Let me be free
Tuesday, December 7, 2004
im leaving the community.
sorry but theres just no action here.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
.. I got high again even though I said I wasn't going to since the last time last year. I feel... I don't know what I feel.
.. I stated in my lj (non community, that is) that Carlos died. He fucking died and I didn't get to spit in his face or some other shit like that. There's so much rage, frustration...strangely enough, regret. I mean, if I had been able to open my mouth sooner I would've been able to stop the abuse.
.. I finally logged on to the email which all my replies go to. I remember posting a little bit as a response to the girl that said she just realized she'd been raped. She said she thought I had been raped myself from what I remembered....I kinda agree.
.. I don't want to go right out and say it. In a way, I believe it'd be another battle won on his part. If I'd been strong enough to say something.. DO something, I wouldn't be in the situation I am in today.
.. Was I raped? Prolly-- most likely. Do I want to remember? Fuck no. Do I want to admit it? I rather die first.
.. He's dead.. lying in a coffin, six feet underground somewhere. I wish I knew what went on through his fucking head during those last moments of his life-- did he remember me? Did he have regrets, or was I just another fucking conquest in his life? God, I'd hate to know if he still remembered what he did and spanked it to the memories. How I wish I'd been there, to chop his penis off with a rusty butcher knife.
.. He's gone, just like that. I believe I heard mom saying something about a heartattack-- or he possibly passed on in his sleep. I hope he suffered. I'd hate Death herself if she'd given that asshole the benefit to sleep it through. If it had been up to me, Carlos' death would have been long and agonizing...a billion times worse than what the Chinse Water Torture could ever do.
.. It felt weird, to hear my mother speak of his name in refrence to him (I have a brother that passed at four hours of birth with the same name). Even weirder still to be so casual about it..while in my presence.. and just state "his funeral was last sunday."
.. She'd never told anyone of what he'd done until the day my Eldest Sister had called to tell her. When she found out, she called my Aunt, who was to hold his vigil in her home. My aunt cancelled the service and neither went to the funeral.
.. I wish I had been there. I wish I had seen his life slip through his body. I wish I had attended the funeral just so I could spit on his grave (as well as dance a jig).
.. But nobody told me.. 'till a week later.
.. As it is my custom, I bottled it all up. I felt myself filling with the need to cry so I excused myself, crossed the hall and into the guest bedroom then just crumpled under it all.
.. I feel guilty that I can find so much pleasure out of his death. I was overwhelmed with such a feeling of relief I just cried....and cried.. and cried...but I felt disgusted, that I could feel so good. It was a form of euphoria that took over me. I started laughing. Scared, I called a friend and it wasn't long before I forgot about it.
.. But he's been there, in the back of my mind like always. And it seems that now in death he can haunt me more effectively. I push him back.. desperate to kill him again..again..and again.. but I can't.
.. And then this Thursday will be Gammy's one year...My Gammy...my best friend, my confidant, my guiding light... she'll be gone for a year now.
.. I still haven't mourned her effectively.
.. I succumbed into temptation last Thursday. I was feeling miserable and he happened to have a baggie. I have no pipe so we ordered pizza and sprinkled the intoxicating oregano-like substance as a second topping and consumed it.
.. I hated the feeling of paranoia, the inability to be consice. But as we walked up to the park, I cried...and I told him that I feel confused and miserable.
.. And he let me cry, on his shoulder, but that wasn't enough.
.. I couldn't do it.
.. I simply swallowed it back down, laid on the grass and slept for three hours.
.. I wanted to die. I still do. Its not like me to be so..
.. alright, I'm morose. I get a kick out of the sick but never someone's death. I feel like a monster but at the same time I don't.
.. Hey, at least I haven't touched myself with anything sharp again.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
i feel so apathedic, so numb....i guess ive forgotten how to feel.
how do i get it back?
Sunday, August 22, 2004
i'm quitting my journal.1 deaths
11:42AM - you know? i give good advice.
the3rddevilangel : the first day if school is tomorrow...im afraid im gonna cry when i see her
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : hmm,
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : keep your head up and your shoulders back, and when you feel the tears come, dont let them, tell yourself you're stronger
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : you're better than to let HER get the best of you
the3rddevilangel : its gonna be hard
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : its always hard
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : it wasnt meant to be easy
the3rddevilangel : this is the only breakup that hurt this much
the3rddevilangel : none of the others mattered that much. maybe i cried for like an hour or two....for them...
