Bowling.

If I could just have my razors back.

If I could just have that "high" once again where for a short while nothing exists and I'm becoming nothing myself, and then, serenity. 

But nope, I woke up at five eighteen. 

Why so early?

I want to be normal. 

I want to stress about exams, I want to be overly embarrassed by sexuality because somehow, it will matter to pretend that I'm very innocent. 

I want to wear colours for fuck's sake! I had tired from wearing the same colours, only because I feel comfortable within the fabric. 

I deserve my thighs to become a bloody mess. 

I deserve this pain. 

I want to know if they still sell the flagellate Christian tools. 

I have heard about cilices.



It's five thirty, and I'd more than just like to tell you how I've spent the day!
At morning, five eighteen, I woke up, listened to music, and blogged until seven.
I really didn't want to do anything, not even breath, I felt nothing, numb.
So I went to school, naturally I suffered through the first two periods of Maths, I started writing my pros and cons of suicide and self harm there, personally, I believe that I'm going to stick to self harm than to even pathetically try to commit suicide.


I've returned from the bowling, I've noticed that my mood worsens at the evenings.
It was nice to be there, nicer than the practice.
I also bought pantihose! It's in that lovely dark-red-burgundy-wine colour! And two knee socks, one pair is long black with the two school-girl stripes, and one is plain grey.

Good night, and fun fact to you: Taking a fluoxetine 20 mg capsule with a 5 mg pill of desloratadine on an empty stomach is a horrendous idea.

I deserve it.

Four minutes and sixty calories have emerged from my body and life now. 

Yes, stupid gym. 

Seventy three and five minutes. 

I can have up to forty minutes of pure exercise. 

What can I say? My relationship with mehtal illnesses and especially eating disorders have affected me. 

I did fifteen minutes in the end [I could continue, I just wanted to clean off the sweat and allow others use the machine] and burnt the awesome amount of two hundred and twenty six. 

It's ten PM now and I'm writing because I can't fall asleep. 

So fuckers, the thought of "why am I still so unhappy even if my life is perfect and I am grateful for them?" Just made me toss and turn endlessly. 

I have thought a little of it and it's the simple and irritating answer "I deserve this" and "I don't deserve this" as one. 

You see, the perfection of loving parents, great education, the awesome combination of genetics have made me have these abilities that allow me to go to ram and the sports class and have a social life while still having a backbone. 

And I got these great friends, and espacially Dabush. 

I'm so fucking lucky to have him, each time that he sees me, he hugs me, but not these fake hugs that just make me feel fake, feel like I'm fake, unreal. 

His crushing hugs, it's makes me want to cry sometimes from the amount of kindness his precious soul contains. 

But then, I don't deserve that goodness. 

I deserve to rot up in the gutters, suffer from living among decaying cat bodies and putrid leftovers and rubbish. 

This goodness is some sort of a hell to me, it's too good and I don't deserve to have it, it's the prettiest torment that Ii can come up with. 

So the fact that it has its way into making me miserable, makes me deserve it, this pain I feel, I deserve it. 

Oh, how I long for slashing open my stupid and filthy skin. 

And make all of my desirable agonising fantasies come into life. 

The "sane" cut between the ribcage bones. 

And the macabre beautiful thought of cutting my fingers vertically, how beautiful. 

I feel like a shadow of myself. 

Almost impossible considering my mood during the day, I was pretty fine. 

Why am I rocking back and forth?

How can it possibly soothe me?

Why should I be soothed?

I'm calm. 

I'm okay. 

I need to die. 

Is it a silent prayer? If so, to whom? 

Who the fuck will save me if I don't even want to get help now?

I want to fucking weep. 

To sob away the sorrow. 

My back hurts. 

I can't stop rocking. 

Maybe I just don't want to. 

I should be asleep by now. 

Instead, I lie uncomfortably eatan alive by guilt and shame.

Fake Your Death is now on. 

I want to be held now. 

By someone that doesn't even care if he won't understand. 

One that it won't matter to him why I'm crying. 

But fairytales ain't going to happen, just like ridiculous teenage-romance-novel bullshit I've got going in my little mind. 

I want people to insult me. 

I want to be abused emotionally. 

I want that a person will truly tell me how revolting I am. 

Because I am a horrendous person and I deserve to have people tell me so all the time. 

A reminder of how much I deserve pain, that I'm unlucky because I can't die just yet, I deserve to suffer as long as I shall breathe. 

I want my bones to be broken. 

I want to be unable to physically get good scores and exercise at all, I want to suffer under so much pain that I won't be able to think straight and I'd fail every single exam is take. 

I deserve to suffer. 

I deserve to be nothing. 

I deserve it. 

Awkward, isn't it?

Well, well, well...
What do we got here?
Oh, I know what it is!
A liar.

Daniela noticed those stupid cuts on my wrists [they look darker through the day and they just don't seem to get rid of that purple hue!] and asked me what they are.
I came up with my so-called well-thought lie, "My watch, I slept on it and it did it."
Her [quite startling and shocking at the moment] response was "Really? It looks like you've cut your wrists!?"
I stuck to the lie.
At least it wasn't as cheesy as the cat from the parking lot.
I just hope she'll consider it to be true, that I never cut.

A glint of hope was in me as she removed her watch and said that she's feeling something too.
Now, if I didn't said that the watch did it to me, she'd probably didn't do it, I hope that her mind unconsciously believes that in some manner it is possible and she felt it too just by thinking about it.
I've phrased it wrong but I hope you can understand.

The day was awkward, sure, the things that made it more suspicious and weird were my thoughts.
Tal G. the teacher, well, this lesson we spoke about death [how lovely] and about something incredible named "The Work" of Byron Katie.
Let me tell you, it is indeed wonderful.
It's a shame that I can't do it always, from the simple reason that I can't point my finger on why the fuck I got these stupid chemical imbalances.
All I can say right now is that puberty corrupted me or that I got just the right combination of statistics and genes [my father's side is just basically born anxious and with panic disorders, my cousin was misdiagnosed as asthmatic but she just had damn panic attacks.]

Or... [hold on tight to your seat as it may shake your world!]... It's just another psychosomatic affect of reading too much about '08 emos and goths.


After ram, I went to school, for the practise, Irena allowed me  to join the ninth graders so I won't have to wait thirty five minutes for the next one.
She thought I'm being anxious because I was with them, I assured her I'm not.
You see pals, that's why I hate telling people my problems, they start to worry and behave differently with you.


