I've come to the conclusion that the only reason my writing is any sort of good is because I don't follow the same old tired love plot lines. Everything is always tortured and sad but not so much that it makes you roll your eyes and wonder what the fuck I was thinking. I also realize that the reason I don't read love stories is not because I find then utterly ridiculous - which I do - but that they make me really sad. I have to write tragedy. I can't effectively write triumph. Whether it's some girl having a psych break and screaming to erase her voice or some lonely guy going after the daughter of his former lover or even the "abductor empathy" from a girl who was kidnapped by some guy who was obsessed with her online whatever, it's got to be a little dark, a little fucked up, and totally painful.

I've been told that my pieces read like poetry and that I can get so into characters' minds and surroundings that you never want to leave the sad bubble I've created. While I don't think that I'm all that good, I have my moments and I find myself never wanting to let go of a character or two. How warped is that? How screwed does a person have to be to never want to leave a place they've created? It's almost as bad as the cliche "happy place".

Looking back over my old journals... blah. I don't know. I was a better person then. Not anymore. I'm just lazy and fat and retarded. I can't even say I'm emo or mental. I'm just stupid.

Every night you cry yourself to sleep thinking, "Why does this happen to me? Why does every moment have to be so hard?"
Damn you Adam Levine. Damn you.

I'm lonely and tired and I really just want someone or something. You know... I love God and all but it can't take away the ache. Everyone needs to feel loved and wanted and not in some quasi-spiritual way either.  A human way. A way that only another person next to you can give you. And my dad is always saying he wished I had a guy. Trust me, Dad. Right now, I do too. I don't want to live my life alone.

Me singing at church went really good. The stage is an amazing place. I made people cry. In my way, I turned the entire service around so it was nothing but a worship thing. My dad said Justin is really critical of people singing and all and that when I hit some of my notes, all he could think was "Wow". Felt good to know that I didn't suck.

I'm almost willing to rejoin okcupid or something equally retarded to find someone. How lame, sure, but damn... I can't feel this lonely for the rest of my life.

Tags: emo, writing

My car - Magdalene - is no more. I have to let her go. She was a perfect car and, sad as it'll seem, a really good friend. We drove everywhere. Oh, how many times did I get into her nice tweedy seats totally dexxed and we drove 100+ miles to no where? I loved you, my dearest Magdalene. You were amazing.

I went and did the releasing biz with the cops and was able to get all my stuff out of her. I was like, "Oh man... I need to get you out of here!" and then I saw the front of her - she'd been ran into a pole of some sort, he fender screwed w/ a blinker light missing, a bowing to the hood and cracked, the front right tire shredded and the back right totally flat. She was covered in pollen and I cried. I cried so fucking hard for my car - the plans I'd made to get her all fixed up and go on a road trip to PA and then onwards to Toronto, plans to go to school then get a job, to move out on my own, my only ticket to real freedom. I got all of my stuff out of her, and pushed the key into the ignition one last time. Thinking about it now makes me want to cry. I know that's totally emo of me but damn... I loved my car.

With all of the wrecker fees and accumulating charges being piled on it daily, I couldn't get her even if I wanted to - no money to fix her.

Then I went in and asked for my other keys and my keychains because they weren't with the car key. They didn't have them. If it was there, it'd be with the key in the car. And then I cried again. My Canada keychain - the only thing I bought and brought back with me to the States - is gone.

I don't know what to think about all of that except that it makes me really sad.

I keep saying I need to get back on the narrow with food and I don't. I'm lazy and I don't think. I haven't exercised in weeks. I eat over my limit (and have for the past 8 days) and it's all, "Well.. ummm... I'm not gaining???" but FUCK THAT. It's just stupid. There are no other emotive words to describe it other than pure stupidity. Sure, I've got the PBV whatevers but still. I had a goal of 19.2# this month and I won't make it unless I seriously kill over the next 20 days. I want to lose 10# per month. That's all. I can do that but I'm not. I'm making excuses. All that's on me. I know I can reach my goal for 11.09.08 but not this way.

I back into my old jeans and I think I look better now than I did. CRAZY, eh?

I'm drained.

Tags: emo, weight

( le binge )

I'm letting it be known that I will be fasting for the next 48hrs+. I need anyone who reads this to just give me some sort of support.

I feel like I'm failing at life here. Out of 21 days, I've gone over my safe limit 8 times. I mean... It's just... FUCK. How fucked up to you have to be to fuck yourself over like that? With no feeling? Sure, "Tomorrow, I will be just fucking lovely!" works for 3 seconds and then you fuck up again. This isn't me! I don't do this shit! I don't just continually say tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. That's not who I am. I HAVE to win. I have to be the victor, the top dog. I have to be fucking ELITE. I can't be a half-assed person and that's what I feel like. I feel so fake. Such a wannabe. I am so close to my March goal. 5.8#. SO FUCKING CLOSE. And 8:21 times I've screwed myself. I could be there already. I could have been there a week ago but I went for the epic fail. That's me. Epic Lose Bri. Why go at it half way when you can fuck yourself entirely?

I'm so fucking all over the place. I keep trying to tell myself that my mom saying my whatevers are panic attacks are her being cautious but I fear she's right. I feel like I'm always on constant edge. I don't want them but what if I have them? What if I'm having one now? What if I can't breathe or my heart starts beating funny again? I'm so scared of having them that I'm having them and I get more scared. I don't want fear and anxiety and that's all I feel. God, what is wrong with me?

