Things Are Happening/Things Are Not Good

Things aren't quite going my way.
I'm kind of having a hard time.
You should help me fix things.
Want to know how?
Click that donate button up there.
Also, I have some news -
"You Only Tell Me I'm Beautiful When I'm Naked"
Will be available for download on Monday.
That's a whole week earlier than I had promised.
See how nice I am?
Oh, and this is an excerpt:

You should be excited about this.
And you should totally donate some pennies.

Rambling Thoughts

You know what really sucks? Being told that you are a dirty whore. That you deserve everything that is happening to you. When you are eight years old. Being subject to the whims of someone else. Doing as you are told in the hopes that bad things won't happen. They still happen. They don't stop. Having to keep secrets that almost kill you. That's what sucks. Becoming bitter, and poisonous and hateful. That sucks. Not being able to make it stop. That sucks. Being scared to sleep, and scared to wake up. Wishing that you were dead every single day. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Memories. They all suck. Being scared to tell because no one will believe you. That sucks. Having these memories taking over your entire life. Having his lessons stuck in your head. Not caring about yourself. Not caring about anything but getting rid of the pain. That sucks. Not knowing how to say how you're feeling out loud. Not knowing how to put all of that hurt, hatred, misery, disgust, self loathing in to words. Having to carry it around on your back like some sort of back pack filled with the heaviest boulders you could find. That sucks. Being so scared of hurting other people in case they do worse to you. Being scared full stop. All of it sucks. Trying to grasp that one straw of hope that keeps slipping away. That feeling of failure every time you slip back into the hole. That sucks. Being a failure because you can't climb out of that hole again. No matter how hard you try. Being scared. Always scared. Wanting to cry for no reason. Taking pills that aren't making a difference. Waking up and not knowing where you are. Not caring where you are. Wishing that you were dead. Wishing that you were someone else. Wishing that it would just stop. The voices. That one face that haunts you every second of every day. That bastard still walking free. Not knowing what to do. Not caring. Losing the fight with the voices in your head. Realising that because of that bastard you may have to spend the rest of your life in therapy. Taking pills. Wondering if you'll ever be sane again. Hallucinations. They suck. Hearing his words echoed over and over again. Hearing yourself say his words over and over again. Believing you are useless. Believing you are a failure. That sucks. Not knowing how to be normal. What the fuck is normal? Disappointing everyone. Leaving behind the ones you love because there is no other way. Not seeing your family for years. Having people think the worst of you. Caring what they think. Forcing yourself to forget they exist because it hurts too much. The lies. The lies that you tell yourself. The lies that you tell every one else. Pretending to be okay because you don't know how else to cope. Having to relive every fucking detail every night in your dreams. That sucks. Having to talk about it. Having to tell people how it makes you feel. Wanting to scream. Wanting to cry. Wanting to break something. Anything. Yourself. Bleeding in secret because it's the only thing that distracts you from the torture you put yourself through. The torture you learned from him. Wishing that you could just forget. Putting shit in your system trying to do just that. Blocking it out. Alcohol. Drugs. Wanting to die. Wishing it had never happened. Playing a constant game of what if. Wondering what he's doing right now. Wondering why he chose you. Wondering what you did that was so wrong. Losing faith. Being punished for something that wasn't your fault. Having to talk about how you're feeling. Having to relive all of it. Explaining. Wondering why anyone would care about a dirty, useless piece of shit. Remembering. Wanting to forget. Not knowing how to explain. Not knowing how to fix it. Trying to fix everything because you can't fix your own life. Trying to make everyone else happy because that's the only way to stop bad things happening. Learning the wrong things. Not knowing any more. Wanting to give up. Trying to fight. Fighting. With yourself. With memories. Failing. Falling. Getting back up again. Fighting some more. Wanting to give up. Wondering if anyone would notice if you just gave up. Worrying about someone else so you don't have to worry about the things in your head. Wishing it would stop. Listening to the doubtful voices in your head telling you you're useless. Believing them. Failing. Fighting. Over and over again. Will anyone notice if you're not okay? Pretend you're okay so no one guesses what's really going on. Being numb so you don't have to feel the pain. Being heartless so you don't hurt. Wishing the pain would stop. Wishing. Always wishing. Trying to change things. Being dragged backwards by your own doubts. Trying to win. Losing. Failing. Falling. Not making sense. Getting mixed up. Being scared. Nightmares that don't stop. Staying up all night so you don't have to dream. Becoming the monster that you were always scared of. Hurting yourself. Hurting everyone. Living a life so full of pain you forget what it feels like to be at peace. Turmoil. Shadows jumping out at you. Wondering why the pills don't work. Wishing you didn't have to take them. Blocking out the pain with more pills. Not caring what happens to you any more. Getting into stupid situations. Hurting yourself on purpose because you deserve anything better. Wishing it would stop. Learning what life is supposed to be like. Feeling like you don't deserve that. Because he told you so. Personality disorder. Because he fucked you up. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Because he mentally and physically raped you. Medication. Because he twisted you into something no one recognises any more. Trying to figure out who you're supposed to be. Trying to find a way to recognise the right from the wrong. Trying to be someone else. Failing. Believing all the things he has ever said to you. Echoing it. Feeling it. Wishing that you knew how to fix this mess that you've become. Feeling like you're making progress and then fucking up again. Seeing your family after years apart and drowning in more memories. More nightmares. Wishing you could just give up. Trying to fight. Failing. Always failing. Feeling better. Feeling worse. Not finding a balance. Going from one to another like a yo-yo. Wishing you could just stop somewhere in the middle. Feel normal. Wondering why you can't settle. Wondering why you can't just be. Hoping that you;ll wake up tomorrow and feel happy again. Feeling bad when you don't. Feeling worse because you don't know why you feel like this. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing how to cope. Trying to be okay. Not being okay. Trying not to be miserable. Trying not to upset others. Wishing you could just be numb again. Wishing you didn't feel so bad. Being sorry. Apologising. Always apologising. Wondering when you'll learn that not everything you do is wrong. Not everything is your fault. It never has been your fault. Wondering what you can do to fix it. Not knowing the answers. Not wanting to burden any one else with your worries. Worrying that you're worrying everyone else. Trying to be okay so no one worries. Feeling like shit because your thoughts and words and feelings upset someone else. Wishing that you would stop being so damn sensitive. Wondering how you turned into this. Wondering why you're not stronger. Wondering why you can't seem to get it right. Always wondering. Always trying. Always wanting to give up. Always failing. Hoping that one day it will get better. Hoping that you'll be able to keep fighting. All of that really sucks.

