I just walked straight into my door. Although, no, that's actually not true. I slammed the door inside my face.
Yeah, that's correct-er. [ grammar is gone. So is memory ]
The whole thing went like this :
*rolls out of bed*
*lands on the floor, stomache first, then head*
*shakes head* *gets up*
*reaches for door knob*
*swings open*
Fun.I'm just going to die.. Tomorrow is filled with IKEA.A day before christmas and i'm heading for IKEA. Yes. Death seems like teh option.
Yet, it's all feeling weirdly balanced. In a way i never knew of. Apparently as of lately my brain decided to make it bothersome to change my sweater. The thought is in my head.
Yet, my body won't listen. It's like the little kid in my group at the kindergarden i work at. He's smart and all. But he just doesn't get things. You tell him to pick something up and you can tell he heard you. You can tell he got what you meant. He's seing the 'My first story about ducks' book, or the bright red wooden train with the disgusting biting marks in it revealing how many kids must have sucked and bitten on it before. He's seing it. Yet, no reaction.
He's slow, that's pretty much it.Disabled aswell, but not in a rough way. Just too slow. After the 6th time you tell him he gets it. The brain has finally found a working transmitter docking onto whichever transmitter docking thing it has to dock on and he grabs the piece in front of him and puts it away.
I really do admire that kid. He's my fave of all. He reacts on you in a very gentle way. Telling you to fuck off results in a heyyyy...' with a very slow movement of hand and a drool over his navy blue sweater.
However, being a 19 year old girl with the transmitter-docking-abilities of a 4 year old slow-kid seems a bit odd. Even to myself. And then i'm sat there inside my bed, with all those blankets stuffed around me, the heater on 5 blasting whatever out of it's white clean shape and my brain is telling me to
& i know that i have to and i know how to and i understand the need. But nothing's happening.'FUCKING TAKE THE SWEATER OFF YOU GONNA DIE OF HEAT IF YOU DON'T'
Can you tell i'm a bit fucked? Cause i certainly feel like it.
yes i'll try not to let them take me down
not to let them take over what's left of what was me
yes i'll try and i'll try and i'll try
not to cry when skinner tells about the
times he never went to church
and I'll keep you deep inside
keep you underneath the hurt
if there's anything you left of you
to remind myself of you
you'd better let me know
cause i doubt it'll ever show
i hope i make you proud
cause i don't know what life's about
Who would you like to kiss under the mistletoe?
Submitted by EmmyAngua.
Somebody sweet.And delicate.And rough.None in particular. [ that's such a lie ]
I'm constantly running.
From you, from me.From everything.From the past right into what i shouldn't forget and things i shouldn't do.I'm making a mess out of myself.I'm acting like i knew it all better back then when all of what i had got lost and trembled and quickly faded into space and died without a sound.
There are ghosts.Inside me.Surrounding me.They're what i am and what i shouldn't be.And all you ever tell me is to keep my head on my shoulders and my back upright and my tits on the front and my fists oh so ready to fight.
The truth isthat i don't even care.The truth is that i always cared too much.Losing and fighting and creeping out of the dust.And back again tossed by your trust.One i couldn't keep up.
You put your hopes in me, like a black black deep deep hole you suck me right under your sold out habits and the ways you have long long lost.
& the truth is that i miss myself like this.The truth is i never cared enough.
If there's something inside me worthy of living on you should have carried me through.The truth is you don't even know
uh yeah.I love rock 'n' roll.
I'm in such a weird weird mood. Intrigue & Love, here i come.Besides, isn't it funny that this lovely piece of *cough* shitonfuckingtoast *coughcough* literature is oh so important for us german kids and while we spend hours and hours wondering what it's about and how Schiller did this and that and smooched up with those and these under mistletoes.. there's actually no way you could get it off amazon.com [ that's the US version of 'literature'. wankers. ]
That same 'ole same 'ole song, baby.
But i suck so i hadn't.
