stitches are(n't) always temporary

i am on a high wire, close to the september chilled leaves. my stomach releases euphoric balloons and i squeal in the golden spotlight bleeding behind the lifeless grass. i haven't felt this joy for the birth of fall in 4 years...and i shouldn't be.

for once, i am grounded. back in school, secure relaionship, and an arguement with mom was settled. i completed my first task in school for six months. the joy is just bursting from me..

this time 4 years ago, i met my first true love. weeks later, he killed himself. i've been bitter ever since.

buuuuuut today, i'm happy! oh it's just fucking wonderful! an orgasm for the soul if you will. but, should you want to desire to die if you are oh so happy?

i feel joy but images of heaven are high in my head. i imagine walking off a mountain in particular, and i have no idea why.

a genetic disorder made me bipolar. is it just my backwards mind or some gross desire i have no knowledge of. could it be my recent disaster i am not even sure of existing playing in my conscience.

whatever it is, i'll keep walking that high wire. it feels too good to get down now.

but half of my soul died four years ago..

no one knows, but i've been stuck in that time.

stuck isn't the right way to describe this, perhaps it's a choice, perhaps it's the post traumatic stress disorder. maybe you think it's just a tragedy, but with all of whats left of my bitter heart, i know part of erika rae drifted away with that bullet that quieted her first love's life.

i've tried to move past the event, really i have, but even to this day i get a sick twist of my stomach as my heart feels crushed between cinder blocks and my throat closes. every time i relive this in my end, i just think, it's going to be one of those days. i see myself, hollow cheeks, black eyes, sewn shut lips, trudging through leafs on an auburn kissed fall morning, begging god to end my life. i see myself getting dropped off by my cheery mom at the bus stop on a blizzard morning, and begging her to let me stay home, just today, anger pours from her mouth as i shut the door, and the turns singe my cheeks the whole way to school. i see myself walking the orange stained hallways to the office for my weekly counseling appointment, climbing in that black chair, letting the words seize my mouth as i confess i desired to kill myself, and he simply told me i didn't. i see him ripping that red pass from the pad and i as i float back to class, i plan what no one should ever plan. my suicide.

that next sunday night, i see myself, cleaning my room, chatting to God, and climbing the wornd down carpet of the moaning stairs to the medicine cabinet, clutching that puke orange bottle in my hand, and walking down the stairs with the emotions of an eight year old girl. i se myself, waking up to my mom, my poor sweet mom, scolding me for not being ready for school, and as i point to the bottle, she flees. the next time the shutters pull back from my eyes, my mom and dad are crying over me, carrying me to the truck, rubbing my back as i puke the pills, cuddling me in the waiting room, bawling as they send me to live with my grandparents for a while.

i fucking fucking FUCKING hated this period of my life. it was the pain of dragging your emotional suitcases every where you weny, and losing your friends because your boyfriend committed suicide. even though i went through this hell beyond hell, i loved god even more every day through it. god was my only friend.

no one knows, really....

 

there was a girl who slept for hours, well into the shining sun who kept smirking down, as she bled frowns and burrowed down into false security.

 this blow of pain brought endless chills, and aches requiring numerous pills and try and try and try as she might, she'd always miss the sweet echo of night.

upon her invisible coat she shut her eyes, to the world and hid behind locks of hair, but never fail always hail, her heart was pinned upon her sleeve.

 tear drops fell upon another from mascara webbed wet eyelashes, and again, again, again, again, another sick day passes.

walking down the filled corridors, her being screamed for safety once more, but safety melted from her shadow one day, and ran and ran and ran away.

now her heart is pounding loud, as her breaths become shallow her mind shuts down and her mouth screams, oh what a sweet,sweet sweet scene.

again, again, again, again, mommy leaves to comfort she, and as she guides her away, loss has fallen upon that day.

oh so wonderful this cycle this girl, has begun to call home, but little will she ever know, she really has no where to go.

I am the most fragile backbone anyone has ever had.

Undependable, Unreliable, Unresponsible.

Somedays you wish you weren't that rock thrown into the family pond, disturbing everyone and everything, even though you are an insignificant little thing. After you wait for the calm to restore, the blaming game starts again. It's trying to close off everything and everyone and curl up inside your head, were thoughts are stored, usually better left for dead. It's the past, it's the meds, it's the boyfriend, it's the family, it's growing up too fast. Usually, all these thoughts are the comments of others you decided to deal with later.

Maybe nothing is wrong. Maybe you are completely normal. Maybe its just everyone around you who is crazy....not.

