Monday, May 12, 2014

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
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whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?????
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Tuesday, April 29, 2014

"Hey Chris
You were our only friend.
I know this is belated:
We love you back."

I have no idea who we are anymore. You're a reality that only exists in my bedroom. I'm not crazy, but I might as well be.
I know it hurts to try. It hurts not to.
Guess I'm fucked either way.

Stay beautiful.
Stay miserable.
Stay celibate.
God loves you that way.

I can't ever find the words.
When I do, they're so terrible
I swallow them right back down
Where they churn in my stomach
And make me sicker.

Meanwhile your voice is disjointed static lost in some strange woman's murmurings on Sunday afternoons when my calender says Tuesday.

I don't mean to be this pathetic. It kind of just comes to me like air in my lungs. All I want is you, but you're not here and you never will be.
I can't be there because it almost killed me last time. I know it kills you too.
Wide empty spaces are all well and good until you need something to block the wind and guard against the chill.

You want a future. You want me. You want to do something you love for a living. You want kids.
Me too--but vastly more complicated.
Because with me it's always complicated.

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Friday, April 25, 2014

We both hate cold feet,
But I hate cold sheets more.
Why don't you add the numbers up,
Multiply it by the air lost to my lungs?
When I saw round "trip ticket"
Maybe I should have saw "merry go round."
How many miles are we up to now?
How many more until they give us
The free airforce pen
So I can sign off on a forever I can actually afford?

No. No. No... Fuck it. Fuck you and this fucking Long Distance Stockholm Syndrome you induce. I should have known. "Love transcends distance."
Yeah, but marriage doesn't. A future together doesn't.

Arranged marriage isn't looking so bad right about now.Marrying for love... What a ridiculous idea.

You say you're sorry.
I'm sorry I ever met you. I'm sorry I ever facebook chatted with you that night when everything was going to hell. I'm sorry I ever called you.
I should have told my mom everything and let her commit me. I should have just taken the hit.

I can't do this merry-go-round with you anymore. I can't listen and believe your empty promises anymore and I can't handle the stark, screaming truth. I never could--that's why I found you in the first place.

But I will.
Because I'm weak. And stubborn--stupidly, stupidly stubborn
And scared. ALWAYS SCARED.
Scared that you're wrong, scared that you're right, scared that I can't find anyone better because "closer" and "more accessible" does not translate into "better."
Scared, because I fucking love you, too.
Scared, because I know it means we probably won't talk anymore.
Scared, because it means you'll talk to somebody else.

