Dark Macc
04-27-2002, 12:09 AM
[Depressing thought]
Is it bad when you cannot tell the difference between blood and tears? When both cascade down your face in an endless downpour, can you tell the difference unless you truely look?
[/Depressing thought]
I've found myself in these past recent weeks smiling less and less. I was so happy that I'd finally get to go see Rachel, and now the plane arrangements couldn't be made. By some twist of fate, I've been given this as punishment. I called this several weeks ago...I saw it all comming. I knew it'd fall apart from the begining...because all my life does is loop itself...it makes it so I can never truely be happy.
I hate them. I hate all of them. Those people with their paper romances. The ones who dash around school holding hands and kissing in the hallways. The ones who once they've fucked the "love" is gone and it's over. I hate them all with a passion. I'm left to walk between them, knocking them from my path as I head to the next hell I must face during the day.
None of them can understand what it is like to have your heart keep being shattered as if it was some child's play toy. The constant mental abuse has worn away the outer barriers. I'm fragile. Alone. In pain. No one manages to see through their blurred crimson vision of what is "love" and what is "life" and "happines" long enough to give a damn about how I feel, about how much I give my life in order to make them happy. That I can't even stop for five minutes, not even long enough to reflect on myself and better myself, because if I try, I'm depended on elsewhere.
My writing comes from the heart. My heart. Fragile. Broken. Shattered. Floating like cherry-blossoms on the wind of eternity. It takes it's own shape. They call it "weird" and "violent" and then "depressing." The ones who couldn't write a resume without my help tell me I'm a quuer, they call me loser and fag and assrammer. Why the fuck can't they call me Chris? We're all strands and finely woven DNA, blood, cells, and fiber. Why can't I be equal? Friend? Aquaintence? This is why I hate them all.
I may only be sisxteen. Why does that matter? What does a number that signifies someones age base on their maturity? IQ? The way their heart and mind have aged? The way their life has been? You're probably saying to yourself, "So what? He's just a kid crying about how much he hates his life and wants to die...blah blah." If that's all you think of me...you're no better than the rest of them. I'm still continuing...so if you're still interested...I'll explain why I am who I am.
The past few years of my life have been plauged with scenes of heven, almost as a torment or a taste of what I was "supposed" to be able to reach from hell. I thought I truely loved this girl I had met. Her name was Dana. She had showed me things I had never known, and had gave me what I needed. I was, for once, truely happy. Dana suddenly broke it off with me one day, and left me there, shattered. Her friend Rhea came to pick up the pieces. She told me it was all right, and kept me close to her heart. She exploited my hurt and gave a remedy...but that was not her real intent. She used what Dana had told her to take my soul...to use it as a way to exploit me to my friends. I lost everything I had...pride...honor...and love.
At this point, I locked the walls around myself. I found myself emotionless. I was cold, and I hated everything. I contemplated suicide on more than one account, and I attempted it on more than one occasion. Only once did I ever manage to draw blood, and that miserable attempt to take my life didn't go as expected. I was locked in a quiet downward spiral, my fate and life hopeless at that point.
Then I met her. Late one night two years ago on spring break, I met the one girl who would slowly change who I was. Her name is Rachel, and she saw and felt my coldness and bitterness. She became my friend, and slowly began to open the pages and break through the walls.
I actually started to see rays of hope, my depression slowly fading to a point where it didn't appear anymore. We were apart...across the country from eachother...but then when we weer together it was marvelous. We were seperated by the cruelist of fates, and it was pain again. I was forced to watch paper romances infront of my eyes...to go to friend's houses and witness them making out with their girlfriends. I told them it was fine, "Sure, I don't mind that Jenn is over.." but inside my heart ached with the pain of being lonily.
Every attempt to get to hold Rachel again failed in some way. Even if you do not believe in psyionics, I have, in some way, learned of each events unfolding before it happened. I can just feel the light slowly fading from gold to silver...then to black. Each attempt to bring myself to happiness fails and only drags me back down three steps.
Take one step.
Take three steps back.
Take one step.
Take seven steps back.
The viscious cycle continues. I find myself slowly reverting to the person who scares me, the cold, heartless person who cannot open his heart for fear of it shattering again. I've become more fragile than I should have, and I only have myself to blame for it.