I also met...

Oh I've just didn't end what I wanted to say about the teacher!
He said something that his psychologist said, you see, I wasn't surprised by the fact that he goes to one, actually, it's strangely normal and better for him, but the thing that did was that he said the same name of my psychologist.

Odd, isn't it?

It drives me crazy because in Israel it's not very talked about among people and hell, maybe a bit of a taboo, but I don't know, isn't it a bit weird.

I just feel like I'm letting too much information slip through.

I just hope that soon I'd be in that hypo-manic or any-other-name-you-can-give-it-thing.

My father have purchased a new phone, LG something.
Pretty big and pretty cool.
I might get this version or the lite version [which is basically a lower quality camera or something] when my phone will drop dead.
So far, I'm going to stick with my little one, iPhone 4S, this buddy was with me through so much.
Starting at my first day in New York City, through treatments, relapses, disordered eating, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, "romance", music taste changes, interests, the beginning of school years, hospitalisation, new treatments, illnesses, medications, everything.
I can say the same about you guys, you are here for so long!

Tomorrow's Friday, and I'm going to fucking enjoy it.
We got a period of literature which is easy and all you got to do is read it quickly and just relax or read other things, then we got this thing that I'd leave unnamed, and it usually ends up with a political forum.
Then two periods of physical education, hopefully not the damn gym, we got a fucking gym, while most girls use the treadmill and the elliptical, I know exactly what I like, the stair that you basically press one foot down and raise the other and repeat.
It burns me a hundred in no time.
I hope we'd have football, I love it!
I don't really want to play volleyball because I'm a good catcher sometimes, but only sometimes.
And on the final period, we got Hebrew which got even better since the class is a lot quieter because some of the "cool kids" are gone.

The teacher actually teaches calmly and sweetly.
I love her, she uses slang so often that I find it adorable.

Tomorrow we also got this awesome no-uniform thing.
I personally think it would be a lot nicer if our school uniforms were buttoned shirts.
Why?
Because buttoned shirts look a lot tidier and more formal than these stupid regular shirts.
And because I'm a big fan of collars.
The collars of the shirts are so fucking nice!
And do I even need to mention the option of collar decorations and ties?!
If we anyway need to stand up when the teacher comes in to show respect and create a formal division from recess to the lesson, shouldn't we wear formal clothing?!


Well fuckers, I think I'm going to go to bed.

It's about time...

I haven't posted in a while, and that means that this post will begin with an apology.
I know I should have wrote something, especially because of the recent events.

My dosage was yesterday increased from 20 mg per two days, into 20 mg daily.
So far, no difference, but I'm consuming the fluoxetine for less than a week, so I still have some hope.
I just feel pathetic most of the time, sometimes it's in a good way [yes, there is a good way to be pathetic in] where I'm just being ridiculous and I can't even stand the sheer silliness of it, for example, I'm basically about to become a depressed teenager, with stereotypes to follow.
But most of the time is reconsidering my way of dying.
I'm still sticking to the medications [with maybe adding some alcohol?] but I've considered strangulation as well.
I'm not sure what scares me more, the consequences that would be if I'll die, or the consequences that would occur if I'll survive.
They are both bone-chillingly terrifying, I can't stop having these tremors in my neck.

I don't know why, but I got these for quite a while, I'll sometimes just randomly be sitting or standing or sometimes lying down and suddenly, I feel my neck twitching and it's changing, sometimes it's like just to the side or just backwards, sometimes it's a combination, and sometimes it's funny and in a stair-like motion.

Back to less medical information and news...
I watched Mocking Jay, it was incredible.
You know, I thought that the previous movie, Catching Fire was plain crappy [even though that the book was incredible] but this one! Oh, such beauty!
They made it work.
They simple made it work.

What else... What else...
My mood is still crappy, I hope it'd work, it's supposed to just do the trick because they said I'm "depressed" and "anxious", sadly, I highly disagree, but maybe the fact that I brainwashed myself to hate myself for calling myself "depressed" previously, and that I wasn't depressed.
Even though that if that's depression, then it's not really bad, well, at least for me,
I still have found away to amuse or entertain myself, some are awfully impulsive and will make me hate myself, but they hop away quickly as I'm being distracted or anything, sometimes are just some inside jokes with that inner-critic or alter-ego, or however you'd like to call to that another line of thoughts that are from some reason usually in male [I speak in male because of a habit, that's what happens when you hang around boys] and while being a lot alike me, may be very different in certain things.


Anyway, I'm about to go to bed, today was awful in school, because... School, but at least Cabria was cancelled, I was really not in the mood for it and thought about cancelling but it saved me an awkward apology and strange looks.

Tomorrow's Wednesday, I've got no clue what I got this Wednesday, I surely hope nothing, because I don't want to do anything, but the boredom is awful,
Well, the day afterwards is Thursday, and the beautiful Ram is on, I'm going to enjoy this day of sanity and pleasantness go through, [sadly, now I tend to be more anxious when I amuse Daniela and the rest, I used to be pretty okay about it, anyway...] until I got the shitty practise.
At least next year we won't have afternoon practises.
But then Friday arrives, maybe I'd rest at home maybe I won't.
And then the blessed and blissful seventh day, Saturday, and off-school.
My father got a Rugby match, he said that we might tag along.
I declined saying jokingly that I'm trying to get closer to religion and I'm slowly starting to keep the Sabbath day's holiness, starting with not driving anywhere, same with holidays.

Like I've said before, religion has a very specific beauty that makes me enjoy it so much but still stay away from it.
Like the Pitaya plant, a cactus plant that I'm in love with thanks to it's delicious produce, yet, I won't hug it.
I made that mistake one when I was three, not again, unless I'd like to be creative with injuring myself.

Another way out. [and today was my first]

Today I stayed at home, I felt really shitty.
And my mother's words didn't fucking help, if at all they made me feel worse about myself, because they were true.

I'm a fucking burden.
I cause people pain and it was truly better if I weren't here.
Problem is... I can't let go,
From some reason I'm so fucking awful that I can't even let go and let people be happy.

I know that it'd hurt them if I die, but I'd hurt them even if I stay.
So even if I really feel that I need to stay at home and work and get it together, I mustn't do so, why's that? Because I'm disturbing the lives of my surroundings.

