I don't know what but I'm going to do... something...
20110703
I live life backwards.
Forward through a door I see this girl and she's sorta just standing there looking mysterious and shit and I'm standing on the outside of the door looking like a fool but I'm going to try to do something...
20110623
The post in which I tell you that you're worth it and people are shitty.
My friend, inspiration, and secret gay lover (LAWLJK) texted me the other day, after I inquired why his blog was no longer visible.
"I'm going away for a while" was his response. I sat there for a second and thought to myself about what to say. I thought about the fact that leaving isn't going to change the fact that people suck and that life is always going to get a little bit shitty. So I texted him back and told him that when he comes back people are still going to be dumb. He told me I'm a cool cat. I told him that I knew already.
I want everyone to know that they are loved, and that nothing that they do will ever change that. There is always somebody out there who thinks that you're an amazing person and that you're the best thing that will ever happen.
<3
(909) 261-4756 I'm here for you.
20110616
The Post That Starts With "So Today"
So today I was thinking about how much I've changed over the past 4 years. I graduated. I matured. I have almost none of the same friends that I did freshman year. I've had seven girlfriends over those four years, six in my first three, before I finally landed on The One That Matters. I've spent 4 years in one school, one endless loop of unhappiness, one system of pass, fail, pass, fail. I've grown up, though. One day, maybe I really will.
I assume that there are really people out there who are so devastatingly unhappy with their own lives that they honestly get online sometimes and look for stories of other people being unhappy or some shit, not so that they feel less alone, but so that they don't feel like such a fuck up. They hope that someone else's life is worse than theirs is and the sad part is that they're always right. There's always someone worse off, and that's a very depressing statistic. Nobody deserves unhappiness, although some people sure as hell do come close.
I am talking to Daniel and he is somewhere but he is not at home, and I want to IM him instead of text him, but he is somewhere and not at home. And, meanwhile, here I am. I'm here. I'm here bored, wanting to actually talk to someone, and hold a conversation, as opposed to a broken session of every now and then. And my girlfriend refuses to respond, and my life is fucking boring as hell. OH GOD.
I'm becoming one of those broken records who post on facebook about how shitty life is even though their lives aren't nearly that bad.
MAN FUCK THE POLICE.
I assume that there are really people out there who are so devastatingly unhappy with their own lives that they honestly get online sometimes and look for stories of other people being unhappy or some shit, not so that they feel less alone, but so that they don't feel like such a fuck up. They hope that someone else's life is worse than theirs is and the sad part is that they're always right. There's always someone worse off, and that's a very depressing statistic. Nobody deserves unhappiness, although some people sure as hell do come close.
I am talking to Daniel and he is somewhere but he is not at home, and I want to IM him instead of text him, but he is somewhere and not at home. And, meanwhile, here I am. I'm here. I'm here bored, wanting to actually talk to someone, and hold a conversation, as opposed to a broken session of every now and then. And my girlfriend refuses to respond, and my life is fucking boring as hell. OH GOD.
I'm becoming one of those broken records who post on facebook about how shitty life is even though their lives aren't nearly that bad.
MAN FUCK THE POLICE.
20110614
"Don't you have a girlfriend?"
joseph 06/14/2011 09:45:18 PM
What do you want to do Ryan
Ryan 06/14/2011 09:46:38 PM
Webcam with a young fit looking jailbait teen girl.
with small tits. 06/14/2011 09:46:51 PM
joseph 06/14/2011 09:46:58 PM
hahahaha XD
Ryan 06/14/2011 09:47:03 PM
or webcam with a young chubby jailbait teen girl.
with okay tits. 06/14/2011 09:47:07 PM
joseph 06/14/2011 09:47:09 PM
I actually meant with your life
Ryan 06/14/2011 09:47:16 PM
so did I.
But I didn't really. That's not what I want to do. That sounds so boring and stupid.
Probably, maybe, I guess, yeah. I mean, it's inconsequential I think. She's my girlfriend and I love her, and would never do anything to hurt her, but is it necessary to constantly announce that she exists?
Probably.
joseph 06/14/2011 09:45:18 PM
But I didn't really. That's not what I want to do. That sounds so boring and stupid.
I don't like that kind of shit any more.
I used to.
But now I don't.
Oh well.
20110607
The Following is Based Off Of True Events (And Also Some Made-up Ones)
"Sometimes, when I get especially lonely, I like to sit there and look at pictures of times when I wasn't that lonely."
