I do the best imitation of myself.

I knew about Proposition 8 in California, but I just recently learned about Proposition 2 in Florida, and I find them both absolutely disgusting. If you don't know, both are to "ban gay marriage" except what they really do is take civil rights away from ALL unmarried couples, same-sex or not. If passed, people would have to hire private lawyers to retain things like their health care and visitation rights, for both their children and each other in the hospital. It affects same sex domestic couples, and it affects business partners and it affect heterosexual couples.

Frankly, I am all for gay marriage, and it baffles me that people are not. What do you care if other people can get married? If you look at the divorce rates (I think it's up over 50% now, actually), obviously marriage doesn't mean much. Marriage is cheap in this country, and it's just becoming a farce, especially with these propositions.

It's not politics, and it's not protecting the sanctity of marriage. It's fear tactics and lies and the religious right wing trying to force their nuclear family ideal on everyone, not just couples. This is the idea that all people should be married with two kids and a dog and the wife should stay home and cook and clean and the man should work and bring in the money. This is the desire to go back to 1952 oppression and stereotypes. This is people trying to take away civil rights because people without rights and without hope are easier to control.

No. Not this year, not this time, not this election. This is our time, and I hope the people in California and Florida understand the ramifications of the amendments. Being in Virginia, the only thing I can do is hope, and that kills me. I can tell people and educate them, but I can't really do anything about it.

It still baffles me that people support John McCain. Now, I can understand not supporting Obama necessarily because I understand that he doesn't have the experience and such. But John McCain has gone from a generally likable guy with decent politics and good decisions to an asshole prick with Karl Rove-style politics. The man picked Sarah Palin, a woman he didn't at all vet who's been immersed in scandal since day one. Troopergate, Troopergate II, TrigGate, WardrobeGate, MedicalGate... It doesn't end. She's been lying and covering things up since her first day as the GOP candidate for Vice President, and I don't understand how people could still want her in office. She doesn't even know what the VP does. Haven't we have enough of Bush's failed politics? Haven't we had enough of Cheney's abuse of VP power? The lies and the abuses need to end.

This election is our election. The GOP stole 2000 and 2004 out from under us, and we didn't fight hard enough for what was right. Things are different this year. This is the most important election of our lives, and what happens today will change the country, for better or for worse. In who's hands would you like to leave it? John McCain's? After his poor decisions and politics, I cannot in good conscience respect anyone who still supports McCain.

If you support Nader or Barr or a write-in, you have my utmost respect. If you support Obama, you've got the right idea. But McCain? You might as well just shoot yourself in the foot. Better do it now, because if McCain gets in office, you won't have the healthcare to treat it.

Obama '08. Change '08. Hope '08. Yes we can.

Love,
Brinn

Instead of doing all the homework that's due tomorrow (there's a lot of it), we'll play a game again. You know how it goes. Fifteen statements to fifteen different people. Never tell which is to whom (even if they guess outright).

1. I don't miss you. Stop it.

2. I tried so hard not to hate you, but I couldn't do it, so I'm giving up.

3. You are basically the most fantastic person ever. I love you the most of anyone.

4. She wants me to forgive you for everything, but I won't because despite whether that was your fault of not, you have a multitude of other sins that I won't forgive you for. I don't miss you at all. You were a terrible friend anyway.

5. I used to think you were so awkward, but I'm beginning to like you a lot more now. I'm sorry I didn't get to know you sooner.

6. We have kind of an odd friendship. Despite what people say about your circle, I like you.

7. Everything I need to say to you, I've said. All I ever do is repeat myself, regardless of the potential truth in my statements.

8. Please make that weekend not so miserable for me.

9. It seems we've become better friends because of the drama. I'd leave the drama, but I like that we're kind of friends. I think you're pretty cool.

10. Is it me she's talking about? And you're talking about? Just curious. I know that's rather egotistical of me to assume, but I do tend to be rather accurate in these matters. Just curious, you know. Cause I'm... Well, let's just say I'm in a similar boat in certain areas.

11. I stopped feeling sorry for you the minute you turned from pitiful to a bitch. I'm allowed to hate you in my head now.

12. I wish I had the people skills to be better friends with you. The paranoia kicks in before I get the chance. I think we could do each other some good, though.