Which reminds me, I need to tell Yael that I can't be her friend any more.
I thought to myself that maybe I should take some more time to think about it.
Maybe after a couple of weeks with Flutine [another brand of fluoxetine] or Prizma [this time they were out of prizma, so I got flutine, I'm weirdly emptying half of the powder because I'm supposed to take one half which is 10 mg] I'd change my mind and shit'll be okay.
But on the other hand, I shouldn't let her suffer while I'm hurting her and then confusing and slightly worrying her with my uncertainty.

So, tomorrow I'm probably going to go to school, I don't want to, of course not, but I can't go on letting them to take care of me like that, I'd rather just go to school and fight crying randomly like a little bitch, and want to kill myself so much that I'd consider writing a suicide note, than actually staying and knowingly being a burden.

I'm so fucking tired of shit.
But I got no choice, I'm still a piece of some lives.


I can't find a way out just yet.
I wish there was another way out, without hurting others when I die, without hurting others while I'm still alive, without putting to shame ones, or putting in shock others, I don't want my family or friends to explain why I'm not in certain places any longer, how can I possibly let them suffer again?
I'm too awful to be.

My parents should have done an abortion and say fuck it, because it was actually better if I weren't here.
I'm not even saying it is of my "shitty opinionated and bad felt days" or my even more often "I need attention" days, I truly put deep thought in it, and I'm believing it whole-heartedly, it was better if I wasn't here and I should kill myself.

Oh well, you don't always get to execute projects and do the right thing, sometimes, you just got to wait.

I'm a bit scared.
Why?
Well, fucking meeting a person that'll give me something that will affect me.
At least I slept. [Nine-thirty until five thirty, which is really good.]
I have enough energy to go to school, even though that in the morning I didn't have as much, it scared me that I'm going to go back to enjoying it too much and going for a long while with it.
I'll function today, I won't enjoy it, sure, but I'll go through it.

OH FUCK IT'S FUCKING FRIGHTENING.
In less than twelve hours.
I don't want to do anything.
Wait, what did I just wrote?
 I must do everything.
If I won't... Well, fuck.
Like it wasn't enough that I just crying yesterday, and brushed people off.

Oh, I should eat.
But I'm not hungry, nor have any appetite.
I just hope I'd get it gone before the urge to weigh myself will be irresistible.
I want to weigh myself now, of course, I wonder if I actually lose weight or maintain, or hell, impossibly gain.

I don't want to track what I eat, because I'm afraid that if I'd do so, I'd have carvings and I'd be confused by fake hunger.

I'm good now without eating, it consumes less thought and I'm okay.
Sure, I do get weak, very weak, but it's also the mix of everything I swallow and the fact that the coughing is so horrendous that I feel bad for coughing in class.

I'm in class, munching on the tip of an empty icicle cover. 

It's basically my main meal for a while. 

I wonder what I'll eat at lunch. 

The thing with the icicles, is that they taste just as bad as always but it's cold. 

Makin my fingers numb, and my throat feel better. 

I'm considering going home. 

I know I shouldn't. 

But it's so fucking hard to carry on. 

Why can't I just die already?

I hope that this prizma [i started writing prizma and it transformed it to a "prizma"] will make me exhausted enough to sleep all day because I got no damn power. 

It's too fucking hard. 

I want to stop. 

Today was awful.

I'm I feel like I'm about to cry.

I would really like just going to do the test and going back home, I really got no power for fucking anything. 

I'm not even going to go to the maths last period today, pre-test practise. 

I know I need it, but I won't go to it. 

I'm screwing up my life, don't I?

Yep, I'm probably making now a mess that I can't fix. 

I don't want to do fucking anything. 

At least I had some good sleep. 

Sure, I woke up at two am, and had this sleep-wake-sleep-wake thingy since then, but I slept!

I wish that staying at home was a possibility. 

I feel like shit but in the same time I feel like it's just because I'm so confused by the impossibility of things. 

This is even not one of the problems that faith in God will help, it's fucking bad. 

"God" is not even an answer. 

My toes are long. 

But at least I'm not insecure about them. 

I know Mike was insecure about his toes. 

I still don't know why Mike was at shalvata. I find it hard to believe that because of his transsexuality or because of his religious believes [I don't remember whether it was a Mage or a warlock, he wasn't Wiccan as far as I remember] maybe like every other person who isn't dangerously violent, depression or suicide attempts or like me, accidentally in there. 

It's five to seven and I'm still in bed. 

I should get up and at the very least brush my damn teeth. 

My breath is awful, but it's because that I don't eat much. 

The test is now. 

I got no fucking power to do it. 

I'd ask my mother if I can go back home. 

I'm home. 

I slightly regret it. 

Instead of lying in my bed and deciding that feelings are stupid, I'm in the bathroom, fighting the urge to cry. 

My mother sometimes got the words that'll just make everything worse. 

I really want now to spend the coming couple of days in bed without moving. 

I know that it's stupid by any fucking mean, but I don't want anything. 

I miss the cuts. 

I wish I had them now. 

If I wasn't that looked upon, untrusted and unable, I was fucking enjoying treating them and cleaning the blood. 

I don't want to go to the practise, and I don't want to go to school, hell, I don't even want to see my friends at the cabria and eat flafel with them. 

And I don't tranquillisers. 

How the fuck would it help to a person that's not even fucking anxious now?!

That'll be better for my parents, thinking that if I took X than I must feel better. 

I just want to stop. 

I can't see now because of the tears. 

I'm just sitting on the top of the toilet. 

I want to take a shower and hop into bed, and fall asleep every two hours. 

And listen to music. 

And read things from people with pretty good ideas, or people that "get me". 

I don't want any fucking thing. 

I just want to pretend that I don't exist. 

I want to relax. 

I want to die. 

And the thought of killing myself now makes me cry, I think it's because I know that it's actually be better if I do so but I'm so fucking awful that I can't get myself to finally do it and save the people who have, are, and will suffer from me breathing. 

Oh please!

Stop being so bitchy. 

You know what? I think I'll...

I don't know. 

From one side, I don't got power for anything.

But from the other side, my mother's endless rudeness an bitchiness is fucking awful. 

I don't want to do anything. 

I just started crying earlier.
Just fucking tears streaming down my face.

I just feel bad, I don't even know if I want to go to the practise.
I don't want to get kicked out from the sports class, because I don't know what I'd do without it, but I don't want to do anything else either.

Okay, I went to the practise. 

It was awful, my body was in an enormous amount of pain. 

But I went through. 

Irena praised me for my results at the 1.5K run. 