"So that you feel less lonely?"
"I think that's the basic idea, but it never really works. I always end up feeling thirty times worse, and wishing I wasn't so lonely."
I just frown, and she just lights another cigarette. I pull my sleeves down to my thumbs as she takes another draw. "It's like," She starts, pausing and frowning uncertainly, the smoke curling in cyclical patterns around her head, "it's almost as if it's an addiction for me." Her hands drop from near her neck to their lowest point, and she nods slowly. "That's exactly what it is."
"What is it?"
"I'm addicted to loneliness."
"You have me."
"Don't be silly." Her warm breath condensed in the cold fall air, "You're not actually here for me. You felt bad, and you were told to help some people out with themselves after you tried to kill yourself. You chose me because you knew me and you thought I was hot. You don't really care. You just hope I'll think you're nice enough to let into my pants."
She didn't know me, then.
"You don't know me, then."
She smiled, almost like it comforted her that I had said that, and Amy looked to me for the first time and quickly looked away. She wasn't alone, but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned, of course she was. We all were, in her mind. She would rather that all of us be lonely, since it was easier for relationships and the like.
"Nobody is alone, Amy, we all have somebody there for us."
"Even the sinners?" She said that word with such disgust. Such anger and hatred. For someone who constantly asserted she was atheist, she seemed to have a distaste for sinners. When she said the word 'sinners' it was as if she had said the word 'rapists' or 'murderers.' She didn't believe in God, yet she believed in sin.
"Even the sinners, yes."
"Who would be there for people like that? Who would be there for them?"
"I am."
"You are. You're there for everyone. You don't have standards."
"Maybe so."
Her hands slipped into the pockets of her white coat, she fumbled for another smoke. Upon pulling it out, her pale hands reached towards the lighter she had laid on the table, and instinctively, I grabbed it first, holding it back behind me, out of her reach. The look on her face was not one of disappointment or anger. It was of amusement as she reached into her pocket again and pulled out a match, struck it against her jeans, and lit the cigarette. Dejectedly, I set the lighter back on the table, and she pulled it back towards her.
"You don't have standards, Evan, somebody with standards would have avoided being here for me."
"I never argued that fact."
"Fuck you too, then."
"No. That's not why I'm here, Amy."
"It is."
"Amy there has to be something else going on with you."
"There isn't, okay?"
She stood up and started to walk away.
"Then keep running from everyone."
She stopped. Cliche.
"I can't."
"Why can't you? You realize that you might actually need somebody? Even someone like me with no standards? Someone who doesn't give two shits about you if you're not going to let me into bed with you?"
"No. I can't run because your back door is locked and you live on the fourteenth floor."
"Then talk to me."
She turned around and pressed her hands to my shoulders, putting her face level with mine. She seemed annoyed. "I don't have anything to talk about, okay? It's my own damned life."
"Fine, theres a key under the mat."
"Why? It's the fourteenth God damned floor."
"Because I lock myself out sometimes."
"How do you do that, Evan?"
"Just do, I guess. I never really realize it. Hardly ever come out here and so when I do I often lock the door behind me accidentally."
"And you got tired of phoning a neighbor?"
"I got tired of wondering if I would survive the fall."
She seemed taken aback, not as though she didn't expect that answer, more like she didn't expect it to be put so bluntly.
"You never thought like that," she reached back for her cigarettes and I shook my head.
"I used to. I would stand out here and just wonder if I would be able to still breathe after I hit the ground."
"I bet you would."
"Thats why I didn't jump."
Once again, a look of disbelief. She seemed interested in me, now, instead of the other way around. The way her hand shook as she pulled out the pack of Marlboro Lights, the way her eyes focused on me as she simultaneously pulled out her lighter, how her mouth hung open a bit as she tossed the cigarettes from the balcony, all of them hinted that she was suddenly curious about my canting.
"So you tried to kill yourself?"
"Never tried. I contemplated trying, but I decided that I'm probably immortal."
"Really?"
"No."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
There was a brief pause, both of us seeing if the other was going to speak.
"Why did those thoughts even spring into your head? You seem like a happy person."
"I guess I do, but life wasn't easy for me when I was a kid, or when I was a teenager, or when I first got this apartment on the fourteenth floor of some building in some suburban city. As a child, my father wasn't around much, but when he was, he was busy beating the shit out of one of us. My mom, was, obviously opposed to this and left him when I was 10."
