Bah fucking Humbug!

This isn't going to come as much of a shock to anyone reading this, but I am officially boycotting Christmas this year. No Christmas music, no Christmas decorations, no Christmas cookies...nothing. No one else in my family is even the slightest bit enthused about the holiday, and honestly, it's been pretty much nothing but a downer for me for the past few years, since my grandmother died, so what's the point? Why stress myself out to celebrate something I don't even really believe in anyway? I mean, sure, I'll have dinner with my family, if that's what we do. And if they decide to change their minds and actually want to get into the Christmas spirit, I will probably join in on the festivities. But I'm done trying to make this happen. Kinda like I'm done with everything else. Who cares anymore?

Once again...

Once again I am sitting here, thinking too much out of sheer boredom, and I can't help but ask myself: Why? Why am I so unsatisfied with my life? What did I expect things to turn out like? I mean, I've never been one to put much faith in making plans for the future because something always comes up to ruin everything. So why am I so surprised that I am still single, unmarried, childless, without a degree, working in a job with no real advancement opportunities, living at home with my parents...the list goes on and on. I think part of it is the fact that I'm just not happy with myself. I hate the way I look. I know I'm fat. I'm working on it. But it takes time, and I am not a patient person. Part of it is the fact that I feel like I wasted six years of my life, and for what? All I have to show for it is a heart that she turned to stone, a completely cynical outlook on love, and scars on my heart, body and soul. So what now? I don't want to fall in love again. I don't want to go back to school because it would be pointless. I don't want to find another job because I enjoy what I do and I love my coworkers. I don't want to move out of my parents' house because I hate the thought of living alone, and Mom needs me. So why? What is wrong with me? Why can I not be happy with the choices I am making? Am I just programmed to be miserable for the rest of my existence? If that's the case, then I want out. Now. Because this pain is becoming almost unbearable, even for me, and that's saying something.

Deep breaths...

The panic attacks are getting even more out of control. I'm not entirely sure what to do anymore. I woke up freaking out this morning for no reason at all. I don't even remember having a bad dream or anything. I took my anti-anxiety pill like I'm supposed to and it calmed me down a little, but it's starting to wear off now and I'm feeling extremely high strung. Maybe the holidays are stressing me out, I don't know. There's so much going on around me right now and sometimes I get so stressed and anxious that I just want to puke. I can't wait until Friday when I can go buy another bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka and probably a bottle of Kahlua too. Black and/or White Russians ftw. Maybe I'll get a couple of bottles of red wine too, why the fuck not?

The iPod is on shuffle, playing a list of Children of Bodom, Nightwish and Sonata Arctica in a completely random order. It's pretty awesome to not know what to expect next since I know all of these albums by heart. Keeps thing exciting.

Deep breaths...8 hours and I can go home, have a beer, and try to relax. Deep, slow breaths...

...I am losing my mind. Not that there was much left to lose...

Dreaming in sanguine technicolor

I know, I know. The subject doesn't make much sense, does it? But really, it does. My dreams have been so violent lately. Filled with imagine of death and destruction...and, if I didn't wake up in time, I am positive it would show my own demise. What I don't understand is why. I'm safe where I am right now. There is no one actively trying to hurt me, at least not physically. And yet...I can't shake it. This sense of foreboding is too much for me to handle right now. There is so much going on and I'm concerned that these dreams aren't so much a literal warning as some sick form of foreshadowing. But foreshadowing what? Is someone around me going to be violently attacked? Am I? Or am I finally going to slip over the edge and just...slit my wrists and be done? I mean, I realize I have a fascination with blood. The sight, the texture, the warmth...the taste. And it's no secret that I have been treated violently in the past. I have also tried to take my own life. But these dreams feel...different, somehow. And they're so vivid and feel so real that sometimes I wake up completely shocked that my sheets aren't covered in blood. I do wake up in pain. I can feel everything that happens. And I just. I don't know. It's freaking me out. It's freaking me out badly and I don't know how to stop it.

Oh...fuck...that hurts...

I can't breathe right now...I feel like I'm suffocating...I just got a text from my sister telling me that our friend Kim's baby girl was born today...on my daughter's birthday...oh God...it hurts so much...I'm so happy for her but...fuck...that...damn...my heart just shattered into a million pieces when I read that...she's a mother, and I'm not...her daughter is alive, and my little girl was taken away from me...her angel was born on the same day mine should have been...shit...shit shit shit...I don't know how to deal with this...it...just hurts...

