The darkest hour.

It's gnawing at me, eating me alive. That little tiny insect that has infected my pysche, re-arranging everything I have ever worked hard on. Erasing and rewinding. No matter how many perfections there can be, that little manical voice will always be there telling me that I am just not good enough. Something I am doing is wrong. So, I will inhabit my soul for days looking for an answer to why I am so upset and there never is one and if I do find an answer by the time I do find it that putrid, manifesting blood-sucker has already gotten to it. So, I lay there waiting because without something or someone to look foward to in life, it's just not worth living, eh? When I am laying there sometimes I will turn over to stare in the mirror and when I do I sometimes see a lone tear traveling across my face and I wonder, who is it this time? Me or

I can't even do this.

You're trying me. I know you are. Fuck you, fucking whore.

Aroused and repulsed at the same time.

I found this old note when I was cleaning out my bag and throwing out old receipts.

I wrote this on a hotel notepad:

"Dear __________,

It's raining here and everyone here is asleep but me. I am disappointed in the rain. I had wanted better weather because this trip cost a fortune. I sat on the balcony for a bit in the rain. I hear people screaming. I just went outside to see who they were but someone else was out there and I hit my ankle.

Anyways, I am wondering if you're asleep. I hope you're not partying. I worry about you partying where other people can flirt.

Whatever. I guess all this time apart; I miss you. I love you, I guess."

I never gave that to the person it was written for. I don't think I ever intended to.

me pongo nerviosa enfrente de ti

Bueno, que decidi escribir este blog post porque necesito explicarme un poco.

que...mi profe del espanol piensa que no puedo hablar espanol yo. Nunca le hable en espanol y entonces piensa que soy gringa.

el problema es que...SI yo puedo hablarlo. pero es que..enfrente de el o de la clase no puedo hacerlo. Me pongo nerviosa. No se como no estar nerviosa. y esto me odia.

i just traded one pain for another. fuck all of this. i'm always in fucking pain. if it isn't my goddam head or my stomach, it's something. i hate everyone for it. and fuck dr. McAsshole. I hate that fucker. he should give me some goddam fuckin vicodin so i can live. i can't stop being so goddam self destructive. i might go blind. i'm a fat pig who's out of control and im burning myself alive. FUCK YOU b. i'm ripping open at the seams.

Pushing Buttons

I get so mad that no one ever expresses concern about my problems that one they have a problem, I purposely make them feel really shitty about it so they feel bad.

I can't even begin to explain to any of you my myriad of unnatural problems.