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| Mars Semisextile Neptune |
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| Dec 14, 2006 to Dec 16, 2006 |
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| You're not feverish or achy. You just know you need to stay home today. Remember how you used to get out of school when you weren't ready for a test? | ||
i like astrology.com for making me feel less awful about skipping school for the past two days plus today.
no, thanks really.
Today in school we talked about love.
We based our discussion on the play "Intrigue and love" by Schiller.and eventually we came across the point that one can only share love if one loves the self.
The good 'ole
i thought. Neverminding the fuss everybody was making about the statement one of my classmates made. Being well sure that i do love. Even though the love i have for myself is limited to very little.You have to love yourself to love others,
, i said to myself being fully fine with the thoughts running in my mind."Maybe that's why i only love so very few and why it wears me out so much."
But then my teacher said something which made me feel a little unwell, indeed.
He talked about how people who don't love themselves replace 'love' with different things. However, those people are rather sure of the things they assume to connect with the receiving and giving of love as love itself.
& he added, most of the times the replacements are rather sick rituals, common returns of habits and behaviours. He mentioned eating disorders and self harm as ones of them and even though i consider myself one of the many who tried those things unintentionally and intentionally to make myself feel better i was well sure that i can differ myself from being somebody who isn't noticing that she is using those as a subsitute for love.
Then, anyway, he said that most of these people don't even do those things. Some of them just love. They love and they receive love and they give love and they love their mates and their mum and their cats and toilet papers.
Especially if those they love can connect to their sickness.
After class i went home and cried.
This feeling is immense, really. Right now i am too scared to even breath. This is overtaking and loaded with lots of the things i don't want to face.Maybe nobody is getting this. But the thought of eventually only loving people and allowing them to love me back cause they appreciate me being sick is quite intense.
It's thrilling.
It's unwell.
It's there.
Which is the scary part.It's there. And if it's there i spose i do those things. And i don't know if i want to be somebody who does that.
Obviously, one could just say that people like to be around people who understand their personality and it's causes. But this is not 'understanding the sickness' this is 'appreciating the sickness'.
Which is a whole new level.
The question is : am i like that? Do i love cause it keeps me from confronting myself from what is wrong with me?
What if my so called writing talent isn't anything more but a bunch of teenage angst poetry papers and a 40.000 words novel which isn't finished?
What if i'll never be a writer? What if this stupid fear is going to make me feel like i just can't? What if depression is always going to be above all of this? What if i end up like Elizabeth Wurtzel? Too consumed by herself, the depression and eventually drugs because she just doesn't valuate anything else but herself and those two?
I've been reading reviews of her other novels/memoires/whateverthey'recalled yesterday for a bit and even short passages out of the books you can look into at amazon. And it scared me. Reading them. I thought publishing 'Prozac' would have been it. That she'd have moved on to other topics. 'Bitch' seemed like a good read and it's about summat completely different. Yet, it kind of dawns on you that it's just a tiny part of her collection. Everything else is about how much of a loss she is. How much the 'lack' is consuming her. How much she needs to need.
She says that all she ever wanted was to be good. I know that i'm not. I know that i'm not good in so many different ways and yet, i'm okay with it. To some extend. Obviously when the black wave hits i hate my confidence and my love and my good parts especially, the few that there are, but still.
How does one seperate themself from something so consuming? Depression takes me in. It is me.Once it's here it's not inside me or besides me. It is entirely me.
Does this mean i'll always write about depression?
The question about talent is another thing. I can't bear people telling me what i wrote sounds good. Or feels good. I remember a person telling me that they feel exactly like what i wrote about a while ago when i posted in my private livejournal about physical and emotional abuse.
No satisfaction hit in. No little bird told me that this is what i always wanted. Cause it was what i always wanted. I always wanted somebody who didn't love me to tell me that they can connect to what i wrote. And when it happend it felt like ashes in my wet mouth.
I don't know things.and i don't care about knowing things.I spose that's where it goes wrong.
I know there's nothing going to happen. I know that the chance of one of the students of my school doing this in my school at this very day is low. Very low. I know that the chance that anything is going to happen is low. Very very low.
