alecto - your little bluejay (pollytrance) wrote,
alecto - your little bluejay

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Through Blistered Avalon

I remember now why I am so reluctant to talk to my mother every time I get upset. I always forget until it happens. Maybe writing it down will help me remember. It's because I can talk until my face is blue, and she still won't have the capacity to understand my feelings. I feel like I'm screaming and all she hears is whispers. She'll ask me what's wrong, and when I tell her, she'll say it's silly or tell me not to think about it. If only life were that simple. I can't even put half of my thoughts into words that other human beings can comprehend. It makes me feel crazy but I don't want to be crazy. My god.

I decided I wasn't going to go to Jessica's tonight because I was upset and when we got off the phone, she called back to ask if her and Chris could come and visit me, because they miss and love me. I didn't really want to be alone, but I'm in no mood for company. I don't like being around people when I'm like this because I bring them down. But she told me that she loved me, and it makes me feel really special that she cares enough to make sure things are ok. There is, of course, a down-side. When people care like that it makes me feel guilty for wanting to kill myself. It reminds me of that old saying: Never have a frown on your face, because you never know who will fall in love with your smile.

And although I have friends who tell me that they love me and would miss me dearly if I were to off myself, there is a little black part of me that tells me that it's all lies because I am not worthy of anyone's love. I feel like no one will ever really love me... but some little tiny voice inside my head tells me that they do, and not to kill myself. But since the debate of whether I should or not has been started, it never ends.

I am obsessed with death, like it is the answer to everything. Like Murphy's Law was made solely to torment people like me. You try to pick something up and it keeps dropping... exasperation, anger, frustration, depression, even excessive tiredness all make me think of getting into a warm bath and slashing my wrists.

I just talked to Lindsay and she made me feel better. She told me that she owes me so much and that she always pictured us growing up together and laughing about stupid idiotic things and having fun until we were old and gray, so me being gone wouldn't work. I never think about those things... my mind gets so clouded that I feel like if I died, they'd be sad for a while, and then in a month or two they'd get over it... because ... LIFE GOES ON. I hate cliches. They give people the wrong ideas. Being told from Kindergarten that you shouldn't dwell on bad things because life goes on gives people like me all the more reason to hurry up and die right away.

But everyone, Jessica, Stefan, Lindsay, Lauren, Mya... all of them. They say it would never go away. The hurting would never stop... they say I am such a big part of their lives that if I were to die, so many things would remind them of what used to be, that they could never really forget it. Life would go on, maybe not as pleasantly as hoped for, but it would go on.

That makes me feel so good to hear those things... it makes me feel like a conceited asshole to write about them, but maybe they need to be written down so that when I feel really bad again I can read them and remember that people care. I'm sure there are people that hate me and want me to die... that's a part of natural balance... but it's easier to ignore them and not gratify their desires when I remember that people care.

These past two weeks have been extremely trying. I have the weight of graduation, turning eighteen, finding a job, making a plan for my future... all of these things, baring down on me with razor sharp fangs and an evil glint in their eyes.

My mother says write a book and get rich... I think maybe that could work. But then every single time something like that gets suggested, that black part of me says, "Why bother, Katie? No one will ever read it, and if they do, it will be because they were drunk and rifling through the discount bookstore's bottom shelves. Oh, and you'll never make enough money off of it to make up for the money you spent writing it. So fuck that thought."

This is also why hardly any relationships ever work for me. I hate myself so much that I don't see how anyone could ever stand to be around me, much less love me. It's so exhausting, living in your head like this. This was why I didn't want to be on independent study, but some things just can't be helped. I'm graduating in two weeks, and that couldn't have been accomplished sitting at school. Mr. Greene left for my senior year and my yearbook will probably not have any signatures in it. I will look back upon my senior year as a miserable, lonely, failure of a year, even though I had a lot of fun and did a lot of things that I never thought I'd do.

When I can't hang on to my memories, that is the time when hope needs to be given up.

Stefan left a rose on my windshield and wrote "I love Katie" in the pollen on all of my car windows. He also wrote "I love Katie" in another place, but that is a secret.

And that little black part of me that I thought I'd weakened to the point of lying dormant, tells me that it can't be true, and that I'm misinterpreting his words. "That doesn't mean he's IN LOVE with you Katie. You can love someone and not be IN LOVE with them."

