sometimes i honestly don't think i'll live past my 20s. sometimes i honestly don't want to. like, i want to be in a band, or i want to be a body modification artist. those are my dreams, and they are stupid, but i want to change people's lives. i want to make them feel better. but i know that in reality, i'm probably not going to do either of those things. i will probably have an office job that i will always say is temporary, but i will stick with for years and years. i will probably marry someone, not because i live them, but because they stuck around. i will probably be stuck when i'm 50 in a marriage with someone i tolerate in a job i don't like, wondering what the hell happened.

and i don't want to live in that world. i don't want to live that life, because if i'm going to be miserable, what is the fucking point? why the fuck am i alive right now? why do i even fucking bother? i don't like it here, i don't want to be here, i don't like who i am, i just don't. and i know that suicide is supposed to be "the coward's way out" but me being a coward? that's not exactly a recent discovery.

i'm just so fucking tired and i keep on trying to find something to help me be okay and i keep on coming up short.

i miss the rain.

i hate being sick. i know that's kind of an obvious statement, but goddamnit, i wanna complain. i hate that everything hurts and i can't breathe properly and i'm tired, but every time i try to sleep, i can't stop coughing. and i hate that every time i try to do something outlandish like move slightly or breathe, i feel like i'm about to pass out. my voice is shot to shit, and i feel like something crawled into my throat and died, which is more than a little unsettling, especially considering the fact that i don't eat meat. i'm so frustrated, i could scream. except for the part where i actually can't because my voice sounds like the rasp of the wind through dead leaves in autumn. hey, why don't murderers kill more people who are sick? they're too weak to fight back, they can't call for help, it's perfect!

so, yeah. i'm sick. i'm not really angry about it anymore. i get sick incredibly often, and it sucks, but i live with it. the walls keep on being in places other than where they are supposed to be. they are very sneaky. the psychopathic brain children are going off the fucking hook. i can't function correctly- they live for this shit. i'm so dizzy. and i'm so tired, but i can't fucking sleep.

you know, it's weird. they've been having times lately where they won't say anything for a long while, and i get really scared that i won't be able to hear them again. i know it's wacky. they want to kill me. well, maybe not me in particular, but they want to kill, and i'm the closest one around. they want to hurt me, but i still want them. when they go, i sit in my closet, in the dark, begging them to come back. it's so quiet without them, and i get so goddamned lonely. i don't like being around people, they scare me, but i'm so lonely.

usually, i can't see them. i can just hear them, but sometimes there will be a sort of presence, a kind of shadow, almost there. and i can feel them. last night i was having a conversation with Seven. I was having a bad day, and i was crying. she was at the end of my bed, just staring at me. after a while, i went to lay down and sleep. Seven started talking.

S: are you okay?
me: why are you asking?
S: i wanna hear you say it.
me: no. i'm not okay. happy now?
S: yes.
me: whoopdy fucking do
S: i could kill you tonight.
me: yup.
S: i could make you kill yourself.
me: undoubtedly.
S: but i won't.
me: why not?
S: you're not happy. i want you to be happy when i kill you.
me: thanks. 'night, Seven.
S: goodnight Frankenstein.
then i turned out the lights, and i swear the darkness hugged me. they care. they have a strange way of showing it, but they care.


xoxo
clara

WARNING: This is incredibly sweary, so if that sort of thing offends you, you might not want to read this.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY FUCKING IMMUNE SYSTEM. I JUST GOT OVER A COLD, I JUST FUCKING GOT OVER A COLD NOT TEN FUCKING DAYS AGO. WHAT IS THIS SORE THROAT STUFFY SINUS BULLSHIT? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS: A BIG OLD GLASS OF FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER. I DRESS WARMLY, I SLEEP, I STAY HYDRATED AND WHAT DO I GET? A MOTHERFUCKING SHITTY IMMUNE SYSTEM. NOW I'M CHUGGING JUICE AND POPPING AIRBORNE LIKE THEY'RE CIRCUS PEANUTS. AND JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS. "What did Santa bring you?" BRONCHITIS. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS, BITCH. SUCK MY CLIT YOU PENGUIN FUCKING DEEP FRIED SHIT NUGGET. SHUT YOUR DICK HOLSTER AND GO SODOMIZE RUDOLPH, YOU JELLY-BELLIED COCK SLAPPER. COME ON IN TONIGHT CUZ I'VE GOT A SHOTGUN WAITING WITH YOUR NAME ON IT.

I'M GONNA GO MAKE SHORTBREAD NOW.

FUCKING FUCKITY BYE.

so earlier today, shortly after i wrote the last post, my girlfriend dumped me.

i wish i were a fucking ghost. i wish i didn't really have to exist. i could just sit and watch and no one would notice me unless i wanted them to.

i can't stop thinking about her smile. i know it's cliche, but she had a really pretty smile. her teeth weren't perfectly straight, and they're really cute. and her eyes would crinkle up at the corners.

she had this piercing above her lip, and when she was concentrating, she would with it with her tongue.

i don't really think we were ever in love, not really, but my heart would beat faster whenever she looked at me, and god, we could have been.

it's not so much that we were so good for each other. we were unhealthy. she was high all the time, and i didn't know how to talk to her. it's that we could have been better. there were so many things that we never got to do. that's why i'm crying.

i gained weight again, but i'm not really hungry anymore.

i just want to die.

i wish i were a ghost.

I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams...

My sister came home for the winter holidays yesterday. Actually, screw it. She came for Christmas. It's Christmas. We celebrate Christmas. I'm not sure why, none of us are religious, but we do. I think it's out of habit. My mother's family is Anglican, and my father grew up Episcopal. He used to go to church every Sunday, but he stopped going in his twenties. My mother, who never really believed, fought relentlessly with her parents until they gave up on trying to force her to go. She's the one who really loves Christmas, though. Every year she goes mad over decorating until the house is covered from head to toe in garlands and wreathes and Christmas figurines. And nutcrackers. She's collected them since she was little, and by now she has an impressively extensive collection which she shows off every year with pride. She loves the Nutcracker ballet (she's actually leaving for the pirate themed dance along nutcracker in San Francisco in about half an hour), heck, that's why I'm named Clara.

So, yeah. She loves Christmas. I remember last year when she broke down in the kitchen while we were making date balls and listening to "There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays" and told me that the previous year, when we were living in the old house, it was around Christmas that she got the letter saying that we were going to lose the house. Of course, she never told anyone until January, she didn't want to ruin the holidays, but she knew that that was going to be our last Christmas at home. She still adores Christmas, though. She loves rituals in general. She loves knowing exactly what is going on. When she is going to the gym, when she has work, when she is volunteering at where, she plans it all out as far in advance as she possibly can. So when the holidays come around, and everything shuts down, she clings to Christmas as a sort of crutch, to distract her and keep her busy.

I love Christmas too, but sometimes I wonder if I love Christmas because I love Christmas, or If I love Christmas because she does.

XOXO
Clara