One of These Days

Some day my life will take a huge turn for the better. I will wake up and not want to climb under a rock. The sorrows of my heart will be heard, and the voices in my head will cease to exist. One of these days, I'll be happy; genuinely happy. For now I'll settle for being ok.
Ok is lying in bed hoping the phone will ring. Ok is knowing that this particular hell cannot last for forever. It's a prayer that someday I won't have to try so hard. Ok. It's, well, ok.

Ouch

Know that feeling when it hurts so bad
You wanna cry
Let it all out
But you know they'll be angry,
If you shout.

You see everyone says they're there
For me.
And I know that they want
To be.
But deep inside they can't handle it.
Neither can I.

So don't feed me your lies.
Everything will not be okay.
I have no reason to feel this way, but I do.

And you don't REALLY wanna hear it.
Let's not kid ourselves.

Sigh

I said I'd never again apologize for my feelings. So why do I do it? Because of this stupid thing called love. But that's not the reason I'm blogging atm...


I'm done. Totally and completely done. Because I am a fuck-up, and everyone in the world should hate me. I'm not even being dramatic; I have absolutely no redeeming qualities. What's wrong with me? Why can't I just be happy? Why do I hate myself? I thought I was progressing, but here I am about a year after my last suicide attempt wishing that I'd had the balls to go through with it 12 months ago, because I sure as hell don't now. I'm stuck here in the realm of the living. All this crying and purging and depression and cutting... Is this really all my life is? I hate this. I hate life. I hate myself. Whatever, lemme suck it up. I need a damn drink.

Love's Carnival

I hate going to this place... This place where everything is unknown, and scary. And everything's attacking me. Worse. I'm attacking myself. My memories choke me, and they make everything into something dark and sinister. I say it a lot. I feel like an object. I feel as though everyone's watching me. I feel like it's all going to hell. And I'm falling.

No one thinks I'm smart enough, and neither do I.

I'm not pretty. I'm not skinny. Neither of us can deal. But I can't stop shuffling. You think I don't see that the deck is too big. I do. On the back of each card is a spiral that sucks me in. I can't move, just wait for the cards to go spewing every which way. They do. We spin.

You close your eyes, and come along for the ride. When will you decide you've had enough? Can you take it? Babe, it's tough. I should make you get off before it really begins. I'm selfish. I want you here holding my hand. But I have second thoughts. I stand, ready to leave; take us away. But I hesitate, and the ride speeds up. We spin. When will it end? I look down and realize the lever is between my feet. I look up; our eyes meet. Mine sorrowful; yourself topped with defeat. You can't reach it. And I can't bring myself to pull it. So we spin. We spin.

Maybe if I close my eyes, it'll all just go away. Being left with nothing, is that so bad? I deserve much less. Much less than nothing. If I fade into the black, will you notice? But how can I leave? How can I leave you here? You need me to. But I need you.

Holy FML.

Recently I just feel like nothing's good enough. I'm not pretty
enough, thin enough, happy enough, calm enough, curvy enough, likeable
enough... Even girly enough. I don't know what's happening. I'm
stressed out, I wanna cut, and I'm choleric. And everyone chalks it up
to the fact that I'm just fickle. I'm just Michka. The one who makes a
big deal of everything. But no one realizes how scary this all is. My
world is going belly-up, and I see nothing I can do to make it right.
It's as if I have no control over my life. No control over my
feelings. No control over anything, and it worries me. I'm terrified
of the me I don't know. I think she's out to get me.

--
Love Me. Hate Me. Read All About Me.
http://imnotasuper-model.blogspot.com/

My Life is Just One Big Burrito

They sat there as I wept,
Obviously seeing why I was crying,
But ultimately not knowing why.
My burrito had reached maximum capacity
And was now falling to pieces.
What had been a small tear in its tortilla
Had grown into something as wide as the night sky.
They sat there in silence not understanding
That as I looked into that busted burrito,
I saw my life.


(True Story... Damn those Chipotle people)

IDK

You make me wanna die.
I'll never be good enough.
-The Pretty Reckless

Why must things be constantly picked at? Why can't you take my apology
at face value? Why can't you see that I really am, and that every word
after that makes me hate myself even more? I'm so broken that I can't
think. You ask me to give you a reason for my feelings. I cannot. I
will not lie to myself. There is no reason behind emotion. I get that
I'm wrong. I will change. But I'll never be good enough.

I am a mess. I'm frustrated and exhausted, and I'm sorry. For
everything. I'm not trying to make you drop anything. So please keep
telling me all the billion things I do wrong. Seriously. At some point
I've gotta learn to accept it.

--
Love Me. Hate Me. Read All About Me.
http://imnotasuper-model.blogspot.com/