Anger is exhausting. You're fighting a battle against people, objects, yourself, and you never ever win. Night is the bittersweet bitch of it all, because you're finally resting your feather filled head, waiting to escape the weights of the day, and then steady as a heart beat, the thoughts come rushing back.....You're almost 18. You have 2 more fucking years. You're not that bad. You're fucking crazy. They love you. They're smothering you. You were given a second chance. Why the fuck can't I make it better.

they say a picture is worth a thousand words.

but a word is worth a thousand pictures.

you are taught to scan a page filled with letters in a matter of minutes, but when the insomnia of realization drifts into your head, it all

s

l

o

w

s

d

o

w

n.

it's the crack of winter air frosting your lungs, choking your throat, suffocating the warm secure air flow. take great care of what I say, for there is always infinite meanings laced intricately into every little syllable. when time is taken to digest every word a person has written or typed,only then do you get to know them. our tongues manage to swallow our thick thoughts of raw emotion; unrefined, unedited,untouchable. nearly half the things that fall from the mouth are psuedo fairytales happily stuffed with bullshit. yet still only once in a while the hands tell the secrets of who you really are.

you never knew it was tragedy to become poison to everyone you touched physically or with your bare thoughts. it takes practice to get under someone's skin, to inject rage,sorrow, or joy into their weak system. it all works both ways. the poison is like crack, just handling the stuff will get it into your bloodstream. every emotion unleashed on your prey comes back at you. twice as hard. this all sets you up for the greatest failure you'll ever breathe.

start digging yourself a hole. fall deeper and deeper into it. risk everything and nothing. only when you hit the bottom you can go, only then, will you start to live.

let's take our first breath.

Really, if you want the honest truth, I'm at a loss for words. I have a hundred and a half things to say, but none are right. None are wrong. They just aren't. It's awkward butterflies gracing the top of your stomach when you realize, you don't belong anymore. Days pass, and you can catch up in the same time you can slap on eyeliner, weeks pass, you can catch up in the same time it takes to attend 5 periods at an educational facility. Months pass, and if you try to catch up, you can't. Check every message, analyze the hip new trends, memorize all the new shades of hair, and it still won't feel right. If it makes you feel any more normal, start a new account, make new friends, erase the past. But really, don't bother trying that. There are thousands of ways to say I'm sorry, but nothing is fit for those who got you through the depression before you turned them away and returned to the arms of Mrs. Lexa Pro. You can go for three days without talking to these very special people, and you make a note to get to them. A month, the note's under that pile of algebra and half ass drawings. Months later, and it's decaying, fading under the empty beer bottles and cereal boxes waiting for the landfill. Really I'm sorry. You three know who you are, and I apologize sincerely.

Acceptance isn't the goal, but knowing I do still care is. Twisted that it takes a downfall and meds to make you realize what you have done, what you cut off, what you ruined.

 

pursuing peace makes you the dog chasing it's tail,

because we need drama like the addict needs his addiction.

fuck.

what a harsh burn the word engulfs your throat in as you swallow every bit of it and choke on the sour cry from your stomach. kinda like how you felt when their eyes projected your self pity and guilt as you cowered behind the curled lips and fixated eyes, isn't it? it's married you to your tainted past, you pray you're together for never, when you're together forever.

content.

the flip side of your pounding head. it's the gleaming razor to your swollen wrist, the chalky pills to the sleepless nights. she'll show you the escape.....escape..freedom. too bad those words bled from your vocabulary down the gutter a few years ago.

 

as she examined both sides of her head, her veins inflated with the stream of panic, fresh, raw, cold, panic. walls of tears billowed before her eyes like curtains, yet she continued to walk using sheer dreams for sight.

her pulse roared in her fingertips, and with each throbbing rush of crimson, it came to life. she breathed in the vapors of her guilt, what she had done, and they turned into the scars kissing her skin as they caressed her lungs then vanished. the girl forced open her eyes, ripping apart the tears at the seams, as she realized the gift that had been whispering in her ear the whole time.

joy, happiness, grace,hope,love. it all felt right. beaming, another step, crying, another step.

a dirt road lay inches before the toes of her soft feet. she cryed. she bawled. she sobbed.

her husband lay behind her, wrapping his guilty arms around her leg. he grinned at her with his lieing teeth. he laughed in his anxious manner. he pulled her back towards the highway in a fever of intimidation.

the dirt road frowned upon the sight, watching the homeless girl being dragged back by the chain bound to a bracelet around her bloody ankle. and she was gone. two more inches, and she would have escaped. it was freedom, in her reach. only a small scrap of paper was left,  showing the only proof she even existed, the proof no one was there.