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : ...
the3rddevilangel : but i havent stopped crying since yesterday
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : ... i see
the3rddevilangel : she meant so much to me.
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : because you connected in pain?
the3rddevilangel : she was the first girl i kissed. im never gonna be able to forget that
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : the first is always the hardest to lose
the3rddevilangel : she wasnt the first girl i went out with. but it hurts so much
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : ...
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : i dont know what to say..
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : i know it hurts
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : but it heals eventually
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : you should get it out of you, talk about it, scream rant, talk, paint, draw, write music, whatever.
the3rddevilangel : i dont feel like doing much of anything
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : thats exactly it
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : when we dont feel like doing anything, we have to do something, because then we make something, we could die tommorow, or the next day, and not have done what we wanted to do.
the3rddevilangel : the only thing i feel like doing is cutting and crying
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : but if you do any of those things i just listed above, it feels better than cutting and you can cry while you're doing them because crying isnt bad
crying is actually good.
the3rddevilangel : its hard though cuz i cant let my family see my cry.
the3rddevilangel : they had no idea i was with anyone
the3rddevilangel : they dont know im bi
ESPANIAGYPSY1888 : so fuck them, tell them you;re just having a bad day and let that be that
i dont want my friends, nor anyone really, to cut, especially for stupid reasons.
so i try to give them advice.
why shut me down
when you know i'm right?
Saturday, August 21, 2004
ok, girls, and oyes. i needs me some kind of theme for the next batch of murals i'm doing.
i have arylic house paints, alot of different kinds of whites, a big bloody red, some hot pink and some blues. and no, i prefer not to go patriotic. i have a few other colors in the spray paint department, but that meants taking EVERYTHING outside, and i am not willing to do that so early in the experiments.
the colors are beige, black, silver(very little), and white. i think i might even have some blue too. oh and somne grey.
i'm painting on a 4'x 5' peice of dry wall that i found at a construction site and actually carried home. (being friends with construction workers gets you good stuff. they were like "you want some help?" and i was all putting it on my head and holding it up easy, and laughing cause i looked goofy, "nope, i'm fine".) anyway,
i just need some themes, and i will be off on my paintings.
they scream at me.
voices telling me to paint and to work and to take this picture, but i have no film, or brush.
why do they keep screaming?
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
drugs and how they fuck you up.
i've done every drug under the sun, from the ages 6, to 12. i quit because i watched my girlfriend overdose on heroin.
when i was 15, i met Silly, and we broke up a few times. but the last time we got together, she came to my door and begged me to come back. i told her to fuck off, and that i didnt want to deal with her drug use. she said she'd quit for me. cold turkey if i wanted. i knew it was a lie, but i fell in anyway.
immediately, she kept doing coke and speed. those were her favorite. and tweek.
and then one day, a few months after my sweet sixteen, i couldnt take it. no more. that was it. bye bye.
she and i argued for three hours up in eachothers' faces. "I HATE YOU AND YOUR FUCKING MORALS, WHY CANT YOU JUST BE FREE AND TRY ALITTLE?!" "BECAUSE ITS NOT FREEDOM, DAMNIT, ITS BEING TRAPPED IN YOUR OWN ADDICTION!!! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR HEAD!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE IN YOU'RE OWN PRISON!! MADE. BY. YOU!"
it went on for three hours. until she punched me. she realized what she did, and i licked my lip, and said, "if you dont get out right now, i'll call the cops," in the scariest voice i have: my calm one. (note: if i ever speak to you in my calm voice, know i. mean. business.) she hit me again, and i punched her in the face once. it threw her. (so i punch hard, she was not the most balanced then). and then i grabbed her by the back of her neck and grabbed one of her arms, and pushed her up against a wall. "ADRIAN!!!" i called my best guy friend from the other room.
he helped me to kick her out and call the cops. they were here after she left. we filed a report, and i told them what happened.
the next day...
i got a call from Silly's mom. "Vanessa. the. door. is. nailed. shut. SHEWONTOPENTHEDOORANDSHESSCREAMING"
"woa, slow down, whats going on?"
