viski

stuff i've been thinking abt lately (it's old)

Reasons to be alive, part 5

1. steve buscemi

2. steve buscemi jokes

3. the sea (that is good for other things than drowning)

4. your family

5. ??

6. ??????

And then you yell "I wish I wasn't born!" and she says "Yeah, that would have been better." And all you have is an empty gab between your heart and ribs and you can't find the air from your lungs to scream. You mentally cross over the few things off your lists.

"I didn't mean it," She then says, weakly, through the bathroom door and you muffle your sobs to your sleeve. So that must be the truth then. You leave the bathroom with a face made of white marble and again for two days you pretend that she loves you. 

If she carried you in her womb for more than 9 months she must know that you are not a monster, she must know that the creature she gave birth to is made of moss and earth and flowers that bloom only after midnight. 

I know i'm not really fixing it when i'm escaping it

but the only way to fix this would be sleeping next to someone

and breathing in what the other breathes out

How is it possible to tell my friends that i'm mentally unstable and had a rough night and need some cuddles and don't want to be playfully bullied tomorrow bc it will end in tears and screaming? Also how do i explain them all the different ways i feel like shit and what subjects i wish they avoided. i will start to wear shirts that have trigger warnings written on them: "don't talk to me about eating disorders, bikinis or working out"

I've got these stupidly unrealistic ideas of what I am and what I want to (and will) be when I grow up: 

1. a sailor. Preferably from Åland. I'd speak good swedish and bad finnish and fish with an old boat that coughed every time I turned it on. My face and hands would be beaten by weather. This is impossible because I am not from Åland. 

2. a gardener. I'd grow the most beautiful roses and other flowers. I'd have this ridiculously large herb garden from which I'd dry the herbs to my own use and for others. This is impossible because where would i get the money and space for my garden. 

3. a sailor's wife. Oh this one is a bit stupid - i'd be a wife from early 18th century or late 17th century.  I'd be the kind of girl who didn't care of the hems of her dress getting dirty or lifting up to everyone to see her ankles. And i'd love my husband more than anything. 

4. an artist or a writer who lives in a penthouse in paris. A penthouse in an old building that has thin windows and nice lighting. I'd eat white bread and crepes and giggle with a bottle of red wine.

5. a farmer who grows her own food almost completely and survives on selling eggs and potatoes to the farmer's market time to time. I'd make good jam and sell it too. 

"idk nm i had an anxiety attack in the toilet today. excused myself off the coffee table where my crush was sitting, too. i feel horrible, tho. the usual."

Early on a thursday night i show a screwdriver to a pencil sharpener and today when a carving tool slips to my fingers, twice, i say "I've had it worse" and "Plasters are for wussies"

It's not about valentine's day.

I don't even know why i bother at making friends, or talking, or breathing. 

"This isn't a bad thing," I think to myself as I count teddybear shaped macaroni.
106 70 240
"It's probably going to make everything better"
Healthy, Ballet, flight attendant, a b c
school is hard and I am soft

I've felt tired and unable to breathe lately. My skin itches and lungs refuse from filling and even though it's december i find myself running to my room, losing my shirt, and opening the window. I enjoy sitting here alone, knowing it's only me.

I worship my own skin, sleeping in nude more often than not - my skin is my only freedom and I know that I don't even own the only things that actually are my own, and they are my mind, body and soul. 

Sometimes I look at my body in the mirror and wonder when I started hating it.
(I remember it, though. So I doesn't take that long.)
After a while, though, I search every scar and stretch mark and every kiss of an angel and count them.
I know how I got the scar on my cheek, and those vicious little lines on my ankles.
I admire the lighter spot under my left breast and my bare feet, flat against the floor. I admire the way my thighs look when it's dark.
It's been a while since I haven't hated my body - the only thing people know of me. Stranger, especially. Been a while since I haven't spend a moment in a day spitting ugly words at it.

But however, it's been a while since i've hurt it. Since i've caused bruises to myself, scars.

My hair looks like shit and I no longer care for makeup.
It would be easy to skip school, to tell them that I have a terrible headache and then not go. It would be easy to stay in bed and avoid everyone and everything, to wear pajamas the whole day.

I look to the mirror and wonder if anyone is ever going to see me as beautiful.

The only way I handle these blues is either staying up the whole night or sleeping for the whole day and I can do neither. Two days till my birthday and I'm supposed to be a bit more grown up again, people can use my age as a debate. I shouldn't scream to anyone anymore, I'm a small adult, but there is so much anger bottled inside me. In every nook it fits and I am more than upset. A small child can scream and shout. A small child is able to kick air and slam the door shut but all I can do is write and even that is not ok. What will people think of me, now that I am angry. Now that they know how I fist my hands and close my eyes and then just feel defeated as I can't do anything and the anger fades as every other emotion does too. It all turns to sadness at the end of the day and I end up sitting in the corner of the sofa, watching Romeo + Juliet and clasp my hands together. They will die in the end and I close the tv when Romeo cries and kills someone.

Do not make me feel bad. I will think it's all me before pushing you out, away, and then trying to get comfortable in my loneliness. "What will your father think" i ask myself as I pour noodles to a teacup.

fuck. Remember when I considered twice, or three times, even, before writing anything here.

I've been terribly sad lately, and slept badly.
I saw a nightmare of the girl who is all bee's knees and I'm trying to cope with that.
I am trying to cope with a lot of things:

• this fuzzy warm feeling I get when I'm around her
• the fact that I'm not straight and she is
• the fact that my grades are dropping
• the fact that I'll come across these same feelings again some day
• the fact that if she knew what I felt we would no longer be friends
• star trek: tos has only 3 season and i thought it had at least 10
• feelings. 

and these are mostly the things that make me sad, too. Then there is sadness that is actually caused by nothing particular, but it weights me down.

I'm tired of the subject "me"
I would rather talk about space, how women are shown in tv shows and kittens. Like, how important are kittens? pretty darn important.
Then again, I am not.

i eat red meat on a bread even though i'm supposed to be pollotarian.

I am potentially risking my life for boiling water for a cup of good-night-tea at 2.01 am and i feel two dimensional. My character has no character. 

I can't sleep.

I wish I was dark and mysterious.
I wish I had secrets but I spit my soul to your face and tell you how beautifully the droplets splatter on the bridge of your nose like see-through freckles.

"Jumalauta." Mä sanon ja sä huokaat. Meitä ei koskaan ollutkaan etkä sä koskaan tule kertomaan miltä tuntui kun sydän räjähti ja mun kädet tärisee.

I think I'm starting to find my place. Finally.

I have a nice, small circle of real friends who actually care about me and give as much as they take. I've got my life somewhat sorted out too and i am feeling content with the world. At the moment at least.

We had one of those magical evenings where every girl opened up and every one of us cried for our selves and for others. 

And I have never felt more happy to have left my poisonous friend and found these. I am so happy to control my life by myself again. 

You are:

• Bees' knees 
• cat's whiskers 
• flea's eyebrows
• canary's tusks.

please never change

Hi,

Sorry I haven't written in a while. It's been hectic, school has brought up the worst of me and I've just done my homework before going to bed. It's been two months since school started but i still haven't gotten the grip of life - showering every night is too hard and I've shaved my legs twice in two months. 

There is no space for creativity either, school makes me so angry that aggressive 70's rebel punk has been my background music for days and I haven't been able to clean my mind from it. 

And I'm currently quite sad. I'm constantly missing the one who is cat's paws and bee's knees and I don't know what to do with myself.

Yours truly, S 

I've been feeling terribly sad lately. 

I don't want to talk about it so I won't. 

That's why I've been silent.