"consequences!

    love,

   your desicions, your failures, your sorrow, your past."

this is the image of a girl among shattered shards of kindred glass, the false hope of remebering to swim, the empty smile across a baren face...this is..

not a typical portrait cherished in the mr. roger's living room.

no one likes seeing big girls cry.

take a step closer, and your eyes will be filled with the masterpiece of a wreck, a loser, a fuck up...

this is the girl standing on unsteady legs next to the train tracks, gripping a shirt in her weak hands, waiting for the train that will never come...

books took disney to far away places, that shirt took her, well, it took her to the cigarette between his pouty lips, the fading scars on his shaky wrists, the warmth of his lips against hers in the pouring rain, the soft " I love you" that melted away the irrational pain...

and now all she has is the tired shirt, the gentle scars, and the promise of the after life, she waits by the tracks, for the next train, the train that will never come...

untouchable.

you think you are until you feel yourself slipping away. second by second I'm vanishing piece by piece, and I'm too wary to do a damn thing about it.

they're supposed to love you...talk to you...they're supposed to notice you...but that's too stereotypical, isn't it?

let's get back to basics, a time you could understand.  wait wait, this could be too dangerous for the virgin mind. innocence is hard to come by, and I'd be killing a mockingbird now wouldn't I?

eighteen seems like a forever away dream, just in my reach, but vanishing from my fingertips. privacy is not needed, the bible of the hypocrits stresses it greatly.  together forever, together for never. irreconcilable differences is just one step away...

untouchable...maybe not.

completely sane...maybe so.

 

 

" exhaustive silence, fragmentized only by the groaning of pebbles grinding together under your feet as you stroll in a haze of curiousity and awe upon a trail marked only by wildflowers and moss capped boulders. gaze to your right at the waves of purple and pink petals dancing in the breeze, look up and shut your eyes as rays slip through the cloudless sky and caress your cheek. you smile to yourself as you realize that 100 feet ago, you were shuffling through ice frosted snow past a crystal lake, and now at the meadow that sleeps upon the head of the monsterous mountain, you are at peace"

maybe this is life. slowly crawling through that ice frosted snow, our struggles, fears, and bordem. hope is a utopia inspired lake smirking from the side. death...it could be that meadow. only a few things are certain as far as I am concerned right now, death being one, and the other the small shard of my imagination that it will be as peaceful as a flawless meadow.

perhaps I should stop chasing shooting stars, perhaps I am the only one trying.

 

"congratulations,

you are mute.

from this point on, your voice will have melted in the invalidating waves of tears, screams, and uncomprehendable babbling. squeeze your throat frantically, it is quite entertaining watching a pathetic loss of a once lighthearted life struggle against a greater power of what was once hers in the past: the freedom of speech."

let's not get too ahead of ourselves, mother raised a lady, not a woman according to most. and because I am a "lady", a proper introduction is needed.  I'd be honored to introduce you to the shadow in the halls, the outcast tickling the back of your mind. her name was forgotten 3 achingly long years ago. according to what most have gathered from scraps of stale gossip, she was never the same after the cartridge rang out through her innocent mind. innocence, she also has forgot the meaning of those 9 letters mashed together in a rare quality.

anyways, I have been prating about the unimportant.  with the right mood and mind set, I could scribble chapters upon volumes of suffering, bliss, and anything else this girl childishly is piteous of herself.

back to the point; this girl is now mute. simple as that. slap her across her tear smudged face, she can't gasp. call her the most degrading slang, she won't utter a reply. slaughter with words of how she is worthless, that she should die, she is a waste of life, a taste of death, let's just say actions speak louder than words...

[[A Note from The Amazingly Horrible Author:

This piece is disgraceful it is that bad, forgive this, maybe I will write better when I catch a wisp of talent.]]

"Follow her to the trench deep in the pain, loose your footing and final judgement will shake your hand heavily."

The thought controlled my mind as I was guided into an uknown and barren land. My throat swelled from swallowing handfuls of regret, affliction and anguish of why I was venturing out of my bubble of comfort. Faith gripped my hand and forced my eyes open as I stumbled over the crumbling footholes, wondering if this was the end.

Thoughts were overcast in my head as I observed the position I was in.  What would I do if I see Monday? Does Kristen know wear she is dragging me? Will my mother verbally slaughter me when I arrive at home?

