Black.

The fact that I’m an emo only just popped into my head.

I showed my friend a Marilyn Mason song and can you guess what their reply was? “Are you tone deaf?” I wasn’t annoyed by this comment at all- and I’m not just saying that; I think people are entitled to their opinions, and I’d rather them hate it then absolutely adore it, love the band, the song, the style; because that kills my passion for it.

Back to blackness. So, in conclusion, I didn’t give a rats ass. But what I started to realise was that I a an emo. I’d never realised my passion for a style of music defined me, a style of clothes defined me, a favourite colour defined me, even the things I said defined me: as a emo. I have nothing at all against them. I think they’re really cool. But my only problem is, excuse my stereotypical- ness, is that they cut. If the style of music, clothes and colours define me, what’s next?

Will I end up shedding blood for a style?

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I’m sorry if I’m being stereotypical, and if I am- please tell me.

When your best friend gets a boyfriend, and they meet up with your other friends with boyfriends. I just sit there like, do not be jealous… do not be jealous.

I’m not jealous. I’m never jealous. Just sometimes: envy owns me.

Night In.

So, as you can probably tell, my life is very boring. So, to entertain myself; I made these. I combined overacted photos to sappy quotes. Don’t judge me- I have no life.

I will make a new picture per post? Post them every now and then…

The Matrix.

I recently watched the first matrix. Amazing. Absolutely incredible.

Sometimes I wonder in life, actually, I have this though a lot; when is something going to fucking happen? Is my life going to be the average human life. No suspense  or surprises? No paranormal activities, no heroic tales or fantasies come to life? Why not. Why doesn’t the things in fiction books come to life?

Why do I want them too so badly?

Is my life that bad. It isn’t, when I think about it. It’s average, though. And I don’t want to be average. I want something abnormal to happen to me, something that people will remember my name for. I don’t want it to be political or luck. I want something to happen in my life because someone, or something else planned it.

I don’t just want to stand out from the crowd. I want to be the talk of the crowd. I want to be noticed, I want to be loved. I want to be different.

Why can’t I go to wonderland?

 

Friends?

Everyone says that friends grow apart. I guess somewhere, deep down, I thought if you had a good relationship, it would never happen. I guess I was wrong again. I am such jealous bitch. But is it really my own fault?  It probably is, because the only other person I can blame is life.

These days, we can just about call anyone our friends. We use the word so openly, and yet, there are still that one or two people who mean more to you than the others. They’re the ones you think you’ll be friends with till the end.

They’re the ones that disappoint you the most.

Confession.

Death. What is death? Where is it? What happens? What does it feel like? That is my question. What does death feel like. Before I started writing this post, I was going to write some confessions, not anything you’d say to a priest, but deep ones, that only you tell yourself. Or in my case, convince yourself otherwise.

I’ve always wanted to know what death feels like.

Is that strange? Almost probably. And if you didn’t think it was weird, well, you’d be just as strange as me. And that’s not a pretty compliment. Back to the point: death. I don’t want to die. I mean, if I knew I was going to die, the depression that would wash over me, would brake me down before death caught up. I know you’re probably thinking, right, so she wants to feel what death is like. What a phyco. And you’re right. This is a confession to myself, let alone you. I don’t want to believe that I want to know what it’s like. Because believing that, I’ll know there’s something wrong with me- there is nothing wrong with me.

What’s wrong with being curious? Nothing.

What’s wrong with me?

Dumbfounded.

Okay, so I’ve had a post called “Haunting”. This is on the same matter. What do I respond to this message after I try and talk to her?

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This is all for a reason Helena. And that is what you fail to understand. Tell me this: Why am I so neglected? Why doesn’t someone just reach in and rip out the truth, and tell me I’m a fucking whore, or that my parents want me dead! Do you really think I want to go on I totally ignore you and not tlak to you and avert my eyes away? It hurts me. You’re this constant reminder of everything. Helena, what do you see when you close your eyes? I see flashbacks. Faces that I don’t remember anymore. Tears running down chubby cheeks. Blurred situations. Distorted pictures. Things I shouldn’t see. Things I shouldn’t remember, yet can’t forget. You are a constant reminder Helena, one I am trying to avoid, trying to forget and I just can’t get away from you, I don’t want to but I have to. It’s best that way. And it’s hurting me, its hurting me and it’s hurting me. So Helena, you don’t know me at all, nor will you ever. I make you frustrated, so what. I’m sorry. Helena, just stop trying nothing you say will make me change me mind about this. Give up. That way you’re not wasting your time.

