posted on May 23, 2003 @ 1:03 am
my own heavy breathing
i don't know what came over me. i'm reading this book that's for adolescents/middle schoolers/high schoolers, flipped, and i guess it's pms or something but i just started crying and now i can't stop. i stopped twice for a few minutes, but it all comes rushing back. i really feel like vomitting, and my headache's getting worse. i'm supposed to go to my sister's field day tomorrow at 8:45 a.m. that's not far away.
i got my trent spiral and wrote a page in it, creepy stuff i don't feel comfortable putting in here because i'm a PLF and i'm just weird. oh my god i don't know what's wrong. i just spotted a box cutter on the desk. my sleeves are soaking wet, and my shoulders are getting that way while i type, just wiping my cheeks against them. i don't know why i do this. i haven't done it in so long. and no one's around. no one. there's no moo to stop me. there's no one to care. not in this place.
i drove near jonathan's house but a big truck blocked my view of it as i turned and i'm glad. i would have personally gone to the door and set it ablaze. i want to take him and derek and everyone in this goddamned place and beat them and make them bleed and hurt and let them know that's what they get for abandoning me!
oh a sob broke and i can taste vomit in the back of my mouth. i didn't take my medicine the past two days. stupid fucking pill. stupid fucking people�not the ones here�the ones everywhere who make me have to take them. none of you understand, none of you know. well, one of you, but the rest of you. you just don't know. you don't know what's inside of me. you can't see it pouring out of me right now because i block it all away and don't let anyone see it because i don't think they're worth it. or i trick myself into believing they're not worth it. you don't want to see it, so i don't show it to you. you don't think it's in there, so you can continue believing that. i'll keep being mean to everyone. i'll make it stop one day. it may not be tonight because i have to see field day and my best friend's show tomorrow, but one day i'll be gone and maybe you'll think, i wish i could've seen the real chelsea. the chelsea who cries in her friend's driveway late at night, and cries when she has to read about beautiful girls, and cries when she has to read about perfect girls, and cries when she has to hear about the boys who actually have the nerve to ask her out, and cries when she knows she'll never be beautiful or perfect or fawned over, and cries when she looks at her bloody washcloth, and cries when all she wants to do is anything but cry. that's what i'll keep telling myself, that everyone actually wants to see the real chelsea. because when she opens...:sigh: she never cries.
i have to get back to my book now. for some reason all this psycho bullshit helped. what i wrote in my trent spiral was much more beautiful. i am a writer, you know. that's part of the real chelsea i don't waste on puny hu-mans.
prev - next