Why does it have to be this way? BE THIS WAY??

i hate this drug.

i love this feeling.

i hate that you don’t want to be around me.

i love that i can rely on this false feeling, when you deny me of a real feeling.

i hate that i’d rather hide alone in my room, than be out among the living.

i love that i can take a hit instead of drinking nasty coffee or energy drinks to wake up in the morning.

i hate that i’ve lied to my mom over and over…

i love realizing the truth inside me with the different levels of this drug.

i hate that can’t just quit….i hate that (N) is too blind to see that he’s enabling me to keep fading out…i hate that i chose drugs over (D)…I hate that (B) and i just waste our happiness and time away by drawing and doing nothing every night. i hate that i can’t talk to my mom on a daily basis…i hate thinking that she hates me…i hate thinking that she’s never been proud of me ever in my life…i hate that my older brother and I have no relationship whatsoever…we’re not even friends. I hate feeling dead inside…just waiting for something to save me…i hate being alone at night, i start emotionally thinking of (D) and will text him telling him i’m sorry over and over and that i miss him and love him and need him…and he responds with “i love you and miss you too, but i can’t be with you until you quit for good.” i hate that my ex from 8 years ago, interrupted my life because he was unhappy and wanted me back. i was fine without him…now everything is fucked  up. i hate that he married someone he didn’t even love…i hate that he wants to be with me and talks about it but won’t prove it to me. i hate that he keeps doing stupid shit and won’t grow the fuck up. i hate that i have to tell him what he’s doing is stupid, like he has no common sense. i’m not a babysitter…just grow the fuck up. i hate this spot. i hate this drug. i hate myself…

i wish i could just disappear…to a warm place…and just spend my days with my toes in the sand, talking to birds in the sky…and watching Timmy chase butterflies in the sunflower field…why can’t everything be wonderful again?


Case of the Sundays

I hate Sundays. They make me over think my life, my struggles, and what I need to work on. I always set goals to fix this or stop that…its usually a depressing day filled with hate against myself and just breaking down. I always just end up crying.

I pick apart my body, limb by limb…breakdown at the sight of my sunken cheek bones, feel my brittle bones ache…sometimes ill just get lost in my own reflection…looking at  the girl on the otherside who isn’t recognizable, I stare blankly in my own eyes as if they were frozen open. I think about how lost I am in this world…how I miss my mom deeply & long for her loving hugs to comfort my cries…I miss her more than I miss myself…my dad is just in denial…but I still love him so much.


My mom and I at Chuckie cheese for my 24th bday.


My mom and I in 2007, at Dogstock.


My mom when she was in college.


My dad and I, I was his date to the high school prom last night, since he is a class sponsor.


Above pic…my parents before they divorced.

who exactly are you fighting for?

So my ex Drew texted me last night and he’s just rude…I know I need to quit, but you being an asshole isn’t going to make me quit any faster…it’s going to make me want to avoid you…forever. And he goes on about well look at how I feel “I’m frustrated because the girl I love is side-lining me to smoke fucking meth…” Look jerk, you broke up with me…and then you want to hang out, have sex, have me stay the night…you want someone there to hold your hand…but you don’t want to be together…you don’t want me…you want a body there. You say i’m sick, yet you still want to have sex…with my frail body…that just disgusts me…you just want to get it on…you don’t care if I hurt. But he says that he’s fighting for me…not with me, but his negativity says otherwise. I told him, you can either be nice or be gone. I’m not standing for it anymore. I’m getting to the point where smoking is fucking boring. I sit in my room, listen to music, don’t get anything done, and my tolerance level is so high…so ya know what…i’m getting there…i can feel it. But being fucking rude isn’t going to speed things up. So either you can deal with my process or you can deal with me out of your life…for good. I never once made you feel like shit when we were dating before and you had your pill problem…oh wait…it was heroin wasn’t it…and you just never told me until 2 years later when we weren’t dating. you thought i was going to leave you, I should have left you when I stepped into your room that first day to see cigarette butts everywhere and trash and it smelled and it was cold…i should have put 2 + 2 together…you slept all the time, never wanted to do anything, and your body hurt all the time…oh and you had bottles and bottles of pills in the rafters…I was very patient with you. Never threatened to leave you b/c of your problem. I went against my family and loved you for you…so don’t you dare sit there and be a hypocrite. 

how the hell did we get here? not even a month ago, I was in love with you and you told me you loved me…now you treat me like a piece of gum on your shoe…thanks.