I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much. Why does she keep doing this to me? I haven’t done anything wrong. Yet. She doesn’t give me the chance to. I try and prove everyone wrong. I try and behave. I get of the drugs. The alcohol. It makes no bloody difference. Even is I was a saint it wouldn’t make any difference, which is highly unlikely for me to be a saint, considering my past. And most likely my future.
She wont eat; she wont talk about the things she should talk about, like how she feels, why she is always so mad, why everything is going wrong, why I am the one in the dog house all the time.
Does she realise what this is doing to me. What this is doing to the kids.
I wish she could see, I wish she could read my thoughts. If she could then I would hope she would speak to me. All we ever talk about is that lazy piece of crap. He does nothing to help; he ignores the problem. And when he acknowledges that there is an issue, the only explanation is Hannah. Its always Hannah’s fault. I know, I am aware of what I have done. I’ve changed. Why can’t you see that? Why?
After everything we have been through, you would have thought you could have spoken to me. I miss you…
I miss the way you used to sing, all the time. Songs from the carpenters albums and songs to make me smile when I used to sit curled up in my room, crying over nothing. It was just you and me for so long, and when my new dad came along I was ecstatic. I thought I couldn’t have a more perfect life, and then the kids came along. And I missed out on it all. I regret that. But you have always said, ‘ you’re my daughter; I will always love you, no matter what you do, I will hold your hand, and kiss you goodnight’ I should have never believed that. I was foolish. In more ways than one, once I stepped out of this family, I knew, I just knew it would never be the same.
At that time I was high on THC and so wild with vodka I had no idea why I was saying it. Why was I so mad? You hadn’t done anything. And now I am still paying for it. Although you never punished me afterwards intentionally, I ill be punished constantly until all this is over.
I know, I am aware that you can never forget, what I put you all through. But I am not proud. I never will be. I will always regret what I did.
Once upon a time, I was the girl everyone wanted their child to be like. I was the girl with the highest grades, the shiny hair, and the mother who was always there. I always did homework, I never went out to parties. I always stayed home to talk to you. I was the daughter who only had one mood swing a month. I never played up over chocolate or crisps, I always ate my veg
But then I hit my teen years and it all collapsed before my eyes.
I never wanted my life to be that way. Lately me and my mother, well we will never be the same, but even through it all she spoke about things that bothered her. But I guess what I have always thought where the things going wrong, have never been the real problems floating around in her head. I have always wanted to make her proud. But have never really found the way.
They say life is like a cross roads, and what ever road you pick, you can never turn back, because no matter what junction you turn off at, you always reminded what road you took. And people can never forget.
I laugh when she says she loves me. Before she used to say it, and mean it. I could see that glow in her eyes, now she can barely look in my eyes. She can just about smile at me.
I used to think making my heartache and emotions into a physical form would allow me to cope in a more manageable and mature way, because I could see them and not just feel them, it made the issues easier to resolve. The down side was the scars would always be there to remind me of what I felt, when ever I get over this… It will still hurt in a fashion, because my pain of the past will be with the present and me in the future. I haven’t Self-harmed for a while now, of course I still get the urge. And I still carry my beautiful blade. Some like my mother say a blade of any form is ugly, but I can understand that, after what she went through with her first husband, it happened way before I was born, she was only young, and married to a young Scottish man, who my mother thought at the time was rather gorgeous. But his inner depths where extremely ugly and repulsive. He used a blade and tore my mother to shreds. His violent act left my mother with constants reminders of what a man did to her, the night after they wed. You would have thought it would of put me off blades, but I am like a puppet and the blade seems to act like the puppet master, pulling my strings.
It feels weird sometimes, because I have spent so long. So many long nights convincing my-self that my habit was nothing but a terrible addiction, like smoking I guess. It feels so right, and so good, but you know its bad for you. But you forget about the damage it will cause you in the long run. And only focus on the short period of pleasure and fun you retrieve from this habit.
I am so tempted it almost as if the blade calls to me. Its like orders that I must obey, and when I feel this ‘calling’ if I don’t obey then I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t even speak without these words going through my head.
Sometimes it even feels like I have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. But ironically the angel is telling me to cut, and the devil is telling me not to. I don’t know why, but it feels almost as if I have no control over it any more, as if my mind, my body, my lifeless soul has been overcome by this demon. But to me a saint.
The last few months have been extremely horrific, mentally I am sick with fear, anxiety, and its almost like there is two of me.
One screaming and shouting, she is never happy, always kicking up a fuss. Making every-ones life’s hell, is making people weep tears that could be avoided. Then there’s this other side of me, who is caring and gentle, and loves everyone, no matter how evil they may be sometimes.
