A Little Bit Melodramatic - Existing. Not Living.

-For Alex

HeyUm... I don't know really what to say. I guess you've noticed I haven't been to school in a while, and I'm sure you'ved guessed that its because I "didn't feel like going" like last time. I'm not here to whine and I feel like a retard sending you this but in all honesty, you're all I've got.

My life is not my own. I can accept that. I can't accept that I can't change it though, I know I can change it. I just don't know how. I'm in a trap right now. A big, suburban trap. I'm not living so much as just existing you know? People get told throughout their lives that this is what they're supposed to want (I know right? Spoiled little rich girl wwhining about having everything under the sun just handed to her). But this whole lifestyle, of doing nothing meaningful from day to day, nothing ever changing, that self centered mind set of pretty much everyone around you, its just a trap.

Everybody tells you that life is short and yet they tell you you need to prepare yoursefl for it. But by the time you're done preparing, its seems like life is already over, that all those chances you had to do something are gone because you spent all your time preparing for it.

I'm afraid. This isn't how I ever pictured my life going. When I was little, I wanted to be a dentist, or a singer, or something that I thought was so important. But now that I've reached a point where I can see the difference between the importance in life and the image of whats important, I know that I can't just sit here and wait for fate to come knocking at my door and say, hey! let's go! I know whats important now. I know that the preservation of life, that changing even just one person's life for the better, that's the real thing. That's the real point to being human.

My mother doesn't see this. She just wants to get through life with no problems, lay down in her death bed and say okay, I did it. My dad sees it the way I do, but lives in fear of my mother and the pressure of my sister. He's afraid of taking this lifestyle away from us, but I've told him, I wish to god he would. I'd rather be a poor, happy farmer than a rich unhappy suburbanite.

This sounds corny as hell, but I want to see the world. I only get one chance on this earth and I don't want to get through it without having experienced what it has to offer. I don't want to die and regret the wrong things. I want to be able to die and say maybe I didn't do the best, but I lived.

At the same time, I'm horrified of stepping outside of this box. I'm the prime example of what society says I should be. That I should just find my niche in this place, that I should be afraid of what I don't understand, that I should be afraid of the world outside my sheltered little life. My life consists of two points. Home. School. Back again. Nothing changes, theres no point. Hell, I'm afraid to leave the house right now, get on the train and go somewhere, go see things in my own hometown I've never seen.

My mother says I'm naive, and on alot of aspects I am. But I know the world is big ugly place, I know theres things in it that aren't rainbows and butterflies, I've experienced things she doesn't even know about. But at the same time, theres got to be something good out there. Nothing is going to change unless someone starts it. I just don't know how.

You probably don't care about this, and in all honesty, I don't blame you. I'd be pissed if some stupid little brat sent me a long ass letter just complaining about how "horrible" her life is, too. But like I said, you're all I've got. I know, its kind of sad hey? I mean, it's not like we're really that close. I kid myself sometimes that we are, but I know underneath we're really not. It's just that... it's like you've got it all figured out. You're chill about everything, you're smart, you're a better than decent guy and you seem... happy. Just happy. And you put up with my bullshit, so you're officially some sort of superhuman. So, now that I've hit this wall, I don't know what to do but turn to the only person I consider a human being still. Everybody I was stupid enough to let myself believe in has managed to show me their true colours, that they just don't care. I'll always be there for them, but I can't hope to find anything in return, and really, I don't want anything in return, I'm just glad I managed to make their day a little bit better somehow. But at the same time, I'm still afraid of being alone. I don't want to wake up anymore and wonder if anyone even cares that I did.

On My Side of the Window

I like the feel of glass against my face. It's the closest I can bring myself to reality. The door is right there, next to hopefully waiting shoes. But going out there means making contact with the inhabitants of planet earth. How the hell did I get here? I wish I could just run out into the grass, feel the rain just rip through my bare skin. It'd be too soon if I never heard another car ever again. If I never heard another voice again.

Why does someone else, someone who doesn't know me, get to decide what happens in my life? It's mine! It's one of the few things that is completely and utterly mine with no strings attached. Why are people trying to take it away from me? It's not theirs! Its fucking mind rape. They're molesting my fucking soul.

I hate the feel of their fat, crawling fingers reaching into me and grabbing constantly at my thoughts, as if my mind weren't concious and doesn't realise what they're doing. I want that one hand, educated and ready, strumming the strings of my soul like a guitar. I hate this fucking clawing hand thats just ripping at my thoughts.

Why is it there? Fuck OFF. That's all I want! I just want the world to fuck OFF for a little while. Let me be utterly alone to cry. Let me be alone to smile. Just let me be alone for a time.

I want to lay down in that meadow in my head, smell that sweet tall grass, hear that brook a ways off, feel the sun on my face. I want to close my eyes and know when I open them, this good feeling isn't just a dream. I want that beauty of peace, of love. I want it more than I can possibly express. I find myself realising at times that the reason I'm moving through life at all is because in the back of my mind, I believe it exists and that I will get there someday.

Have you ever felt like a piece of meat? A giant slab of ground beef being held up by a skeleton and some skin. Thats what I feel like sometimes. One big hunk of slaughtered cow. I should be laughing at that. But morbidly enough, I'm not because its all too real.

I want to feel foreign hands on my torso, drawing gently across my stomach, tracing up my arms, trailing down my thigh, clasping behind my back, caressing behind my ears and along my neck, dragging their thumb across my lips, outlining my eyelids and arching over my cheeks. I want that feeling of complete love. I want to feel those rays of light on a spring day that cut through the glass. I want to taste that real fruit, cut those peaches and pears in my hands, with a smile on my face, because I know, everything is going to be okay.

I want it. But I can't get it. Its like I've run into a ceiling. And above this ceiling, is the floor where all this is reality and takes place. But I can't get through to it because I'd just end up destroying it. Because She's not gone. She's the one that fucked up my head, She's the one that doesn't shut up, She's the one that fucking ruins everything. She's that fucking voice that I can't silence. Sometimes, She sleeps, and I get to come out. But She always wakes up and shakes the chain She's got around my neck.

I want to push through that window. Reach out again... fall out into my imaginary reality.