Can't use Tumblr, so I'm using this

So, the situation's complicated. I'm not going to bother explain it, but I'm going to complain anyways.

I feel like he doesn't even like me. I saw the way he looked when Austin was so insensitively talking about taking Hannah to homecoming right in front him. He hasn't really talked to me at all since we both admitted it. I want to know why he pushed me to tell him if he didn't care. I want to talk to him about it, but I can't push him with this because he's damaged. I also don't want to be that girl who has the annoying "Where are we?" talks. I really like him, even if I'm not ready for anything either. I just want to feel like he actually does like me and not like he's not avoiding me. I don't want our friendship to get any less because of this. And I just don't know what to do about it...

IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Bahaha, thanks.

Ask me anything

Update

For any of you who care and are reading this (the imaginary readers in my head) I figured I'd give you an update on what's going on.

My mother knows I cut myself and doesn't really care. I try not to because I understand how much it upsets the people I care about most in my life. I've only done it once after that last post. And it didn't really help. It doesn't help anymore. I do it because I hope it will and it's just made me feel worse. It's more of a routine now. But, the opportunity is occurring less and less now so that makes it much easier. I'm just afraid for next time.

I'm not eating as much as I probably should be and I'm afraid that I'm possibly going to stop again. It wasn't a fun time trying to start eating regularly again and I don't want to go back to that.

Elliot and I have first period together. We talk and get along because we like the same things and such (well, duh, we were best friends). I still find it slightly awkward, but we both ignore the fact that we were ever more than people who talk a bit in school when they have nothing else to do at the end of class. Now that I think about it, that's really sad. And idt I'll ever be there for him. He comes to me, I'm going to slap him and tell him what he did to me and tell him he lost his chance. I know that it's harsh, but I can't stand it.

As soon as we got back from the Colorado trip, both my parents got good jobs here. Finally some stability. Yeah, things are still tight, but we finally have a bit of free money. We might be filling bankruptcy, but I don't think it's absolutely necessary, it's just because some company wouldn't take a payment plan and now they're suing us. Great.

There's so much more I wish I could tell you... It's just not something I can post on here... This is most of it... I think at least. Everything I'm willing to show to everyone. And it's a hell of a lot. So, I'll try and update if anything major happens. More for myself than for anybody else.

Tumblr

I know, I know, I'm breaking the rules of Tumblr. But, since I don't really use Tumblr and I'm all super lame and old-school with my Blogspot (so nobody looks for me) I guess it doesn't count. I posted a link to this on Tumblr, and so for those of you who bother to read that and aren't really lazy you might bother to read this. Please don't go flipping shit. Please don't go telling me how I don't know what I'm talking about and how I'm crying for attention. I'm not. I'm really not. That's why I never let anybody know about this. I wish I could tell the world about everything though. I feel like my life is finally together and I try to be so optimistic. I'll probably still post writing on Tumblr if I ever get around to typing it up. I'm just too lazy to type it up. And I'm so busy so stuff doesn't usually get put up on the internet. But, I'll just write. A lot. That's what I do. It's what I feel I'm best at. I'm not the best at anything (except maybe writing) and I feel like even if I am the best at writing nobody ever recognizes that. I'm not the writing kid. People say Tyler Salas is the writing kid cuz she talks about it a lot. Well, I can write too. So... yeah. Have fun with this. Comment if you like, just don't talk to me about it in person. What's on here stays on the internet. Discussion about this doesn't belong IRL. Unless you're a very special person. I only have 2 of those.

*....

I doubt you guys even bother to look at this anymore. I know it'll show up in Rett's thing. I wish it wouldn't, he's an ass hole.

I can't believe I just cut myself again... It's longer and deeper than ever before; it's not going to heal quickly... I thought about writing a poem, but that's lame. I write shitty poetry. I just write shitty stuff. I just do shitty work overall. That's why my grades are in the toilet. I'm not even trying that hard. I should be. I should be working on my homework now. I should be getting caught up. And yet here I am, writing this. And I can't even tell you why I'm upset, all I know is that I feel empty and alone. I wish I could be at the cast party, with people who at least pretend to like me. I seriously doubt anybody likes me a lot of the time. I mean there are people who like normal me, but everyone's going to get tired of dealing with depressed me. It's happened before and it'll happen again. No matter what they say, nobody can deal with it forever. They'll all leave eventually, and I'll be alone. I kind of want to throw up right now. I don't want to be bulimic too though... Cutter, depressed, self inflictive, suicidal, bruiser, stupid, bitch, selfish, annoying, loser, fail... I have enough labels without bulimic too. What makes this all the worse is that I could have stopped myself. I knew exactly what I was doing. I cleaned the damn blade before doing it. I even paused for a moment before doing it. I could have stopped then, the only damage being the first layer of skin being cut, but no. I had to do it. And this one will probably scar. They all scar, I just think this one might stay. It might not leave. It might give me a permanent reminder of what I am. A cutter. People avoid cutters, they try not to get involved with them. No boy wants to date a cutter, they don't want to be responsible for that. I can hear my mother's words in my head, "You're going to hell." And she only said that because I wasn't going to synagogue, what would she say if she knew I was a cutter? I can't ever tell her. And nobody wants a cutter as their psychologist. Why would anybody want a cutters help? I don't know why they even talk to us. Us. Now I'm part of a group. A group of exiles. Because nobody wants anything to do with cutters. Emo. That's what most people would call me if they knew. Emo. Because they don't know. Dayna would call me a poser; she'd say I was just doing it for attention. She'd say I wasn't a real cutter because I don't slit my wrists. Because it's not deep enough. She'd say I was a poser because I dress the way I do and cut myself. She'd use that to reinforce her idea that I'm a poser, the way I dress. I know that Dayna doesn't know anything. That she's a poser. I've always know that. But yet, she's a cutter too. We have something in common. She probably isn't anymore though. She's found someone to hold her and somebody to keep her safe. I don't have that...

Well, my parents are home. I have to go...

Soo... ya....

I was going to write an entry cuz I was upset, but like 1/4 of the way through, I decided that I didn't want to write anymore. So this is what you get instead, have fun =P

More Poems

You should know from Twitter that I wrote 2 poems last night. Remember that they're a bit exaggerated.

There's Something Wrong

When you sleep with your baby blanket and a teddy,

with the covers pulled over your head...

curled up in a tight ball...

and you're almost 15...

There's something wrong.

When you cry after making out with your boyfriend,

even though you liked it...

There's something wrong.

When you're jealous that your friend's seeing a therapist,

and you're not...

There's something wrong.

When you keep a sharp knife by your bed,

and you're ready to use it on yourself...

and re-open that familiar scar...

There's something wrong.

When you get in the shower and have to convince yourself to draw a breath of air,

instead of water...

There's something wrong.

When you pull yourself out of your pathetic excuse for sleep to write some stupid poem,

kind of like this one...

There's something wrong.

Fear of the Unknown

I'm afraid of the dark for a reason.

My life is the dark,

the terrifying darkness of the unknown.

All around me, people are too ignorant to see in broad daylight.

and they won't open their eyes and try

they just insist they're blind.

And there are people too stupid to search for what's coming next,

even though it's dancing right in front of them.

But me;

I have what I want,

I'm clutching it in my hand.

And I could see what was coming towards me.

Then someone plunged me into darkness.

Now I sense things that definitely weren't there before.

and they're closing in on me.

they're ready to snatch away what I have.

I can hear the future changing

but I cannot see the fight.

So,

I'm sitting here in the darkness

suffering from sensory overload.

trying to comprehend it all.

And Bloody Mary is closing in.