They all decided I set the curve on the Chem II test, I didn't. They all decided I would receive the Research Paper Award, I didn't. They all decided I would receive the Enriched English III Award, I didn't. When did I become the nominee for intelligence? "Hey, Kat, what is an amine?" "A neurotransmitter, like serotonin or dopamine, dop-amine; amine." "I knew she would know." I chose decided males from the freshmen class and began smiling at them daily with my eyes slightly squinted as if trying to force happiness out of them, until their eyes lit up when they recognized my face in passing period. When their scared eyes turned to happy, I began avoiding each of them, eventually finding a new one to smile at. Today an old one furrowed at me as I passed, mentioning I was sad, I nodded and looked ahead, taking the back stairs. Am I doomed to be socially strange always? "Hi, my name is Kathlynn, but people call me Kat for short, you can if it is easier for you." This is how I started every conversation and friendship I ever had as a child. It mattered not the setting, the words remained the same. This evening I took short steps toward Jare's door, the air was thick with a muggy feeling, making my skin feel sticky and heavily hung on my bones. I gave him his birthday gift as his grandmother's dog escaped through the open door. We go on a search and find her to be a in the backyard of Shae's neighbor's house. Lovely. I am ready to escape this place, his dreadful name and spotting him from a distance, darting out of a store to avoid possible interaction. I thought this high school avoidance was over. I suppose it cannot when he runs about with high school students still. I only want to feel free from my past, is this too much to ask? Quote of the Day: ~“The Earth has a skin and that skin has diseases, one of its diseases is called man.”~ -Friedrich Nietzsche

I do not understand why it is people like me. For a while I got to a point where I started believing them and actually started feeling nice about myself. Now when I read over past emails and all of the sweet things they say, I feel confused and upset. It is almost a frustrated sort of feeling, as though I just want to shake them and say, 'what is wrong with you?' I am so uncertain of my positive qualities and focus so heavily on the negative ones. I want to go back to believing them, and looking myself in the mirror and thinking how I like my eyelids and the way the corners of my lips curl up when I smile instead of what I would change or how I do not look so pretty anymore. I suppose this is just another thing to add to my growing list of work-ons. Quote of the Day: "I have lived eighty years of life and know nothing for it, but to be resigned and tell myself that flies are born to be eaten by spiders and man to be devoured by sorrow." --Voltaire

I was watching Stay and feeling kind of shitty, and I was thinking about Henry and his pain, and I felt it. I watch movies lately, and I feel their feelings. I have never had such an occurrence and I wonder now if this is how other people feel. But with the joy I feel their pain, the gut wrenching pain that reminds me of my own and I want it all to go away. I don't honestly know what is right and wrong anymore. I don't know who to trust and what to believe in. If there is really a future in us or anyone. This ending and this life is tearing me a part and I have become a little self destructive in my ways. I looked my mother in the eyes today, she looked scared as she asked if I would come home and all I could mutter was, 'I don't know, Mom...I don't know...' and I felt my eyes well up with tears because it is what I have wanting for so long, but I don't know if I can trust her and if going back is evening an idea worth thinking on. I just want a hug, so fucking much. I just want a hug. I am waiting for these pills to start working. Today was the first day of what I hope to be a healthy life. I am waiting on so much, and I just want to feel like I matter again, but I am not sure if it is even worth it. It is going to hurt either way. This is loneliness. Quote of the Day: ~"Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired."~ --Mother Teresa