I was a loss for words as I slipped and fell towards the creek far,far below, but fate was kind as I tumbled into dirt. If only I could paint a picture of what disaster and paradise look like facing each other in a drawn out war.

My heart fell heavily in my chest as I observed what side I sat on. Walls of crumbling dirt eroding away, chunks of horror slipping into dust between rusty nails sleeping through the rumbling. Piles of a shattered dreams lay beneath the wall's monsterous feet, concrete slabs smothered in dishonerable writing.

Only butterflies graced paradise across the creek, housing a waterfall showering the land in the nuture it needed. Joy grew in abundance, their violet petals untouched. Rays of pacification, endless skies, it was.....almost perfect.

Irony has strange ways of showing. Whether it be a story, a life changing event, or a lost teenager realizing where she sits upon the throne of tragedy or joy, it will always be there.

 

 

 

"A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."

"A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe....."

Again I have read this epic tale, one of my favorites by this certain author. It would bring great joy to my heart if someone else has also experienced the way this tale opens the eyes to one's imagination  recogonized this story and could complete the last line of the second quote.

 

 

warning: this round of apprehension is not for the faint hearted. it's a shame these relapses don't have such a caution plastered on them, but then I would be more ill anticipating their quiet arrival. and epidemic will corrupt, mercy unthinkable. just when you knew this smile was real... the line blurring fantasy and actuality has never been more clear, yet my conscience resides in utopia. take my hand, or kiss me goodbye. only the oblivious fools wonder why. understand my irrational pain and tell me more of your disdain. becoming a prisoner to my misery will be a relief to attempts of comprehending me. I have managed to waste 2 minutes of your time while you have robbed hours of mine. forgive my sins, they were just another errand. my writing spirit has left me. if found, return as soon as possible if you please.

My notes do NOT work, so if you need to communicate, comment this journal and we will have to talk that way. Sorry!

drowning in pools of discomposure.

a struggle most can climb out of. things appear to be opposite for myself. whenever I remember how to swim, apprehension whispers in my ear, causing me to fall deeper into the vast struggle I have become rooted to.

for a brief second today, I remembered how to swim amidst the anxiety. A true smile exsisted on my face for the first time in a long time as I strolled through the silence. have you ever heard nothing? only the breath escaping your body and your heartbeat pounding in your ears, but nothing else? I did. bewildering, the glorious mixture of silence and a roaring crash babbling sweet nothings. a cloudless sky mirrored the peace above, and my mind was still.

 

drizzle and clouds cast dispirited moods across the quiet city today. I'm just starting to realize the atrocious temptations lurking behind every corner. it's not so wonderful when you fear waking in the morning.

smiles aren't so enticing anymore. I have adjusted to the comfort of sulking. life is so ironic.

this name is old news. and frankly, I hate it. xxwentzfreakxx is a deceased trend.

writer's block is such a nuisance.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

It's not so normal when you have to tell yourself to complete a simple task. My ears have been aching from the buzz of murmurs and rumors polluting the bittersweet air. One more second of it and I might suffocate.

I no longer know who I exactly am, I have been given a new identity that my mind is rejecting.

This person is a burden and anxious of her own shadow.  Not very conventional to most.

I have nothing else to say at the moment, my voice seems useless.

staring at a mesmerizing copmuter screen at 11 at night isn't so conventional to the unexceptional human being. but it's an inclusive comfort to me and my dillemas. obliterate proper punctuation and grammar, they are just a trend of the past to me. i am oblivious to what day the calendar bears, i am operative only by the hours and evaporated minutes of the clock nowadays. i am withdrawn and disinterested when it comes to a social life, my phone is always somber and faint like me. headaches have stitched themselves into my daily routine. they are my painkillers for the thoughts of how these feelings came to be. i don't know who i am anymore. i show as much interest as i do in algreba when it comes to the matter of trying to find the solution to that question. i have lost control of myself, so i feel i have failed everyone and everything. anyone who thinks they know anything about pete wentz knows he made the statement about one of his views of depression, something about that if you're just a little bit depressed, you are basically oblivious to what is going on the (real) world. i feel i have taken on all the depression others have tossed over their shoulder, and has brung me down so very far. rock bottom? i'm not even close to hitting my mark in that area. the only thing keeping my head on straight is the bite of harm on me. only a few people will know the true and deep meaning of that scarring statement. i think i've said too much already, i already burden so many with my cloudy issues. it be nice to shut my eyes, and just sleep until peace is restored in my aching head.