• So good, Say Anything. So good. Go buy 'In Defense Of The Genre'. Expose yourself to some class-A art. So I'm freaking out. My head is spinning. In school I felt sick and exhausted. Not to mention, I was fet up. [Surprised? Definitely not.] When I got home I was sluggish. Mom comes home, and I'm immediately pissed. She tends to do that. Fought with her all afternoon/evening. Went out after dinner, feelin' fine. Came home suddenly frustrated and hurt. Stupid shit hurt me. Stupid pointless petty ridiculous things. I'm not this fragile. I was never this fucking fragile. But I guess walls can't stay up forever. I can't breathe. I have that awful ball in my throat, something between needing to cry, needing to scream, and needing to run. Perhaps all three. It's funny. No matter how many times I listen to this song, I get the same stomach tightening reaction. I wish I saw him tonight. Or any of them really. Sometimes, they seem to be the only ones who don't think I'm royally fucked up in the head. Maybe it's because they never see me like this. Maybe that's why I love them so much. Because they don't know enough. It's always easier to love the ones you don't truly know. Sometimes I crave their company over that of my closest friends. It's my close friends who make me uneasy. They know too much. I just want him to come over again. He makes me feel special. Just in the way he looks at me. The way he kisses me on the forehead. The way I know he'd always be there if I needed. Too bad he's big brother's best friend. I need out. Big time. I need away time. Alone time. But not really alone - just away from the people here. The ones I know. The ones who know me. I need someone new. Not necessarily a love interest. Just somebody new to talk to. Maybe that's why I start so many of these online journals. I'm hoping someone will contact me. When it fails, which it always does, I cancel my account and move to the next website. The endless cycle of failed attempts to contact to the world. I'd like to think at least one person finds me interesting. I'd like to think at least one person wants to talk to me. I could be wrong. I'm probably wrong. This entry is turning into a huge sleep deprivation-induced stream of conciousness. I've been feeling a lot like Holden Caulfield lately. My apologies if I spelled his name wrong. I read the book last year. This CD is seriously mind-blowing. The lyrics... ugh I can't even talk about it. My words won't do it justice. I don't think I've ever felt so alone in my life. The lonliness is in the pit of my stomach. I've been tearing at myself for hours trying to get rid of it. I'm still coughing up cobwebs. Despite the fact that I thought this was over, I'm back to square one. Once an addict, always an addict. Apparently, I'm addicted to self-depreciation and the overwhelming sense of being completely isolated. Not the most lovely of addictions, for the record. I'd trade it for meth sores and cocaine nosebleeds anyday. I just want someone to Follow Me Into The Dark. There has to be someone out there who wants to hold my hand for a while. PS - You won't understand a lot of this. Sorry for all the pronouns and vague statements. This is just my mind, typed out as best I could do it.

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