Once I paused to swallow my spit and inhale a bit, as I was short of breath, Amy decided to open up, finally.
"I have three sisters." She sort of spurted it out, like it was hard to say, "Two older and one younger, the younger lives with me, but you weren't wondering."
"Why does she live with you?"
"Because she-"
"Sorry, that's not my first question... Why are they important?"
She closed her eyes and whispered something about her cigarettes before deciding to go further into her past than I had expected.
"I wasn't religious as a kid. I'm not now, either, but for a period of time I was heavily religious. When we were kids, we only had our dad. Our mom died soon after I was born, my youngest sister is adopted, and before that, she worked all day. Anyway, I never knew what was happening, but my two older sisters, twins, would get home from high school and my father would do things to them. Sin against them. And so, when I became an eighth grader, he told me I was finally old enough. Constantly reminding me that I was beautiful, and he loved me."
She coughed twice.
"And so as an eighth grader, I prayed every day that God would take this evil man away from me. He adopted my little sister when I was six, and I was suddenly afraid for her. My older sisters had moved away, hardly ever speaking to me. And so I prayed. I prayed and prayed and never got an answer. I went to church and did all I could to get Gods help and he never helped. So I gave up on God."
"And this is why you mentioned your sister?"
"Thats why I took her with me when I moved here. I didn't want him near her. She didn't know why, misses her father. But I let her cry. It's better than it could be."
"Have you ever-"
"No. Nobody knows but you. But you're still not here to help me. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes."
"I promise you Amy-"
"I've been used enough, Evan."
She would get up, and turn towards the door. I would watch her drive off and I would never see the girl again.
--+--
Cigarette smoke still lingered in the air, although I had quit four months ago. Not much remained of Evan, besides the fact that I no longer smoked, and that my eyes were now a bit baggier than previously. My mind often thought about the fact that I could have just told him the truth, or just spread my legs for him or do whatever, but I quickly dismissed it, since I had already left, and he was probably dead or something. But day after day, my sister would get home and she would go to her room and my boyfriend and I would follow. It always stung a little bit. And it always will. But I can never stop turning on the camera and helping him. She can never stop crying. He will never stop sinning.
"So that you feel less lonely?"
"I think that's the basic idea, but it never really works. I always end up feeling thirty times worse, and wishing I wasn't so lonely."
I just frown, and she just lights another cigarette. I pull my sleeves down to my thumbs as she takes another draw. "It's like," She starts, pausing and frowning uncertainly, the smoke curling in cyclical patterns around her head, "it's almost as if it's an addiction for me." Her hands drop from near her neck to their lowest point, and she nods slowly. "That's exactly what it is."
"What is it?"
"I'm addicted to loneliness."
"You have me."
"Don't be silly." Her warm breath condensed in the cold fall air, "You're not actually here for me. You felt bad, and you were told to help some people out with themselves after you tried to kill yourself. You chose me because you knew me and you thought I was hot. You don't really care. You just hope I'll think you're nice enough to let into my pants."
She didn't know me, then.
"You don't know me, then."
She smiled, almost like it comforted her that I had said that, and Amy looked to me for the first time and quickly looked away. She wasn't alone, but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned, of course she was. We all were, in her mind. She would rather that all of us be lonely, since it was easier for relationships and the like.
"Nobody is alone, Amy, we all have somebody there for us."
"Even the sinners?" She said that word with such disgust. Such anger and hatred. For someone who constantly asserted she was atheist, she seemed to have a distaste for sinners. When she said the word 'sinners' it was as if she had said the word 'rapists' or 'murderers.' She didn't believe in God, yet she believed in sin.
"Even the sinners, yes."
"Who would be there for people like that? Who would be there for them?"
"I am."
"You are. You're there for everyone. You don't have standards."
"Maybe so."
Her hands slipped into the pockets of her white coat, she fumbled for another smoke. Upon pulling it out, her pale hands reached towards the lighter she had laid on the table, and instinctively, I grabbed it first, holding it back behind me, out of her reach. The look on her face was not one of disappointment or anger. It was of amusement as she reached into her pocket again and pulled out a match, struck it against her jeans, and lit the cigarette. Dejectedly, I set the lighter back on the table, and she pulled it back towards her.
"You don't have standards, Evan, somebody with standards would have avoided being here for me."
"I never argued that fact."
