Wednesday, January 30, 2008


Dear _____,

Why'd you have to leave? You had your girls. You weren't alone. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children. And children shouldn't have to bury their parents before they graduate high school. What is she going to do when she gets older? I can't even believe that you are gone. I'm scared because things are never going to be the same again. I'm mad at you. But I am going to miss you. We all will. I'm going to hate having to watch her suffer. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that no one could understand. I'm sorry. Goodbye, _____.


Saturday, January 26, 2008

More bull shit.

Remember those talks about bullying in school? Where you really thought that things could change for you when they talked about how bad making fun of others was? There were always the people who spoke out in the discussions. Not the people who wanted a change. The people who cared about how they looked. They would say "I try not to be mean to people." and "If someone looked like they were having a hard time or someone wanted to sit at my table at lunch, I would be nice and try to accept them." Load of bull. I was one of them for a while. I faltered back and forth between the bully and the victim. When I was the bully, I'd try and make it seem like I wanted to be nice. But, then, when I was the victim, those discussions with those lying 12-year-old classmates made me want to scream. I hated them. I wanted to throw things. The victim never speaks up but the bully will always lie. I wouldn't scream or make a scene. I'd sit there and nod my head like I agreed with everything. Those poor middle school kids and those terrible people who hurt them. Councilors couldn't care less. "Concentrate on your school work and things will get better." or "Try talking it out with them. Tell them politely that you would like them to stop." Message for all you guidance councilors, that has never worked, it doesn't work now, and it never will. Every hour of every day, 57 teenagers try to commit suicide. Don't pretend you are getting better at you job. That is 6 times more than it was 20 years ago. The world changes. People get meaner at a younger age. Stop doing the same god damn thing you used to. You can't pretend that if you rules apply to the world you wish you had, it would change into that perfect world. Make your rules for the world we actually live in.


Thursday, January 24, 2008

I know quite a bit.

I always wished to have freckles, straight hair, long nails, tanned skin, a nice smile, greener eyes, and to be everything I am not. People always told me to be happy with myself. There is no universal rule like that. To be yourself and people will like that. It's a load of bull. People always want a good, pleasant lie. The real me destroys, hates, and is not good in any way. The real me believes in mysteries and doesn't believe in the lies of religion, parenting, government, schooling, and friendship. Especially love. Why? Because the real me isn't loved. What do you do then? When being yourself gets you hate and pain? Being myself was always important, but now that I think, I'd rather be happy as a lie than unloved as me. We aren't all meant to be happy in life. Some of us weren't meant to be born. We are the ones who ask "What did I do wrong?" only because we aren't good enough. Some people, like me, will never get a chance to be happy.


P.S. I'm sorry I said no. I wanted to protect you because I cared about you. I will regret it my whole life.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

To those who deserve it.

Dear ______,

I hate that he could have gotten away from you terrible people (if you could call yourselves "people") but because you made him screw up and he isn't getting anywhere, he's going to get caught. And we'll both be left here in this hell hole. If I can't make it out, neither can he. And I will do everything I possibly can to get you screwed a thousand times over. I hope your wasted, maggot infested body burns in a flaming, isolate hell. My hate for you, will ruin his chance of ever being happy. I wish I could stangle you and watch your eyes roll into the back of your head. I want you to die. You and all your friends. I blame pieces of shit like you who can't do anything but get high for the way that he is. The police will find him. How great will he be then? If only you knew his secrets. Our secrets. The ones never spoken for they are so dark, they could empty everything inside you. The ones only I know. Just the walls and I. If you knew those, it would change everything. Even you may have a soul, no matter how pitiful and lame it is. It's weak. And broken and used. Worthless. You couldn't handle it. I can. I have kept them inside me for years. A lifetime. They would destroy everything that's left of you. She asked me why I though I was so much better than you. It's because I am. I am so much stronger and better than you. You will die and the world will go on. Lives will improve with the loss of you. You are nothing. No one will mourn when I take away your very last breath. They will rejoice with the passing of a piece of shit like you. I hate you. I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone. If I could get away with it, you'd be dead in the next 3 hours.


Thursday, January 17, 2008

You're a friend.

Ahh, yes. Yet another letter that will never be read by anyone but me.

