no sleep tonight.

Do you know that scientists still don't know why humans sleep? They believe it is to conserve and restore energy, but sleep actually doesn't really decrease metabolism all that much. Anyways, I can't sleep tonight. I need to get back in working order. Plus, I don't want to dream anymore screwed up dreams.

I Think I Should Have Come With a Warning Sign Tattoed on My Heart

I really should be doing the copious amount of work on my plate right now. But, I really don't feel like writing a book review. I get sick way too often. It could be the drinking, the smoking, the constant stress, but I think it's because I'm falling apart. I believe that there is a direct correlation between the mess I'm in and the state of my mind. Seems pretty obvious.

Anyways, I like it here. In this giant concrete building full of crazy teens, breaking windows with their asses, pulling fire alarms at 2am, and causing a general ruckus. I also love it here. When you're sick, there are people that give a shit. You have no idea how many people offered me tea to help me feel better. But, the thing is, all I really need is time. Time is always seen as a bad thing. We fear it as we get older, we curse it when we die. I've been watching too much Six Feet Under. Damn that show is depressing. I think I spent at least 13 hours yesterday watching one episode after another... It doesn't really open your eyes to anything new. Everyone dies, people cheat on each other, people often die alone/young/old, sometimes people let each other down, and in the end it really doesn't matter where you go when you die. If heaven is real, then that's awesome, but for a lot of us, our lives are our hell. One of my greatest fears is to never get out of this mess I've made. One of my greatest hopes is to be an extra in a zombie movie. But, overall, I want to fix more hearts than I break. Maybe I'm not the right person for the job though, soon I'll figure it out and perhaps I should become a funeral director like the brothers on Six Feet Under. Then I wont have to worry about hurting people.

Anyways, back to work to keep my mind off of my sickness. I hope it will go away soon, but then again it's kinda comforting to feel the constant effects of my misery. I need to keep telling myself that the world is a beautiful place and that I'm in a wonderful situation in life. I need to forget the fact that I'm inexperienced in the ways of the human heart. Someday, hopefully soon I'll learn. Until then I'll save up my money for an ad campaign to warn the world of my insanity.

I think I should write another short story. I haven't written anything creative in a long time.

Back Here Again

I find I always write on my blog when I'm completely messed. I've been lucky lately. I've had many people to talk to and things to keep my mind occupied. But, here I am. Back again to my teenage angst filled blog posts. Now, I feel more like my old teenage self than ever.

WHAT MAKES ME A BITCHY TEEN:

1. I'm slowly building myself up to a stress induced death.
2. I'm going to cry myself a river! (I'm pretty goddamn dramatic)
3. I'm an awful human being once again.
4. I'm starting to like being alone.
5. Jumping off a bridge is looking perrrty fine!

So here's a poem. A depressing, sad, embarrassing, gay ass poem. But fuck, right now I have to talk to someone. Even the internet folk. You've always been there for me when I feel like spilling some shitty thoughts. So thank you for probably not reading my blog... because I know the kind of shit you're into... when you're googling Jessica (omg so many naked pics)!

Oh That FEEELIN'!

What AWESOME feelings that feeling brings
when you give your heart away.
But complications arise
that feeling dies.
and you're fucked and left astray.

You forget about that feeling,
it no longer has a name
and all you can remember - is what it all became.
The happiness was forced, the anger too real
and those feelings overpowered the feelings
you should feel.

So how do you know when the end is real?
Was last week, the last time
You would feel?

Is it over now, it's not clear?
Cause it sure as hell didn't end with a slamming door.
Because why should I fight for you,
if you don't want me anymore?

Too Tired to Sleep, Too Hungry to Eat

Inside of me is a need.

For the touch of your flesh,

I find the substance from

which I feed.

Sustenance gathered from

pools of lust.

I'm a slave to something

I never needed before.

What can I do?

I can no longer lie in wait.

With my eyes always open,

they turn slowly to dust.

Give me something to do,

other than pine over you.

Today, my dog ran away. Helplessly I left my house with a leach in one hand, my cell phone in the other. It was dark. I followed him for twenty minutes along the road and another fifteen through the forest. As I was just about to give up, and bad thoughts crept through my mind, he ran towards me. He came close enough to allow me to grab him. I felt like crying, but I didn't because I am a warrior. THE END... and that was my day.

Willfully Blind

I stare at nothing. It has become second nature, a habit that I am unwilling to break. See, it gives me comfort knowing that the thing I stare at has no judgement towards me, no expectations. If I am depressed, I stare at a simple object. My concentration is completely directed at it. My mind is nowhere else. And when I feel so overwhelmed by my surroundings, I just close my eyes and block out all sounds.

I thought this whole depression phase was over. It is supposed to end. It happens to every teenager. I know this. I repeat this. It has a reason to occur in childhood, for the changes in the child's mind creates spaces that are soon filled with confusion and thus depression. So why is it happening again? I don't want to be like this. It would be simple to change, but I'm tired.

I sleep all the time. I get home from school and go to bed. My mom says that it's iron deficiency. I say that I'm tired. Of what? Well that would be the reason for this whole thing.