But occasionally there is a third side to me, she is not sociable at all, neither nice nor bad, she isolates her self for no reason at all from everyone around her. She has no strengths only fear…
She cant talk in front of large crowds, neither can she put her hand up in class, even when she knows the answer, and she cant go out in the pretty dresses, she is so scared of being laughed at, so afraid to be told she is wrong, so nervous to make a mistake that she doesn’t try at all.
Last edited by deviantobsession : 25-10-2007 at 03:17 PM.
I'm flying away & leaving the pain behind...
just promise me heavens still wants me,
and that i'll be beautiful when i saw past the cloud break.
I can’t fit in with anyone at school, I say my friend is my best friend, but to be honest, we are only friends still because that’s all we have, is each other. Although we have each other’s backs, we are never there when the other really needs to talk. As soon as we leave school, we’ll never speak again. Probably won’t phone each other either.
Amazingly I don’t care. I am used to it. One day someone likes me, chatting away to me, making out they’re interested in what I am saying. Then the next I’m nothing but a dirty little slut, with no friends. The way I cope is to allow my shy personality to come out of the shadows and into the light; I call her Frankie. I called her Frankie because of a guy I know, which was his name. He was so nice to me at first… Then he got popular, we have never been friends since. He made my life a living hell (not that it wasn’t half way there in the first place) for three whole years he spread rumours and called me names, and did nothing but bully me. I hated him; just the thought of him makes me shred a tear. He was my first real crush, and he wrecked my life. Since then I guess I have tried not to get emotionally attached to the male species.
I guess Frankie is my defence mechanism she protects me in a fashion, from getting hurt. People say it’s un-healthy to have a poor social life, to me it’s the other way around.
I used to be popular; I was no good at it. I wasn’t into the pink, pink, pink thing. I passed the girly stage before I reached year 4 I wasn’t going to turn back because these girls loved pretty dresses and pink ****. I wasn’t interested. So I left the Barbie’s to their makeovers and reached for the grungers, well geeks, or nerds or Goths whatever. The unique people, who weren’t so girly.
I loved playing football, and I loved climbing and getting dirty, I did like to look nice though. Sometimes I enjoyed doing my self up with the make up, and stuff, other times I just stuck on a old pair of tackies. And got on with it.
I’ve always been a bit messed up. My mother will say I wasn’t but I always had these invisible friends as a kid, who used to get me in trouble, and used to make me cry for no reason. I guess that was part of being an only child. The invisible friend thing, not the crying thing.
I have never really fitted in not with the girls not with the boys, not with any crews. I did go through a stage not long ago of doing basically anything to be in a crew. But I’ll talk about that later.
My favourite personality is Frankie; I love her so much. We can just sit for hours, and write about anything. We can express our emotions through letters and numbers instead of though our fists.
She is always handy; if I need someone to talk to she is often there. But sometimes she is a pain to take over. She makes me feel isolated and lonely at times where I want the company.
School used to be an enjoyable experience, a place where I could free my spirit, and a place where I could escape the chaotic life and focus on what needed to be done. I had no time to think of my sorrow, only at breaks where I was usually sat winding up the librarian. Being rude and pissing her off was great, it made me feel like I could control someone else’s misery, in a way it was like I was able to put my pain into her body for a while. It felt great, until the guilt came along. It was like a constant rain cloud above my head. Reminding me what I was putting her through. Just like my pain, my guilt began to take a physical form.
School used to be great, now it’s just another place to cry, another place to hide with fear, and another place to be told I am wrong and useless.
Since I was a kid, I have always found it hard to make and keep friends. I guess I have never been what people call normal. I have never been able to fit in, for more than about a week.
I have only dated one guy from school, his name was Charlie, he fitted in with everyone, the geeks, the preps, the Goths, he was a great lad, he was a bit chubby, but I like that in a guy, he had light brown and blonde hair; such kind eyes, they glistened when ever he smiled. We didn’t last long, I was a bit disappointed, because he was so nice, and a guy was never that nice to me before. He never called me names; he never put notes on my back, and never tripped me over in classes.
I think we both knew it wouldn’t last, we were too different. And hoped for different things. He wanted popularity; I wanted to escape…
School is just a building, it symbolises nothing unless you believe it does. Recently I have realized that things are only what you make it. It’s unbelievable what you see if you take the time to look twice and something.
All the ‘grown ups’ say I should be a model, because I am tall and slim, but I hate it when they say it. Because if I was truly pretty, and really was a gorgeous as they say, then why do people not like me. I try all the time, but now I have given up. If they don’t like it then they can shove it up their arses.
Okay that was a lie… I would love it if people liked me, but people aren’t going to change their minds over five years.
Things at school seem to get harder by the day, I used to bunk lessons in the toilets and sit there and do nothing but cry.
The teachers try and help me as much as possible, but they will never understand how hard it is… if my parents don’t understand how can my teachers.
I'm flying away & leaving the pain behind...
just promise me heavens still wants me,
and that i'll be beautiful when i saw past the cloud break.