Happy Birthday, my sweet angel...

Nine years ago, I should have given birth to an angel. I should have been able to hold her in my arms, count her little fingers and toes, look into her little face and welcome my daughter into this world. Today, I should be celebrating her ninth birthday, having a part either after she gets out of school or over the weekend. She should be inviting her friends over for cake and ice cream and games and, because she is my daughter, karaoke and a headbanging metal fest. Instead, I am struggling with every ounce of strength I have to hold back the tears, to stop myself from dropping to the ground and sobbing my heart out because I miss her so much. I never got to hold her, never got to look into her eyes, never got to hear her laugh or cry or tell me that she loves me. I never go to tell her how much I love her or watch her take her first steps or say her first word. All of those things were stolen away from me and my angel...and yet even though she was never truly with me, she is always a part of me.

Mommy loves you, Trinity Rose, and I will never, ever forget you. I will always love you with all of my heart and soul, and no matter what, you will always be my firstborn, even if you never had a chance to truly be born. I still think about you everyday and imagine what we would be doing if you had survived. I'd like to think that we would be best friends and do everything together, because let's face it kiddo, it would have been you and me against the world. I know you're out there somewhere watching over me and trying to make sure that Mommy is happy...I feel you with me every time my heart aches, every time I laugh or smile, with every tear I cry...I know that you're here. I love you. I miss you. We'll meet again one day, my sweet angel... Happy Birthday.

A thought...

If time supposedly "heals all wounds," then why, after all this time, does it hurt almost worse than it did then? Why haven't all of these years healed the wounds on my heart and soul? Is it because they can't be healed, only scabbed over, and when something comes along to trigger those emotions it's like picking off a scab and making the wound worse? Or do they actually scar and then get torn open again, simply making the wounds and scars deeper? I don't understand. I shouldn't be feeling this way after all this time if what they say is true and time really does ease the pain. Personally, I think that saying was created by people who were so terrified of their own pain, sorrow and hatred that they had to find a way to convince themselves that it would be eased and "healed" if they just ignored it long enough. Cowards, essentially. I have no fear of my own pain, hatred or sorrow. Some people would even say I thrive on it, and who am I to disagree? They're probably right. The darkness is where I find the most comfort, not only because it's familiar to me, but because it is the one place (or frame of mind, perhaps?) where I can simply be myself without being judged, where I can feel the pain and hatred and sorrow and no one tries to tell me I'm wrong. And I won't even bring "God" into it because anyone reading this knows my beliefs, or lack thereof well enough that I don't think I need to reiterate that point right now. It's all a load of bullshit.

 

"Can you ever kill the pain in my heart, even though they say angels don't kill?"

...mitä vittua?

I'm just sitting here at my desk at work, and all I want to do is cry. I don't even know what happened. It's so random. I sat down and I was fine, working along, talking to Evan because I haven't seen the boy in a week, and now I just...want to sit here, curl up in a ball under the desk and sob my heart out. This is not really unusual for me, but...I hate it when it happens. And I mean, I know I have a lot on my mind. I know that a lot is going on in my life and in my head right now, but I really should be able to control it better, or at the very least, hide it. The walls are starting to crumble and I'm terrified. I'm terrified of what they are all going to see, what they are all going to say. I don't know how to build them back up because I don't know what's tearing them down. I hate feeling helpless and defenseless like this. I hate being vulnerable.

 

...all I want is for someone to hold me and tell me that someday, somehow, everything will be okay...but I am alone...

I don't understand...

...why is it okay for everyone else to take time off or have a bad day, yet when I do the same thing or am in a bad mood, it's like the end of the world and a crime against humanity? I am not perfect. I am not a robot. I have emotions. I feel things. Just because I don't let everyone around me see them does not mean they are not there. I also make plans and need time off. I have the hours to cover it. People are allowed to take time off to play video games, why can I not take a day off to sleep after a long roadtrip and concert without being given shit about it? I just. I hate this. I hate this life and I hate this place. I hate myself for letting all of this get to me. Perkele.

