I feel like I can't escape my mind.

*rubs at face*

tomorrow morning, around the time I would usually go to bed, I will be leaving for Jamies house for a few days. I'm excited.

I guess. I mean, I know I should be excited, I haven't seen Jaime since her graduation.

but. . .

I don't know. I want to sleep. I want to just sorta hermit. But that sorta thing is a lot easier to do when your friends aren't the sort to make sure you do get out.

which, I suppose, is the mark of actual friendship.

So I kinda, uh, I don't know. Scott, I am fairly certain, has no interest in me. I realize this is likely my own fault, for being so goddamned awkward and nervous that I do stupid things. It can't be helped. It would be nice if I could, you know, turn down the spazzometer, but hey, I guess that is just what I get for being me.

I would be nice if, you know, I could glide, gracefully into a room wearing a completely decent sweater that, still, clung to me while speaking in a low husky voice that, despite saying only the most mundane of information, held the attention of every male and probably even questionable females.

but, hey, that isn't me. Who would ever want a krista who could be sure of herself? Not me!

Ignoring sex and all that stuff isn't that hard. Really, unfortunately actually, I think that once I am able to get over the pressure to do what everyone expects of me, I might actually be asexual. Instead of, you know, just thinking about it seriously as something I might maybe just kinda sorta could be.

mmm, modifiers.

I smell delicious because Anna bought me a BILLION JILLION goodies from Lush. Okay, she actually got me their Christmas gift set but close enough. Sonic Death Monkey may just be my favorite thing ever. Ever. Don't argue, it is just that good.

I found a switchblade and now it is mine. I like it. I was flicking it in and out idly while waiting for the bus yesterday. Good times, especially since the Witnesses aren't so keen to approach me. Bitches.

For the bus trip my mom told me to look like a guy so people wouldn't bother me. I reminded her that I am stronger than most males. She refused to believe that people would ignore me based on my physical strength versus my, you know, gender. BECAUSE THAT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE, LoLROFLC0PTER!!!1!11!.

*cough*

Already used my favorite title today so pretend I took the effort to write something witty here

I hate winter. I hate this time of year for one reason. The way it makes me feel.

this should, by all means, be my favorite time of year. I spend much more time outside, I have the weather I know I adore, sleeping in easier, my pets gain adorable winter weight and I have a valid excuse to bake, which, as we all know, it the one thing I enjoy to do in the kitchen.

But, every year, I fall into this cycle of loathing. Every year I am too sick in my head to notice all the wonderful things around me that, if occurring in July, would make me happy for weeks. Instead, I avoid my friends like the plague, dig out the last bits of black clothing I had from my Ashley days and find new and exciting ways to hate myself more deeply.


and now that I've showered, I am a morose, sad girl who smells faintly of strawberries.

wonderful.

Might as well. Day is long and nothing is wasted

I feel like I'm trapped in this constant cycle of being a lying manipulating bitch.

I'm awful. I'm suspicious and paranoid and I know my friends almost always mean well but I'm always afraid that they don't really want me around, that I'm being kept around as a joke. They people are playing with my emotions to see just how far they can push me. I think this so often yet it has never ever been the case.

I'm so afraid that I'm permanently alone. I am so scared sometimes that this constant loneliness inside is permanent and no matter how many people I have in my life, I will feel it there, gaping and black, reminding me that I have ripped too many people out of my life painfully to be normal.

I don't want to be a mess. I want, someday, to maybe be normal. Maybe with a man who cares about me and who looks at me and see my problems and doesn't try to fix me. And maybe a house and a fence and a garden. And I wont be empty because someone found a way to put back what was missing; stability. A solid place for me to always be. Something to be sure of in my life, something that I could always look at and think "as long as that stands, I will be fine." I used to think that was my family. Then my mother happened. Then my brother. Then my sister. And my father has been gone to me since the very beginning so I'm not too sure he counts at all. These people, the ones who should be counting on me and vice versa, are leaving me behind. My brother lies to me more often than Andrea lies to our mom. It's disappointing the way I can look at my family and know why we are falling apart and think, in some ways, that it might be my fault. Why can't I fix me? Nothing works, I've taken so much just to try and find a way to be normal. To be able to handle things in a way that most people take for granted; rationally. I can know so much intellectually, but emotionally I am all over the place. I am an emotional contradiction. I want to make friends, but I don't want to have to make friends, I want then to approach me. I want love but I cant ever go back to the man I love, so I settle with cheap thrills and disappointment. I need support but I don't want to be supported, I want the strength myself to be able to handle anything.

I am very disappointed in myself. For my whole life. I have failed at basic living.

you cheap lying faggot, merry christmas merry christmas

i. . . am . . . sooo tired.

Baking cookies to christmas music. But, of course, my mom trusted me to pick the christmas music. Helllllooooo irony!