I want to kill that little black voice. That voice is actually big, because it's winning. It says, "What did I do to deserve this?" in reference to being alive. Some people enjoy life, and the black voice makes me mourn it.

I'm so confused, and I know that around the time of my birthday is going to be the truest test of all. It's when I'm not going to be safe by myself, not even for a minute. From the first waking second of being eighteen I am going to want more than anything to be sewn up and put in a casket, buried six feet deep in the earth. But maybe they won't even let me do that. Maybe they will think that me killing myself was such an unforgivable action that they will drop my body from a helicopter into the forest and let wild animals eat me and then shit me all over.

Sometimes my birthday falls on Mother's Day. That would be the truly sick thing, wouldn't it?

May 14th, the birthday of Jessica Stoner, David Byrne, George Lucas, and me... the day of my birth, and perhaps the day of my death.

Part of me says I can't do that, and another part of me tells me to go for it because LIFE WILL GO ON. Life always goes on without people. Everyone will be upset at first, like when a band breaks up, but they will get over it and find a new band to listen to.

Maybe my funeral would even bring some people together. That would be a great accomplishment, to have people making friends over me being dead. That thought makes me feel really happy.

I can't tell when it's me talking anymore, or when it's the voice, or when it's both of us. I feel crazy, but I think everyone hears a voice or two.

I'm not writing this to get pity or compliments. I'm writing this because maybe in written form these thoughts can be sorted out and maybe made sense of. Maybe I can save myself. I'm writing this because it's what I believe, and maybe someday I can show it to my mother and she will finally understand. I'm using it as a tool: study the past to prepare for the future.

Speaking of which... another cliche I hate is "Live In The Now". That implies that you should live in and enjoy every second as it happens. That is a harmful cliche. If you live every second in the now, you don't have any time to plan for the future. (which is part of the reason my future looks so bleak and fucked up right now-- I truly, honestly believe that I will be some white-trash bag-lady who begs for change and eats tuna out of cans with a fork stolen from Denny's) Also, in order to plan for the future, one must look back at the past to learn from their mistakes. Living in the now is not only a stupid idea, but to sustain a decent life, it is impossible. You can do it every now and then, treat it maybe as having a fancy dinner once a week or getting a bit smashed with some friends... but fancy dinners every night lead to obesity, and getting smashed with friends every day translates into becoming an alcoholic.

All play and no work fucks up Jack.

Living in the now connotes doing everything you can to savour and make fun the present. I need to learn how to do it responsibly.

God I HATE cliches. Now I understand why that word sounds like a curse from some mouths.

Harmful Cliches:

*Live In The Now
*Life Goes On
*Get Over It
*Forget About It
*Smile And The World Smiles With You, Cry And You Cry Alone
*The Early Bird Gets The Worm (yeah? haste gets you killed)
*Love Like You've Never Been Hurt (and be hurt again)

I could go on and on. It's sick how little faith I have in people as a whole. You'd think that my childish nature and mind would keep me happy, hopeful, and light-hearted. Not true.

I love Billy Corgan. If only the Pumpkins knew how many times listening to their songs kept me alive. They would probably get that tingly feeling inside that you get when you find out you've done something without realising it that meant the world to someone.

"The more you change the less you feel" -- Amen, Billy my sweet.

"Believe that life can change, that you're not stuck in vain." -- I owe them so much.

There are no sweeter tears than those of the understanding joy.

"We'll crucify the insincere tonight, tonight
We'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight, tonight
We'll find a way to offer up the night, tonight
The indescribable moments of your life, tonight
The impossible is possible tonight, tonight
Believe in me as I believe in you tonight, tonight, tonight
Tonight, tonight." -- Smashing Pumpkins

Oh my god it's all rushing back to me now. I am me again, the me I lost and thought I'd never found or find again. I have her! I missed her. I'm crazy but I'm here, it's me, did you miss me???. I'm back at 804, listening to the Pumpkins and staring at my ceiling. I have found it. I have it again. Mike, Mya, all of them, blue light-bulbs the key to my happiness. I understand and I feel love. I feel happiness and the superiority of someone who understands-- the triumph of once being lost but now being found, being blind but now I see. Oh my god, I have it.


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