I do know that and yet i have this odd feeling in my stomache that's making me wonder if i should tell everybody i love that i love them and make sure they know how much i do so.
It's an odd thought and probably slightly stupid. It means i'm exeggerating. But still, it's there inside my stomache spreading everywhere inside my body. It's making me listen to the queens and eat a day ahead of chocolate from my advent calender my mother got me. It's making me wear my Hello Kitty hair circlet and my England-socks ( yes i do own bright red socks with the English flag on 'em. Bless the World Cup and H&M's idea of merchandise for it. )
I don't like it but it's there and i doubt that it'll fade very soon.
I was talking to Svenja yesterday on the phone discussing things because we both had to talk about it. And at one point i said that this is totally new. We don't have a history of such occassions. There's been three over the whole country and i doubt that the number will increase to a lot more in the near future. So this is totally new. We don't know what this is about. We don't know how to handle this. IF to handle this.
We're quite fucked up, actually and that's quite rubbish if you ask me considering we are the ones who should be educated about such situations. In fact i'll be shot if i don't. It's not going to be a police officer and most likely not several teachers. It's going to be us and that makes me slightly angry.
I know that there can always be said much afterwards. That things should have been done and jazz. But to me it feels like now is the right time to start investing against this. Otherwise it's going to swallow us, i spose.
And eh..i don't like to be swallowed. Or shot. Or stabbed. Or see anybody being killed. Which is probably worse.
oh the fun.
there's been several amok warnings for several schools around mine called out a couple of hours ago. Well, my school is central and pretty big ( a thousand students, central downtown... bless. ) and therefore it has been mentioned in the report my dad has gotten off the cops he called an hour ago.
Isn't that just pure bliss.
I'm going in early tomorrow getting the info i need to decide wether i'll stay or not. I don't want to spent the day sitting here worrying and knowing nothing and on the other hand i won't just go in pretending there's no chance of things happening.
i hate this.i really do.i hate how all those structures we have in society make teenagers feel like they can have power over hundreds by hurting them to get over their own insecurities, their hurt and their pain.
I really do hate that the rich and the weathly give us this image of the individual ruling the millions of people. Single persons with power so high and rich they can't even stand it. I really do hate that teenagers all over the world feel like they need to gain such power aswell. And that they think they can only achieve it by killing others.
We are powerless. Every single one of us and it fucking annoys the shit out of me that there is this minority of people who pretend to own the world and it's lives just because they're rich, beautiful or just plain dumb and playing their cards well.
They make us feel like we need to take control, to take over and to be one of them when really we could just be happy with being one like everybody else. With our unique little patches and oddities and our pain and hurt and depressions and teenage angst.
It turns us into these attention seeking, needy people who only see a way out of what people call 'mediocrisity' by standing out in such a horrid horrid way. Because we know we'll never make millions with sex tapes, or fuck Leonardo DiCaprio or become popular by showing our lady parts to photographers.
We never will and we feel awful about our 9 to 5 jobs all of a sudden and our little dreams and fantasies about boys and the perfect bodies and then we try to get all this anger off.
And then somebody runs into a school and kills people. Cause they don't know what else to do.
I mean what is this? There are kids who don't know what else to do than make other suffer.It's a fucking shame.
i miss my love.
can't say it any other way
i miss my love.
i love my life and lead the path, i walk the way and struggle hard, i walk on by, i pass the boys and kiss their mouth, i bend underneath them, i open up thighs and release the pain, i cut the pain out, cut the love in, i wander around and meet up with friends, i listen to music, i read all the books and keep on fighting the way that i look, i change and i turn and i break and return and late at night with the liquor in hand i miss my love and the very next morning i keep on pretend.
basically.
Anyway, was a regular history class, full boringness and all of a sudden he jumps up singing the french national anthem.Crazy much?I believe so... actually, later on he jumped upon one of the tables if i remember things correctly.People are just odd.
I really should just drop out of school.It's nuts.Even my teachers are.hell.
In the beginning the little black drop on the right is meee and on the left is my dear friend Eva.Aren't we the cake.