Yesterday night my father drank enough liquid courage to ask me why I hate him. I didn't know what to say because I never admitted to myself that I hated my father. He kept telling me that he was a good parent because he always gave me enough room. He told me that I only hated him because I was looking for someone to hate. He said his only fault was spending more of his time caring about my brother than me. He told me I have anger problems and that I just had to accept the fact that he was an asshole. I told him that he didn't have to be an asshole, it's not something to be proud of, something to blame your parenting problems on. But, everything I said did not register. I told him that I could never talk to him because he was only open to conversation when he is drunk. I told him that we could talk in the morning when he was sober. He took it as an insult and said something like "that was an awful thing to say", walking away and telling me that I was a spoiled brat. He cried during all this. I cannot tell if he remembers now. Everything was back to normal in the morning. I probably would have thought that I dreamt the whole thing if I hadn't of woken up to the sounds of my dad puking his guts out in the hotel toilet. I'm not sure if I want to talk about it in front of anyone in my family, I might cry or something stupid. I hate that I have a reason now to hate him. Before it was just small things, building up one by one. I guess those small things just got sick of being ignored.

The sad thing is that I probably hate my father more now. And you have no idea how much that hurt me to write.

I'm sad, and I don't want to be.  

You Call That Mature?

Fact: People grow up. Another fact: People put too much importance on maturity. Maturity is just a word. Like many other words it is used too much, to frequently inflate peoples' egos.

People tell you that you are mature for your age. BTW: not a complement. AKA: You are not as stupid and annoying as I assumed you would be when I found out that you were a teenager. Immaturity makes life interesting. If the whole world was made of mature people, topics on a rainy day would range from tax returns to what specific colour the wall paint is. So let's PLEASE stop acting like mature adults while we still have our childhood. Someday you will look back on yourself and hate that you never embraced your childish natures. But, if you had put so much importance on maturity, you will also see your childish self as an idiot. When, truly, that's just the way we start out. And you'll ask yourself in the most secluded part of your mature brain what you were thinking when you did those supposedly "MATURE" things, because to the future you, you were as egotistical as they come. I was there with you when you bragged about being so much more fucking mature than us, sorry to tell you but, it was kind of ironic. Do you really think that a mature person would brag about being mature? Jesus fucking Christ. You call that mature? Keep denying that immaturity is biting at your heels, keep running and looking behind you. I seriously hope you trip and fall, because once you do, there will be no one there to pick you up off your ass. Maturity means nothing, neither does immaturity. It's the way people act that make them mature or immature individuals. Mature means being responsible, responsible for your actions, responsible for your stupidity, and responsible for your health. But, that's just me looking through your smoke filled eyes and don't try telling me that your life is so bad that you have to do all this shit. Try thinking about people who matter for once. Your problems, my problems, are not worth reading. I hope this is a phase and that it ends soon.

I'm Tired but, I'm Not Going to Bed

I stay up all night. After awhile I convince myself that waking up will refresh me. It never does. I just go back to doing nothing. Ya ya ya, I know that in a few years when I will have to be doing something all the time, I'll look back and wish for this. Right now I'd rather be in a hole in the ground, away from this constant nagging in my head. Is it me or is it a piece of my mother poking my brain and making me jittery? That's what this is. I'm so full of pent-up energy that I could actually go outside for once. I haven't been eating correctly. My day is full of snacks. I babysit and come home and all I do is read, blog, play video games and suffocate myself with this nagging in my head. O, and eat more snacks. I think that all I need to do is vomit the contents of my stomach and I'll feel better. Not that I will though. I did it once when I wanted to get out of going to soccer practice and my throat stung all day. I'm watching south park right now. Well, it's a rerun but, it's something to watch other than go to bed. Tomorrow my mom is taking me to Milton to find the newspaper that I might be published in. I was excited awhile ago but the excitement wore off a little while back, My birthday is in 7 days. I haven't been counting. Someone told me. I don't want anything for my sixteenth. Well, to be honest I don't want to think about anything at the moment. My brain is mush. I don't want jewelery for my birthday cause I'll never wear it. I did ask that my mom help pay for the laptop that I plan to buy at the end of summer. She hasn't agreed yet, I hope she will. I need a computer to write on when I'm anywhere. No more scraps for me. I feel tired, but I don't want to sleep. I think I might go to my sister's empty room to sleep, it's colder and I wont step on any crap that seems to litter my room. I can't hardy type anymore, maybe I should go to bed.

What Does if Feel Like to Feel?

Have you ever thought about the origin of your feelings?

What if I only know what love is because I feed off of others?

Or if I only think that when something dies I have to cry? That it is normal.

If I never truly missed anything?

Just felt that it was what was demanded of me.

I'm really fucked.

What if I only swear because it sounds cool and gets a reaction... not because I'm angry.

I'm a product of your imagination.

You created me.

I feed from you.

You are my mother.

I am your child...

If you learn to hate me. You are just hating yourself.

I'm writing because I'll implode if I don't. Not explode. I'll never explode.

You will never have a piece of me.

I'm a figment of your imagination and you'll never prove my existence.

Like a UFO or an alien.

But back to this.

What are you feeling.

What am I feeling.

We can't put words to it.

Because these feelings are not ours.

They don't belong to us.

And the people that came before us don't know either.

God will tells us won't he?

Won't he?

In time they say, but

time is running out of gas.

We are all running on empty.

But, as long as we are full of feelings we will keep running on the gas of those who taught us to feel. Until. We stop.

The feelings stop.

Feel what?

I have no idea.

I guess confusion.

There is always confusion.

Feelings kill us... and diseases.

Diseases are fun.

We are running on opium not gas.

Talking to animals and forgetting where we are going.

Only to find ourselves where we least wanted to be.

Back to the questions and finding that we passed all the answers.

We are all going somewhere.

Where. We will never know.

Not even when we reach that somewhere.

Do we have souls?

Maybe a long time ago.

But we lost them trying to find a point.

They got bored and flew away.

Will we ever find an origin to these feelings?

I know I wont, but at the same time... I've wasted too long searching.