13. I really don't hate you. I like you quite a lot, actually. I wish you'd come back.

14. Oh my, you are a funny kid. I'm glad you know I don't hate you.

15. Seriously. Explain yourself. If it's innocuous, fine. But I need to know these things. Otherwise, my head runs away with itself and I think things. Trust me, you want to set me straight.


Love,
Brinn

There are probably about a hundred things I could and should be doing, but instead, we'll play again.

Fifteen Things.
To fifteen different people.
Never tell which is to whom.


1. This is for you, you nosy bastard.

2. Here's a thought: Notice I exist?

3. Is it just because she got to you first? Cause THAT would be upsetting.

4. I can't decide how I feel about you. Pretty much at all.

5. I'm so glad things are okay now. I love you a whole lot.

6. God, you crack me up, kid.

7. Egotistical bitch. Sometimes I really want to cut you.

8. You truly are my favorite person. Pretty much ever.

9. Seriously... I'm so much better on so many ways than that girl. I really don't even see the attraction. Like, at all.

10. The song "Brick" reminds me of you. I can't decide which person I am though. And YES, I know what the song is about.

11. Please don't think it meant anything. It didn't.

12. I love you. But you make me worry about you.

13. Why the fuck would you even try to say anything to me? I can't deal with you. At all. I can't look at you or be near you or speak to you or anything. I can't. Stop it.

14. You make me feel better about myself. That isn't a good thing.

15. We should chat more. I like you.



Love,
Brinn

This is really, really fucking stupid. I I am really fucking stupid. Basically, I post my thoughts on the internet. And I try to pretend like I started a new journal so people wouldn't read my thoughts and my fears and all that jazz that I post in this journal. I try to tell myself that it's private and this is my way of dealing, my means of coming to terms with my issues. My diary, if you will. Because, of course, typing is a lot easier and faster than writing so I can expell a larger amount of words at one time. But it's still private, I tell myself, since I haven't handed out the URL. And I WANT it to be private (I tell myself) since I don't want anyone to know about the crazy.

This is a big fat fucking lie.

Everything, this included, is a bid for attention. Every move I make, every word I say or type, every sigh, every silence, every mood, every bitter comment, every sentence whispered under my breath, it's all just one big bid for attention. Everything I do is designed to force myself into the spot light. I've become a master at pushing people out of the spot light to make room for myself. I've made an art of pushing people just far enough to make them come crawling back, to make them pretend to need me. The best way to be needed is to need someone. I've become an ace at manipulating people. I can make anyone care about me. I can make anyone worry about me, make them feel sorry for me, make them love me. My whole life is a contrived set of problems to make people want to save me.

Everybody wants to be a hero. I just give them the opportunity.

I never push hard enough to actually push people away. As soon as I get close to that, I come crawling back on my hands and knees, begging them not to leave me, to continue to lavish the attention I so desperately need.

It's an addiction, plain and simple. I do have a very addictive personality.

So I guess the first step is to admit I'm a slave to my addiction. There's no way I'm going the God route, so I guess the next step would be to write down all of my sins so I can remember all of the shit things I've ever done. Isn't that what this is? A list of my attention-grubbing ways? Every stupid thing I've done for attention?

What comes after that?

They don't make meetings for attention whores. Alcohol? Check, room down the hall. Sex? Check. Cocaine, meth, heroin? Check, check, check. Because you have solve a physical addiction. Sure, withdrawl sucks ass, but you can get through it. That's why they make the programs. You can get over your addiction. You'll crave it probably forever, but you can beat the symptoms. Pop an advil for the headache. Adderol for the breathing. Any ailment has a solution.

So what do you do for a psychological addiction? It's not like there are withdrawl symptoms. I don't feel queasy when I'm being ignored. I don't shake when it's someone else's turn for attention. I just stop functioning. I shut down. And every sees that as lazy. And then I try to explain, and the whole cycle starts over again.

Hello, my name is Brinn and I'm addicted to attention. (Hello, Brinn)




I can feel myself spiraling out of control. I don't want to try anymore. I don't want to think anymore. I just want to be numb. Medicated. I don't want to feel anymore. I don't really want to exist anymore. I don't really want to kill myself since all the methods I can think to try hurt too damn much and I have no tolerance for pain whatsoever. I don't want to kill myself, but I want to end my life. I'm tired of living. It's too hard. It takes too much damn effort. And I wish I didn't have to do it anymore. I'm done fucking up my life. It seems like anymore, that's the only thing I can really do. I've stopped trying. My grades are shit. And I'm not going to get into college. And when they send me the rejection letters (or not at all because I haven't bothered to fill out the applications), I will have absolutely no reason to continue living. If I don't get into college (I won't), I am going to kill myself. End of discussion. I don't want a hotline. I don't want help. I want to stew in my misery, and when I get the rejection letter and realize that in the fall, I have nothing to do with my life, I want to kill myself. I don't want to discuss it, I want to do it.