Dear ______,

You are right. You know it. I know it. I wish I could listen to you. Most of all, I wish I could explain to you, but you mean so much to me, that I don't want to tell you because I care about what you think. That's why I tell other people my secrets before I tell you. What they think won't affect me but if you were to ever think badly of me, I would be really upset. My reasons are stupid and they hardly make sense. I want so badly to just talk to you but I can't. I'm afraid you won't understand and if you can't, then no one will be able to. I have made so many mistakes and I don't want losing you to be one of them. We never fight and although this technically can't be considered one, I know what you mean. You know me and you are right. What I am doing, isn't who I am. To be honest, I have no idea who I am. I know who I'm not. This isn't me. I think that maybe people find themselves and then see who they aren't later on. For some reason, I'm going backwards. It's really dangerous and odd but I think knowing who you aren't is just as important as knowing who you are. I hate that I can't stop myself. Just yell at me. That would help. Or, maybe it wouldn't. Knowing you are dissapointed in me may be worse. I never cared whether or not people were dissapointed in me until you and her came along. You mean the world to me. I want to be myself because I know that if I'm not, I'll turn out to be the same as her. I've become one of those people we always dissaproved of. We were so much better. I knew you guys were so much better than me. I just never knew I was so much worse. Just don't give up on me yet, okay? Just not yet. Not yet.


P.S. What I did can't be taken back and I'm so stupid for it. I'm way ahead but you guys are so close to leaving me behind. Just like they did.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Crayons from the box.

Dear ____,

So, I just closed my eyes, and pretended it was you.


P.S. Wild Blue Yonder turned out to be a very beautiful color. It's too bad I never realized it until now.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Scared infant goat mouth.

I have yet another letter. To her.

Dear _________,

I have no other way of explaining my feeling towards you than the simple phrase "I hate you". I hate the way you chew your food like a goat and how you drive like a mentally disabled 97-year-old on crack. I hate how you think puzzle pieces fit together when you shove them until they are bent and twisted. I hate how when you do things, your left hand just hovers, almost entirely useless. I hate how everything you cook turns out as something that looks like it came form a dead animal's stomach and I hate how when you make candy at Christmas time, you screw it up and ruin the nostalgic moment of it all. I hate how you forget things and how you get mad at people for the things you do wrong. I hate everything about you. How you raised your son, and how you treat me and the way you walk. I hate how your eyes sometimes look like an infant's, lost and empty. I hate how you try to talk when you have an already too large amount of food in your mouth. I hate when you make jokes and smirk halfway through when they aren't funny, no matter how clever you think they may be. I hate how you are under the impression that my friends find you funny when they are just laughing out of pity, politeness, or nervousness. I hate you for everything you've done and even the things that happened to you that you couldn't help. I hate it. But really, what I hate most of all, is how my friends hate me for hating you. For them not understanding that I wished you would have just died. I hate you for them having sympathy for you and not me. I hate that no matter how badly you treat me, I will always be the selfish one and the one who is acting horrible or being mean. I hate that I want you dead. And I hate that I'm the only one in my family that has the guts to tell you to your face, yet again making me the bad guy. I hate that you didn't just die so I could love you when you did. Now, when you die, I'll hate you and I won't really care. And I hate you for that. And I hate you because I know it's not my fault for hating you, but everyone believes it is.


Sometimes, I wish I wasn't so scared to pretend to be happy. And sometimes, I wish I wasn't so scared to be my horrible self. And I'm scared at what that means I am.

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Destroy my ocean.

Sometimes, when it's quiet, and every sound stops echoing in your brain, almost until there is a soft static, you can hear yourself create an ocean. The rolling waves of breath in and out and in and out. You can close your eyes and see the blues and greens and greys and whites. The foam gathering on the sound of you lungs. Sand mingling in your skin. Delicate and fragile rocks filling every bottomless pit. And the pounding in your ears, the sound of pumping blood, doesn't fit. It isn't part of the ocean. Because of it, we aren't the waves or the sand but with out it, there is no breath and there is no skin and there is no mind being feed just like Ocean who changes her mind whenever she needs to and is fed by the life breathing within her. She does not depend on anything that does not belong in her. Not like us. So, we destroy her. Only because we can not be her. Because we can not depend on ourselves alone. We depend on a breakable, fragile, pitiful organ. We hate the ocean, because it does not.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

I like this letter thing. I'm going to do it again. This one is to me. From my head to my heart. Or one personality to the other. I'm not quite sure, but I am still saying to myself.

