k, so its finally getting cold, not like i like it geting cold, i prefer warm wheather. and now im not feeling good. my bf matt and his family just got done being sick, my dad's got anmonia, and im sure my beating is coming too. :(

each day of the week passes at work, long, boring, repetative...whatever...i dont know how long ill last here. its not exciting enough...i need adventure...change...fun...

well, maybe ill save up over the winter, in the summer get a pt job and go to school, expand my skills and knoweldge, if they dont let me work pt here...whatever...jobs are everywhere out here..i havent even been here a month yet...damn i get bored fast...

how can i not rid of you
your everywhere i look
your the last thing i see when i close my eyes
the first thing i see when i wake
i look in his face and see you looking out at me
i want to give up and let it all slide
but i cant
i try to forgive
i ty to forget
but nothing is working
they all say ive changed
i know i have
i cant smile
without thinking of you
i can breathe without feeling this pain in my heart
i cant wake without your image there
i want it all to disappear
i want it all to go away
i never knew this is what it felt like
never knew this was how deception felt
never knew how much anger destroys a soul
never knew
they want me to move on, but wont let me forget

ive become so numb now
my spirit is slpeeping somwhere cold
wake me up someone save me
from this nothing ive become

fallen angels at my feet
whispered voices in my ear
death before my eyes
lying next to me i fear
it beckons to me sweetly shall i give in?
upon my end i shall begin
forsaking all ive fallen for
i rise to meet the end
hands on the mirror
cant get much clearer
cant make this all go away
i look up bleeding
stare at the celing
watch as it all fades away
no one can save me now

today i will try to focus

i will think about what it is i need to write and how i will write it

i will gather my thoughts

when the ghosts come i will push them away

you see, i am going to write an autobiography

this my friend is much harder to write than a fiction book or novel

it is pure exposure of not only me but anyone associated with me

i will not forget

i cannot forget

i must write my story before i can go on

it is hard though, i relive it all again

its like walking through hell

but, if it will help someone i will do it

someone walked through hell for me

so i will do it for you

xoxo

 Writing for me is something i need. It is like breathing. If I can't write, I am not completely happy. I figured I would start an online journal to practice. And it is much faster to get my thoughts out, i type faster than i write. :) 

 My problem is this, there is a story that I need to tell. It is an obsession. It is always there, it has always been there. I am just having problems getting it out. Writers block. Yes, I am suffering from it and i hate it.

I will tell you this much, it is a story of love, hate, anger, loss, faith and hope. A story of self worth and self appreciation. It is almost like i am the vessel. Inside i hold the words that could be someone elses redemption, and as well as my own.

If i believed enough in ghosts i would say that i am possessed by another and they want me to tell their story, for the story is not my own, but then again it is close enough.

 Yes, i know i am overthinking things again. that is something i do too often. That often ruins things for me. i think too deep about something, it will make something quite simple into something complicated. As does the character. You see, she too worries too much. She is afraid. She is afriad of herself, only she cannot see it. She is afraid to let someone else see who she is. She is a professional at observation. She can sum a person up within five or ten minutes of a conversation. She is beautiful and she knows it, sometimes though, she needs to hear it. She needs to hear it in a different way. Don't call her beautiful, show her beautiful. That is how you will reach her, although she is far away. She does not want to be reached. She will fight you if you get to close. Much like a wounded animal.

You cannot tell this by looking at her. She blends in well. The typical girl next door. She goes to highschool, is quite the social bug. Deep friendships rarely last long. She finds that she is bouncing from friend to friend. She is looking for something real. You could not tell by looking at her that she cries herself to sleep at night or has cuts on her arms from a sharp razor. You could not tell by looking at her that she is alone, she is sad and hurt. You could not tell by looking that she does not feel loved and that she no longer cares. She has a bright smile and sparkling eyes, but if you look harder, maybe you really could see into her world. It is then that you realize your world is not much different from her own.