Anymore, the only thing I can do is fall apart. I can't make myself do anything. I've never nice. I've a terrible, awful, shit human being and I don't really deserve to be one. No wonder I haven't got any friends. Or any friends who care anymore to listen, rather. They say they're there, but I'm not stupid. I can tell when they tire of me and don't want to hear about the same old fucking problems anymore, the same old shit about how I'm sad and unmotivated and useless. My family would prefer life without me. I am completely superfluous. I am useless. There is no reason for my existance.

What's the point of seeing the shrink at this point? It's too late for me to try. I'm not going to get out of my math class. I won't catch up in bio. I won't get the Hamlet WNB done. It's too late for me to try. I already lost the game, the college game. I'm already screwed. There's no catching up at this point. There's nothing except me with the abject desire to off myself (which I only say because I'm a coward and an attention whore and I think kill myself sounds too violent). I am good at nothing. I am good for nothing. You hear it enough times, you start to believe it.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm still around anymore.

And this whole thing, of course, is just another bid for attention. Someone notice poor, broken me. Someone rescue me. Someone play the hero so for once, I can feel useful. Someone rescue me from myself.

Someone kill me so I don't have to do it.

I want the attention from people I don't have to live with. Somehow, my family is exempt from this whole desperate addiction. I don't want them to notice me. I want them to ignore me. I just want to be a housemate, not a daughter or a sister. I want to be ignored. I don't want them to acknowledge I exist (except on my terms). Why don't I want them to know how crazy I really feel?

I used to be okay. Sane. Normal. Happy. At some point. And then I broke. And now... Now, I want every addiction. I stumbled upon one, and now I want every one in the book. I want to destroy myself. I want to kill myself slowly. I want to drink and smoke and do every drug and speed and cut and everything.

My self-mutilation has always been holding my breath. Eventually, you start to feel its effects and then your heart beats in your chest and that distracts you from the fact that your heart is constantly breaking and anytime your mind even drifts to all the things you haven't done but need to do sometime soon, you start breathing too much. The way to correct this is to not breathe at all. Hold your breath like a stubborn four-year-old, and somehow, the physical pain makes the emotional pain disappear.

And then that wasn't enough. Feeling the reality of my heart pumping wasn't enough. I needed more to keep me focused and awake and alive. So I used my fingernails. I discovered that if you pinch the skin under your upper arm (where no one can see), the pain makes you focus better than holding your breath ever could. And when he comes in the rec center after you said things you never wanted to say, gripping the skin there almost hard enough to bleed but really only enough to bruise and then only the one spot brings you back.

And then your father's yelling about how you're useless and pointless and selfish and basically a waste of flesh. He's telling you everything you've said about yourself for years but never wanted to mean. He's telling you he doesn't care if you're fucked up, your attitude is shit and you need to grow the fuck up and stop being the selfish loser you've always been. He's telling you you're on restriction, and in some past life, you'd have been scoffing in your head because you don't get restriction (your family isn't like that), and anyway the wording is ridiculous and look how he can't even speak proper English. But this time, this time it is after something inside of you has broken and you dig your fingernails into your palms to cancel out the fact that he's right, you are a waste of space, and you don't deserve anything you have. And your fingernails in your palms, that hurts for a little bit but not enough, and then your fingernails just bend and don't dig in anymore, and then the spots go numb and you're afraid to move too much because you just want to disappear and stop existing. So when he yells for useless you to get out of his sight, you run back into the sanctity of your room, willing yourself not to cry because that would be weakness. And you find you just feel clouded and you can't focus on anything. You need some pain to bring you back. So you find a screwdriver and scratch your ankles, not enough to bleed or bruise or enough to even count as hurting yourself, but more than your fingernails in your palms and enough to bring you back, enough to make you forget for one moment that you're a useless lump and you really ought to just kill yourself and be done with it.