Dear Kathlynn, This letter is to inform you of your appointment with Dr. HungryFord on Tuesday, May 11, 2010 at 11:15AM. Please bring.... This is a useless reminder to remind you are under eighteen. If you are unable to keep this appointment please call (a number to the office) to reschedule (but not to call it all off.) Sincerely, Someone you don't know. How could someone even send that in a sincere manner? I know I am just being picky, fickle, and sad right now, but truly? Must they always put this mask of friendliness on? As if the gentle smile, the kind eyes, and the perfectly placed box of Kleenex wasn't enough. I am feeling so very hopeless and low now, I have all day long. Taking the night time pills let me sleep, but they make me painfully aware in the daytime. Too much awareness is too much thoughtfulness, and it is a disease that rots my pink jelly like brain to a moldy green. I only wish to fall into the bed of someone who is sweet and not to be touched or talked to, just to feel them next to me, knowing they are breathing, and so I am. I want to sleep to dream of places where lovers have wings and my mind is a little less obscene. This is just a low spot, and I will somehow be helped out of it soon, I hope. Perhaps this medicine will help, and I will feel okay about things. I am going to keep going to therapy, and if I don't like it I will stop eating them. I have been making a lot of wonderful ceramic pieces lately. I drag myself up those four stairs and start molding clay with my small hands, and these things, these lovely things are made, and I just look at them with a sense of confusion. I try mostly to stop thinking, and somehow I get lost and in that loss I make wonderful pieces. This was an arbitrary entry. I wasted your time just now, and you can't have back, because I want all I can get. Good night and Good luck. Quote of the Day: ~"Poetry is what gets lost in translation."~ --Robert Frost

I went up, and I went down, and I got bad, and then I got mean. I got mean.. Then today, as I sat in Enriched English III thinking about the past few days, I thought about him and how he has been different and how I have been so caught up I never took the time to ask. I didn't have to though, he told. I decided I needed to write this because I have the ACT tomorrow and I need to let this out. Hopefully this washes some of the pain away, like the peroxide I used to fear which cleansed the dirt from my skinned palms or knee. Even if I cried afterward. Maybe we moved too fast, he's thinking, and I am afraid. I am afraid I've lost what I've longed for, for so very long, and we never even got to really enjoy it. But then I have to remind myself of earlier. As I walked up Lia's magnificent stairwell I thought to myself about marriage and names, and I wondered to myself if we were moving too quickly, as I had before. I tried to not worry much about it. I have thought on it before, and I mostly decide that we have said what we said, and it felt nice at the time, and if we need to slow we can. Tomorrow isn't forever and years are still the same amount. Part of me feels almost angry at him. He brought all of this up, I used to be bitter and scoffing at the idea. Then he made my heart melt the morning of my birthday, and I felt so sweet and kind toward it. Now he feels we moved too fast, got too serious, it may be ridiculous, but fuck...you brought it on! But mostly, I am not angry. I am just waiting, and maybe tearing up a little, but that's not so out of the ordinary for me lately. I am going to be patient, and try to be confident that it's going to be okay, and we will live to see another day as one another's. If we don't, well...let's not think on that just yet. Fortune telling is a bad habit, so lock up your palms and crystal balls. If you are reading this, which you probably aren't, I just want you to know that I do love you, truly, and that I never lied when I said I could be content waking to your voice every morning for my life span, I hope you didn't either. I don't think you did, I trust you didn't. Maybe our eyes just got too droopy and our hearts too full with love. Anyway, I want to make it clear that I am working on me, and that I have only been diagnosed a month, it is hard for me, and I hope you realize I am struggling, but trying. I'm going to keep trying, and not give up, I'm going to work as hard as I can to make this happen. I think you want this just as much as I do, I hope you still do. I love you more than anything I have ever known, you are my very best friend, I hope I am still yours. I have realized some things these past couple of days, and I hope I still have time to use them for a positive purpose. I will always love you, even if we cannot be together, and I will always be here for you, if you need me to be. Quote of the Day: ~"Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being." ~ --Goethe

