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I really want to help

December 24, 2007

“”When you’re sad. When you feel stressed. When you’re too empty to cry anything out.
I really want to help.
But I don’t know what to do.
I’m worried that you’re going through too much.
I’m scared that it’s more than you can ever handle.
I want to share half of your pain with you.
But in reality, I can’t.

I hope that you don’t have to feel this way.
I know that it hurts.
I know that you’re afraid to face everything.

I wish I could make the world freeze just for a little while.
So you can take a break and not miss out on anything. “”

Posted by cryingtemptress at 1:45 pm | permalink | Add comment

I just want you to know

December 21, 2007
I’m fucking dying here.
Slowly breaking down silently.
No energy to stand up.
No energy to cry.
It’s so tiring taking every tiny breath.
Headache. Stomach ache.
Heartache.
What can I do?
What is there to do?

I just want you to know.
I want you to know EVERYHTING.
EVEYRHING about how I’ve been feeling every single day.
And I don’t need an answer, comment or any sort of reply.
I just want you to know.

Posted by cryingtemptress at 11:49 pm | permalink | Add comment

Girl, interrupted

December 9, 2007
I wonder if anything I write means anything to anyone.
I know what I write in the blog probably means nothing to any of you.
I know that I am crazy.
Maybe I’m just broken, and swallowing a dark secret.
Crazy is you or me, amplified.
I think I don’t tell people how I feel enough.
I curl up with the problem and hide away.
I think I need someone to tell every single thought that crosses my mind.
I need someone to listen.
To talk about it with me.
When I’m typing to someone, its so much easier for me to open up.
When I’m talking to someone on the phone or in person, it takes alot for me to say what I really want to.
I wonder what Anthony would think if I told him every thought in my head.
Maybe I would be satisfied just writing it out in this stupid online journal.
I should try that.
For a little while at least.
I feel kinda stupid doing this, no one reads these.

I am so tired, but I can’t seem to sleep.
I close my eyes and I just get dizzy.
I’m thinking about Anthony, Elizabeth, Grandma, and so much more.
I can’t wait for this week to get over with and I can meet Anthony already.
I’ll get a hug.
I need that so bad.
I just want a fucking hug.
Now I’m crying.
I feel I am becoming more of a happy person.
Its just a very slow process.
Just like this stupid court crap that I have to go through.
Its SO gay, I bet they have just as bad of history.
I had that psychological evaluation thing done.
I kinda didn’t really tell them alot.
I know if they knew what is going on in my head, they would want me in a insane ward place.
I feel so crazy.
I don’t seem to really be getting my feelings out to anyone.
I talk to James about things I dont want to talk to Anthony about.
Otherwise I talk to Anthony and I feel like he doesn’t want to hear what I have going on in my head.
I don’t want to tell grandma what is going on in my head either though.
Theres no way I would do that.
I already am upset enough with her.
I catch myself yelling at her alot now.
I hate that I do that.
She doesn’t seem to get that the social workers and state and whoever else is involved,
don’t know who hurt Elizabeth, and that no matter what we do they aren’t going to be proven to that we didn’t do it.
She is not getting past this. So thats all she talks about, and how much she wants to hurt him and Denise.
I wish she would stop talking about him.
It makes me sad.
She thinks its only hard on her,
well hello I loved (love?) him and he was my life for so long, who I cared about, who I cried to, who I gave myself to, who I told everything I hadn’t told anyone else before and then he betrays me and leaves and I’m just so here like ‘’What the fucking hell am I suppose to do?”.
I miss him though.

Posted by cryingtemptress at 4:39 am | permalink | Add comment

Opening up

December 4, 2007
It feels like the only thing I ever really truly open up to is the silence in my room.

I don’t open up to this stupid blog entry screen.
To Anthony.
To James.
To grandma.
To a n y o n e.
My life feels so empty.
Its not like I dont try to open up. Just when I do, feels like no one wants to hear it. I dont really think anyone cares enough. Theres a part of me deep down that just wants someone to listen and to actually c a r e. I want someone to search the depths of me and find it. I want someone to care enough to drag the true me out and love that part of me. Someone to ask about things, to just spend hours asking me things, anything, and just talk about it. Sit there and hold me and ask away. Maybe I need this more than I realize. I want a black knight to just take me away. I am far too lonely. I fucking need something happy. This is stupid. Why am I even posting this. Its not like he wants to know.

Posted by cryingtemptress at 10:11 am | permalink | Add comment

Speak is the best book ever..

December 3, 2007
I have to sit in the car with gram for all of like 40 min and I am dreading this.
She bitches about things that depress me.
I say nothing.
It is easier to not say anything.
Shut your trap, button you lip, can it.
All that crap you hear on TV about communication and expressing feelings is a lie.
Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say.
I will get home, and vanish into my room.
Art follows everything, like a dream follows a nightmare.
I have this dream art room.
It is dusty in a clean-dirt sort of way. The floor is layered with dry sploches of paint, the walls plastered with sketches of tormented teenagers and fat puppies. The shelves filled with clay pots. A radio plays my favorite station. Cups filled with markers, crayons, pencils, chalk, charcoal, and pens of every color.
Art is the only class that will teach you how to survive.
This is where you can find your soul, if you dare. Where you can touch that part that you’ve never dared look before.
So pretty much I spend hours inside my room with my art. Not many really see much of it.
Alot of my drawings just get thrown out.
My writing, well I don’t show hardly anyone all of that.
Photography is a little more open. Still I don’t show all of it.
I’m trying to find a way to express how I feel about life.
I’d like to be able to tell someone what I thought about the time I’ve spent here.
I’ve made it this far into life without a nucular meltdown.
Probably because I hide away.
I hear the garage door open and her car pull in, I quickly put things away and bolt into my room.
By the time she walks in everything is how she wants to see it and I have vanished.
Alot of the time even art is not an option once I escape into my room.
My bed sends out nap rays. I can’t help myself.
The fluffy pillows and warm comforter are more powerful than I am.
I have no choice but to snuggle under the covers.
I won’t take a real nap.
I have this halfway place, a rest stop on the way to sleep, where I can stay for hours.
I don’t even need to close my eyes. Just stay safe under the covers and breath.
I bite my lower lip. I watch myself in the mirror across the room.
Ugh.
My hair is completely hidden under the comforter. I look for the shapes in my face.
Could I put my face in a tree like a dryad from Greek Mythology?
Two muddy-circle eyes under eyebrows, piggy-nose nostrils, and a chewed-up horror of a mouth.
Definitely not a dryad face.
I can’t stop biting my lips.
It looks like my mouth belongs to someone else, someone I don’t even know..
Posted by cryingtemptress at 2:29 am | permalink | Add comment
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