Yael got pissed because of it, she wanted it too, but she doesn't get that no difference in her result of the top fifth,  is great, but improving your score so much that it was about 30-40 in number, that's impressive. 

Sure if I was at the top fifth or ten it was even more of a shock, but I'm pretty cool with my top fifteen. 

You know, I'm not sure I'd be able to hold until Monday. 

Next Monday in going to the only available psychiatrist. 

Because of that from some reason every damn psychiatrist is out of the area. 

I forgot how nice classical music can be. 

Sleep Away of Bob Acri. 

Oh, the psychiatrist changed it to tomorrow! This Monday, in less than a twenty-four hours I'd be there.

That means that in twenty four or so, I'd take my first psychiatric medication,
That's really weird.
I just feel very excited, or anxious, or tired.
Fuck I want to sleep.
It's not even seven yet.

Exhaustion.

Wow, I just had the greatest two hours of sleep.
Since of my fucking allergies [I highly doubt it to be pneumonia, but it'll be logical, because I'm not overly warm, I'm coughing like crazy and my nose is runny, and I'm very weak, and I wasn't ill for a very long time.] I had a bad time sleeping and resting.
Even with the valerian-passion-fruit capsule and the desloratadine [5 mg] that usually make me sleepy, I woke up at two-three am [I don't remember if the number was 2:12 or 2:51, it was too blurry and I was very tired] and then was in this semi-conciousness state for thirty minutes, and woke up at three thirty.

I couldn't fall back asleep until almost eleven.
Now, at five minutes to one, I'm reporting about my awful body and how it can't function.

My head hurts, my ears are sore from coughing, I sound like I'm faking a French accent when I speak because if I speak differently I'm starting with coughing, same with breathing, my body is tired, and my jaw is numb.

When I said that I'd like to be sick and miss school, I definitely didn't mean it this way!

This morning, I felt like I'm going to die and my body is giving up on me.
I had the tunnel vision I get usually from vitamin deficiency.
I just knew it's a matter of time until I go head-down and fucking lie on the floor.
And it didn't seem that bad, I'd get some rest, finally, just fucking concussion, just like Gaya had, missing a couple of minutes from her life and being very confused.

I also had that shitty thoughts all the time.
I think it was better before I knew what's wrong with me, right now, I'm so fucking confused, that it actually makes sense that I'm about to be fourteen and "official" sufferer of puberty.

Wait, those that mean that it's child depression or teen?
I assume it's teen, because it started at about eleven or so,  and I was after my puberty shit then.

Anyway, it's above unfair.
SHIT COULD HAVE BEEN MUCH EASIER.

Just recently I felt shitty about merely mentioning the words "depression" and "depressed" in the past couple of blogging-years.
And now? What? Should I apologise? I remember clearly that I scolded myself with "you're not even depressed! look at you miss fucking sunshine! You disgust me and you're offence for the world" but now what?

Well, I better focus on that I'm not in shalvata, I'm not stressed, and I'm going to a movie soon!
I just hope I'd be able to focus in the movie.
I really hope so.
Worst case scenario that comes up now in my head is that I'm going to start with the medication [highly unlikely] just before this Friday and I'll just be too busy at thinking about everything that has to do with it.
I'm reading about it now as well, falsely hoping it'll make everything easier, I know it won't.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.
Prozacs are over a centimetre in diameter and over a centimetre and a half in length.
SO WHAT WILL HAPPEN WITH FUCKING PRIZMA?!
I can't swallow such a big thing, the fear will shut my throat!
But it doesn't make sense, Eden's are way smaller.
I'd more anxious if my body had the power to.


Okay, it's twenty to seven, I've been coughing so hard that I had to use my abdomen muscles so I won't cough out a lung, and the tension in my empty stomach almost made me puke.
If not for my emptiness, I'd be vomiting and feeling even more dead.

The only things I ate were bread with margarine, not because I was hungry, but because I feared that if I won't eat I'd die.
I barely drank because everything tastes stale, so I have to force-feed myself.

I don't want a dinner, but losing weight again because of that shitty appetite I got since shalvata is killing me.
I ate there because I was afraid that if I didn't, they'll make sure to plug me into a feeding tube and keep me in the goddamn unit.

My bones on my fingers hurt.
It's like getting elbowed by Versano or touched by Yael, or Dabush.
They're so bony and they don't even notice it.

I'm so fucking weak now, I wish I could've fallen asleep.
But I fear that nothing will help.
The 5 mg of desloratadine and the small capsule my dad gives me just get me awoken by three am and about to pass out at school time.

I still feel like I'm crumbling.
I just want to fucking die.
I can't bring myself to do anything.
And if the fact that I'm feeling like I'm dying, it's fucking boring, I can't distract myself with food, I don't enjoy really doing anything, I might as well just stare at the well.
Actually, staring at the wall will actually amuse me, because it's so fucking ridiculous.

I just want to understand what's wrong.
I think it's not just allergies.
But the other thing.
Did he told me "depressed" and "anxious just to mess with my mind? Maybe that's what they all did and I'm just a fucking experiment.

You know how I feel about knowing that Keren isn't even a fucking psychologist? She's just an art therapist? LIKE RICK FELT IN A.C.O.D!
Fucking hell.


Okay, maybe soon enough I'd feel better.
I feel like the floor is a very nice bed and I really want to give it a hug.
I'm so fucking tired.
But if I'd fall asleep now I'd wake up at two am.


Well, I'm not sure if I'm hungry, I think I need to sleep.

Coughing like crazy.

So, weekend.
Today is definitely going to be crappy because of the day schedule.
We got literature for our first period.
And we got Hebrew to be our last period.


Okay, today was bad in a different way.
Literture passed quickly and weirdly, same about Moresht, it was okay and we talked about anti-semtism and other types of hatred towards Jews.
On sports we had both periods of volleyball, which was okay, at the first period I was more in confusion, from my previous reading about depression and anti-depressants [I'd explain later] and my allergies,  but at the second I got better because I was very anxious, I felt like I'm ruining the game for the whole team because of my holed butterfingers.
On the last period, it was fairly quiet and nice, usually I'd start with a bit of headaches, but now it was calm and nice.
Maya asked for a ride back home and I gave her one.

I'm coughing like crazy.
Fucking allergies.
I got at least my medication back, it works pretty good after a week or two with the Aerius [Desloratadine], but now it's not it, the new one works after a day or two.