Dear Emily,

You are acting too pathetic for words. You are ruining your life. You almost didn't pass you favorite subject with a teacher who was incredible. You are screwing around with people you shouldn't be all because of a boy. Just a boy. A boy who didn't even love you. Not like he loves her. You tried so hard to get him back and fought with so much and guess what? He still didn't care. He doesn't care. You lied to your friends yet you told your secrets to someone who barely knows you. Your life sucks because you deserve it. Your brother is gone. Seems fair considering you haven't spoken to him in years despite the fact you were always around him. You seem upset because he has never said he loved you but you can't honestly think you deserve love. Your parents hate the way you sing, even though you love it. You got in the way of their dreams. No one loves you and that may not be your fault entirely. You gave plenty of love and you got screwed over. Sucks. So why are messing up someone else's love for another? Even I don't get you. You are mean and heartless and sad. Sometimes, you can be amazing. So nice to your friends and such. I wish you could be happy. I wish you could get away from all these people who were supposed to be there. Don't give up, though. I know you've tried to and I know you are in a lot of pain but maybe faith is just the thing you need. You can't keep being ice woman. You haven't gotten what I know you should have and that isn't fair. I mean, I know. I'm you. Someday, you'll find that amazing, Irish, soccer playing, lyric writing, charming, handsom, green-eyed man that will make up for every person who left you behind or gave up on you or who never loved you. You are smart and funny and nice. Don't ever forget that. And let go of him. He's not coming back. It's time to stop the sleepless nights and sad days. You have to move on. He found someone else that he loves so much more and you should let him be happy even if it means you are out of the picture. Let him go so you can get on with your own life. You should get to be happy, too. If it counts, I love you. Not a lot of people can say they love who they are. Then again, not a lot of people are like you.

Your smarter self.

Sometimes, all you will ever need is a slap in the face. Even if no one is there to do it but yourself. I think I'll keep this letter thing going.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Letters to the Unnamed.

This is a letter to someone who shall remain nameless (for their own sake because I have lots of very strong easily-angered friends). I haven't ever had the guts to actually write this person a letter or tell them what the following letter explains (well, not entirely) and I felt it needed to be said. Even if I am the only one who will ever read it. I hope you know who you are. In more ways than one.

Dear ____,

I am disappointed in you. Extremely disappointed considering the stupendous amount of hope I had in you and what you could give. The promises you made to me where more that hollow words. To me, they meant something. You should definitely think about an acting career because everything you said to me turned out to be a horrible lie. No one gives up like that. Especially you who was so stubborn and never gave up on anything. And sadly, I see why you left. She's cute. Freckles, sparkly eyes, nice smile. From what I can tell, she's perfect for you. And she's been there for a while, even when I was there. And I had no idea until every last amount of dignity I had left was gone. What's worse is that you and I both know you got the better end of the deal. You took your time to ease away then hit me with everything like an atom bomb. It's not like it is in movies. The broken, pathetic girl doesn't get to be happy. Her whole life doesn't become some fairytale. She's left wishing she was dead and away from her empty shell of a life. I got fucked over. And somehow, you still have me. You have me when you tossed me aside. Every freaking memory with you just makes my chest ache more. Sometimes I think I see your face in other people. I see you in my friend who makes the same jokes as you. I see you in my parents who never knew. I see you in myself who you used to care about. For god sakes I see you in my dog who we used to talk about. Everything I have now just seems sullied by the mere remembrance of you. You're off and running and I'm still not done falling. I want to be rid of you but I am stuck because you won't leave. I'm going insane because of you. I'm starting to forget how to breathe. I can't even feel my body. You were never a jerk. Not technically. But you are cruel in the worst of ways. Not meaning to, but you could have helped it. To be honest, I sometimes fear that you might be the death of me. You gave up on me and it makes me feel like I'm not worth fighting for. I would have fought for you. I did fight. Why wasn't I enough for you? Why didn't you believe in me? Why should you get to be happy and why should she get to love you? I want to hate her. But it would be so unfair. She never did anything. You did but I can't bring myself to hate you. I want to be happy, too. They say it's a choice to be happy but every time I smile it's like someone comes along and slaps it off my face. I feel like giving up. I just never want to get up off the ground. Suicide is for pussies but I don't think it will come to that. You've done most of the killing. All I need is to lie here and let go. I really want to.


That's my letter and although no one reads this, I hope he finds it. I secretly want him back, but he's already somebody else's.