I guess this is just another desperate call for help. This is just another desperate call for someone to listen, not for someone who's only going to try and fucking guide me. This is my last, desperate call, for something real. Without any questions.

I can't even begin, from where I left off.

I need more time.

AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN

Dear you, dear everyone!

LET ME LIVE THE WAY I WANT TO FUCKING LIVE!

NONE! Of you motherFUCKERS control me NOW!

I've waited too long.

When we have our First, real argument with our parents, well say think, "I can't wait to be 18, to get the hell out of here!". We feel it's so easy, and figure all we have to do is graduate, get a job, move out, and we'll never have to hear it from our parents again.

I got the chance to move out of my mom's house a bit younger. At 16 years old, I moved in with my half-sister, and her parents I didn't know. The situation wasn't as easy as it sounds, and I still had to hear it from my mom, no matter how many miles apart we were. It's not always, how we think it out to be.

I've always felt, blackmailed. I always had someone around to tell me if it wasn't his way, my mom would find everything out; all of the parties, the drugs, and the rumors. I was always too afraid, and I've always known it was sometimes for my benefit, but not this time. I've waited way too fucking long.

I had things thrown my way; things I'll never forget, and some others that are just, foolish. But now, I've overcome something big for everybody. Wether you're a child, a teenager, or an adult, it's the same amount of difficulty. Having to tell your mom you're using drugs, isn't easy. Even if she was the one to drag me out of her life, she was also the one who sacrificed anything to keep me alive. Even if she did always keep me alive lower than her husband, or my brother, there's still for once guilt in me, for letting her down.

I fell in love with this, world in December. Not necessarily the world of drugs, but another just as deadly. This is a, perfect world for me. It's something beautiful, to me. The drugs have just, always made it prettier. The extra's are nice, but this world, there's no way in hell I'd let it go. Not now, not soon.

"Dear mom,

You don't like my world, my friends, or my nights, because all you know about it are drugs. You don't know what its done to me, what I feel when I meet a new...family member, or the way my heart races whenever I hear bass, whenever I see lights. I love you, and I'm more than willing to quit the drugs. But, there's no way in fucking hell, I'm quitting my world. Not now, not soon.

Sincerely,
your daughter."

From something, to nothing.

I have been known as one of the worst cases of jealousy throughout these few years to my friends, and ex's. Jealousy usually says, you're insecure, and frightened. And that's exactly what I was. This time, it's a different type of jealousy. A jealousy I actually have a reason for. A type of jealousy that, I've been fighting to prevent from turning to hate.

I've had it.

I'd rather drop this ball of jealousy now, than to ever hate you. I'd rather drop this ball of jealousy, because I know you're still behind that mask of lust; I just saw you, no more than Ten days ago.

My friend, I've taught you love blinds you, but dear, it doesn't make you an idiot; you make yourself that.

Since day One, you've meant the world to me. How could you not? You're my best friend.

You see, my goal has been to save you. Clearly, I can't save you while you're in love. Excuse me, lust.

Back to the jealousy, I have for the lust you share with her. But, because she's the closest thing you've known to your so called love, she's everything.

I'm done, trying to save you.

Hello July!

I started this month, sick as hell. Tonsillitis is a bitch. Not having the energy to do much, leaves me with more time to think.

I came to, a conclusion. Well...sort of.

I always seem to get excited, when I find a "special" someone. You know, we introduce ourselves, we talk, see the things we have in common, hang out, and soon become their "special" someone as well. Everything is fun, and I'm the type of person that leads people on; I always fool myself into thinking "this is what I want, he/she are all I want". It's fucked up, because when I notice I'm becoming their "special" someone, I want nothing to do with them.

Suddenly, I question, what the hell are teenage relationships good for? They all end in a break-up. All they do is, control my life; try and tell me what I can and cannot do, interfere with my schedule, and with my lifestyle.

Suddenly, I want to be alone.

I really don't, understand myself. I complain and complain about this, life, but yet I continue.

Today, was One of those mornings. The one's I feel as if, my brain has gone missing; "frying". I hate these mornings, but even so, I feel as if the memories the night before were worth it.

I think what confuses me the most is, I actually like what these pills do to me a couple of days after. They make me feel like my old self in a way. I'm more, clear with myself. I get this feeling similar to motivation, but it has to be stronger; it has to be. Something that, tells me I can be both. Something that tells me, I can be 'that girl', and 'this girl', you just gotta' cut down of the foolishness a bit.

I think trying to explain what these pills do to me a couple of days after, is as impossible as it gets.

But, I like it...

I LOVE, what MUSIC, does to me.

The music I listen to, soothe's me. The music I listen to, has saved me. The music I listen to, has made me, love.

One day, I'll be walking down the aisle to you, Sinatra.

By the way,

I've never felt so alone...

2 months, I haven't updated my life; not even in an actual journal. Does that mean my passion for writing has faded? No. I've just been living, what I thought was life.