You know what? I'm watching now a documentary about the Abarbanel institution and how awful it is, and I'm fucking thankful for it.
From several reasons.
I'm not there.
I won't be there [forcefully or unwillingly]
I won't be there [willingly for damn good reasons].
I haven't suffered such treatment [sure, some stuff pissed me off and annoyed me, but it wasn't as frequent and it had a really good reason, and an actual point.]


Oh, I missed that fucker, Omri sent me a message.
Last time he wrote something was a couple of days ago and he said "ah waaayyyyy [prnounced like "why"] I bought a new knife and it cuts real hard!"
I replied him with "[a word used for appraising and mentioning a new object bought or received of someone]. I went to a psychiatrist that I demanded to go to, he told me I'm depressed and anxious, and that I were like that for two years or so, and I had no clue."
His response: "Really? I know I was depressed since the day I was born I'm always sad and I never smile."

Since his not the type I can seriously tell him that it's not that easy and he should check it up and explain him all the shit I've found out about it.
I told him "You should check yourself up, and ask him what he thinks so you won't be stuck like I was."
I also asked him to log in tomorrow at morning-noon.
He didn't reply yet.

So anti-depressants, I'll probably have the 10 mg at first of Prizma [Fluoxetine; Prozac] and if that won't help, it'll be increased.
I don't worry because Eden took it too and she said it really helps, especially with the suicidal thoughts.
I'm not really worried now about the fact that I'm likely to have "depression episodes" at adulthood, isn't it fucking obvious that people get depressed at adulthood?

Well, thanks to other given facts, fifth of the teenagers are depressed, so I'm not alone because there are plenty like me [even though that it's quite weird for me because I'm not depressed, it seems like such a big word now, I'm a bit blue, pale blue if you'd like.] And I'm not alone because I know exactly another one that's alike me. [Eden.]
And I know another one who might have a clue, which is Michael.


So, yesterday I wrote about the fact that the doc thinks that my parents shouldn't have released me from there.
He said that it's not okay that I'm not even staying at home.
I don't know if everybody is like that, but if I stay too long at home when I'm in a really shitty mood and am blue and "depressed", I'm going to have harder time going back and being able to function.
I'd be in too much calmness and free of everything that's awful that going back to the rough and straining everyday life would be too much to take.
So I have to fight it in order to not lose the things I love and need, because if I'd lose them, I'd be drowning in a sea of misery. 

So, good night, enjoy the weekend. 

Place fourteen, frustrated from being unhappy about it.

So, yesterday I took droplets when I was a bit tired at four pm instead of the capsule.
Meaning, I slept weird.
I don't remember anything.
If I woke up in the middle of the night and actually thought about something that I should remember, or I just dreamt it.
At least today I woke up at five forty four! A seventy-hundred minutes difference!

I'm listening to music, which now is on Alive of The Dirty Youth.

You know, I don't think I'm going to properly stay okay with this suspense.
Today my parents are supposed to o to Dr. Vardi.
I seriously hope for an actual help and not just wait for the damn psychologist understand that I'm not the type that'll just sit after a long silence and come up with some very emotional thing to say.
No.
I'm probably going to smile or chuckle after a while, because the silence would already make me blush and feel very awkward and embarrassed.

I just don't want to do it.
And I know, I know that today is a very important day, and a very fun day at the same time, but still, I can't shake that feeling off.
I just feel like I can't breath properly because the air is heavy.
Deep breath.
Still heavy, but not as much as it were before.
Oh, back to the heavy air.
I just really want to break a bone like almost every other person and miss a bit from my life without them to be stopped.
Basically I'm telling you that I want about a week and up to a month break from life which will include the first couple of days being on so many painkillers that for fun I'd bang my hand on the wall, and not feeling much.
Or falling asleep so much that I won't have to do anything.

Damn it, I should have hit the stone-stair harder!

Oh, I just don't know what to do any more, I'm so fucking confused.
I'm basically going to continue the day, wondering what the fuck am I supposed to do, trying to make new realisations fall in and just figure out what to do now.



I'm so surprisingly okay that it scares me.
I just can't comprehend.
After searching and digging for the answer, and crying and laughing in the name of it, nothing.
Nothing fucking happening.
For the two years, the answer was kept away from me.

WHAT THE FUCK DID THEY EXPECTED ME TO DO?!
ASK?!
DIAGNOSE MYSELF?!
FUCKING DIE?!


It's driving me crazy! Why would they do it?! Why didn't they listen to him?!
THEY HAVE THREATENED WITH HOSPITALISATION INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY ALLOWING ME TO GET BETTER.

It was ridiculous.
I told my mother that I don't want to go on after about six months, she didn't care.
I just developed a fucked up way to go through.
And while doing it I wasted money of meals and only lost two and a half kilograms [which I have already gained].
Oh well, I just hope that I won't be hungry much this year, I'm not hungry at school, and when I am, I don't eat, because I don't really want to eat.
Sadly, I have no idea what else can make my appetite decrease, I know that the medications to control ADD and ADHD decrease the appetite.
I notice it the most when I'm at Dabush's house.
He barely eats.
Explains why he's so damn skinny.

Anyway, I guess I'd have to find something to pass my time with.

Oh. How fucking wonderful. 

Starting the day with a small panic attack. 

A roach. 

Second day in a row. 

I just want to fall asleep. 

I can't find anything about people who have been told that they've suffered from depression for a while and don't even really feel depressed. 

Well, sure, I do get a bit blue from time to time but that's fucking all. 

You see it? That's me, denial stage. 

But I don't get it, nobody feels like there's nothing wrong with themselves?!

Well I'm after the run.

I was number 14. 

Yes fuckers! Fourteen. 

Last year I was forty-fifty. 

But it doesn't make me happy. 

It just doesn't. 

It's supposed to, but it doesn't. 

Right now I should be skipping all my way home, not only that I got that better I'm also allowed to walk home. 

I'm supposed to be very happy. 

It's not that I think that my score's bad, I was surprised by how good I got. 

That's frustrating. 

I'm supposed to be happy. 

But I'm not. 

My stomach was grumbling earlier and slightly aching because of it, but I wasn't hungry.


Well, it's seven pm, I'm desperate for going to sleep, but I have to wait until my dad returns.
My parents are having a meeting with the doctor.
I just hope for something that works [cough, cough, not fucking art therapy!] and them to realise that I do not joke and that shouldn't be taken lightly.

