, which at the time could only be done with some form of an extremity.
Now I've given up on change and everything else.
My mom is insane, I'm lonely, miserable, isolated (mostly due to my mother's insanity), I'm full of cliched teenage angst.
All wrapped up with a red ribbon and the ashes of poetry scattered on the grave of happiness in my heart.
It's all a terrible cliche, depression sparks my creativity.
Because by definition artists are Bipolar.
I'm simply just crazy, just simply crazy....and being crazy is quite simple.
You're so lonely that you talk to anything that will listen, mostly walls and hallucinations of actual people.
Sort of like imaginary friends.....
Your eating and sleeping patterns get fucked up.
You have extreme highs and lows, because you're trying to stabilize yourself.
Instead you end up crying hysterically for no reason and screaming all kinds of things that make no sense.
Then you ramble incoherently and everyone around you gets scared, because you won't get off the floor.
And then you throw things and kick things, and once you've worn yourself out you fall asleep....
Or you somehow calm yourself down and pretend that everything is alright.
So then you do drugs and drink to escape, you run away from yourself.
But guess who is always staring at you from the window or the bathroom mirror.
I remember those eyes, my eyes as a child.
And I can't relieve the feeling that there's still a little girl within me who never knew warmth
And I'm not saying that my mom doesn't love me or that she never hugged me.
(Although I am saying that about my dad)
I'm saying that I never knew what it was like to have a parent who was stable.
I've never had anything that was stable.
I'm saying that the world is cold, grey and frigid.
And everyone wonders why I smoke so much pot, why I'm irritable, moody, depressed....
Why it takes so much for me to maintain my grades, why I'm currently failing four classes.
And for that I'm "grounded", but I don't get grounded; I just can't go out.
Sometimes for no reason at all, at least this time she has a reason.
This is why it hurts so much, because I work my ass off for everything.
In the end I get screwed no matter what.
So I give up, if there's a knife to my throat....then may the blood pour.