I clearly remember saying, "this isn't just a lifestyle anymore, it's a passion". Now, why the fuck was I so proud? Sure, the music is a passion...but, that's all that should have been. It still excites me. The kick of the bass gives me a thrill, making my heart skip a beat. When I see someone with an armful of colorful beads, I feel as if I've seen a long lost relative; I'm overjoyed. So, what's wrong? With dancing the night away, and shuffling with your friends. What's wrong with, giving a few light shows, and receiving hugs for them? Just a few blunts, some MDMA, and a bit of LSD...right?

I find myself seeing my friends harming themselves, and me contributing to it. Seeing my best friend, go on the worst "trip" of her life...in reality, scared me. I remember, laughing, and laughing, but that was the Purple Dolphin playing its part.

I remember, I was in a Honda going Fifteen minutes out into the desert; 1000 Palms Cali. On the way there, the introduction to this life, this addiction, was recited to me. "After this night, you'll never see life the same again; everything will be in a whole different, perspective. Forget spending your weekends at the movies, and forget having time for a relationship who isn't in this with you; that'll never exist again. Forget all of the depression, and forget all of the fights, you're living the PLUR life now. And forget all of the blunts, and the different types of buds, it's called MDMA". It's true, you're never the same again; I'm toxic.

This, "passion", isn't passion at all. It's kind of like, love compared to lust. That's exactly what it is. But, even when people are in lust, they sink, and enjoy it...right?


When someone that's worth it comes into your life, you just...know. No explanations, no if's, and's, or but's; you just know. And when that someone can see the lust in your eyes, for such a life, of course they're going to leave; I'm an idiot.

There's always that someone. Whether they've been in your life for Five years, Five months, Five weeks, or Five minutes, it doesn't matter. In the end, they're still that someone. Only that someone, can keep you waiting. Only they can say, fuck the lust, I finally want...love.

I was once made up of coffee shops, flannels, messy updo's, journals, and indie music; I thought I'd never change. In the snap of a finger, my arms were filled with colorful beads, my weekends were sleepless, I danced and danced, dressed up in costumes with few material, and loved the fuzzy lights MDMA made me see; not to mention, every song on shuffle, had the sound of a bass.

What happens now? Now that, that someone, opened my eyes without even trying? What happens now? Now that, for the First time in Six months someone said no, you're not what you should have been?

I'll tell you what happens...

Dear Trouble,

I guess you really are, trouble. But, I guess I really am, stupid. Now that you have your future, and I'm out of your way, there's no way you have time to listen to such a fucking gay song. But when you do get the chance, remember the scent I left for you, and the page I wrote to you, and know it isn't bullshit...like you said.

This is frightening, you know? Fighting a sin all on my own. But, I'm a sinner.

Nothing but a fucking sinner.

Sincerely,

4:10.

I've gone "MIA".

It's spring break 2010; to be honest, I didn't even plan anything, as I usually do. This year I didn't make a big deal about it, and put those cheesy ass quotes on my Myspace, or on Twitter. Usually, I plan it...big. Usually, I think about the parties, the drugs, the nights, and the coffee shops throughout the day. This year, it began insane. With my usual weekend: lights, pills, techno, and dancing. Usually I would have done this every night of the entire break! This year, I'm speaking to no one, and seeing no one. I've gone what my peeps and I call "MIA"; Missing In Action. It's just a funnier way of saying, fuck you all, I need a break.

You see, whoever you are reading this, I feel so damn alone. I don't know why, I mean, I've dealt with worse knowing there would be less in the end. This time it's different. This time, it's not making anybody happy. It's as if, in the end I can have all I want, and more than I've ever had. But you see, whoever you are reading this, I prefer to have the bare minimum in the end, as long as this feeling cuts off; AS LONG AS I'M HAPPY.

What makes everything worse, is my sense of realism. In realism, happiness won't get me, anywhere anymore. Being happy won't get my mom a house, my sister a car, my college paid, or my brother's dream. Happiness should be everything, but it isn't...anymore.

I keep thinking, I can't do this...IT. When I want nobody anymore, I just want, myself back. Before I knew it all, before I knew everything.

I want the me who, spent hours searching for the latest indie tracks, the me who looked forward to traveling the world. I just want the me who didn't cry for months, back. And the me who found local events, flutes, and sunglasses exciting. I want that me, but, she's gone. Out into the sea, I love so much.

I've always said to myself, love comes from the sea. I'm a Five minute walk away from the sea this very second, then...where's the love? Shouldn't it be blowing towards me through the wind? Or, is it going the opposite direction tonight?

I think so..

i carved your name as neat as i could on myself, so it would match your BEAUTY.

Dear you,

My sin,

I now adore you, more than ever. When I should hate you, more than ever. My sweet, sweet sin, why did you fool me? Why? Is it, because you know I'm still here? Or is it because, you don't see, you are my life?

I was always taught, to delete your sins. But this sin, is one filled with more joy, than the one's I was taught.

