You asked me if i was breathing.
"No", I said, but you didn't care.
Looking at you feels like an anecdote for life; the one thing I absolutely need, but with a twist thats unpleasant and would leave anyone begging for an alternate option.
You asked again.
"No".
My lungs don't work and tiny spears pierce my chest, lungs, legs, everything.
You said that she was the first person you ever took on a date. I wonder to myself if those 3 years were a waste. Those times we sat over a meal. Those times I complained that you never took me anywhere. It all makes sense to me.
I know I dont want you and I never have, I just wanted someone.
I know I'll never meet that person I think of. The one that cares for me beyond all else. Its the only thing that keeps me alive at the moment, this thought of the person that will save me. They're a blur of dark features and a strong build. I picture them looking at me and know that it will never happen.
I wonder if a soul can be so completely, utterly alone.

Untitled.

Its nights like this that I know Im never going to get to sleep.
My heart is throbbing and my lungs are burning. There is a pain in my stomach that makes me want to buckle to my knees.
Sometimes I wonder if you can die from a broken heart, or does it keep beating until it starts pumping dust and I am grey?

The List.

Tonight I'm going to write a list of all my problems. I will then write what I percieve to be the remedy for my problems, and work out how to fix them. The list will be a little too raw and 'bare-all' for the intenet. Also, I think I'll get more enjoyment in hiding it under my bed and crossing out my worries, so I will write on my lists progress regularly.

2000-and-something

It's 2:38 pm on the 31st of December, 2009. My nostaligic complex has begun to set in and it's making me uncomfortable. I'm squirming in my seat as I write this. The clouds are moving too fast and the shapes they're making remind me of the past year. A puff of substance and then the year was gone. For some reason I always get like this at the end of the year. Ever since I was 10 I have had the insatiable urge to write down my memories from the past year and what I'd like to improve on. 9 years later and I'm thinking of giving up this tradition as it's done me no good to dwell on the past, but my head thinks otherwise so I'll write down some goals for next year. I guess if I'm going to start anywhere it would be to suck it up and forget about it/improve it if it can be improved. This goes for all things: life, health, relationships with others, health being my main priority. I'd like to stop socially smoking and drink less alcohol. Financially, next year I'd like to improve on the amount of money I saved this year and save an additional $8,000 to go towards my travels at the end of my degree/start of my new life. Next year I'd like to take more film photos, or at least have hard copies of my photos. Being able to hold a memory in my hand is far more soothing and refreshing than flicking through pixels on a website. Sophie suggested I write more, which I'd like to do. Perhaps more short stories, though, and less diary like brain explosions. I'd like to learn more about my degree and get more involved, instead of nagging about the keen beans that always seem to know everything. This year I will be a keen bean. I want to learn more about the world, see more of the world and be more involved with gaining knowledge, especially when it can help my career as a teacher. Finally, I'd like to surround myself with my friends and family. The ones that truly mean something, that aren't just there to go out and party with, but the ones that give me reason to trust them. Next year I'd like to take control of all the small things that bug me and turn them into something positive. Stop letting myself get angry for the acts of others. Think positive. Think positive. Think positive.

.

Ugh. My heart is such an idiot.

The Dear Diaries: Part Two

Dear Various customers,
Hello, how are you? Thats good. Listen, I'd just like to clarify something for you: I'm not french. Nor am I Greek, Turkish or Italian. Why you are so interested in my heritage is unkown to me but the constant questioning and assessing is starting to get quite old. Oh and just because I work in an Italian restaurant does not mean that I know how to reply back to you in Italian you old, rich creeps.
So lets get a bit of clarification happening here. My biological Grandfather on my fathers side is Czechoslavakian and my Grandmother on my mothers side is Polish. The rest of me is allllll convict. Awesome, I'm glad we have this sorted.
Signed,
Fake Frenchie

Unconsciously Conscious: Part Two

Sometimes I want to drink coffee with two sugars all day until I become sedated just waiting waiting waiting for my metal heart to explode but some people say that I don't have a heart anyway and sometimes I believe them because I'm so cold and I'm so bitter and I don't let anyone in and I just want to lay down somewhere quiet and wonder why I'm like this and why I'm so scared of people and why I wait and wait for something that I'm not sure is coming and just listen to music and pretend that it can transform me into something that I'm not and sometimes I want to yell at people and tell them to leave me alone and to stop pressuring me because truth is you have all crumbled me down into a million pieces and locked each part of me in your secret wardrobe and swallowed the key and now I'm reduced to nothing and sometimes I wait for someone to come and put me back together but I know you aren't coming because you don't care anymore and you say we are too different but the truth is that I don't really know who I am anymore because I've dropped pieces of my personality in lakes and rivers and they've washed away and sometimes I can't even take photographs because I'm scared of documenting dark times like this because I don't want people to ever feel the way I do because it's torture and sometimes I want to run so fast that my lungs burn and catch fire and sometimes I want to sit under water and see if I can convince myself to start breathing and sometimes I wonder if I'm even real or is this just a big game to see how long I last and when I drink wine I lay on the ground and convince myself that I can stop my heart from beating and sometimes I think that if I shut my eyes for long enough I'll disappear.