I believe that 101 was the painting I first won the art show with, and 102 I didn't, though I liked it more. That is coming up again soon, the art show, so is the blood drive. I have been cycling lately, I suppose. I have been sick for the past two days, and that doesn't help. I have been getting this thick awful feeling, like my blood has been turned to lead, and I just want to lie in the grass, but I have no one to lie with. It is storming out today, and I should be working on my Chemistry II homework. All of my motivation flew out the crack in the window that I forgot to roll up, and now some bird is making it into a nest that its babies will fall from before they learn to use their wings. And I will walk over their smashed bodies on the sidewalk in front of my school, feeling vomit work its way up my throat and tears work their way to my eyes. Like usual, life and death have been on my mind a lot. An end, a definite atheist end, seems more correct to me than an afterlife. It hit me when I was thinking about history one day, and how I didn't exist then. There was nothing, no memory of that time, no existence, so it makes sense that there isn't one when I die. I don't know, it makes me sad to think about. Maybe Camden is correct and I have become a bit of nihilist. I am not really sure, it makes my head pound to read over it too much. Now, this boy is talk talk talking to me, and he wants to know if I find him attractive. I am trying hard to be coy and to dance on to a new subject, because this doesn't really matter. I don't understand people, or this music flowing to my ears. The Decemberists, they make nice music. Their music seems fitting for the rain and my shaking hands, my lack of motivation and my misunderstanding of acid-base equilibrium. 'You get more interesting each time we speak,' but really, my stomach has just gotten so weak, that I can't think of coherent thoughts. He's being sweet, and it makes me feel odd. I wish I could have a hug from a certain person whom I love so. 'It won't be long,' I tell myself, and pull my sweater close to me, trying to feel safe in my own skin. I have been writing too many poems. It has become a dirty habit. It has started to feel easy and nice, like sex you don't have to do much during. Quote of the Day: “Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass.” --John Steinbeck

My muscles jerk, my bones ache and creak, my eyelids droop, and my lips sting. I park the car after driving in the pouring rain. He exits, I stay, listening to the pitter patter of the falling rain on the roof of the Beetle dubbed 'Doyle.' I begin to think, but realizes that gets me into low spaces. I grab my brown zip up sweater from the back and run through the rain, my flats making a lovely sound on the wet sidewalk. I walk in, greet my cat, and begin one of the most difficult conversations I have had in a while. Three hours later, eyes wet, I walk into the bathroom and shut the door, taking a long look at myself in the mirror. My hair banana curled the perfect sort of way throughout the day. I draw in my breath and decide once more I have nice eyelids and nice hips. Hours pass, and I remain here, listening to Cartel and thinking about how I love Camden so. How college will be okay, how I will never let myself have to live in someone else's home again. I will learn to care for myself and be okay. Lately, I think more and more of medicine. Is it weak to take a pill which will make your mind feel a little more easy? I have always felt so against behavior altering medication. Now I am considering it, it makes me feel like I am failing. Failing to keep it all under control and to keep things looking pretty on the outside at least. A friend of mine has noticed, and I felt like I let some dirt get on my petals, I have become too lazy to knock it off, the wind isn't quite strong enough around here to do it for me. Therapy just seems to hurt me more. I am trying to keep a feelings record again, maybe that will help, maybe it won't. Who knows? It's worth a shot, I think. Today, I decided that it doesn't really matter what we think or feel, what we say or write, as long as we are working toward a better tomorrow. This is certain to change in time, for I am often times fickle and strange, but I hope it sticks around for a while at least. Quote of the Day: ~“My evening visitors, if they cannot see the clock, should find the time in my face.”~ --Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am currently unsure if it is better to hold things in or to let them out. Either way it seems I hurt. I let them out, and I hurt he I love, I keep them in and my insides slowly become eaten away, keeping me from eating properly. I ate my first full meal and then got so upset I threw it all back up. It wasn't the biggest failure of the night, but it was one, for certain. I have started feeling low again, and I let it pour in, I let it question and come out, I gave it a voice. I need to stop letting myself do that. The problem being; there are a lot of things I need to stop letting myself, and a lot of things I don't stop letting myself do. I haven't been writing poems the way people die in a massacre. It tears out my very soul and wrenches my heart. It's like giving away pieces of me, I'm trying to get rid of all the bad pieces. You can have one if you like. This is starting to ache my heart away. Quote of the Day: “The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.” --Henry David Thoreau I always sort of imagined that guy as an asshole.

