Ten Twenty-Four (and decay).

I'm trying to fill this chasm with midday telephone calls that are never recieved and mourning things that I've imagined. I feel like shit. I really do. I feel sick to my stomach when I think about everyone I know and about how they all have best friends and boyfriends and girlfriends and homes and familes. I've been trying to find healthier things to do than spend all day crying and puking and lines, pretending to read and forgetting that I don't know how to paint. I'm empty to the core these days. FILLER. I want parents who cook dinner share the history of their ancestry and I want a brother and sister who won't sell me out and I want someone to tell everything to and I want a girl who stays the night and does her makeup with me. I want a best friend more than anything. I've been so desperate to tell anyone anything about me because I feel like I just want to have someone--anyone who KNOWS me. Everybody leaves. Everybody leaves. Everybody already has a best friend--someone they grew up with. I don't have shit. I'm so fucking jealous of people who have real homes and real friends. Fuck you. I fucking hate everybody and the world is ending.

I feel a coldfront coming on.


I'm tired of walking around and feeling like nobody wants me around. I'm so tired of feeling like this. YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT. DON'T ACT LIKE I DID ANYTHING WRONG.

I'm a nice girl, I swear it. I swear it, I swear it. .... . . .



xx

These clandestine treasures.

the colder water.

I'm so afraid that if anyone/everyone found out what I've been doing, they'd be so sickened by me. I think that everyone I know would be so angry with me and horribly disappointed. I've been thinking about meeting people with more bad habits and believe that I'll find them but I'm afraid that I could become so jaded and lose sight of this road I've been traveling for years. But I think I trust myself just enough not to fall short of my goals. I'm a good person, I swear it. I swear it. I swear it.


I'm missing so much in my life. I've got to find something good for me before its too late.


I've gone on the green tea and yay diet. 
That's kind-of a joke.


I've always had this habit of clutching wildly to anything that feels comfortable. This is a huge illusion. Comfort does not always lead to good things. I'm dying for something meaningful in my life. In this time, my family has all completely lost me. The only people who stand a chance are my father and my grandmother. I believe that they are genuinely proud of me. I feel so let down by my mom these days. I'm beginning to think that she has lost most of my respect. My brother and sister fucking kill me. I have no one. I have no one at all....

Even my blood deserts me...


I hate this feeling. I'm coming down so hard....

Forgive me,
xx.

This is the Secret Xanga.

I think I've declared hiatus on the other xanga.

Forgive me that I could feel slightly neglected? Devon has not been taking my calls. Friday night, it was as if I were just another random girl. As if he didn't know me. As if we'd never fucked for five hours. As if we hadn't stayed up for weeks on end revealing our histories and lowstories. I think that when he feels as if he could be losing anything that could be important to him, he goes on the offensive as opposed to showing something like weakness. It's been awhile but I'm genuinely hurt. It's been awhile since I've been on this end of the road and it worries me that I haven't been able to find anything that can withstands something like tumult. I wish I could be more straightforward. I wish I knew where to go from here. We, of course, have the backburner and it feels so nice. Reality tells me, however, that it's a phony investment because I'm guessing I'd be something like a trophy. That's what you get for dealing with younger boys. The thing that gets me, though, is that I've been singing this boy's praises for weeks now--I've been defending Devon every chance I get. I know that I'll forgive him. This is only offense one. Not to mention, we aren't established as anything. Everything about him put me at ease and so it was simple to slip into these vulnerable places. It'd been so long since I've wanted to share with anyone, not just be with them but share myself with them in several facets. It's been a long time since I stayed up until absurd hours of the morning discussing personality and fears... Since I was candid with anyone. That's why this one empties my stomach onto the floor. I'm tired of being a stone....

In other events, I still don't feel skinny enough. There, I said it. I never mention that because it makes me just another girl concerned with her fucking weight. Whatever. I'm not toned enough and I'll do something to fix it. My mother needs valium ground up into her food so that she stops having the biggest fucking fits over nothing. She's stressed. But shit, I'm stressed. I'm not snapping at anyone because of my goddamn problems. People are swine.

Anyway, I have to get out of here before I let things get to me. Hmmm: secrets? Things I need to get out of my head: I've been doing coke and smoking weed every day. I've been eating shrooms almost weekly and I never, ever have just one boyfriend. I considered it. But then Devon decided to be a hellraising piece of shit. He'll come back around. And I'll let him because I'm just another dumb fucking girl. I consciously neglect to eat. My health is a mess but my grades are decent. Even good. I need to read more. I'm so frustrated.

I've been in the worst mood. Forgive me. I'm glad no one reads this shit.


Avi.

I don't want to give up my original xanga because it means a lot to me. It's evident, though, that the more of these things that I put away, the easier it becomes for me to leave the past tucked into time's ragged folds where it deserves to lay dormant. I haven't written in here in what's safe to recognize as years. I haven't recognized you as any chief sort of influence anymore. I can barely recognize myself sometimes and yet I believe I'm happy. I believe I've become rather well-rounded. I don't know whether to include certain elements when deciding that, however.
I don't know that blow in the passenger's seat at midnight exactly helps constitute good citizenship and I don't know that being so fucked up on a Sunday afternoon exactly shows me God but I believe that it's suitable for now. My longterm goals remain transitory and if love happens to stumble across my haphazad life again, then I welcome it. As long as it hurts like hell because otherwise I'm not doing it right, am I correct?

I don't know what love is. I don't know where to look. I'm afraid that I'm incapable of forging meaningful relationships because I dart at the signs of a cracking foundation. Because I learned what a wretch love can cause me to be. I've learned that my stomach empties onto the floor. I wish I knew what else to say. I wish I knew where you are. I wish I didn't remember to call you on the other side of the country, on a different coast after it's too late. You know how horrible my timing is. You know my records, anyway. All I want is to watch your lips mouth the words. I want to hear you say it,

"I don't want you."
"I lied."
"I am not in love with you."
"I never was."

I want to make you hurt like me.