| what a mean lookin' storm. |
[8th of February, 2010] |
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mood |
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 what. |
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music |
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the ravine. |
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if i could just do something worthwhile with my time.
it's all beginning to make more and more sense.
maybe it's not that i going insane.
but if there had to be some sort of classification as to what's wrong with me, it would be some clinical sort of given name that i thought was mine years and years ago.
but it's never been so bad as it is now.
on my days off, i stay in my pajamas all day and do nothing. nothing. and when i look at things, they move closer together without moving.
all these things that should not be moving.
i can hardly do much else other than sleep and sit on the carpet and wait for everything that happens around me to happen.
i can't participate in these things. because i have no voice and i'm a ghost with no color who can't feel or taste or smell or see the hope for a future that might've been mine.
these are the reasons why i scare myself. why i scare so easily.
don't say my name too quickly or my heart WILL stop. not for long enough, but to the point when i'll mistake that shock for my dying.
i had never sobbed so much in my sleep. i woke up coughing and sputtering, choking on every image that i had forced myself to watch again and again when my eyes were closed and i could be no where else.
my face was buried in all my crumpled up blankets that had somehow formed themselves into a ball beside my body.
ashley becomes so tired of these things that go wrong in her life. like pity always calling my name.
why do these things keep happening to me.
and why can't i be careful about them.
a metal thing that is hidden from my view someplace in the distance. somewhere down the road. where the sun is always setting over a ghost ship graveyard sea. where my hair isn't pulled away from my face. where my fingers are limp by my sides and there are no need for shoes to be on my feet.
in the distance, when i close my eyes, i'm not here.
and i swear i don't want to be anywhere else but that place that does not exist.
my eyes are so sore. from only seeing what isn't really in front of me all day long.
even if i got up and did something meaningful with myself right now, it wouldn't mean a thing. it wouldn't make a difference. they're still going to break all 206 of my tiny little bones. and if i beg for them to help me, then they will shove me away and tell me to get back to bed.
for that many days, i will lie there on that hard thing that will be called my "bed". it's all too clear to me.
i don't care if my roommates see me like this right now. they don't have to understand. no one has to understand. because i know.
and i don't want to move anymore.
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| you never ever believed in me. |
[6th of February, 2010] |
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mood |
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 kill me. |
] |
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music |
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seedy films. |
] |
Ashley has never been so scared in her entire life.
I don't know how I'm going to go on like everything is okay.
Because this shouldn't be happening.
It's all I can do to sit them and mutter mindlessly to myself, wondering why this would be happening to me.
I'm going to snap.
I hate the word stressed. But that is it. Stressed. And afraid.
And I'm the only one that can help myself
and I can't help myself.
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| wounded. |
[3rd of February, 2010] |
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mood |
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 back ache. again. |
] |
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music |
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a pretty overture by patrick wolf. |
] |
there are deep scratch marks on the nape of my neck. and i know that when i am sleeping, i am silently clawing at my skin, trying to rip it off from my bones before i wake up.
this is only because i have become a lot thicker than i used to be.
oh and the girl still worries over teenage worries. like a little baby girl. gigantic and whining about the color of her walls or the food sitting in front of her or the texture of her hair that she can't change, but she will complain about it either way.
there are strange pathways everywhere that i look. and i don't know why it is that i continue on this same one. this same damaging one. where i am only a cheap doll. used and held upright. thrown back down again into a fetal position, but i am seen as lifeless, souless. that object has no story. and so i will use her, and leave her to die.
anything could happen. if only i would let it.
but i don't know what is going to happen. and i'm so afraid of anything anymore, that i won't let it happen.
whatever it is.
i will never wake up at a decent hour if i keep going on like this.
i have to force substance back into myself. because i know that it is there. it is just being hidden by terrible events that should not have taken place.
i've smiled to myself at what i have yet to accomplish more in these past four hours than i have in the entire time that i've lived here. in this house.
because i'm living for myself.
and i will not be strung along.
heavy heavy. everything is heavy. and these memories that i've been creating are not all the fondest of mine.
figures in the dark. who is that in front of me. who feels nothing for me but is there, regardless.
twenty-three more days.
i don't know how i'm going to do this.
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| i don't know why, but i still try to smile. |
[21st of January, 2010] |
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mood |
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 there is alcohol in my blood. |
] |
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music |
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you really got a hold on me. |
] |
i don't know who reads these. and i don't much care.
but i probably wish that everyone i've ever known in my life read these. because i would never speak as clearly otherwise.
i was pulled over by a huntington beach cop man.
i should be sleeping on the cold concrete floor of a jail cell right now. figuring out a way to do away with myself. maybe five months in that same spot.
this has all turned to hell.
i've come to like someone that i should not have.
and it's hurting me so horribly.
because i have a strange knack of finding my way into these horrible situations.
i'm so scared. and i hadn't realized how vulnerable and helpless I was until that moment that the police turned on their lights behind me.
I'm either the luckiest girl in the universe, or I'm supposed to die very soon.
And I've only been warning myself for months now.
I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm locked up in there.
We both could've sworn our lives on that I was going to be taken away on this night. But that man had some sort of sympathy for me. And so I am sitting in my own bedroom. And I have never been so grateful. In this drunken rage that I am in.
I'm going to be put away very soon.
For how long, I don't know.
But this life of mine has turned to hell. And it's become nothing but nightmares. Everyday and every night.
I'm trying to speak to you, but you simply just look at me, shake your head, and turn the other way.
And then you disappear. And I don't know why. But it happens every single time.
I'm waiting for someone to come into my life that will hold me as I sleep to remind me that I'm not as alone as I feel.
And it worries me. Because there might be no one.
And it also worries me, because I don't know why it even matters so much.
But it's just that I want his fingers to touch the bones on my spine. and I want to be able to feel his hair and think of him as my child, almost. Because I could love nothing or no one any more.
I wish that I could sing. To sing the boring and dull story of my life. I wish that I could play the autoharp. To play out every note of my life that has already been written.
Because I almost know where this is all headed.
And I don't know if I like it or not, but it's going to happen either way.
Maybe it scares me. Maybe I've been ready for it since the day that I was born.
I don't know what's going to happen to me. I just can't believe that I am a life in existence.
I can hear the awful beautiful lovely rain at this moment. And I wish it would last until the world floods.
How am I going to smoke a cigarette now?
As though it mattered that much.
I still.
Just need.
Someone.
To hold my hand.
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