<P ID="signature"><img src=http://thegallery.vimm.net/bin/macc.gif></P>
Is it bad when you cannot tell the difference between blood and tears? When both cascade down your face in an endless downpour, can you tell the difference unless you truely look?
[/Depressing thought]
I've found myself in these past recent weeks smiling less and less. I was so happy that I'd finally get to go see Rachel, and now the plane arrangements couldn't be made. By some twist of fate, I've been given this as punishment. I called this several weeks ago...I saw it all comming. I knew it'd fall apart from the begining...because all my life does is loop itself...it makes it so I can never truely be happy.
I hate them. I hate all of them. Those people with their paper romances. The ones who dash around school holding hands and kissing in the hallways. The ones who once they've fucked the "love" is gone and it's over. I hate them all with a passion. I'm left to walk between them, knocking them from my path as I head to the next hell I must face during the day.
None of them can understand what it is like to have your heart keep being shattered as if it was some child's play toy. The constant mental abuse has worn away the outer barriers. I'm fragile. Alone. In pain. No one manages to see through their blurred crimson vision of what is "love" and what is "life" and "happines" long enough to give a damn about how I feel, about how much I give my life in order to make them happy. That I can't even stop for five minutes, not even long enough to reflect on myself and better myself, because if I try, I'm depended on elsewhere.
My writing comes from the heart. My heart. Fragile. Broken. Shattered. Floating like cherry-blossoms on the wind of eternity. It takes it's own shape. They call it "weird" and "violent" and then "depressing." The ones who couldn't write a resume without my help tell me I'm a quuer, they call me loser and fag and assrammer. Why the fuck can't they call me Chris? We're all strands and finely woven DNA, blood, cells, and fiber. Why can't I be equal? Friend? Aquaintence? This is why I hate them all.
I may only be sisxteen. Why does that matter? What does a number that signifies someones age base on their maturity? IQ? The way their heart and mind have aged? The way their life has been? You're probably saying to yourself, "So what? He's just a kid crying about how much he hates his life and wants to die...blah blah." If that's all you think of me...you're no better than the rest of them. I'm still continuing...so if you're still interested...I'll explain why I am who I am.
The past few years of my life have been plauged with scenes of heven, almost as a torment or a taste of what I was "supposed" to be able to reach from hell. I thought I truely loved this girl I had met. Her name was Dana. She had showed me things I had never known, and had gave me what I needed. I was, for once, truely happy. Dana suddenly broke it off with me one day, and left me there, shattered. Her friend Rhea came to pick up the pieces. She told me it was all right, and kept me close to her heart. She exploited my hurt and gave a remedy...but that was not her real intent. She used what Dana had told her to take my soul...to use it as a way to exploit me to my friends. I lost everything I had...pride...honor...and love.
At this point, I locked the walls around myself. I found myself emotionless. I was cold, and I hated everything. I contemplated suicide on more than one account, and I attempted it on more than one occasion. Only once did I ever manage to draw blood, and that miserable attempt to take my life didn't go as expected. I was locked in a quiet downward spiral, my fate and life hopeless at that point.
Then I met her. Late one night two years ago on spring break, I met the one girl who would slowly change who I was. Her name is Rachel, and she saw and felt my coldness and bitterness. She became my friend, and slowly began to open the pages and break through the walls.
I actually started to see rays of hope, my depression slowly fading to a point where it didn't appear anymore. We were apart...across the country from eachother...but then when we weer together it was marvelous. We were seperated by the cruelist of fates, and it was pain again. I was forced to watch paper romances infront of my eyes...to go to friend's houses and witness them making out with their girlfriends. I told them it was fine, "Sure, I don't mind that Jenn is over.." but inside my heart ached with the pain of being lonily.
Every attempt to get to hold Rachel again failed in some way. Even if you do not believe in psyionics, I have, in some way, learned of each events unfolding before it happened. I can just feel the light slowly fading from gold to silver...then to black. Each attempt to bring myself to happiness fails and only drags me back down three steps.
Take one step.
Take three steps back.
Take one step.
Take seven steps back.
The viscious cycle continues. I find myself slowly reverting to the person who scares me, the cold, heartless person who cannot open his heart for fear of it shattering again. I've become more fragile than I should have, and I only have myself to blame for it.
<P ID="signature"><img src=http://thegallery.vimm.net/bin/macc.gif></P>