As the patches of snow melt and slowly fade away my heart races inside my chest. I have a longing for blue walls, sweet smells, dancing, and candy. Why? I don't truly want any of that. Why do I feel so hypnotized by the thought of meeting again? I am not even sure if I ever want to lay my blue eyes upon yours again. Some days I feel sick with what I did, with how we danced, with how he felt. I look back and I still don't understand how or why it happened. I should have never danced with you, not so close, why did I look up? I should never have looked up to watch you lick your lips and feel my heart flutter in its cave. I feel almost antsy and needing, I haven't spoken to you in months, I think, or fancy. My mind has gotten hold of a virus. How did it ever happen? Tell the story to me again, but skip the bad parts this time. I felt so romantic there. On the verge of doom in my home I felt enticed by the comfort of your arms on my hips, the blueness of your walls, the sickly sweet smell of your room, the cartoons, the anime, the music, all of it. I can't stop thinking of how we swayed and how our lips were sweet with the sugar from the candy we consumed. I want this out of me. I want to rip it and it's comforts from my mind. If I dug up a plant in my mind, it would be this one. I can't get the scent of your room to leave my nostrils. I feel so intensely now. I even feel jealousy. Such an insane and undesirable feeling, I have not even a reason to feel it. I have never felt so much, I still am not used to it. Quote of the Day: ~"It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper... so cry away."~ --Charles Dickens Truthfully, all I want to feel is someone's arms around me, hugging me closely without me having to ask for it. Even the shy ones need hugs sometimes. Oh, how I wish they didn't.

I didn't have a bad day, I didn't have an interesting day, I didn't have a nice day, I just had a day, I suppose. These are the days I feel the worst. I made this tree out of baling wire. It's awful, so just stop talking about it and complimenting it. You want it? Kay, take it, take it from my sight. It took me about forty minutes to make, twisting wire, it's the next Mona Lisa. I don't know why I just felt angry there. I don't understand me anymore. What happened? I used to feel okay. More okay than this. I felt okay around Christmas time. It was sweet then, it can't always be sweet, and I need to stop feeling so left down. It's getting ridiculous. I called today, after school. 'Mhm, and whatca comin' back for?' the secretary's voice asks me, and I can't remember what her face looks like. 'Oh..uh...just...you know, depression stuff,' I feel lost and unable to speak. Is she going to write that down? That's not the truth! I lied. Did you really have to ask? Can't I just tell her myself? There are people in the room...am I really supposed to say? The feelings swimming in my chest are a smoothie of self loathing, failure, shamefulness, and let down. Why am I feeling so let down? Why do I feel like something has changed, even though it has been said you still feel the same. It's just me. I'm certain. This time, I think if she tells me to take the pills, I'm going to take the pills. I feel so worthless and unhappy. I constantly question if my friends like me or if my love loves me. They don't even have to give me reason. I have this constant need to be reassured, like a crying child, it's weak and annoying. Part of me wants to just start isolating myself. There can be no let down, no final goodbye without a phrase if I just leave. I'm replaceable, I believe. If I can't be, you can call me, and I'll answer. That or the want for friendship and love with drive me mad and I'll call. I'll be weak and desperate, I'll need you. Why do we have to be so mean to each other? I understand it in the moment of anger. My head is clear, like an open field, my tongue dances and lashes behind my straightened teeth. Later though, I feel such shame, even if they deserved it. Even if they had it coming, even if I am so close to truly hating them. We're all just going to die. Shae sent me a message. Frozen, I sat there, gaping at the computer screen. Lack of breathing forces me to choke, letting tears pour out and breath pour in. I needed you then, but you were sleeping. I was stupid for needing you. You don't need me. I don't want to need anyone, it makes me feel so weak to know I do, to know you don't. This is becoming pathetic, somewhat like it's writer. Quote of the Day: ~"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."~ --T.S. Eliot There's this poster on the way to the art room that says, 'Anger is one letter away from Danger.' When I see it always think, 'Shame is one letter different than his name.'