Anchor, come and drag me down, before I take the dive...

NOT MY WEEK; JUST MY THOUGHTS.



Four Pm;
Done nothing all day, as always.
Took me a while to realize I don't do anything...
All weekend, every weekend.

It's kinda sad to notice that you're a fourteen year old recluse,
or even just somewhat of one.

From the mistakes I made in less than a year,
I put my trust in under 15 people, all of which dropped me like gone off milk.
Hate to namedrop, but I do miss Sabrina most.
Jesus, to them I must sound like a stalker,
It just felt like Sabrina was the only person who truly understood me,
She was the person that could, if anything, save me from myself.
Fiona, she was there for the laughs and the good times, for last Summer,
and the remainder of the year, until she found people who better suited.

I'm going to sound incredibly cynical for this blog post,
or maybe just this section of it...

Trust nobody. Love nobody. Hate nobody.

In all fairness, that's not my only opinion on those three topics.
I guess you could call me philosophical.
In the sense that... oh I don't know, so never mind.

But I also think that we should live.
Just keep the past in the past, and embrace everything...
As I've said before.
It's not nice to be hated, or just deeply disliked,
or even to be just found insanely, incredibly annoying.

I remember last Summer, I spent almost every day with Fiona,
She was my best friend, my bosom buddy, the private joke list could go on for pages.
One day, we went shopping.
We were sitting in Starbucks, drinking coffee (as you do in coffee shops);
And then I pose the question...
Would you miss me if I died?
And she replies...
Of course I would!
Even back then, when I wasn't quite so moany, I was thinking of suicide.
But last night, when I was failing to sleep, staring at the ceiling, I began to wonder if she would answer that same question the way she answered it last time. Of course she wouldn't.
Comes to show how things change;
Especially within the teenage cliques of the present.
Monotonously bitchy.
Predictable in the sense that you know that life will screw you.

My parents are worried for me. Not just physically, like being sick and stuff.
But mentally.
They don't think it's right that I'm so darkly humourous, always the cynic.
Never the whimsical.
And they find it odd that I never go outside.
I don't really want to.
Indoors, on my laptop, blogging, writing poetry, updating my social networking accounts, I can't get hurt.
Outside, in the wide, cruel, frost-bitten world, I WILL get hurt.
It's society nowadays; You're either beautiful and talented and nice. Or beautiful, talented and cold-hearted. Or you're not as gorgeous but more powerful so you knock others down to make yourself feel better. Or you're me... (roflmao).
Believe it or not,
Everybody's insecure.
Everybody despises more than one thing about themselves even if they don't show it.
It's the circle of life, in a twisted little way.
The big dogs are confident, spectacular, but inclusively self conscious, they often have more faults in themselves than people can see. Then it lessens as you go down the social staircase.
But all in all, the big dogs aren't supposed to be self-conscious... at least in the eyes of the small dogs.

Slightly off topic, but a song title by I Set My Friends On Fire states that:
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beerholder.

Just a comic note on top of all my random, unintelligible whining.
I like that song.
It's clever.

I've ran out of things to say. Writer's block. Or Blogger's block. Or just literately constipated.

Word To Your Mother... Lucy....


Sidenotes... or end notes...

1. I've started wanting myself dead for my personal amusement, not for others safety.
2. Go watch Yes Man, that opened my eyes to a lot of things.
3. Smile at everyone who walks past today, even if they're your mortal enemy.
4. :] .... spread the rawrs.