To be so scared, is to be weak.

I am scared to death of Monday.

I have known something wasn't right for a while, but I ignored it. I caused disorder and mayhem in my personal life in some weak effort to distract myself and ignore the signs my body was giving me. I covered it up by trying to stay more active and sleeping more, trying to show my body your okay. Okay. That is what I chanted over and over again in my head to my one, two beat of my shoes on the pavement as I pushed into the second mile.

I am not okay, and I am scared.

Half of me knows what the doctor will say. They will tell me I am depressed and I am not eating enough. I know that, that is just how I am. Part of me knows they will look at my scars and compare them to my chart notes and just write me off as another manic depressive teen...And I can't say that they would be wrong, but I have always been that way.

This feeling is different. Different than the fatigue, different than mono, or depression, or low blood sugar or anything else I have ever been treated for. Something is wrong, and I have to bear this alone.

Always alone.

Fake

Ever feel completely fake and like you are worth nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of a shoe?

That is how I feel now.

Time for a ramble

I usually have a set notion of what I am going to write about, but I don't tonight...I just sort of feel like letting my fingers wander around the keyboard in a rambling missmash of thoughts.

and now my mind is blank and I have a headache. Nevermind then world, never fucking mind. Perhaps I will just post something off of my facebook notes so it looks longer and boosts my ego.

Ghosts of My Imagination:

I tend to spend as little time at home as possible. I know every hiking trail and body of water in close proximity to my house. I however had forgotten about the magical escape that lies beyond my backyard.

As approached the gate, I noticed how different it look. Our wooden fence is gone, having burned to the ground several years ago, but the gate remained only slightly charred. As I removed the barricade that had been placed in front of it to contain our dog I felt excited, guilty and a little sad.

So many hours of my youth were spent playing in the brush and trees with my sister, imagining silly games and fighting with light sabers. As we grew older and my sister left it became my fortress of solitude. It was here I imagined to life the characters from my books and watched them bring the story to life. It was here where I spent hours perfecting my English assignments and it was here where I cried the first time my heart was broken.

It has been nearly three years since I was here last and it is very much the same. The cacti have grown and one or two trees are missing but I still feel as though I never left.

I can feel the old ghosts from my imagination here. They are slowly welcoming me back with open arms. I can breath easy here.

My New BlogLite App

So while sitting in the social services office for almost three fucking hours I finally found a blog app that I can live with. My one complaint, it doesn't use the sideways keyboard, but I usually compose on notepad an then copy paste. And I need to figure out how to set the blogs that I follow into the little tab thingy. So not displeased, but not pleased either. But it was free, so whatever. I am insanley bored. And I've finished my book. Blech.

...am I just lazy?

I always seem to make these grand plans as I get inspired by other artists but I never seem to follow through, or I feel weird about it. But I always say, I am going to take more pictures and post them here. I am going to finish those youtube videos, or I am going to actually use my daily booth. Perhaps if I was more organized and had all of my technology within easy reach I would be more inclined to do these things...or perhaps if I lived on my own it would be easier. I hate when I am making a video or taking a photo when my mother walks in and I have to explain it...because of the time I can't. Or she will want to see the finished product and then critic to the point where I just want to curl up into a ball and die. 

I think also I may just be insanely vain and not want anything remotely unattractive anywhere. But considering I spend 50% of my time in doggie pj pants or 4H whites, I think I have no shame. 

I feel like I should write some fantastic and flowery vow...humm perhaps that is what I will work on while waiting to get my medical stuff...

I wonder if I am just lazy, or a victim of circumstance. 

although I am quite impressed that I am updating my blog more, even if it is worthless dribble most of the time

No emotion

After rereading much of my blog I find it devoid of emotion and senseless dribble. I disgust myself.

restraint

I feel as though I should spill everything on to paper, tell someone how close I was, how scared and saying he saved me was not a metaphor but reality. I don't know what is holding me back from telling someone. I haven't even admitted to myself how much he impacted my life. I don't think I could stand the pain.

Perhaps that is what is holding me back from visiting his grave, Angies grave and my Grandma's grave. Perhaps facing the people who have had the biggest impact on me is too much to bear. Perhaps I am a coward.

Dreams

I have always been a fantastic dreamer. I let my imagination work constantly during the day and at night. I used to enjoy the adventures that it would take me on, but lately they have turned from exciting adventures to catastrophic nightmares. Its 5 nights of death, destruction and heart ache, and it really scares me. It takes most of the day to shake whatever I have dreamed and by that time its time to go to sleep again. Sleep is the enemy.

Slow down

Dear Brain,

Please slow down long enough for me write something.

I think I will finish uploading video footage.