sometimes the shadows move.
it's not really easy to notice, it's subtle, but once you see it, it's hard to stop. they grow. and they curl like smoke, forming different shapes.
coming alive. not like poets talk about, but alive in the most literal sense. they grow eyes that follow you and mouths with glinting teeth that peer out of the darkness and whisper in your ear while you sleep. When you hear that high pitched whine, that buzz in your ears, that's them trying to talk to you in their voices that are just beyond the cusp of your consciousness.
They are with you wherever you go. the good ones protect you, wrap you up in themselves like a blanket, keep you safe when you walk home.
They keep you safe from the bad ones.
Those shadows on hot days that are just a bit thicker than the rest, that give you an uneasy feeling, that you don't want to touch. there's a glint of something shiny in the dark, and it's not a coin.
So few people notice the shadows. people rarely notice anything of importance. they squash down their instincts, ignore the voices in their heads, you should never ignore those voices. they keep you alive.
well, when they don't want you dead they do.

I'm a ghost. That's it. I forget I exist sometimes, then I see my reflection, and I remember that
I'm here. Except I'm not. I'm a ghost. That's why I can see the monsters. They're ghosts too. Everybody says that they're not real, and I know they can't be, but they are. I can see them, and people lie. People are stupid. They never see and they never listen, and if you see and you listen, then you're crazy. People never want to admit they're wrong, they want everything to be like them. I like my monsters. Except for sometimes. Sometimes they scare me. but sometimes I scare them, so it's okay. Sometimes I scare me, too. The big one scares me a lot. He never moves or anything. He's just there. I thought we left him behind when we moved, but he's still there. But he isn't there also. He's a ghost. Why can't people see reality? They just ignore all the things they don't like, ignore the monsters under their beds, the hearts in the floorboards. They pretend that they know what "reality" is. They don't know a thing. They ignore their monsters. The big one has strange eyes. One is red, the other is green. He has very tiny eyes. He never talks. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they try to hurt me. Sometimes they wrap their hands around my throat when they think I'm asleep and they squeeze. Sometimes it's my own hands. But it's okay. I still like my monsters. They can try to kill me if they want to. I like my monsters.

if it kills me

I want to leave right now. I want to walk out my front door and go to a gig. i want to listen to music and make some acquaintances, i want to throw myself into a pit and have the shit beaten out of me to the rhythm of good music by new people, i want to run and jump and sing and scream and dance and go to the beach and wait there 'till morning, listening to the waves and the radio and feeling the wind and salt sting my face and i want to watch the sunrise and fucking live.

that's part of why i like staying up all night. you live through those hours no matter how sad or stressed or freaked the fuck out you are and then you look at the world opening it's bleary eyes and think I made it. i survived this day, i will survive the next and the one after that. i will survive the rest of my life and i will make it through this year if it kills me.

so. my mom took me to see a shrink yesterday. the whole day she kept on calling it a doctor's appointment if anybody else was in earshot, like she was fucking ashamed to have a kid that needed help. i mean, i get where she was coming from, but she's my mom. she's supposed to accept who i am, and if i need help, she shouldn't be so ashamed of that.

i slept for thirteen hours last night. i didn't sleep at all the night before. i don't want to be here. i'm tired.
i think it's going to rain soon. that'll be nice. i miss actual weather.

I am sick of my face. I am so fucking sick with waking up every morning, looking in the mirror and seeing this fucking face and the fucking person behind it. I hate her. She's such a fucking asshole and she's weak and fat and acne-ridden and so goddam annoying. I hate having to see her. I'm sick of her. I am sick of my fucking face. Why can't she just go the fuck away? I fucking hate who I am. fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck shit eating pogo jumping jesus christ and his goddam cat. Why do people always say that you will stop hating yourself eventually, that it's just a phase? i have been going through 15 years, 3 months, and 5 days of this phase, and it doesn't seem like it's ending anytime soon. I hate who i was, i hate who i am, i have never been a tolerable person. just fucking kill me already. i want it to stop.

my dad left for a business trip this morning, and i watched him go with the unsettling feeling that he is going to die.

my father needs an oxygen compressor, which is basically a thing that filters air into its components, and sends oxygen to him via cannula. He is going to new jersey, and due to a few stupid complications, he cannot take his compressor, nor his oxygen tanks with him. whenever he goes for a long time without his oxygen, he turns blue because his respiratory system is incapable of providing his body with enough oxygen to keep its organs functioning.

i don't want my daddy to die.

Just FYI

I have to go camping. For a week. Starting tomorrow. I will spend seven days surrounded by drunk and angry family members while being sucked dry by mosquitoes. I will not be posting during that time, as I will have no internet access.

I expect I am going to be doing a lot of reading.