Breaking Glass

Breaking Glass


Your heart seems so cold tonight

Wandering between two worlds. Not living, while not quite dead. A heartbeat thrums helplessly inside her chest, I think it's just beating for shits and giggles. These tears, they fall, pleading for something more, begging for significance. But she remains invisible; invisible to those she loves, invisible to those she cares for, invisible. She's standing in the middle of them. She's staring at them with glacier blue eyes, they are melting onto her cheeks, dripping off her chin, falling to the ground. They don't notice her, they don't care enough to notice her. They don't want to know her problems, she knows all theirs. They whisper in her ears, tell her what pains them, what tires their last nerve. But they don't have ears for hers. It's not like they would actually understand. They couldn't possibly.

I want someone to step into my life with enough balls to call my bluff, to tell me enough with the bullshit. Someone needs to care enough to try and stop me, someone who won't pity me. I abhor pity from others. Don't look at me with those sad little sympathetic eyes, judging me, telling me you're sorry. Sorry? What could they possibly be sorry for? I loathe apologies. So they want to apologize? Apologize for never being there for me, apologize for ignoring the signs, apologize for pushing me aside.

I can't keep waiting for someone to care. I need to care enough about myself to fix this mess that I've made. But I don't know if I can. I hate everything that I am; how does one care about someone they hate? Tomorrow is the last day of November and I am going to be happy throughout December and work my tail off and eat healthy. I haven't made shit count from the last 11 months, it's not too late to turn it around for 2011. I have to start somewhere...

I'm planning a trip in late March to get away. I'm thinking Ireland or England? I need to get out of the country and as far away as I can get from everyone I know.



Time is constantly against us. It's something we are always chasing, fighting for more of. There's never enough of it. And yet, we waste it. We waste the living hell out of it. I'm entirely guilty of doing so. I've been looking back through the pages of my life and the one thing that is constant is my incessant desire to be thin and beautiful. And here I sit. I've been through so many ups and downs and I have nothing to show for it. Deadlines were set, goals were made, promises were written, and none of it mattered. I wasted the time that I had. Doing what? I have not the slightest fucking clue.

I can say that, "O this will be the year! I will make this time count and I will reach my goals!" But at the end of the day they are just words. It's the actions that make up the day and the choices made that count. I've made a lot of broken promises, so I'm not making anymore. I'm not setting any goals or posting any deadlines, because that obviously has not yielded any positive results in the past. I'm just going to change my life. I'm so tired of living this lie, showing everybody my brave happy face. They don't know the sickness that lurks beneath my facade. When I am thin, I will truly have something to be happy about. I won't have to hide who I am anymore. I feel like a fraud.


Dream Is Collapsing

Insecurities ravage us. They tear us down, demolishing all our hopes and dreams. They tell us we aren't good enough and that we never will be. They mock us while pointing out every imperfection, every flaw. They deprive us of happy endings and love. How can you love someone with all your entirety when you can't even love yourself? 

I've been insecure for as long as I can remember. I can't pinpoint when it all began, the self-loathing and hatred. Every person in the world is insecure about themselves to some generic extent, but what we feel is something entirely different. It cripples us. We aren't even a full person because we are living a half-life. I haven't been alive for quite some time. It's almost like being frozen in place while sitting back and watching everything and everyone move forward with time, while you remain stuck. I hate these insecurities.

The mirror is against me. It seems everytime I stare into it's reflection, what stares back at me keeps becoming uglier and uglier. When I touch my stomach it feels more and more morbid and disgusting. I'm falling to pieces. I think this depression is worsening. I've been able to keep it calm and hidden, deeply buried beneath my wall, but my wall has cracks. They are widening, leaking the icky black waste. My insecurities are eating away at my soul. I'm pushing my friends away and I couldn't care less. History is repeating. Something needs to change...


I'm A Stranger In This Town...

I thought that finally figuring out my future would be the solution to all my problems, but it has only been creating more. My fears of commitment are surfacing and I keep trying to turn this thing around, when deep down I know that this path that I'm about to put myself on is the right one. But I'm so scared. I've been locked away in this life of constant self-sabotage and hatred, binding myself to every disaster just to bring myself down. I'm scared to leave this life because it has been my best friend when no one else has. It knows all my secrets, all my thoughts, things that could ruin me if they were released into the open air. Ever since I decided one of the most important decisions of my life, I've been trying to pedal backwards as fast as I can.

Sometimes my life feels catatonic, nothing is happening. Stuck doesn't even begin to describe the place that I'm in. I wish that the shadows would just take me, suck me in. My dreams are always about me fighting for my life. This past night I was sitting in a park, among a sea of gold and auburn hues. I was reading a book while laying on a wool blanket. The sun was overcome with gray wisps and a soft breeze rustled the pages of my book. The world was silent.
 Footsteps crunched and tore at the leaves, creeping towards me. A shadow black as onyx cast itself across words strewn on a page. I turned my head to see a faceless man entirely concealed in black standing above me. I threw my book at him as I stumbled to my feet, heart racing. A hand reached out and grabbed my arm pulling me back. I screamed. I turned in towards him to punch him, fight him, to do anything to get away. A painful kiss licked my stomach as our bodies collided. I pulled away stunned, confused by the glint of silver streaked in crimson that lay in his gloved hand. My hand fell away from the pain, painted red. I tripped walking backwards, as the man turned and began walking away. Just before I hit the ground I woke up in my bed. Is it wrong to actually wish this dream was real. Maybe if something tragic happened, life would seem more real. 

Tomorrow is the beginning to my own personal boot camp. No more wallowing. It's time I turn this thing around.