This is hilarious. I don't even know if I like you anymore.
Why am I here? Why?
`````````````````````````````````````````````````

Sorry for the rant. I just came from a funeral and didn't feel like saying all the terrible things running through my head.
My best friends mom died last Thursday. :(
I love you
~Belinda
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Monday, April 14, 2014

   This is Gospel
For the Vagabonds
Ne'er do wells
And insufferable bastards...

I seem to be losing my ability to retain lyrics. Can only remember certain parts of songs now. Probably because I don't listen to as much as I used to.

I've really come to dislike the emo scene. I know that's ludicrous coming from me (see my last 3 posts) but it's one thing if you're actually sad and spilling your guts. It's another thing if you just put on this huge, heaving, sighing emo act to fit in or worse FUCKING BRAG ABOUT CUTTING AND SUICIDE NOTES. Depression is not a fashion statement. Being fucked up is nothing to be proud of--it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of either, but you shouldn't aspire to it.

I don't know. I used to love verbal caves--things that were dark and deep and cool like memes about cutting and teenage poetry and sensitive men in eye-liner, but now when I look at those same things on twitter or tumblr, I just get disgusted--not by the people who retweet or share them, but by the effect those memes have.

A lot of times I feel like instead of making us more aware of depression and those who suffer it, it jades us and makes us desensitized to it and them.
val is awesome!!!!

I'm not saying you shouldn't speak up if you're depressed, but I don't think twitter and facebook are appropriate ways to do it. It's a real shame there's no intimate community online like myotaku for the younger generation. I know for a fact you guys and this site saved my life probably more than I know.

ANYWAY. I'm growing older, but never growing up. Not because I don't want to--I just don't know how.
I'm broke and living with my parents and trying to get a job. Nothing's changed.
EXCEPT. I finally got my license. jfsdhfuishiusfbsjkfjk
Took my long enough. lol
Anyway.
I love you guys. If you want my number for texting purposes, say so in the comments. I'm message it to you.
~Belinda
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Tuesday, March 4, 2014

I am a jack o lantern the day after Halloween.
Sacrificed all my guts for a single spectacle. Will anyone read? Will anyone remember? Anyone at all?

I am screaming into a bottomless chasm, waiting forever for a response that will never come. I am a passenger with a cancelled ticket waiting at the gate of a condemned airport for a plane that crashed years ago. I am a dying women on the floor of the emergency room waiting for my insurance to go through. I...need a fucking drink.

If you're with me, than meet me at my house. We'll make our poison to dehydrate ourselves.
I love you all.
~Belinda
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Friday, February 7, 2014

Hatsu is a natsu name
I seem to be regressing back to 8th grade so I thought I'd come pour my heart out where I used to then.

"Comparing myself to everyone else around me." I need to get away. I am "just trippin'" as the song goes. Need to read that story, write my response. Be done.

But my brain is so dull and everything is so heavy. Maybe I just need a job. Not a vacation. My brain deteriorates over vacation. I overdo the rest and relaxation and cant think by the time I come back.

ya feel me, sistas? Brothas? Cousins? Fellow geniuses?

There just comes a time where you want to stay busy, but you're also sick to death of proving yourself.
ily
~Belinda
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Wednesday, January 8, 2014

I am a bout of twisting sickness chained to my bedroom. I ache to be above the velvety reach of Venus, inside the pretentious gray lectures of Athena, over the illogical screams and stabs of Mars. I want to be Iris.
With all that color there has to be answers somewhere. Right?
I can't remember whether ethos or pathos is the word I want. My memory sucks.

Read Wentzs book. It was depressing and deep and beautiful and possibly half ghost-written. Gave me a right charge.
All I can do is write, read, and feel. Don't know how ANYONE much less myself is supposed to market that but I guess I'll have to. Getting sick just thinking about it.
Ily
Belinda
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Monday, December 23, 2013

I took a dive of faith. Got a real diamond ring in the mail.

Is this panic normal? I know the proposition isnt. I don't want to marry anyone else. I don't think I ever will. He's my best friend. It's too late to leave.

Its also an excuse for socially sanctioned self destruction. Think Beautiful Monsters. Thank gun-to-the-head I'll break the curse before it breaks everything else. I'm a moth in a flame-i'll kill myself in one, dramatic leap into imolation rather than slowly suffocating on suburban childhood. I crave pain. Don't try to save me.
Ily
Belinda
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Saturday, December 21, 2013

I don't know what to do. Every time I help him with his dream, I trap him deeper and deeper and longer in Illinois. At this rate, we won't be getting married for five years. Unless, of course, I decide to give up my whole life and move to him, which I am NOT crazy about.

Don't get me wrong. I love him--his home state, however, is another thing... Honestly, it wouldn't be so bad if my parents weren't so clingy. Every time I tried to talk to my mom about moving there she bursts into tears and begs me not to go.

Meanwhile, every time I go to visit Chris, his mother tries to guilt-trip me into moving there. '-__-

Sigh

ily
~Belinda
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Thursday, November 21, 2013

I can be honest again here. I don't even have to be cryptic.
Which is incredibly convenient because this is about the time I need to start lying everywhere else.

Why the hell did he have to tell her I didn't even apply? Why did she even ask?

I don't know if I'm broken. Maybe I work perfectly fine by standing in my own way--maybe that's my life's purpose.
I'm full of shit. I know. If I could try, I would have an excuse, but I don't. I'm scared of making a fool of myself. I'm scared of failure--so naturally I'm scared of trying.
Help.
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