Have you ever thought you knew somebody - like, totally and completely got them? And then, one day, when you pass them on the street they just look at you with this blank stare... when, normally, you would have acted out this whole dramatic scene, as though you haven't seen each other in years... Has this ever happened to you? Do you know that stranger, the one that lives only by recognition in your Myspace friend's list, occasionally making comments on your pictures, 'nice pic' 'I like your hair,' only acknowledging you when it's purely convenient and conventional? Do you know him? Her? That person on the street that when you pass, you catch each others eyes and old, faded memories pass... but you do nothing to relight that spark.

Who were they?

You tell everybody that you're alright,
But you're falling apart at the speed of light.
You know the things that nobody knows,
You go the places nobody goes.



Things are confusing. One minute, I'm on a path of destruction, the next, I swing back to thinking about other people and how -they- feel. Everything is just so raw, exposed - like a cut that just won't heal over. But I don't know how I got cut. It just appeared one day, and emotions started pouring out in the form of blood.

It feels, sometimes, like nobody wants me around. As though, if I have nothing to offer, I'm just taking up space, and using up everybody elses air. I stare at people with an empty gaze, and on the occasions that they look back at me, it's with a look of disgust, as though I shouldn't be there. Maybe I shouldn't.

I've become a moth. I flutter around shining lights, because maybe if they can shine their light on me, I'll be a bit brighter. I'm not nearly as graceful as a butterfly. The dust on my wings keeps me weighed down, closer to the ground. I blend in well when pressed against a wall, and more than often, you just pass on by, because I am invisible.

My mind no longer filters dangerous thoughts. It welcomes them with banners and balloons, asking if they brought along risky cousins. But my body protests, writhing against invisible forces that push me to become somebody that I don't recognize. I'm unsure of who I am, or where I am going.

I'm beginning to think that some things just are not worth the time and effort. I can try my hardest and still get... OK. Or, I can try so hard, and I don't get the congratulations, or even a participation ribbon. When I start to think about this - the example I come up with is a high school dropout. While every case is different, you could say that the dropout tried their hardest to succeed, and when that wasn't good enough they just gave up entirely. It's like me, with art. There was this painting I did for school, and I spent soo much time on it, and worked on it until it was done, and it just wasn't good enough. I don't know why, and I don't know what I did wrong, but you must see it - because you have the sense to bring down my inflatable ego.

Another thing. Why is it so hard to admit that you're wrong?

It just sucks, not being good enough. Ever. At anything.

My life can be summed up in a series of quotes and icons. But then again, any other teenager lacking their own grasp on identity could say the same thing. I like to think that I am an Individual, though.... Just like everybody else. That, while everybody else is lined up for their drums and guitars, I'm sitting here with my lonely tamborine. I'm not quite sure who I am, but I know what I want. I sometimes think about death, and what would happen if I died. Then, I realize - if I died, I would never hear Panic at the Disco sing again. I would never hear Fences by Paramore again. I would never get to paint again. Or see your face. Then, I wonder - do we simply stop existing when we die, or is heaven a real place? Do you only go there if you believe in it, and what if you really didn't act pristinely during life, do you go to Hell?

Then, I think about the shallower things in life. About how Carly is suck a freaking liar. And how I sometimes stare at the back of her head - glaring, of course - and think about taking my Biology book to her head. Or, one of those freaky metal fold-up chairs. And then, I think about how I thought these same things about Kayla. About how I would just love to be rid of her. It's scary when these thoughts come around. You begin to think about your true intentions - could you really do that to a person? Would you - or is it just this fantasy that lives inside your head? As I sit there in English, wallowing in Envy, assuring my place in Hell, I regret thinking these things. If somebody could read minds, my mind would be like a Stephen King book. Big, long, intimidating, and often scary.

Have you ever seen the Beanie Baby cat - Kaleidoscope? I think it's one of the most interesting ones. It's like looking into somebody's brain. You may think it would represent the inners of somebody's 'heart,' but when you think about it, the matters of the heart are not that complicated. The only reason people make it so complex is because of stupid hormones.

But who am I to talk? I'm a stupid, moronic teenager.

How does a person become self destructive? Not in the whole, 'Omigawd, I'mma cut myself 4 attention!' thing. No. In the, 'I'm gonna do something/like something that I really shouldn't do/like because in the end it will only hurt me,' way.

And - which way is worse?

I think I can safely assume that I am a Type-2 self destructee. It's a sad day when you can come to that conclusion. You probably want to know what has made me 'self destructive,' huh? Well, that makes two of us. To answer that question, though, you'd have to know how I am self destructive. I'm not sure I want to actually write that down, though; it seems that if I do that, it will be all too real, and you know how people say that if you write something down it becomes immortalized or something? Well, maybe f I write it down, somebodywill find out? To state the obvious, that woud be a bit destructive. HOWEVER - not completely SELF destructive, unless I TELL somebody about this...

Oh. Duh.

I mean, it's not really a secret... Just something that I don't particularly want anybody to know. Not that it's so unnatural... I bet it's really quite common.

I just don't know. I guess it's embarrassing - kind of. I'd be more nervous than embarrassed given I EVER said anything... However, I know WHYI am/have been 'self destructive.' I guess I just need to figure out how I got like this... Is there a difference? I think there is.

Oh Well. Ignore this - I'm just getting myself all frustrated.