uhh whoa, lj has changed a lot since my last update a few weeks ago

~

Mood: around 

theres this little picture thing above where i am typing. haha it even tells you now to enter a subject and your userpics are like at the top. weird. anyways i updated because i got bored and checked in on this journal and saw so i wanted to thank whoever bought me it. you guys dont have to waste your money on me. but um speaking of you guys wasting your money on me check out www.clandestineindustries.com haha. uh but for real its nice to be thought of so thank you.

so how was your christmas? tell me all about it. i hope it was good. personally i had what i lovingly refer to as pretty much an amish christmas- i was kept away from my sidekick and all technology for a few hours by my mom haha. it was awful i think i twitched a few times, withdrawls and all. i guess i needed to be tho, seeing as it was christmas day and i had updated the fobr site, my blogspot, and i was starting to answer some of the q and a and my mom was like okay pete (she doesnt call me peter that much cause that is my dads name) and dragged me by my ear away from my computer.

wrote this a few days ago i figure ill post it here incase anyone else felt this alone this holiday-

snowflakes that land on the same nose. the same fingertip. the same airwave. whats the last thing you wanna hear before you land? think of humans like snowflakes and how many disappear unacknowledged, unnoticed. how annoying they both can be in big groups. sure, theres ways to end it like shovels and snowplows. earplugs and pharmacies. i prefer thinking of it as you are born with love and die with hate. even the snowflakes on your flesh melt. they cant be saved. its suicide if you didnt know anybetter. im not too old to know better if i still dont know anything. id say ive had every drop of care and love im capable sucked dry from me but if that was true id have a tag around my toe. what keeps me going isnt the mirror i cant look in. it isnt the clothing i can wear (or take off as seen in those infamous pictures). its about hope and hanging on. that someone out there will understand me. deep down i think i understand myself- i cant be understood. its about accepting myself. im not normal. how can i love myself if i cant even stand me. i dont like being jealous and insecure. i dont like questioning what shes doing when my back is turned. im not normal at all. i dont need an mri result to tell me that. i dont need a doctors mumbled, hushed words to his associate without looking up from their clipboards. i dont need fresh ink on an unending list of problems. i dont need capital letters on a pill bottle. i dont need to hear how theres no space left in the cupboard because pill bottles line the shelves. i dont need a pharmacist that knows me by name. i dont need fucking labcoats and therapists that could live off my money alone deep down knowing i cant be helped. no prescription in the world is going to help. im fucked. and everyone wants someone they can save and when they get the chance the only thing they save is the reciept. back on the market with signs of wear and tear. worn down. press my hand to my forehead like itll help these thoughts stop running on end and actually end. if you ever doubt i'm alone count the rings under my eyes. slept til 6 because im not alone when my eyes are closed. time is just when the sun is up or down. time is running out. every day im closer to hugging dirt. every day is another day i should have been with her. every day is another day i should have known her. 6 and 3 and 12 are the same thing when you wake up alone with your back to where she should be. what does it matter? asleep you dont have to think about how youd do anything to have the weight on the bed her body used to give. the glass isnt half full or half empty its broken. and its just one glass so its alone.

before you click "reply" it isnt a vip invitation to a pity party- i promise- im a little better since that tho. ill do my best to keep the updates coming, as long as you keep coming back for them.

xo