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Okay?   
12/13/2003 at 7:38p
 
mood: loved
music: Enya
These aren't written day by day, they are taken from a paper journal and stuffed into Livejournal's white box. They are old and new. Do not judge.

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CHINA ROSE ; BY ENYA

Who can tell me if we have Heaven?
Who can say the way it should be?
Moonlight Holly, the Sappho Comet,
Angel’s tears below a tree.

You talk of the break of morning
As you view the new aurora.
Cloud in crimson, the key of Heaven,
One love carved in acajou.

One told me of China Roses,
One a Thousand nights and One night.
Earth’s last picture, the end of evening;
Hue of indigo and blue.

A new Moon leads me to
Woods of dreams, and I follow.
A new world waits for me;
My dream, my way...

I know that if I have Heaven
There is nothing to desire.
Rain and river, a world of wonder,
May be Paradise to me.		  
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Moonlit   
02/23/2003 at 1:57p
 
mood: melancholy
I miss her. I want to write to her. I want to tell her I love her. And that I think of her often.

I saw a shooting star. And I wished for a relationship that wouldn’t break, with someone who wouldn’t let go. I went for a walk and danced in the sand. Tiger left me alone. I needed a personal conversation with the moon and the stars. I love the stars because they make me feel less alone.

I have been needing someone to talk to. Because no one can go it alone. I have realized that. I need somebody. But it is a very difficult decision. There are lots of beautiful people. And I don’t know how to choose one. But I don’t know if I want any of the people I know.

And high school sucks. Because the beauty there is blinding. And the arrogance there is stifling. I want to run and hide under a desk. Because the sheer number of people scares me. I went to the big registration/picture-taking day at school. Everybody was cooing and hugging and waving and saying "long time no see." I was not taken in by their friendly gestures. They wanted me to take them into my confidence and whisper scandalous secrets so they could tell all their friends. But I did not. I smiled politely and didn’t hug them back and avoided many of them. So they will have to live without me. Some smiled and I stared back blankly. I steered clear of new faces looking for someone to cling to. People called my name and I did not answer. People waved and I ignored them. For those persistent enough to track me down, they only got a shy "hullo," and a fake smile. The burning question, "how was your summer?" only got a shrug. I sighed a lot and folded my arms and tapped my foot impatiently. I didn’t laugh at anybody’s jokes or smile at anyone’s kind words. I was merely there. And they didn’t get much more than my presence, except for the occasional flip of the hair or adjustment of my glasses. Find a way to live without me.

I have been losing myself in artwork. My grandma went with me to the craft store and bought me stuff so I can make my own pretty things. I am excited and afraid.		  
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I think I'm paranoid   
02/23/2003 at 1:52p
 
mood: aggravated
music: Rilo Kiley
Ever since I switched from Zoloft to Paxil, I have been paranoid. Glances over my shoulder, gnawing fears, and unexplained obsessions. Luckily I have long stopped with the why me’s and self pity. That’s no way to live your life.

Speaking of living life, I started cutting again. Despite my attempts to stop. I tried what the experts suggested. But it didn’t work. Because the men who dispense the so called advise wear white coats and have never felt a sharp blade jut into their wrist. It feels too good to stop. I used a razor blade this time. I think I prefer it over the scissors. And despite what anyone says, it does feel good. So I take my anger towards the world out on my pale wrists. And smile as the stinging fades and the blood drips down. It’s a rush. And a high.

So screw those who want to psychoanalyze my every action. I’m selfish. Deal with it. Stop whining and complaining. Everybody has to live with their decisions. I want people to back off. Take a few steps away. Observe if you like. But don’t interfere. Don’t let your judgments and suspicions affect me. I have my own problems. Don’t make any more for me. We’ll both feel better. Trust me.		  
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Hidden behind cotton   
02/15/2003 at 11:03p
 
mood: restless
I am dying to tell some one that I need help. To stop cutting. Because my insides are dying with every slice. And it’s out of control. I no longer have a handle on it. Maybe I never did. But it’s definitely worse. Since the X-acto knife. No no, before the knife. Since she left my life. Well, I suppose I kicked her out. But I needed her. She kept me going. I need somebody I can see and talk to often. Please, somebody, come into my life. Please. I need you. But no. Stay away. Because one day I will be stupid and kick you out of my life. And then I will regret it. And even if you came back, I would find a way to screw it up again. So I will sit here and try to stay awake with the Zyprexa forces my eyes shut.