If I was a crying person, I'm sure that choked up feeling that I'm pushing down right now would be a full on emo fest.

God, I need some release. I want to talk with someone but I just can't. A few years back I had some vision that I'm not really fucked up, that I'm not crazy. I'm normal and everything is okay. I've pushed out all of the emotions that made me bad. All I want right now is drugs and a psychiatrist and I'm so poor I can't get either. Welcome to Alabama, the poorest state in the union w/no "needy" medical assistance program. I'm sure this country would rather see me die. What am I good for? What was I ever good for?

 I don't know what's happening. I'm finally cracking. It's all gonna be over soon. Pull up a chair. I'm sure my demise will be quite entertaining.

Tags: emo, hunger

Dear God... when you read what you wrote some 3 1/2 years ago, you really do wonder if you are better or worse for the wear. I'm not so childish or "dark and gloom", but I am a lot more secretive and I thought I was a lot more open. I couldn't imagine putting the things out there that I used to. That's scary as fuck to me now. I don't know...

I'm sort of ____ right now. Blank because I have no idea what the hell it is I really feel. Sadness? Disappointment? Rage? Who can call the mix and match of emotions that's always flowing in and out of my conscious and subconscious?

So yeah... well... umm... I'm taking back Sunday AND Monday. Write a song about that, eh?

PS: FUCK YOU, YOHANNES.

Tags: emo, psych

It doesn't really matter.
(I know that)
It's bothersome.
Stupid.
Maybe I'm being childish.
No, I'm being a dreamer.
(Dreams aren't for kids)

What was it really, huh? I'm such an ego trip. I'm so the fucking cheerleader. Not for me, you see. Personal gain? Ha. What's that?

So the old man with the old face sat down for a nice warm glass of solitude and the tired girl with the tired face understood something. Maybe not the matter at hand - no, that was far too deep - but she understood a few things. She understood that sometimes things don't mean much & sometimes they mean the world.

Look me up in Merriam-Webster and give me a definition.
I can still be Ming Lo.
I can still try to move mountains.

Tags: emo, writing

Leaving my house makes me anxious. The thought of getting a job (I quit McD's after 4 days) makes me anxious. The way my tool bar is covered in a jumbled mess of IE, FireFox, and Wordpad buttons makes me anxious. My brother makes me anxious. I feel like a huge mess of anxiety and almost-fear. My mother is the only thing that really makes me feel half-way sane and that's saying something.

Maybe I'm regressing back to 10 or something but I know that's not really true because at 10, I was fucked up thinking about the fact that I wouldn't be a kid for much longer.

The more I think about my state of mind and all that I feel and all that goes on in my head, the more I think I should be medicated. The last time, tho, I was even more of a wreck only a zombie wreck and not all over the place, flipping out, psychotic break type mess. Given I was in the midst of a nervous breakdown and thinking I was being chased by ghosts and grasshoppers and wouldn't leave my house and they were only really treating anxiety and not much else, I don't know.

I have to think there is something more for me out there then what I'm left with when it's just me and the laptop in my room. I'm so tired of being me because I don't really think I'm crazy at all. Fucked up and damaged, sure, but not exactly crazy.

I need someone to explain me to, well, myself.

I've been eating a lot these past few days and I haven't gained anything. That fucks with my head. There should be repercussions for being a fuck up. As cliche and tired, I have to bet on tomorrow. I have to bank on being a better person for myself tomorrow. I have to otherwise I'll turn self-destructive and turns my body into an uglier site.

I'm not really god anymore. I'm not really much of anything. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Make the vicious cycles stop... please.... anyone?

Why must my mind race? Why must I always feel like I'm buzzing? A tired, droning buzz in my ears, from the lights in the kitchen, from my fingertips. I can hear the electricity in the walls.

I just want to crawl into bed and not have to think or worry or wonder.

Tags: emo, psych

I wish it was easier for me to let go of emotions, affronts, life situations after a certain period of time. I know things take time but I hold onto everything, bottling it up until the point where even the smallest of things can send me into a fit of blind, tearful rage. Of course, it takes a long time for me to get to that point. Normally, it's just plain rage - not the seeing the world under a veil of red kind - that is festering. And given that my fits come out as rage and I swallow down most of it (and all emotions), it's almost a paradox of sorts.

Blake leaves for Pennsylvania on the 2nd. I texted him - in a moment of pure confidence - and asked if he wanted to meet up on Friday for a pre-flight hang out. He hasn't responded, but he's Blake; he takes a while but knowing I did it makes me feel good.

I feel like my life has fallen apart for the most part over the past year and a piece. I've lost three jobs and quit another, gained untold amts of weight, been a certifiable cough syrup junkie (now reformed by the fact that I have no money), and I've really not done anything to advance myself at all. I'm jobless, drugless, super cow, etc. Back in December I began SI'ing again. I'll have to take pictures of my dark scarred arms. I'm not sure what is going on but I really need to work on that. Spend this time usefully instead of using it to sit on the internet for 4hrs watching quarterlife.

I'll post something later... or edit this... or something.

Tags: emo, psych