If I'm going to get stuck again with someone shitty that's going to A. Expect me to talk often, which leads to B. Doesn't create those shitty pauses and silences. C. Understands that when I say "I don't know" or "I don't remember" I'm fucking serious, and D. That would actually be helpful because I have no idea why I'm like this, and no, no why I feel this way, half the time is my hatred to myself, and the guilt I feel.
Because anxiety and all around that is genetic.


Oh, it's frustrating, I can't cry.
Well, I knew that's what I wanted and practised well on, but I just cry when I talk about some stuff that include me in breaking down my walls.
Usually I'd just have to wipe away my tears every twenty seconds but I won't sob.
I just really want sometimes to cry, but physically unable to.
And after I may start a bit, I'd stop it, telling myself that I'm pathetic, ridiculous, don't make sense, stupid, horrendous, and everything I see fit at the moment.

I just want to die... Or at least finally make it stop and make it last.



Oh, I'm starting with a medication soon.
Since Vardi is off abroad.
The other one is returning to Israel this Sunday.
I hope it'll work.


At least I'm getting help.
He's mad at my parents for releasing me from there.
He thinks I should be there, and at the very least, for day-hospitalisation.
It's impossible for me to do, it means that I'd be kicked out from everything I love.
No practises? No sports class.
No cabria? No social life.
No happiness? NO IMPROVEMENT.


My dad gave me a smaller capsule of the Valerian with the passion-fruit, probably because he already gave me the droplets.

I just can't fucking believe it.
A person asked on stips "Oof I cut but the blood doesn't came out, what to do so it'll come out?"
For starters, fuck you.
Seriously, fuck you.
I just want to punch people in the head for saying such things.
That's rude.
And for an actual answer [I hate to be that moral-less machine that answers even though it's very very wrong], what the fuck can you do so blood won't come out?
Hell do you cut with a fucking ruler?!
I don't remember that blood didn't came out, it always did, sometimes not in a large amount, but I miss the small amounts, it's a bitch to treat the deep cuts that won't stop.

It's supposed to be behind me now, but I do still have the urge to do so, I'm unsure if I'd do it or not in the future.

At least I'm not as worried as I were before about anti-depressants.
When I was at Shalvata, I told Eden that I'm sure that if I'd take any psychiatric medication I'm going to fight against it just to proof it being unhelpful.
She told me she thought she'd do it too, but in the end it didn't happen.

At least I'm not going back there.

Well, good night, sweet dreams, nice and heavy sleeping and enjoy the weekend.

What's up, Doc?

I'm listening to Trouble of Coldplay [one of the better songs that exist in this world.]
I'm sorry [but not really sorry at the same time, it's just a shame I missed such a great post] for not posting yesterday, I had a very busy day.

So, let's start from the night, at the evening of Monday I told my dad that I'd like to try to sleep without the Valerian and passion fruit capsule, which gave me a horrendous night.
Not only that I managed to fall asleep at about midnight, I was in these on-and-off nights, you know those? Where you're not really sleeping, but you're not really awake? It's awful, you're basically daydreaming through the night.
And then I woke up at four thirty, and couldn't fall back asleep.
So I decided to stay in bed and read things in my phone until six or so.

Then I went to school, I didn't want to go, but I need to save myself some distance between each refusal.
I'd refuse when I feel even worse, whether it's because of shame and guilt, or if I'd like to do what Emily-with-a-y called "self-pitying, crying, snuggling, and resting day", I saw her at one of those days, it was the damn alarms, she was afraid that her friends' there.
I didn't mind it back then, but if I hear a single buzz noise that sounds like it, I'm partly freezing and I have to calm myself down.
Mostly assuring myself that I'm not in that stupid institution.

Anyway, as I dragged myself to school, I went to the classroom as usual, chatted a bit, mostly read on my phone.
As the bell rang, Yael and I [which I'd redefine the relationship] went towards the stage area, at the ridiculously huge concrete pieces that we use as stairs and seats, I wanted to hop on it, and managed to hurt my tibia [shinbone, the larger bone in your calf] and it's still tender.
I proceeded with the day, going to the courts and rinks and what not area, and sat with Guy and Yael and Shira [Yael and Shira barely stayed there] and talked.
He said couple of things that I'd probably mark a bit for noticing it, for safety.
I assume you can guess the topics.
Typical shit that tweenagers [I'd feel filthy when I'd write "teenagers" instead, and I've got about five months and three days] talk about.
Upcoming events, sexuallity, life, death, recent events [vaccination], complaining.

Afterwards, we continued off as usual.
Then, two periods at the stadium, fuck.
I basically complained most of the time "I really don't want to jump", or "I don't have any power".
I felt like I'm too repetitive after a while so I tried to stop complaining, it reduced, but didn't completely cease.

Then, fucking maths.
I didn't pay any attention, I suck at geometry anyway [we learn now geometry].
I basically continued with the same drawing Yael wanted me to give her.

And I basically continued the day.

After school I went to Dabush like I promised him.
We watched the first two episodes of the second season.

After a while we went to the Cabaria together, spent time, watched a presentation about a Wane dude that was a hockey player, number 99. 

The day have passed and at five thirty my dad came there and took me to Dr. Vardi. 

Dr. Vardi is the same psychiatrist from two years ago. 

Yeah, that man. 

He was pretty awesome. 

He's direct, he doesn't bother with waiting, and I actually don't feel awkward while talking to him [long silences and pauses and expecting that I'd speak up]. 

Now, remember that it'll be funny if after all I did have a problem and I was supposed to be medicated but my parents refused it? Not funny. 

They've sent me to an art therapist instead of medication and a psychologist. 

I don't know if it excuses any action I've done, but I'd like to think that it does. 

Anyway, today was a longish day. 

I had a migraine at the second period of sports, we were playing ping-pong, and the loud noise added up to the irritation from the unending cycle of Lee's apologies. 

I just asked at first if we can have a break, Shira didn't agree to replace me and play with Lee [i didn't want to leave her alone] so I went on for a few more minutes until it was unbearable. 

Afterwards everything went well. 

Until I gave Yael the doodle I made. 

She showed it to too many people to my liking. 

People have fucking said that they'll pay me for me to doodle for them. 

Who the fuck am I? An artist?

If I were, I'd be so tacky that I'd rather die  [that would have been better if I wasn't longing for it anyway but just waiting patiently until I could properly do so.]

I'm now at my bed. 

I'm supposed to go to sleep, but I'm not tired enough or willing enough. 

You know, when I still waited for the unknown nonexistent problem mystey to be solved, I thought I'd be at least slightly less empty, if not completely okay. 