This sin, keeps me here.

you damn secret.

What the fuck?

I ask, and I ask,

"What's happening to you?"

Can someone give me an answer here?

The worst emotion.

It's stronger than depression, even stronger than love in my eyes; anger.

At least when I'm angry, I begin to think I'm crazy. But so does everyone else.

What makes me different? Just because I feel as if hurting a creature, or a person, will make me happy, makes my anger...different? Just because I want my "loved" ones, to not speak one word to me, makes me...different? Just because I feel walking, or swimming, miles and miles, to make the questions stop, really makes me...different?

Because I suddently

hate,

everyone's voice,
everyone's questions,
everyone's kindness,
everyone's face,
everyone's love,
everyone's presence,
everyone's faith,
everyone.

makes me...different?

I'd rather die.

FUCKING SWARE ON IT!;

"I sware."

Home alone.

I don't know if it's the fact that I'm home alone, and I'm able to think out loud, or if it's just...actually, me.

I know I might not be the most decisive person out there, but I know what I love. I know I love what photography captures, and I know I love what you can say with pen and paper. I know I love that, hectic world; the fashion world. And I know, that's where I belong.

there are nothing but, discourages my way. I need this, and I need that, to be in...my world.

watch. just watch.

This, is hate.

I hate putting this, show on for everybody. I suppose I only need attention.

since I had none, from no family growing up. I don't even know what it's like to celerate a birthday; one dinner of my choice, the way it's supposed to be, is all I asked for.

they say, they're here, I can tell them anything; but it's useless. They all say the same shit.

This is hate, I swear this is hate. Hate towards everything, and I mean everything. Hate towards these walls sorrounding me; I swear, they speak words of discouragement. Hate towards the mountains around this damn valley; such beauty, such scenery, makes me feel so small, so ugly. I have hate towards love, and I begin to think lust is better. all because, my father only shows love to alcohol, and isn't man enough to admit it.

I hate this damned phone, worst of all. For almost Ten years, they have ruined me; they destroyed me. They destroyed me with the fear I had at 3 AM; I didn't want to be called worthless. I didn't want to know, I couldn't amount to anything.

Thank you dad. Thank you for it all. Thank you for showing what pain really is. Thank you.

wait,

no fuck you dad. Fuck you for the drugs, and the cuts. fuck you dad; fuck you very much.

_____0237

Its been a while, since I've been kissed by this emotion. Its been a while, since I haven't been able to explain...anything. Its been a while, since I've actually questioned, if I'm being myself; or more importantly, why I'm not being myself.

Maybe, I'm over reacting. Maybe, I really can be made up of indie music, coffee shops, journals, and flannels throughout the day. And maybe, I can be made up of neon colors, happy pills, electronica, and dance throughout the night.

I don't know how many times I've repeated, "This time, I'm really changing. No strings attached, only happiness". And it's getting old. But, I occasionally...fool myself.

Since you, you asshole, I haven't felt, the same. As disappointing and wrong as it seems. Damn, am I disappointed. But that goes to show you, I'm still here, and you weren't the last. Just like I wasn't your last.

I'm sorrounded with sunlight through my wooden blinds, unfolded blankets, pillows, and by the sound of a piano, sitting...thinking. In Four days, I can show you I'm still alive after 1 year without you.

You asshole.

If I was made up of what you wanted me to be, then what am I now?

That my friend, is where the confusion comes from.

Like Diamonds.

Teenage love, is over rated. I just realized no more than a couple of months ago. So, I decided to finally live.

I can count the ones I "like", with a whole hand, but there's one.

There's one, one that's sticking out. There's one, that won't leave me. There's one, that's taking the quoations off.

We might have a problem here.

This phobia.

I'm Eremophobic.

It's not something I love, it's not something I choose, and it's not something I say just to seem "emotionally disturbed."

(Why the fuck would I be proud of that?)

Sometimes, I can't sleep. I think about it all, about all that lead to this phobia.

They don't get why I can't do something so simple, like walking alone. I never understood why I feared my own escape world; there were no others there with me.

I enjoyed sharp objects, because at least I didn't cry alone; they made me cry.

I hate this fucking hellhole, because I need more people.

Small clues, lead up to making me.

Repeat.

You damn, secretive sin.

Still about you.

I don't know what to say.

if you only knew I was crying, when I'm talking to you.

who am I fooling? That shouldn't impact shit.

I SWARE!

I'm going insane.

More than frustration.
More than anxiety.
More than, chills.
More than a heartbeat.

Much more.

Take my word.

Just because your mind is on repeat, doesn't mean your heart is.

We all know that.

Telling yourself how over you are, doesn't make a difference.

Forcing yourself to let go, is more than just hard.

I call it, the impossible.

C'mon Chantal, stop thinking about it.

It was your choice dumbass.

Shit.

I...love...you...

but, I love my youth more.

fuck, do I love you.

I'm OVERWHELMED.

146 total days.

I can't wait.