I've been sitting, thinking, trying to figure out something to write. Nothing seems to be working. I have more drafts than ever, and none of them make any sense or have any relevance. I guess I'll just write about... whatever. Nothing in particular. That's usually how it goes, anyways.
The other day I technically kinda vandalized my school. I had a can of spray paint and was left unattended with my art project and I tagged "Save the Bees" on the wall. I mean, there was already some paint on the wall because I was in the school's spray booth. But I still feel weird about it. Ever since, I've had an aching urge to do something like that again, but bigger and better. I'm drawn to the concrete bridge, but since I know lots of people would see it and see it often, I'd want to make it something good. Not the "Bonnie + Clyde" printed or the smiley faces. Those are dumb. I want it to be something special, something that stands out to people as something other than generic bullshit.
I don't know why it is I'm into shit like that. Or shit like the stuff I wear. Or what I listen to. Or why I cuss so much. Or whateverfuckingelse. I wish I wasn't so cliched, like the perfect representation of a rebellious angsty teenager with depression. I wish I wasn't the two dimensional character in a book. Or a severely mediocre artist. And the weakest, lamest version of everything I want to be. I must be a joke to everyone.
But at least I'm not a bitch. For the past two days at lunch everyone has talked shit about their "friend" the entire time. I don't really fucking care what she did, but from what I've unfortunately gathered, it's not that big of a deal. I wish everyone would just mind their own fucking business. High school is shit. The people here act like shit. I hope there's more to the world than this. Otherwise I should've just killed myself already.
Alright, this probably isn't the kind of stuff that's going to cheer Ryland up. Let's shift the tone. Marigold skies and rolled 8 sided dice. Navy purple clouds, a sheet. Silver boombox. Jangling keys. Pointed looks -
Animation idea: A close up of someone's eyes, but instead of pupils/irises they just have dice. When they roll their eyes at something stupid, it's just the dice.
I wish people would have conversations with me more often. Not spoken, conversations. Facial conversations. I think they're the most fun. I say a lot with my face, but I don't know if people always can hear me. They're so used to relying upon their words. Do you think if I stopped talking for a day anyone would notice? Talking altogether. No face conversations either.
I want. Something. Undecided. A banana? I don't think so. Something sweet. No. Water. Not water. Water seems wrong. What I want is some kind of drink, but I don't think it's a drink. I think I want to drink skateboarding and drawing feeling chilly and running out of breath.
I hate when people use albeit pretentiously. Just say although. Don't start your sentence with albeit. "She is hitting me, albeit rather softly." That's a way to use albeit.
I wonder if Scott wants to hang out. It is Friday after all. He might have to work tonight though, I'll ask him if he wants to hang out with me tomorrow. I miss him, we haven't seen each other in over a week. However, when I was driving the other day I passed him as he was leaving his neighborhood. I hope he keeps remembering to buckle.
Today in my psychology class, Jack made a joke about Chris Brown and domestic abuse. I wonder if I'll make it to graduation without losing respect for each and every one of my classmates.
Playing my music really loud in the car helps me release some of my emotions. I did today for a few minutes when I was leaving SAGA and it seemed to help. But I'm still in a Mood™. I really want my medicine back, I haven't been doing great without it.
I want to experience something intense, something unpleasant. Not emotionally, physically. I want something to happen to make me feel something. I want to get in a fight. I want to lay in the snow naked. I want to dive off the high dive. But for now I have soft things. I have a cat in my arms, a computer fan on my legs, a too sugary drink in my mouth. Maybe when I want something really intense it means I need something really soft. But the softness I want isn't here with me right now.
Do you think if I get hospitalized I'll get out of my finals?
I wish I hadn't ripped my nails off today. It hurts to type. Well, it hurts to touch everything. I think what I should probably do is play the guitar. It will hurt my fingers even more but it always relaxes me.
I want to see if I can make it to 1000 words. I just draped my cat over my neck like a scarf and I got clawed in the head. Maybe I was right, intensity isn't the best option right now. I just remembered I brought my DS's home from my moms the other day. Maybe I can play those. The problem is that whenever I try to do anything it just makes me want to lay down. I don't know why moving is always so hard. The energy and intention and effort it takes just to sit up is overwhelming sometimes.
I just picked my notebook off the ground and on the second page was a poem I wrote down that Drea wrote. I wonder how she's doing sometimes. Hopefully better than before. Doing what I did probably wasn't the most mature, but I think it was the best. Maybe it's wrong to share this poem, but I found it on her tumblr (which is public), so I think it's fine. Heads up, if you're reading this, there's some self harm and drug references.
My girl plucks a peel from a clementine and
the pith gets underneath her fingernails but
she does it for me because she loves me
for some reason. This is the first thing
I've eaten in a while. The darkness
kicked in like God curbstomped me with
his huge heavenly boot. And you know what, it's
so much heavier than sadness. It's like
comparing water to molasses. This is
hell, if hell were an unholy abyss, void of
all feeling except emptiness in a district
aching in the heart. I should be used to
this by now. This has tried to
kill me several times. n yet here we
are, eating a clementine, trying not to
consider dying again. trying not to
get back into drugs. trying to ignore the
peeling of the previous drags of the
razor against the skin protecting
my arteries. I look outside n squint at
the light royal blue covering the sky through
the small window at the back of
our room. hm, I think to myself.
what a nice way to die.
END
I wonder if there's art in my veins. If that's something I could convey or feel. I don't know. Anyways, here's another poem, this time by me, two pages after that one.
Actually, I have lots of things in here I think Ryland might be interested to read, so I'll upload a separate chapter with them to keep it organized. I'm past 1000 words, at 1261 now.
1262.
