i don't usually update this much. this is spitting for me. my brain's cluttered. i'm spitting this all out at once.


still locked up in my room most of the time. i painted on a map but it was for you this time, not him. he's far away, locked up as well. i've been played time and time again, and evidentally this time was no different. i listen to a lot of music that makes my heart beat harder and faster. i listen to a lot of music that makes me want to spin around in one hundred circles and then collapse on my bed, an artifical attempt at what our first kiss was like. i keep changing my clothes. i always settle for my dad's old shirts with holes and ripped necklines. they don't smell like his armoire anymore, they smell more like my soap now. my stomach is still cramping up and i want to get out of this skin so badly. i want to take all my pills and sleep for a day or so. you know all my secrets, yet it was always so hard for you to open up. your past is like pulling permanent teeth. i see right through you; in the good way and in the bad way. i know you're scared to get close to me. i know that when i look at old pictures, it makes me wonder if you ever really loved me in the first place... or if you fell in love with the idea of the first girl who said yes. either way it makes me terribly depressed thinking about it. today was a new pain, higher up toward my chest. it's back now. it makes me want to vomit. i hate my face right now. little blemishes that are taking forever to clear up. i feel so crude. a psychopath in the making. i also feel like i am slowly ballooning up to 200 pounds. i might cancel my plans and reschedule the personal xanax day to tomorrow. a haircut can wait. i didn't think being out of school would allow me this much free time. free time to feel completely locked up inside myself. but it was either that or being completely miserable at college for yet another wasted semester. i've taken up a dirty habit in order to keep from eating. disgustingly, i want so badly to fall back into my old habits. equally disgusting, i want to be seventeen again. seventeen when you still lived at home and it felt rewarding and beautiful to have to wait to see you on weekends. when it felt so satifisying to have you get my blood pumping, to feel your warmth from the other side of the bed, to have you hold my hand at the hospital, through the tests, twenty four hour heart monitors and panic attacks. i'm probably going to cry now, because why on earth would anyone in their right mind miss anything remotely close to chronic mental and physical illnesses? but i am clearly not in my right mind. every wretched feeling i had about you from 2004 is rushing back into my body. i guess it was still stored somewhere inside my brain, why i don't know. i thought i'd have stability forever but i was of course proved wrong yet again. the only positive things that have come out of my misery and captivity is artwork and all the words i put in this blog, because i can't find my actual journal. i just want to scream at everyone and tell them how much i'm falling apart. some sweet talkin' boy built me up just to let me fall to pieces again. and that's exactly what he was: a sweet talker. and i'm sure you can all guess how much of a sucker i am for those people. or for attractive boys in general. and yes, i say boys, because they've yet to man up. i'm waiting for you when you decide to do so. last night i tossed and turned til six am. i had more stupid dreams that made me feel so blank and let down. i want to have dreams about the ocean and the wind and autumn and truth. when you swam in the ocean, did you think of me? i was convinced you were with someone else by now. i was convinced you'd written me off as a crazy person who ruined things. but i guess that all pertains to me, doesn't it? i keep trying to write myself off, to turn myself off, to recharge and come back someone new. i miss my best friend, i miss her coaching me through times like these. i miss her still loving me no matter how rude and confusing i get sometimes. i miss her in general. i'm jealous of her composure. right now, every breath i take feels like another step closer to ejecting my day into the toilet. i feel like i have lost, been defeated, yet again. but every time these things happen, all i can say is that i should have expected it.

the saddest part is i crawl into a hole every time.
no, the saddest part is that at any given second, i'd crawl back.