Typical...so typical

All my plotting and rearranging to try to keep my plans for next week from falling through has failed. My boss isn't coming in to work at all this week, so there's no way for me to talk to her and see if she'll give me permission to move my schedule around and get my hours in over 4 days instead of 5 next week. I'm not suprised. All I do is disappoint people, myself included. I don't know why I bother planning anything, really. Whatever.

 

I will be spending my evening with my good friend Soco and lime tonight. Perhaps a few shots of vodka with a blood twist. I just want to be so wasted I can't think, feel or cry anymore. I'm tired. I'm done.

At this point, I would welcome Death.

...with open arms and the most sincere, serene smile on my face. I'm sitting here at work, shivering and sweating, my throat is so raw I can barely whisper and swallow my own saliva without wanting to cry, my head is throbbing, but because I came in to work, I now have to "suck it up and stick it out," even though they're telling everyone not to come to work if they have flu symptoms. WHATEVER. The only reason I came in today at all is because I thought I could talk to my boss about the 16-18, but she's not even fucking here! GAH! I am just going to fucking shoot myself in the face. I. Cannot. Take. This. Anymore.

Hello, I'm a giant ball of stress!

So I feel like shit. Physically. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and is aching, my chest is tight, my throat's on fire...my whole body feels like I got run over by a truck...and yet I can't take the day off of work to rest because I need my "sick day" for the AFI concert next week. *sighs* I think I may have figured out a way to make most of my plans work out for the next two weeks but, unfortunately, the final decision still rests with my boss and she's not usually that nice to me. Ugh.

Why can't anything just work out for me? Why can't I just have one fucking thing that doesn't stress me out and just...works? No worrying, no rearranging everything, no disappointing anyone (or everyone)...just...one thing to go right. Once. That's all I want. Really.

Ugh. Ugh ugh urgh ugh urgh blah bleh meh urgh.

That is all.

...and they all fall down...

Well, I just watched my life fall apart in about 2.5 seconds. Awesome. I love this. Seriously. Every single plan I had for the next two weeks just fell apart. I've been waiting for this Metallica concert for months, and now I can't go. I promised my mom I would go to Philadelphia with her to see AFI, and now I can't go. I promised my BEST FRIEND that I would come and see her for her birthday, and now I can't. I can't do any of this because, unbeknownst to me, I HAVE NO FUCKING VACATION TIME. This is what happens when companies get cheap and don't give us paystubs anymore. If I got a paystub in the mail, I'd have known that I had no vacation time, and I wouldn't have fucking made plans. But no, of course not! I get fucking blindsided literally a week before all of this is supposed to happen, and now I have a bunch of people really, really upset with me! What the fuck am I supposed to do?! Nothing, that's what. I just have to suck it up and deal. And let everyone be pissed off at me for ruining their plans. Fuck. My. Life. I'm just going to go to sleep and pray that I don't wake up...

Reflections in Autumn

I'm sitting here...watching the world slowly dying around me once more...and it feels a bit like looking in the mirror...the leaves fall from the trees, littering the ground, just as my blood falls from my veins, leaving a pool at my feet...the weather grows colder, the same way my heart slowly turns to ice...Mother Nature claims her victims once again, just as the cold, cruel eyes of Fate lock upon me once again...the only difference is...

 

...the world will be reborn in the spring...I, however, will simply continue to fade until there is nothing left...

 

...what's wrong with me? Why am I falling into this cycle again? Nothing's happened...not recently, anyway. Nothing so terrible that it should make me want to give up and simply allow myself to wither away. And yet, I'm not strong enough to stop it. I don't know that I even want to. Every second that passes is another excruciating moment in which I have to draw in another breath and try and paint on a fake smile, and honestly? The paint is dried and cracking, nothing I can do can save it anymore. The bristles have fallen out of all of my brushes, so now, when I go to paint on what the world wants to see, it comes out in a twisted, frightening mess. Perhaps, finally, I am giving them all a true reflection of my soul. Maybe I have finally grown tired of all the games, of playing dress up simply because it's what they want. This should be a relief, and yet...I'm frightened. More frightened than I have ever been in my life. It's not a good feeling to look into the mirror, into your own soul, and be terrified of what you see. Though, I have to admit, it's also strangely comforting; I finally recognize myself when I look into my own eyes.

 

It's time to take off the mask and show them all my true colors...I have grown so weary of this tiresome disguise...

 

...I'm sorry...