Hey hi! There isn't any other way of starting this blog but, saying I'm sorry. I can list off all the excuses but, none of them are worth waisting my breath on. I feel failed and pathetic.
Basically I haven't blogged lately because I'm really affraid to. I'm afraid becasue, I surface things in me that arn't normal, and quite frankly scary. What is below my surface is dark and evil. It makes me want to be sick. It licks at my wrists when some of it brushes my conscience and I loose control. This darkness that lays inside of me inhabits my mind and tells me not to blog, not to go anywhere near it. Not to read it not to think about it. Why? Because it hurts to read what I write. To know I'm that messed up.
There's no going back on anything, in life. You will never be able to re-write what you have written. It isn't as easy as pressing the backspace and starting over. That is one thing I have learned.
My magic number is twelve writ now. Eight. Eight inconsevabley hard, excrusiating points of numbness, highness, and limited happiness. Today, is magic number eight. A year down the road? I don't want to think about it. A year. A whole year...Each day that leads up to a year eats away at me and makes me wonder am I growing? Or am I slowly deteriorating into nothing. I am becoming another victim of this nasty hateful world? I don't know. I will tell you this though, I have eigh weak moments:
One for the first, the first pain that has ever touched my soul.
Two for the monster that guilt is. Slowly consuming me into a pile of bones.
Three for the irresistable moments to fly off to far away places that only promise a better way to live my life.
Four for the stinging gut wrenching pain that love is. Nothing but an addiction that feels good at the time but, when you have to stop... you want to die from the shear pain of withdrawl.
Five for becoming crazy. The terror of knowing you can't sleep because of night terrors, becoming dizzy because you realize how pathetic you are, and the lack of nourishment because you don't deserve it.
Six for crying, and not being able to stop. Not being able to find the control that used to be there. Never finding the light at the end of the tunnel.
Seven for school, a living hell hole that is undoubtably real. One that has over two thousand living beings. Each lossing themselves in stack of papers, textbooks, pencils, and bull shit. A hell hole that is used as an excuse to leave your family and problems behind, to get distracted and perfect something that is more acheivable then your own life.
Eight for the realization... it's over. Eight is too big a number to go back. It's just over.
Originally Patience
Thing to do today, Apologize for being inconsistent. : ) : * (I'm sorry)
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