Lingering Memories

Bebo. That’s how we met. God, remember Bebo? Have to admit, I kind of miss it.

We chatted on there, and you convinced me to enter a modelling competition. I was naíve enough to think that I would be any good. Who was I kidding? I was short, curvy and had bad skin. But you thought I would have no problem winning.

I called you ‘Sushi’. I still don’t know if you liked it or not. I love sushi.

You invited me out to things - drinks, balls, dancing. You made me feel wanted for the first time in a long, long while. I have to admit, that’s all it really was for me. Being wanted. I knew you liked me, I knew you wanted me. And I let you think I wanted you too. I didn’t. I wanted the attention, that feeling of being wanted. You kissed me, I kissed you back. We kissed a lot. It was pretty good, actually.

You took me to a hotel, remember? And we fucked. God, that was damn good. You told me you loved me, I told you the same. I never meant it though. I never meant it for anyone then. I just liked being loved.

The only problem was I still had a man, one who didn’t make me feel the way you did. But I was too much of a coward to actually break it off with him. So I lied to you, told you I had. I led you on. And on, and on. He found out. He called you and threatened you down the phone. You never spoke to me again.

I never said sorry. I never told you how much I really enjoyed the way you fucked me that one time. Have to admit, I kind of miss you too. 

1.11 a.m.

I talk about myself a lot.
I talk to myself a lot.
I’m not vain or crazy.
I’m just a little lonely sometimes.
I spend a lot of time on my own.
I spend a lot of time with myself.
I guess that’s why most of my writing is about me.
I guess that could be a good reason for being self centred.
I guess that could also be a really shit reason.
But I really don’t give a fuck.
But I do wish I wasn’t so lonely. 

Plans

I make plans. Big ones. Little ones.
I make plans. For dinner. For coffee.
I make plans. And they get cancelled.
I make plans. To cancel plans.
I make plans. For the future. For the past.
I make plans. To forget. To remember.
I make plans. I should stop making plans. 

3.57 a.m.

I’m still awake.
I’m lonely in the online world.
I wish you guys would talk to me.
I wish you guys would love me.
I wish I wasn’t awake.
I wish I was dreaming. Of dreamy things.
I wish my muse wasn’t so bloody fickle.
I wish for a lot of things. Mostly money.
I wish I wasn’t so damn poor.
I’m still awake. 

3.39 a.m.

Is thinking on Tumblr
the same as thinking out loud?
When you read the words I’ve written
do you hear my voice in surround sound?
Do you even read my thoughts
or am I asking for too much here?

3.29 a.m.

I keep seeing all these skinny girls on my dash,
on the farcebook,
on the interwebs.

I’m clearly doing something wrong,
I must be,
I have curves. 

3 a.m.

I think a lot. When I’m in bed.
I wonder what it would be like to be a different person.
I wonder what it would be like to be the same person with a different life.
I wonder if I would be happy. Happier. Not happy.
I wonder if I would make the same mistakes. Decisions. Fuck Ups.
I wonder if I’ll wake up tomorrow and not know who I am.
I wonder if I’d really like that. Forgetting.
I wonder if it would be better not to be me.
I wonder if it would be worse to be someone else.
I wonder if I wonder too much. Too little.
I wonder if this would be considered ‘confessional writing’.
I wonder if that would make me cool.