“I had a boyfriend who told me I’d never succeed, never be nominated for a Grammy, never have a hit song, and that he hoped I’d fail. I said to him, ‘Someday, when we’re not together, you won’t be able to order a cup of coffee at the fucking deli without hearing or seeing me.’”—Lady Gaga.
All around me are familiar faces. Worn out places, worn out faces. Bright and early for their daily races. Going nowhere, going nowhere. Their tears are filling up their glasses. No expression, no expression. Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow. No tomorrow, no tomorrow. And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I’m dying Are the best I’ve ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles. It’s a very, very mad world. Mad world.
6 Hours. 42 Minutes. 6 Seconds. That is when the world will end.
A storm is coming, Frank says. A storm that will swallow the children. And I will deliver them from the kingdom of pain. I will deliver the children back to their doorsteps, and send the monsters back to the underground. I’ll send them back to a place where no-one else can see them. Except for me. Because I’m Donnie Darko.
And I’m feeling 100% pathetic. I’m crying. I’m crying because I’m insecure. I’m kind of glad I know that my boyfriend will more than likely never read this. He doesn’t really read my blogs anymore. Even though it’d probably be a good idea. I say a lot of things on here that might give him an idea of why I get into bad moods. Or really emotional out of nowhere. But whatever. I don’t want him to think he doesn’t tell me I’m pretty enough. Or smart enough. Or any of the things I don’t feel like I have been lately. Because he tells me almost every time he talks to me. Every single day.
I just don’t feel attractive. I don’t feel like I’m trying my hardest at anything. I can feel myself getting lazier. And it’s not as easy as most people think to just feel pretty, to try really hard at doing something(s), or to get up early enough in the morning to shower. I just don’t feel like I’m happy with myself anymore. It’s frustrating. And I’m just upset. I’m not hardly ever motivated enough to ever even finish a blog. Like right now.
Do you know how hard it is to walk around feeling like you’re going to word vomit all over yourself, or someone close to you? But you can’t. Because you would be risking everything. And I mean it when I say everything.
Try and remember the last time you had to throw up. Like, REALLY had to throw up. You want to hold it in, but you can feel it in the back of your throat. Your mouth was dry, and now it’s salivating. You find yourself arched over a toilet and your stomach is trying as hard as it can to relieve itself, but you’re scared of the after-taste. While your stomach is clenching and unclenching, you feel kind of like you’re in a daze. Like maybe it isn’t really happening. But it is. And maybe, like throwing up, you’ll feel better afterwards. But, you might only get more sick.
I’m scared out of my own comprehension. I can’t think straight. And I get so scared when I think about it, that I shake, or cry, and my breathing pattern is all uneasy and I get very light headed. But I’ve realized, I can’t go to much longer without spitting it out already. I feel like someone is pumping helium into my lungs. I’m overwhelmed.
I have this bursting feeling. I don’t want to burst. I want to float.
And I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe the greatest thing that could ever happen to me, that I’ve only been able to recognize in my dreams. Or maybe the worst thing, from my nightmares. And the only thing I can do is keep sucking that helium in. Because I refuse to exhale until I’m positive I’ll float. Until I’m allowed to float. God, how I want to float.
I love life. And no, not because I have a boyfriend. Because life is good. Life is beautiful. Life is hard. Life is not a joke. Life was created the exact way you think it was. And when you die, you’ll go exactly where you want to go. Whether that be 6 feet under, or somewhere in the clouds. Life is a choice. Happiness is a choice. So live life the way you want without interfering negatively on someone else’s.
Bad things happen. People die. People are born. Couples break up. People believe in God(s). Some people don’t. Some people do drugs. A lot of people don’t. Some people have a significant other. Some people don’t. Some people believe/understand love. Some people don’t and won’t. Some people are going to understand what I’m saying and actually benefit from this blog, and most people won’t.
What I’m saying is that there will ALWAYS be someone who’s mind you’ll never change. So stop getting pissed at everyone because they’re not edge. Or because they are. Because they don’t believe in God(s), or because they do. It’s none of your business. Don’t walk around the school like “JESUS ISN’T REAL FUCK YOUR GOD HAHALOL LOOK HOW SAGGY I AM I HATE EVERYONE HAHA SXE.” I think a decent person, or at least a mature one would be able to keep their thoughts to themselves. I’m so completely tired of kids who do or say things like that. It’s not funny, or cute that you enjoy to piss other people off. It’s not even HXC. So it’s going to have to be like this: and please excuse my French, but SHUT THE FUCK UP please.
It tears me up inside to watch a happy kid lose their religion all because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. It’s taking away their faith. Let them believe what they want to believe, and they’ll let you believe what you want to. If I have to watch another Catholic or Christian kid convert to an aethiest because one of your Goddamned rants, I’m going to rip my hair our and shove THAT down your throat. It just nauseates me that people are really that stupid or really that inconsiderate.
I hate writing without a draft. I don’t even know where I was going to go with the rest of this. I guess I’m just mad. I just wish people would stop wasting their lives complaining about something as beautiful as life when they could be enjoying it and making the most out of it while they’re not dead. Whether it’s “shitty” or not.
It got eleven notes. Eleven. And he didn’t even reblog it right. He said “lol” underneath, and it looks like it was in the original post. It was not. Because I would have capitalized it. As long as he starts reblogging correctly, I won’t mind so much. Especially since tumblarity is coming back in 3 days.
Yesterday when I exited the B12 bus, I saw a homeless man in a wheelchair. He appeared to be in pain, and before I knew it, he had fallen sideways out of his chair, and was face down on the ground. People behind me exited the bus, and walked away pretending they couldn’t see him. There was just myself, and this other teenaged girl. I asked the man if he wanted our help. She said, “my train is coming”, and ran off. It was just myself, and this man. So I grabbed his arm, and I started to lift him into the chair. It was an electric chair, and he put all his weight onto the damn button, sending us both flying forward. His sneaker came off and got caught in the wheel. I started to cry. It was so unbelievable to me that so many people could keep watching me struggle with this man, and not help. I told him to stay still, freed his sneaker from the wheel, and started again. I had to extend his legs, and he screamed loudly. I felt so bad. I don’t know this man’s physical limitations. I just didn’t want to leave him on the ground. He was crying, I was crying. It was awful. After about ten minutes, I got him in the wheelchair. His hat was back on his head, and the glove he fell over trying to retrieve was back on his hand. I told him to have a good day, and he thanked me a dozen times, calling me a saint, and an angel. I walked away extremely choked up. When I got on the B25 headed to my boyfriend’s house, I looked back, and I felt so helpless. I helped him just then, but if he fell again, I wouldn’t be there. It’s quite possible, that no one would be there.