All The Bad Things In Life

The Future.

Maya, Maya, Maya. What has gotten into you? Maya lives a dangerous life – she lives in her own future. She disregards the present and focuses on what will happen, not what is happening. All she seems to care about is what looks good on her CV, what university she wants to get into, what career she wants, and it’s stressful to watch her get worked up about something which is completely different to what is going on nowadays.

Maybe this isn’t all about her. Maybe it’s my frustration that everyone else seems to have their lives planned out, and I’m
just… stuck.

Nowadays, lots of people may be living in the future, but I’m definitely dreaming about the past.



At the moment everyone thinks I’m monotone. I don’t really care anymore- about anything. But what I don’t like is when people force you to talk, for example, my English teacher (who is mad, I swear). She picks on me each lesson and constantly complains that I have no passion, and that she has made it her goal in life to get me to actually have a desire to learn in her class. She’s forcing herself on me and it makes me feel even worse.

We are writing essays on what we would get rid of in the 21st century and I don’t have a strong enough opinion on anything to write an essay, and she calls me up every lesson and makes a fool out of me to the class. Do you know what I really want to write about, miss? I want to abolish ignorance of people like you. How dare you force yourself upon me like that, embarrassing me in front of my peers, it would have been unpleasant for any normal person, but for me, it’s mortifying, and I dread walking into the lessons.

I would explain throughout this essay that I know I have a lack of passion, and make a sarcastic point thanking her for throwing it out to me all the time.

Good job on getting me to become more confident by the way.

Sometimes I don’t think that my parents understand that a fictional life is a necessity to life, because its easier to live in a book or film then to survive in the real world.

Talk To Me?

I don’t know if 90 followers is a lot. Not that I care at all about the amount- I didn’t expect any, this was just supposed to be a personal safe zone for all my thoughts and worries. Although my blog is all about me, really, I’ve been wanting to dive into topics for more people to be able to relate too.

I want to have conversations with all of you about your opinions on… well, everything. I guess you can say I’m getting lonely here, it was always nice receiving comments I slowly grew accustomed to it.

So hi, people of WordPress, I’m Helena, and I’d love to chat.

Later On.

I hate that everyone always tells me how much I’m going to change when I’m older. They tell me that as you grow older you become more outgoing, more social, open to more possibilities. I just can’t see it, I can’t imagine it at all. I think that they’re trying to persuade themselves that this is just a faze, that one day I’ll just be a normal kid- whatever that is.

I scare myself thinking about all the things which are wrong with me, every tiny detail, every huge flaw. I can’t see myself being elderly, or an adult, or having children, or getting a job, or going to university, or anything. I can see myself dying young. And in a not-so-twisted-way I would rather that.

It means it doesn’t have to be messy, and I can’t make any more bad decisions, I can finally rest. Growing up and getting old scares me more than death, and I’d choose the latter any day.

Right Now.

I don’t really know why I keep leaving here, but I know why I keep coming back. I guess this blog is like a safe house for me, writing on the surrounding walls with my blood as paint. It’s a secure place- this shallow anonymity- and that’s it.

I’m constantly tired, and bored of living, and this makes it hard to write posts because not only do I not have the motivation to even bother, it’s that all of my posts are seemingly the same. The only thing which has changed since my last few posts is that I’m crying less. I still feel lost and angry at what looks like nothing, but now I’m just in a daze, empty and numb, nothing seems to affect me anymore, because I’m used to disappointments, and I can’t get a lot more depressed than I am right now.

I’m not to sure what this post is really, I just wanted to wrote something. I wanted to get back into the flow of spilling my emotions, because I have a feeling that I’ll have a lot to speak about soon.

Deepest Fears.

Everyone has fears, maybe spiders or heights or maybe social situations. But truly deep down, what causes us to panic.

I panic about a lot of things. I panic when people have high expectations of me, and when I’m pretending to be confident. I’m afraid that the world won’t deliver a life for me that I’ve imagined so many times, and that I’ll let someone down. I stress that I’m not good enough for anything, and that I can’t survive on my own. And that I’ll achieve nothing in my life. Maybe the people I love will see through the fake smiles and facade and hate who they find, I know I do. Most of all, I panic to the extent of collapsing on my bed crying that I won’t make it past 18, and that my life will never truly begin.

I fear everyday that I need professional help, but I don’t want to alarm anyone about it, because I know, deep down, that if I seek out therapy they’ll find out just how messed up I am, and they’ll suffocate me before I can even take my own life.


I haven’t self harmed for so long that I’ve lost track. I guess I should be proud but I just feel so empty, not to mention the fact that my scars are still healing and visible. I thought that when all of this stopped would be the day of my recovery, maybe I could focus on improving my personality traits and my body rather than dwelling on them. But, as before, nothing on the inside (or out) has really changed at all.

The world around me, the people, the place, has become a personal razor that scratches at my skin, that draws blood until I just give up. I’m so fucking tired. Of everything. And there’s nothing wrong to even complain about; except myself.


Over the past few months I’ve grown tired. Of everything- of life. I was seriously considering telling everyone about all my stress, troubles, worries, and insecurities including my issues with self harm. It’s just so hard to deal with all on your own. Half of me wants to shout it out to the world, and relax and recover in the empathy and comfort thrown my way, but the other half just wants to stay hidden, stay normal, because I know that after that I can’t go back.

I wasn’t sure how I wasn’t going to do it, but I had decided just to let them see my blog, this one or my tumblr; they’re are both personal to me and would uncover all of my badly kept secrets. Of course, I didn’t go through with it. Was that the cowardly thing to do or the brave?

So, the reason of this post. Someone most definitely has this blog, I don’t know who or when, but someone I know must have it, I’m not this good at keeping things hidden, and I was thinking about changing the url or starting over, but I didn’t want to. This is home for me. I’ve been here way to long to dessert it. If someone has found it then oh well, you can do what you want with the information, tell my friends, my parents, pretend you haven’t seen it, talk to me, what ever you want. What I don’t want is someone feeling guilty that they know what’s going on, but they haven’t said anything. That’s absolutely pointless, and it will make me feel worse.

You don’t need to worry about me because I have made the decision  to ride this out on my own. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put this heavy load on your shoulders.

My Skin Sack.

I always thought I was fat. Like, sure I was really insecure about it, but I knew I wasn’t fat fat, do you know what I mean?

Well, times have changed. I weigh so much more than I used to. 145 pounds. Where the hell did that come from. My thighs are so fat that the sweat all day, my stomach is growing by the second, and don’t get me started on my double chin. What the fuck is wrong with me, letting myself slowly drain away into a bottomless pit of ugly. I have enough stresses and pressure weighing me down without looking at the scales.

In the back of my mind I always knew I was going to resort to purging or skipping meals, and I think that this time is crawling closer. I constantly search through pictures of perfect women- confident and sexy- and I can’t help but cry and watch my tears roll down the fat which is hanging off my bones.

I just don’t want to fall through this right now, not when my brother is back at home, not when everything was going so right. But happiness doesn’t last. And I promise you, one day I will claw my way out of this skin sack, and I will be beautiful.

What ever it takes.