But no. 

It just leaves me with less things to pass time with. 

Now I'm stuck. 

Stuck until I'd get better treatment. 

Preferably anything that they recommend but hospitalisation. 

I guess that now, as always, I'd wait patiently until the next time something will happen and when it's over, I'd wait again. 

It really sucks you know? I actually expected to get proper treatment, but haven't got anything that is call "proper". 

The closest to proper is the hopes that the doctor gave me. 

I just guess I'm going to hold my hopes high, read about the truth, show myself the worse that can happen and convince myself it is not that bad. 

I'm going to live the routine I call "overpacked" and remond myself that I could have it worse while bein both in sports class, cabria, 22 hours of hockey, barely get any sleep, have to study for tests, and still have relationships with friends. 

I guess that I was depressed all along and was never quite sure. 

Now is have to apologise. 

I've bet myself up too much over claiming that I was depressed and calling myself "a pathetic liar who has no fucking clue and is obviously not depressed."

Even though it's still pretty true, I guess I owe myself an apology. 

Medications and Moods.

I don't know if I should or shouldn't take the Valerian drops, my dad thinks it'll help, and if that won't help, then a sleeping or relaxation medication will.
I don't think it's a good idea to mess up with my body that much.
But I'll give it a try, the weird-lack-of-sleep affects me more than I'd like.
Instead of pleasantly napping all day long, I'm exhausted and feel like I'm about to pass out after three hundred meters.
With feeling like I'm about to die, or at the very least, puke, pass out and fall into my own vomit, and then choke on it.
I was also almost dropped my head in the middle of maths.
And my whole mood is shitty.
I stayed in bed for ninety minutes since I woke up, simply because I didn't want to commit to the idea that I'm actually a functioning human being.

I didn't want to go to school today, but I didn't want to stay at home even more.
My mother is always yelling at me that shalvata will take me back [which seems a bit nicer each time she raises her voice.]
I'd rather go to school and feel like I'm about to break every moment and cry [which happens right now] and then my "mask" is strong enough to distract me, even though I get very anxious and only people who'd try to spot anxiety in someone or guess what I'm feeling would notice.
Yael occasionally asks me if I'm al-right.
Sometimes I do feel bad at the time, but sometimes, not as often as good or normal I feel when she asks me it.
I'm usually in that I-can't-really-know-if-I-even-feel mood which is pretty good.
No emotion whatsoever means no sadness.

Well, after taking some weird passion fruit and Valerian [and some B6 or B1 or both with it] capsule, the only difference is that my fingers smell of it.
I'm soon going to be heading to bed and taking my usual vitamin B mix.
At least I'm not back to my anti-allergy medication.
Then it would be crazy.
And B12 as well.
And gladly shalvata didn't prescribed me Prisma [I got hooked to calling it Prisma instead of Prozac, because it's the name of the brand in Israel.]


Well, I'm tired, I hope I'd get a full-night sleep or at least a good one.

Grox I.

I am blogging now, because I've got nothing else to do.
Well, I can play spore, but the dilemma in space is too annoying.
Should I befriend the Grox, and become a galactic code breaker? Or should I pathetically try to conquer them?

I'm sorry that I didn't post properly, I was too sunk in Spore, I'm now trying to go through religious style in civilisation but I'm just at the darn creature stage [I hate it. I basically hate every stage but the civilisation and space.]
I'm going to befriend the Grox and have my creature to look just as creepy-cute [yes, named after the expansion, Spore: Creepy and Cute].

Good night, I wish I had more time, but nope.
Fucking weekend guys, you know that I hate to waste time unproductively, that's why I love and hate sleeping so much.
Sleeping is a huge waste of time, but all of the other things are a waste of time as well, it's a lose-lose situation, so I'd rather at least have some distraction.

Deja-Vu.

Okay, last night I had a strange dream.
It had poems in it.
It was beyond strange, it was insanely odd.
I was asked by a teacher to tell [do you tell a poem?] a poem, and I said I don't have any poems to pull out of my sleeves, and the teacher insisted, and I insisted.
I ended up being really anxious because I didn't have any poems to pull out of my sleeves.

I've had a massive deja vu today at the meeting with the psychologist.
It was so freaky.
I knew I've been there before, including everything, and I have even thought about this scene before, it was freakishly accurate.
Everything was identical to what I have seen before.
Even her fucking words.
Yes, a deja vu with a deja entendu.

I could have sworn to you that I were already in such situation, probably dreamed it before, but never was actually there.
It happens too fucking often and  too fucking real, the most memorable time was when I was dancing, in a library, in Hungary.

I don't want it to happen, I get headaches now, and it's painful.


I'm sorry for not posting, I'm very tired because of my fucked up sleeping that hopefully would get better because today I sleep in my bed.

I just hope for a bearable night.

Nightmares.

I wasn't at school today, and oh, it was quite awful in the morning.
My parents think I'm making a show, and that I'm just "faking it" when it comes to telling them that I don't want to go to school.

They then ask worriedly is somebody is picking at me at school, or anything.
The "funny" [if I can call it funny] thing about it is that, nothing is actually wrong.
I guess I just run out of power.
I can't handle things sometimes, and I need time for repairing.
And I feel that I'm getting all rusty, unable to properly function any longer, and I can basically stare at my shoelaces for five minutes just considering what, where, when.

I had a problem at sleeping last night.
I woke up every three hours and remained awake for around an hour,
Why?
A nightmare.
I had an awful nightmare.
Being restrained at the unit,
And then all kinds of crazy LSD episode hallucination themed shit.
It was insane.
I was at shalvata, the mental hospital.
I had a panic attack in my dream, and from some reason the alarm was turned on, against me.
That was the sole sound in my dream, that annoying buzzy tune.
A ridiculous amount of crew members rushed in, restraints in their hands, blankets, syringes with sedatives. and I was partly hallucinating, glowing pink hands, disfigured or mutilated skulls or other parts of the skeleton, everything was painted in odd patterns.
They got closer, closing on me, covering me tightly with the blanket, even though it wasn't necessary because I wasn't violent, I was frightened.
It was dark, and I woke up.

And when I went back to sleep, the dream continued.
I was alone at the dark grey room, on the white hospital bed, restrained.
Unable to move, unable to speak, but the shit I've imagined [hands coming out of chests, bloody arrows exactly between the ribs, wicked smiles] was terrorising.

It was an insane dream.
It'll probably won't happen again.
But if it would.
Oh, let's just hope it wouldn't.