I am in some one else’s home right now, watching over their beautiful children and vomiting in their toilet. Cool. I think I will cut some more and hide it behind my blood-stained wrist band. Which is red, so I’m lucky. It has a rainbow on it, and that makes me happy.

I want to get into photography. But. Not tonight. My thoughts are jumbled and my judgments clouded. I don’t want to make decisions now.		  
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Dreaming surreal dreams   
02/07/2003 at 10:39p
 
mood: groggy
In my three hours of sleep, I dreamt of only her.

Her hair was sun-lightened. Her skin had a darker hue. She smelled of fresh cut flowers. Her big, bright brown eyes looked up at me mischievously as a smile spread across her face. I giggled and kissed the freckle on her lip. We danced around and turned cartwheels across the hard wood floors. We polished them with our feet and skated across them clumsily. At midnight we walked on the beach. She was wearing a faded denim skirt and a purple turtleneck. I was wearing a silky black fishtail skirt and a fuchsia sweater. I spun in circles and my skirt swirled at my knees. She was afraid to get wet but I convinced her to come with me. We danced in the moonlight and the sea foam lapped at our heels. We closed our eyes and let ourselves go. It was just us against the world. And it felt great. We were locked in a warm embrace, eyes closed, with our lips finding each other and stealing kisses while we got high on each other’s company. There was a breeze that carried her perfume and mixed it with the salty sea air. It started to rain.

It was a light, tropical storm, though I have no idea what beach we were on, and the rhythm of the rain mixed with the crashing waves and barking sea lions to create a very interesting song. She started to sing songs by Ani Difranco to make me fall deeper in love with her. I did. I sang them back to her and then we just sang from our hearts. This incredible duet. Which lasted until we found a more pleasurable use for our lips. The kisses were like songs and we both felt them flow through our bodies.

We lay down in the sand, tousled our hair and held hands until we could sit up and watch the sun rise. I turned to her and lay my head on her shoulder. She whispered "stay with me." It was incredible. And I am sorry it was just a dream. I miss her.		  
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Naked as the news   
02/07/2003 at 10:34p
 
mood: numb
Starbucks reminds me of her. Too much.

Does she remember feeling the coffee beans at Starbucks? Does she remember "About a Boy" and "But I’m a Cheerleader"? Does she remember when she sang "Who Will Save Your Soul" to me? Does she remember that one passionate kiss? Does she remember going to the beach when it was dark and listening to the moonlit waves sing to us? Does she remember that I held her hand and protected her from the crickets?

I will never forget.

I want to call her right now and tell her I still love her.		  
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Start at the beginning   
02/07/2003 at 8:21p
 
mood: productive
music: Ani DiFranco
I am sixteen years old. And confused. And these are NOT the best years of my life.

I tried to commit suicide a few months ago. And I’m sorry I was unsuccessful. I even failed at taking my own life. I feel incompetent and fragile. My father ignores my issues. My mother is too self-absorbed to care. They refuse to understand.

I confide mainly in my dog, Tiger. I rescued him from the doggy hell that is the humane society. He was scared and alone and caged. We had a lot in common. I took him home with me. And he became my soul mate. So it worked for both of us.

I started writing at an early age, but I used to write happy thoughts. When I could no longer hide behind pretty words, I started to write from my heart. It’s been about a year now. But I’ve always had these feelings. I kept track of my life in a journal. And decided to allow others to read it. With the hope they might understand. Because as of yet, no one does. Good luck navigating through my jumbled thoughts.		  
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china_rose
 
 

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