Looking back now, I suppose you were just stating the news

I should be getting ready right now, but I'm not. I'm sitting in the sweatshirt I slept in, writing a blog about how I shouldn't be blogging right now.
okay, that's not the reason I started the entry.
I was thinking about how differently I write here. As compared to my other blogs where there is community and comments and that leads to the constant awareness of having someone evaluate my ramblings, this gives me someplace to pretend I'm writing in private. Not that I want no one to ever read what I write, otherwise I wouldn't even bother, I just become nervous that someone is judging me based on any of these.
I like the way this site looks. I like how it feels to "publish" my entries. I like looking at the archive build and know that I can look back to how I felt during any of those months. Not that those are all entries I would want to remember, most of Fuzzy WAS about David, being able to is the important thing.
It's sad that I never talk about my boy, guy thing. Maybe because I knew as soon as we hung out that we would never last? Maybe because once I met his family I knew he was too good for me? Maybe because I can't stay with any one person for too long before going crazy. Maybe he already knows I'm leaving him. It would be like him to know when I told him and to put his hands on me and let me know everything was okay. Annie asked me about him today. I just don't know what to say. I stopped caring about him. I'm an awful person. I hate being this way. I wish I could commit to something and be happy about it. I lie, I hope, I pretend I can be normal and I can't. I'm practically doomed. Then again, people can always change, people always ARE changing. Static personalities are for bad made-for-TV dramas. I change, obviously *looks back in archive*, but I feel like I am changing for the worst in some cases. I'm definitely becoming a more organized person, at the very least slightly. I'm a little less high-strung, things aren't bothering me quite as much as they would have seven months ago. I can swallow my pride if I'm given enough time. That would really be the big one if you knew me well. I once said "My pride is all I have. Give it up and I have nothing." I said that while refusing to open my door on principle.
I'm a prideful person. I'm selfish. I'm greedy. I don't often think of others with my actions. I don't often think my actions through all the way. My success up to this point has been a lot of luck. I'm afraid of people I know. I want to believe that other people might like me. I really want acceptance my peers on such a level that I don't have to worry about being alone during "those" times. Those times are coming less and less though I still feel it occasionally and don't know what to do besides hide in my room and cry. I've stopped going to any therapy, against my therapists recommendation, of course. Those bloodsucking bastards wouldn't ever want to let go of me. I would be tied up to them with fifty minute talks and lexapro for life if I did what they wanted. While I am slowly growing out of my pride, there are levels of dignity that I will never let myself fall below.

because I love myself more than I have ever been able to love another.

Butterflies and hurricanes

Putting all of my thoughts in one place in dangerous.

Fuzzy On the Outside, Pits Included, ect, ect.

The thing is, by separating my thoughts I have to rethink them, changing them by the mere process of processing them.

I have a fear of rejection. I have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of loss.

I fear people, pretty much. I fear having anything with anyone. Because, as soon as you make a bond to a person you are fixing values to parts of yourself. By making these connections you doom yourself to break them because people are always evolving. Friendship is only asking to be hurt because in the end the person you felt a kinship with is going to be gone and you're going to be standing there with your heart in your hands waiting for them to come back to who they were but they wont because you just weren't important enough to them to slow down and make sure you were growing at the same rate. And by you I mean me. And they I mean my friends past and probably present.

The worst friends I have are the ones who I am closest to.

I don't have any old friends. None of my friends have known me from high school except one and I wouldn't call him a real friend, which, ironically, makes him the person most likely to be around for a long time.

I think I might want someone to love me. I don't know what I am even ready for. But maybe. I might want to go back to Morgan. I don't know. I want it. I really want someone to hold me, and be still and just let me think and take in the sensation on his hand brushing my hair away and the smell and the feel and the shape of his body. But it wont last. Because the closer you tie your heart to someone, the faster the sutures will be ripped from your flesh. I hope that someday I might find the person with whom I will grow with. The person who will be either so much like me, so much dislike me or complement me so well that we stay. In tandem. Maybe, someday, even I can be happy. Someday I might enjoy the company of another person without the constant fear and reaffirmation I have now that these people will break my heart and leave me.

I'm think about you here Ashley, I'm thinking of you.

if my life was a movie i would cut these scenes

I. am. in. hate.

Well, actually, i wouldn't call it hate. I really don't put that much effort into it. It's more like I just greatly dislike the person i am. I fuck up. I fuck up bad. Watch Krista fuck up. Fuck up Krista, fuck up.

It's disgusting really, watching me do this to myself. My family tries to stop it. well, my brother at least. when he is home. and not busy. which isnt very often but he tries and i see that and i feel sick inside because he puts more effort into making me happy than i do for myself.

it's so easy to see why people leave me. i dont know why it still suprises me.