Were not friends any more. I want you to understand that. Why do you feel the need to be my friend? I’m very self-sufficient. I like my own space. Look at it as me wanting my own space from you, meaning me not talking to you for as long as it takes. I mean, why does everybody need to be with somebody? I don’t understand that. I really don’t. You know, somebody doesn’t complete you. You don’t need me, but you want me and you can’t have me, anymore that is. I’m fighting this war on my own. Every day. Every hour. Every second. I’m only fighting and fighting. I’m tired of it. I want to give up. I want to close my eyes and breathe out one last time. I want to make all of this stop. Now. I want to be able to talk to you. I want to be able to be normal again. Not having to count calories not having to panic when I gain weight not having to ignore you not having to listen to a constant jabbering voice at the back of my head. I want to be normal. That is all but I can’t even have that can I? I can’t even have you. And you, you seem just perfectly fine at school you don’t need me. You want me but you don’t need me. So I’d gladly give you the opportunity to take me away from my own personal hell, but you can’t do that. Its not like I don’t want you to. She won’t want you to. Controlling my life or not I don’t give a fuck. Because my life isn’t worth anything to me anymore. So here I am Helena, pleading for you to forget about me, not talk to me. Just give up, please. For both our sakes. Am I a bad person for wanting to die? Everyday I question my self avout this. Will I be damned in hell? Will god regect me? Will everyone hate me for that thought. I don’t want sympathy or pity but can you tell me, am I a bad person? Don’t worry I’m not feeling suicidal, no I’m far from that. Sorry for my rant, but I hope you will understand one day and forgive me. Was that a bit too emotional and dramatic for you, slightly cheesy yes but I can’t find the right words to explain everything to you and I don’t think I’ll be able to ever do that. Believe me, I spent all morning trying to write this message to you debating last night whether to talk to you in person but thinking no due to the fact I don’t want to disgrace myself in front of you by breaking down. Please try to comprehend what I am sayinf. Right now I’m fine? Yes I am fine. Slightly happy at times which is good, I guess. So don’t worry. And, Helena, you are only getting fustrated because you choose to acknowledge me presence and hold on. Don’t.

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Any suggestions will be appreciated.

Dentist.

As you can probably guess, I went to the dentist today.

I hate the dentist, I hate people in my mouth- touching it, let alone drilling into it! Sometimes I think I have odontophobia. I just wanted to tell you guys how horrible it was, they had to inject me, because it was going to be painful, then halfway through the two dentists were talking, and the main dentist admitted she hadn’t got enough sleep last night. I was laying there, listening to that, it didn’t comfort me at all. And the fillings feels weird. Really weird.

The Woman In Black.

There was one part which scared me the most. I’ll describe it for you. Basically; Daniel, or Arthur, was just staring thoughtfully out the window, when the woman in black appears. At this point, the camera switches to one from outside the house, presumably from the woman in black’s eyes. In the window right next to Arthur, in the same room and everything, and face is at the window, suddenly the camera changes back to the previous, and he turns to where the figure was but it wasn’t there. Okay, so then, Arthur notices a hand print on the window, where the figure just was Stupidly, he decides to place his had over this print, and as soon as his hand is in place the whole window fills  with a screaming woman… in black.

Confidence.

Me. Usually when someone tries to describe me the word ‘shy’ will probably sneak in to that sentence. I am shy. I can’t deny it. (That kinda’ rhymes) I do care what people think of me, and I can’t help that, I wish I could, but I just can’t. Even if it’s as simple as getting a person to look at me, with no intention of ever seeing them again. Whether they’re complete strangers, my brothers friends, people from other schools. It doesn’t seem to matter to me.

I’ve done this so much. I know what the outcome will be. If someone looks at you, then looks up and down, and doesn’t make a second eye contact with you, well, you can guess. But that second eye contact means, success.

I feed off other peoples attention. Is there something wrong with me?