"Prescilla locked herself in her room but that wasnt enough, she nailed the door shut, and shes screaming things. i know you filed a restraining order, but i cant call the police, theres too many drugs around here, please help me?!!!!"
"you clean up and get rid of any and all the drugs, you understand me?! NOW! prescilla is 18 and she can take responsibility, you cant, ill be over soon!"
and i took my moms car, even though i didnt have a permit, and i ran inside and slammed into the door, but it really was nailled shut, so i kicked it five times, and finally it came open. she was still alive, but she was passed out. the cuts in her wrists were so deep they hit the bone, i could see, she used an electric carver for turkeys. which is in escence, a saw. i wrapped the wrists up and tried to stop the blood flow, but too much was gone allready, i couldnt have saved her.
you'd think her mother would have the paramedics on the line, but no, she was sitting there, staring, not even crying, just screaming.
i screamed for her to call them, but she just stodd there screaming. some neighbor came in and saw what happened and called them, finally, but it was too late, and i held her in my arms, and she died.
if you think you're badass because you're doing drugs, you're sooooo wrong. if you think they take away your problems, they just make it worse. and selling them? thats worse than doing them. you get in worse shit. you're ruining other people's lives.
its wrong, and i'm against it, but i still support helping anyone through withdrawal. hell, i went through it, and i was willing to help silly through it.
if only.... she'd let me.
please let me help.
5:47PM - a little pick me up.
this is a nice place to cheer you up.
hey guys, i just joined your community
i hope i can contribute and help you guys out :)
I just want to tell someone this...so here goes.
My best friend raped me...or whatever it's called when its two girls. She did it all through 3rd and 4th grade. And she hit me. The weirdest thing is, she was smaller and younger than me. But I didn't stop her. And I never told anyone until last year. My parents still don't know. And I can't get over it. Why? What the hell is the matter with me??
Monday, August 16, 2004
I can feel you beneath my skin
eating away my sins
Im tired of following your rules...
i wish there was another way....
another way to be myself....
another way to be you....
i wish there was a way to kill myself with out killing you....
a way to kill my soul with out killing your heart....
YOUR LOVE IS KILLING ME......
8:11PM - intro
this is a community for people who have emotional and physical probles with depression. Do you cut off all your hair? do you cut? do you throw up? or do you seclude yourself and write poetry and not talk to people for weeks on end? then please tell me about it, and i'll try to be of some help.
let me tell you what happened to me around three weeks ago.
"silly was my girlfriend, she killed herself and inturn killed me. my heart anyway.
i hate her for it. but i cant forget that i love her too. i just... these last two days have been the first in two weeks that i came out of my room from painting. the fumes in my room are super heavy.
i miss her, yes, but then i dont.
i dont miss not being loved. and being ignored for drugs, and being reminded that i have german blood in me and how dare my anscestors have killed hers. and the phone calls never returned and dates forgotten, and the pills and smokes and syringes.
i dont miss any of these.
i miss silly.
i miss you baby...
i dont miss your calls in the middle of the night asking for a ride. and the fights we'd get in over you stealing my moms smokes or the money missing from my wallet or the peer pressure or the way you wouldnt stop when i said to.
...i miss you." --my personal journal.
"i was holding her and the cut wouldnt stop and the puke came up in my throat but i just swallowed it back down i wanted to scream so bad but nothing would work, she was
dead. i'm not writing this to fuck with peoples minds, or get some angsty story out, i'm writing this because i need some sort of support and theres no way i'll ever get it from my mother or father. i hurt. my friends are all uncaring motherfuckers, and i just smoked about twenty cigarettes. i feel terrible. i wont ever touch my friends nose candy, because i quit everything but tobacco years ago, still, this pain, from watching my girlfriend, die in MY arms...
i want to puke.
i'm sick of these cuts on my hands and fingers. i want to fall asleep and drown in my own vomit. it would be better than waking up and feeling her looking at me through her pictures. i remember she'd kiss, and my mom would tell me that she was so proud i was lesbian, because she never could be. never again
I WANT TO PUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ITS NOT FAIR!!!!!!!!!!"-- a post a made in Bleed_me_dry
as you can see, i've been through alot.
i'm not a bullshitter. i'm here for you.
so if you want... spill. write. rant. whatever. just be free.
its what you're here for.