Worthless.

I want to cut. To grab something sharp and dig it into my arm. No, wait. Never mind.. I don't want that. Scars on my arm can be explained and disguised. I want a pain that will last forever, for everyone to see my shame and identify it easily. I want to be looked down on and shunned, for parents to keep their kids away from this bad influence that might convince their poor innocent child to start burning and cutting themselves. I want them to believe something that isn't true. Because I deserve it.

I hate cutting. I know what it does to me.. I know how bad it hurts. Not just physically, that part is almost liberating in a way. Almost feels good... like a present. A sick, twisted, demented, deserved, horrible, relieving, present. But the emotional and mental parts kill. Almost literally. 

I started cutting for the memory. It was kind of like a tattoo, in a sense. I carved a specific symbol into my right arm. I'm the only one who can still see it. After that, I was angry. Or, I thought I was. Really it was just my past catching up to me in a not-so-wonderful way...blurring my sight of good and evil, right and wrong. I was hurting, but I didn't want to cry. So I cut. For awhile after that it was just when I was angry to the point of no return, the pain calmed me down and buried my emotions for the next outbreak. But... then I started acknowledging a new feeling; sadness. I didn't really think about what I was doing, I just cut. Hardly remembered it the next day. 

Not long after that it became a routine. Numbness till it gets dark, slowly start to feel, then cut. Then go to sleep. Only a few people really knew what I was doing... but even they don't know how bad it got. How deep some of them are. How many times I looked in the mirror with a knife to my carotid artery and knew that just one flick of the wrist could end it all. But... that's all in the past. Death is too easy. 

Now I started on my wrist, like a huge banner proclaiming "This Is A Cutter! A Disgrace To Our Community, A Bratty Good-For-Nothing Teen Who Hates All Rules, A Scared Little Kid Who Wants Attention. Label And Exile, Shun And Shame. She Deserves It." Because I believe it. I hate to cut. I hate when I cut, I hate why I cut, I hate what I cut. And I cant stop. I'm trying so hard, but I keep failing. My last time was supposed to be a blood oath for a friend... but now my last was worthless. Simply Worthless. Just like my scars. Worthless. I'm worthless.

I could have killed myself. I could have been free. But no, death really is too easy. Selfish, too. I deserve worse. I deserve to be condemned to life. I deserve to have to put on a smile and be happy, and to be so high in the clouds that when I fall back down, no one wants to catch me. 

To be thrown back up just so I can fall.

I deserve this, because I am worthless.

okay seriously... SCRAM!!!

Go away. I can't believe you're still here. Go away. I'm not that interesting. Go away.

Aliens and Robots and Tissue, oh my!

So, awhile ago I was walking through Walmart... and I found this!

Kleenex is officially made by the coolest people in the world. I mean, robots and aliens?? What could possibly be more awesome!?

So on behalf of everyone and anyone who is epic enough to appreciate how legit these specific boxes of tissue are, thank you Kleenex. Thank you.

Allumeurs/Juvenalles

This is a scene from a story I started writing in sixth grade

about a group of young robbers. It's also the first watercolor
painting I actually tried at. Here's the introduction:

"I stand in the shadows. Watching. Completely unheard and unnoticed. I watch the houses burn, the people scream...then hear the silence. Every time they go out I follow, and every time they pillage I see. I know who they are, but they don't know me. They rarely sense my presence. They will never find me. Very often do I see them checking themselves, watching their backs. And they should. Crimes committed by an innocent and loyal heart are still crimes, and death is punished with death. I will not tell the village people who they are. I will not take their lives. My name is Jake Hanson, and the Juvenalles will not die. Not while I'm still around."

Maze

I don't really feel like writing... so I'll just say that I got bored and I found some Legos. 

It's pretty much just a three dimensional
pattern. some of the pieces are only
connected by one bump thingy...
pretty cool, huh?

You cant see it, but in the middle is a
tiny chair encased in a trapezoid of
"glass".

The whole thing has three levels, and in theory, if it was real, it would have over five thousand staircases leading up and down at every turn. Basically a giant maze with multiple exits, entrances, and destinations.  

Stupid Flower.

So, my parental ditched me in a store that only sells clothes... *shudder* ... and was gone for like an hour. I only really take ten minutes to go in and out and I'm done. Well, sometimes fifteen if I have to try stuff on. Which I did, so that left me forty-five minutes, plus ten for driving time, to do absolutely nothing. Oh the horror... but there just so happened to be a Starbucks across the parking lot, so I just chilled there. But... staring at the wall in Starbucks is only slightly better than sitting outside of a store by myself. Not that walls aren't entertaining... I could watch one for hours on end. Buuut giving people in a small town the creeps is NOT a good idea... apparently... so I asked someone for a pen and drew a hand on a napkin. It sucked though. Definitely could have done better. However! I have a picture of an interesting flower on my cellular device, and I decided to take a shot at drawing a real flower, instead of one I made up. Here's the original and my drawings:                                              

This is the real one, i thought it was
cool just cuz of the way it's shaded

My first attempt was the one on the
left, I tried to go from the outside
in. The one on the right i went from
the inside out.

Moral of this long, and slightly painful story? Well, there isn't one. So too bad. But i did learn how to draw a flower. At least one of them, anyways.