From my .wpd; Random thoughts

Day 1
I can’t think of anything to say. Nothing seems important enough to immortalize by saying it outright or by putting on paper for mass distribution. Nothing I know of is that significant. SO I don’t say much. Because there, is nothing to say. I don’t want to say something unless when I can be silent and leave room for those things more worthy of the attention of others.

Days later
I can’t stand being alone. I am though. All the time I am alone. I try to stop it. I try and leave the box I am in. But nobody wants to help me. I struggle alone. YOU DON’T CARE! You could give not one fuck less. All you wanted me for was to suck your dick. And then I was gone to you. I hate you. I wish I had bitten you. Made you bleed. Broke your heart. Pulverized the fucker. I hate you. Whatever and ever amen.

Next day after that
Why am I not worthy? I am never worth it to anyone. I have to do everything. I hate it. I hate you.
Everyone wants more of me. I can’t stand how nobody wants me to do just what feels right for me.

Today
Nobody believes me. I tell the truth and people spit in my face. They wonder why I get defensive. Because they attacked me. My mind hurts and so does my nose. Ashley smacked me with her cuarderno de trabajo for thinking about David and saying his name aloud. That kinda hurt. Yeah it did. Almost like she doesn’t want to have to deal with my drama and my problems. Like she has to keep my life boring and uninvolved so I can help her with whatever she wants and devote my life to whatever she wants me to do. Aw, man, I can always find something to whine about. I guess im just special in that way. I don’t want to be special. I want to be normal again. I want to follow mindlessly and trace myself back to where I went off on my own and beat myself back to the trial so I would never turn out like I did now. I could play soccer, join clubs, have long term healthy relationships, love my mother, read more Hemingway, read less King. Draw, paint, run, jump, breathe, live. I am all about static living and death and slashing. Those would be my verbs. Get yours. I need no more than nothing. Staring back on my life, I was a screw up from the first chance io got. All I wanted to do was to be alone. I wish someone had slapped me or beaten me. I had too little power and immediately jumped to just enough to kill myself which has always been more than I could handle. I can’t keep myself alive. I can’t breathe on my own. Where would I be without my supports? Ashley, heather and god knows who else will show up in my life to keep me alive. I have not the power to be myself. Of my own choice I should be dead right now. I should not be here thinking about myself alone in my room in the middle of the day. I should be in a place with no light, under ground with nothing to disturb my slumber but the slow decomposition of my chemical pumped body. I wonder if they will find a casket big enough for me when I die. Maybe not. I will have to be wrapped in Glad bags. Don’t get mad, get glad. Oh yeah, ill be glad there. I always have been best in a small space alone with no power to do anything. It is where I am most at peace. Quiet. As soon a si have the power to, though I will ruin my own equilibrium and do something stupid and something I know will hurt me.
See also: Wrists
See also: David
Cross section with: Hair
I have yet to do something for my own good of my own power. As soon as I can write my stories in relative peace I can’t. I get the worst writer’s block this side of anything.i just sit and do my blog. My blog doesn’t do anything. I need to write more. I need to get out of my own body again instead of hiding on the net. Hiding myself in the net under the Pseudemys of blogs and emails and AIM. I need to separate and write out of me again. I can’t anymore though. I don’t think so. Even porno was harder to write. It all seemed so repetitive and pointless. I will never find true love or lust. I will forever be a virgin. It was amazing I got as far as I did with David. But he was desperate for the physicality and I was desperate for someone to care about me. Not a nice mix for me, but it all Turned out great for him. Hell, I wrote two angry poems about sucking his dick, one before it happened and one after. I never got to write a happy poem. Once again, my angry poetry file gets bigger. I divide my poetry on a crude basis of a mood. Stupid and useless division seeing as how many of them cross over in moods from beginning to end. But I am stupid so my organization methods are bound to reflect that. All I have ever had to saw in my defense has been that I am a writer, but now I can’t write. That is my defining trait. It is what I do. Without it I am nothing and have no purpose. I don’t even write that well. I just do. I write but I write crap. I spewed it out at an amazing rate for so long but now I can’t I can’t I can’t and I am lost. I am nothing. I need to do something but nothing. I have no purpose. I have no reason I am nothing nothing nothing. I keep to myself that I don’t write anything besides my blog posts and a few crappy poems now. I keep it hidden. For if everyone knew what a fake I am now they would surely lynch me or something. Fuck, I would lynch me. Damn straight. I am a blemish on the earth, Something to be squeezed and removed then treated to remove a scar, any trace of me being here. I should be gone. I should leave. I should not be me. But I am. I don’t want to be, but I am. I need to die soon, and I wish I could die now but I can’t I need to die but I won’t. I have not the guts. I have tried, don’t get me wrong. Last time I thought I had done it. But nope. I was “saved” and that was it. Nobody cared. No therapy, just a I-hope-your-wrists-heal and that was it. Nobody cared if I tried again, least of all mom. She doesn’t want to help me. She wants to try and push me to the edge by constantly reminding me that I am physically not good enough for anyone. She doesn’t want to help me. She wants me to off myself so she can grieve and feel sorry for herself. Hell, I would do it again. I will as soon as I can. As soon as my mind is right. AS soon as I can get the one thing in my heart fired up again to give me the resolve to do it again. I want to do it again. And make the pain gone. The pain is always there. It doesn’t go away, ever. I can’t be rid of something like that. The pain that stays with me for ever. I don’t know who to be rid of it but to die. This pain is of my body so kill the body kill the pain. I hate seeing you every time I see myself. I see you inside of my like a malignant tumor a rotting corpse. I love hurting me cause I know you hurt too, my pain is more yours. You make all pain you want me alive to keep you around. Im sick of me. I am so sick of me. I hate me. I hate me so much I want me dead. I want to dance on my own grave, shit on my tombstone, laugh at my funeral. I want me dead. I want to be free. I hate, I hate I hate I hate I hate I hate. I hate all of it. I hate that you all love me and tell me im good and wonderful and pretty. You would never switch places with me. You would never want to be me. You want me there for you. That is why you lie to me so much, You want something from me. That is why it all happens that way. You want. I don’t deserve so I give. You all deserve more than me. I am the scum of the planet. I am the worst thing there is. I commend you all for helping me realize this. Especially you, David. You definatly showed me that I am worth crap and don’t deserve anything more than to be an object for fun. Even then, I am not to be kept for too long or I might start to think I am worth something. Cant let that happen. I am nothing. I want to be nothing. I don’t want to be here. I want out. To be gone. To be dead. I want to die. And I want to die soon. Piss me off. Please. Piss me off enough to kill myself. Do it soon. I hate you so much I cant stand looking at you go away now. Go find some other worthy soul.
Whatever and ever amen