"Fuck you too, then."
"No. That's not why I'm here, Amy."
"It is."
"Amy there has to be something else going on with you."
"There isn't, okay?"
She stood up and started to walk away.
"Then keep running from everyone."
She stopped. Cliche.
"I can't."
"Why can't you? You realize that you might actually need somebody? Even someone like me with no standards? Someone who doesn't give two shits about you if you're not going to let me into bed with you?"
"No. I can't run because your back door is locked and you live on the fourteenth floor."
"Then talk to me."
She turned around and pressed her hands to my shoulders, putting her face level with mine. She seemed annoyed. "I don't have anything to talk about, okay? It's my own damned life."
"Fine, theres a key under the mat."
"Why? It's the fourteenth God damned floor."
"Because I lock myself out sometimes."
"How do you do that, Evan?"
"Just do, I guess. I never really realize it. Hardly ever come out here and so when I do I often lock the door behind me accidentally."
"And you got tired of phoning a neighbor?"
"I got tired of wondering if I would survive the fall."
She seemed taken aback, not as though she didn't expect that answer, more like she didn't expect it to be put so bluntly.
"You never thought like that," she reached back for her cigarettes and I shook my head.
"I used to. I would stand out here and just wonder if I would be able to still breathe after I hit the ground."
"I bet you would."
"Thats why I didn't jump."
Once again, a look of disbelief. She seemed interested in me, now, instead of the other way around. The way her hand shook as she pulled out the pack of Marlboro Lights, the way her eyes focused on me as she simultaneously pulled out her lighter, how her mouth hung open a bit as she tossed the cigarettes from the balcony, all of them hinted that she was suddenly curious about my canting.
"So you tried to kill yourself?"
"Never tried. I contemplated trying, but I decided that I'm probably immortal."
"Really?"
"No."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
There was a brief pause, both of us seeing if the other was going to speak.
"Why did those thoughts even spring into your head? You seem like a happy person."
"I guess I do, but life wasn't easy for me when I was a kid, or when I was a teenager, or when I first got this apartment on the fourteenth floor of some building in some suburban city. As a child, my father wasn't around much, but when he was, he was busy beating the shit out of one of us. My mom, was, obviously opposed to this and left him when I was 10."
Once I paused to swallow my spit and inhale a bit, as I was short of breath, Amy decided to open up, finally.
"I have three sisters." She sort of spurted it out, like it was hard to say, "Two older and one younger, the younger lives with me, but you weren't wondering."
"Why does she live with you?"
"Because she-"
"Sorry, that's not my first question... Why are they important?"
She closed her eyes and whispered something about her cigarettes before deciding to go further into her past than I had expected.
"I wasn't religious as a kid. I'm not now, either, but for a period of time I was heavily religious. When we were kids, we only had our dad. Our mom died soon after I was born, my youngest sister is adopted, and before that, she worked all day. Anyway, I never knew what was happening, but my two older sisters, twins, would get home from high school and my father would do things to them. Sin against them. And so, when I became an eighth grader, he told me I was finally old enough. Constantly reminding me that I was beautiful, and he loved me."
She coughed twice.
"And so as an eighth grader, I prayed every day that God would take this evil man away from me. He adopted my little sister when I was six, and I was suddenly afraid for her. My older sisters had moved away, hardly ever speaking to me. And so I prayed. I prayed and prayed and never got an answer. I went to church and did all I could to get Gods help and he never helped. So I gave up on God."
"And this is why you mentioned your sister?"
"Thats why I took her with me when I moved here. I didn't want him near her. She didn't know why, misses her father. But I let her cry. It's better than it could be."
"Have you ever-"
"No. Nobody knows but you. But you're still not here to help me. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes."
"I promise you Amy-"
"I've been used enough, Evan."
She would get up, and turn towards the door. I would watch her drive off and I would never see the girl again.
--+--
Cigarette smoke still lingered in the air, although I had quit four months ago. Not much remained of Evan, besides the fact that I no longer smoked, and that my eyes were now a bit baggier than previously. My mind often thought about the fact that I could have just told him the truth, or just spread my legs for him or do whatever, but I quickly dismissed it, since I had already left, and he was probably dead or something. But day after day, my sister would get home and she would go to her room and my boyfriend and I would follow. It always stung a little bit. And it always will. But I can never stop turning on the camera and helping him. She can never stop crying. He will never stop sinning.
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