I'm ending this post.

End.

Shorter than ever.

I just hate people who don't know how to use properly certain words, but they force them out anyway.
That's why I'm still not using "whom".
It's still too rough to use, but anyway, before I'd go and ramble about how wrong is everything and that the Hebrew book should have used a better word for a storekeeper, which is going unknown and uncommon to use, only used in Psychometric tests, I'm going to post.

With each morning I'm more sluggish, trying to make time at school become the absolute minimum.
It's not like I have these truly awful friends, in fact, I consider cutting out certain people [including Yael, I know, harsh and it may worsen things, but I do believe for now that it's for the better and I'd explain more in the next paragraph], and it's not like I got teachers from hell.
Nothing like that.
Oh, I wished it was this way, at least then I'd be able to pinpoint the problem.
I don't have any problems, but from no apparent reason, I feel like shit.
I don't know what makes everything to fall apart.

I'm sorry that my posts are so freakishly short. 

School.

I'm going to school today, sadly.
I just feel like nothing will matter, I'm basically torn and lifting the weight of my parents decision.
Whether I'd cut or anything, be sent back to that horrendous [but freakishly good] place, and my parents would lose their legal guardianship over me, or just suffer silently and miserably.

If only being a runaway were an option.
But where to?
I got all these "wonderful" places surrounding my land, and ISIS is getting closer.
The only escape is overseas.
Sadly, I have nowhere to actually go, at most, I can pretend that I'm a Palestinian but I'm so opposed to the idea that I'd rather suffer silently...
Oh! I can say that I was kidnapped to be a bride for some fucker in Yemen.


Oh, well, today was okay-ish.
I guess I'm saying that it was okay because it's the main word I use to describe how things were or how I'm doing.
I suffered, and I drew most of the time, uninspired, uninterested, just to waste time.
I got better as I got closer to the end of the day, I usually feel happier when things are over, maybe it's something with leaving [Paper Towns].

But then I got home, forced to go out at around four, going with my brother to his football practises, because I'm unallowed to stay at a place without adult supervision.
Outrageous, I know.
I walked, brisk pace, and my mother yelled on me for not going faster.
I walked at their speed, just a meter or two behind them, and she yelled at me endlessly.
I yelled at her back "Stop yelling at me! You're yelling at me all the time!" and after we got finally home, she told my father that I misbehaved.

I was astonished.

What the hell is going on in this place?


I want to die, but I can't just do it.
I just need the option, allowing me to be in peace.


Well, today, when I ran, well, before, Irene talked to me, telling me to not worry, because Sharon [our guidance counsellor] called her.
It's always amusing how my words manage to be messaged differently.
I'm not worried that I'd fail on sports, I'm worried that when everything would fall apart, I wouldn't even be able to hold onto it.
I feel like I'm falling apart, and I have nothing.
If self harm used to help bind everything in one piece, now I got nothing, and every single falling piece is shattering and I can't even control it.

It has that beautiful thing about the cuts,
I take care of them, keeping them closed, making sure they're doing okay, knowing that if I weren't there to heal them, my body was dying slowly by a disgusting infection, a bit like what I felt with the kittens in Hungary, while I warmed them up.
But now? Nothing.


Oh well, I guess I'd carry on.
It's not like I actually have an option.
I can always entertain myself with continuing with the parade list.
And of course make them real.

Inspired by a conversation we had in Ram about the LGBTQ and the pride parade, I decided to write other parade ideas for minorities.
I feel like the best one I made was about teenagers-that-aren't-sexually-confused.

Nine. Because I said so.

Maybe I am like them.
I'm better off away from my family.
I feel that feeling again, I'm drowning.
I'm miserable.

I have this strange feeling of being drowned by things.
My mother's cruel insensitivity, awful words, and even more horrendous actions.
My sister's being indifferent to me before and after.
My father's harshness combined with just a bit of understanding and worry to confuse me.
My friends' words, saying they miss me, but my mind is fucking that up and making me think that they didn't miss me at fucking all and they just pity me and lie to me so I won't feel bad.

I basically think all the time about using my shoelaces.


I can't post properly because of reasons I have written before.

I think I've never felt exposed, numb and with it, sad, in this way or this much before.

I want my life back.
It's nothing but poorly put together fragments of the glorious life I had for a thirteen.
It's not something that time or talking-about-it can heal, I have to work it out by myself.

I feel like I'm half of what I were.
I feel hollow.
The shell of happiness exists, but it's a bit broken, and now I'm empty.
I'm not very passionate any more, if I used to smile and have energy all the time and actually say good things about myself and even get along with my personality, now I don't have energy, my smiles are not genuine, I don't even feel like I have a personality.

If then I was doing pretty good but I self harmed just to make it be actually pretty good, now, it's pretty stale and I have nothing to prevent it's staleness.

I'm not even really excited about language.

I don't even want to read new posts from Your Misery And Hate Would Kill Us All.

I don't want to go to school.

I don't want to go to sleep.
And yet, I don't really want to stay awake.

I don't want to be hugged and be told once again that people care.
It's meaningless now, people will get over it eventually, their behaviour is just a façade.
And soon enough, they'd find it exhausting to pretend and be nice [which I'm totally encouraging them to do, stop pretending and lying only to be polite, get your shit together and try honesty, which is semi-hypocritical because of the fact I vaporised for eight days...] I'd be left again.

But it's not like I didn't wish this to happen!
I remember clearly that as I entered junior high, I'm going to be support backup, not the main friend, even if it's going to hurt me, it's for the better of the others.
Why? Because I tend to miraculously disappear without a reason sometimes.
To just vanish.
Whether it's my anxiety taking over, my sadness, or being normal and having a broken phone, or actually being punished to be without my cell.
But I'm not very stable when it comes to that, and if it got to an extant where it exhausts me, I don't even want to imagine how tiring it is to not even understand what the fuck happens.

I'm really not in the mood for school tomorrow.
Or any time soon.
I know it's just a phase, but it's just until next time.

I will relapse, I know it.

I will want to kill myself again.

I will have it over, and over, and over, for as long as I live.


Before I frighten myself from writing all that shit and making me sound like I'm miserable and my life's bad [they are awesome... Or at least they were, and at least I have that memory!] and making me sound like every other poetic-aars [another term for emo-glam-rock-tumblr-people] around, I'm publishing it.


I'd miss things, I guess my life experience that I'm gaining is going to be quite a tale when I'd grow older.