Then you write about it on the internet because as much as you were looking for a place where your scars wouldn't show, you really wanted everyone to know about it because even though you tell yourself you don't want anyone to know what a fucked up little bitch you are, you really want everyone to know. Because you're just a stupid attention whore and everything you do or say or type is just a means of getting a fix. Some people browse the shady streets for drugs, some people cruise addict recovery meetings for sex. You stay on the internet, looking for one more fix to keep you sane through the day. One more spin in the spot light to keep you from going completely mad. One more hit. It's always just one more hit. You tell yourself this is the last time you'll tell people your deepest darkest secrets. You say this is the last time you tell anyone you're hurting yourself and the last time you tell anyone you like feeling hungry and starving yourself isn't to be beautiful (you are, or you would be if you would GAIN some weight), but because the numbers on the scale are your enemy, because the less you eat, the more it hurts, and the more it hurts, the more physical symptoms you get, and the more you shake or get dizzy or show how shitty you feel, the more people have the opportunity to ask what's wrong, to find out your starving yourself because you like the attention.

You tell yourself this is the last time you spill your heart on the internet so people will ask you about it. You lie.

And you feel guilty when you tell. You feel guilty because if you were any stronger or any less addicted, you could just keep those problems to yourself, and then when it eventually did get out, when it's that much worse, when you actually are cutting yourself to make yourself bleed and you actually do have the scars, lined up in a perfect little row like Madeline's schoolmates, when you actually are starving yourself and your weight is down in the eighties and your BMI is in the 10s, the 12s, then when people finally do find out, oh, the attention is so much more. People will trip over themselves if they think you need rescuing. Because cutting and starving, those are indicitive of actual problems and of course, you need help immediately.

No one cares if you skip breakfast and lunch because you like feeling hungry (you still ate dinner because you're weak... obviously, you don't have a problem). No one cares if you take a screwdriver to your ankle but don't leave marks because you're too afraid of the pain, because you KNOW how destructive it is. Because you don't like blood, really. Because you know it's a lie.

Unless you're actively killing yourself, no one care. Unless you're dying more quickly, it's boring. A slow stew in misery is boring to watch. We want flashy, dramatic, gruesome. We want gore. We want mutilation. We want to be disgusted.

We want to save you.

But you aren't at that point. You're still just scratching yourself. You're still eating like a hog (even if you do feel guilty every time you do). You aren't really killing yourself. What you're giving yourself is the common cold compared to the ebola of the world of teenage emo depression. You're not going to die. You're fine. You're just desperate for attention.

How far will you go for this fix?

How long will you continue to post your problems on the internet to see if anyone cares? How long do you hyperventilate in class (not really intentionally, but of course you could probably stop it if you really wanted to)? How many times do you fall apart, crying and breathing too much and not breathing enough?

How many colds before you contract ebola from the strain on your immune system?

How many times will you write "you" in those long posts of your secrets when all you really mean is "me"?

I can't do this anymore. This whole life thing. Yeah, I get it. I'm a big overdramatic idiot and I'm a cold-hearted, cynical bitch. I fucking get it. I don't deserve to be listened to, and I don't deserve friends. I'm just the stereotypical emo teenage idiot and I need to suck it up and ride a bike. Whatever. I get it. There's nothing fucking the matter with me. Boo hoo, my life sucks, everyone look at me.

Fuck it. I'm done. I really ought to just off myself and be done with it.

And you can't even say that this is a plea for attention because no one even reads this. This is just my fucking life, my heart out on the surgical table, bleeding to death with no one to sew me back together. Fuck it. I'll just die here then. More's the better. Yeah, I get it. I'm overdramatic. Everything I ever fucking do is a cry for attention. I get it.

So here's something for my attention. Victor, dear, this next part's addressed to you. So soak it up and learn everything I need to yell at you but, like you, am too fucking cowardly to say to your face. Here's what I want to say outloud because I want to scream and cry at you because I'm a big fucking attention whore and I just want you to NOTICE ME. So here's your letter:

Dear Victor:

Since you obviously can't see it or don't care, what you did to me pretty much broke me. Again. Because you're no better than Anthony was. You give me this false hope and make me tell you exactly how I feel about you and what I want and how, stupid me, I've gone and fallen in love with you, and then you take it all away, push me down in the dirt, and kick me for good measure. You dangle it up above my head, humiliate me, then break me in half. That's what you've done to me.

When I told you you were the only one that could make me feel normal, I meant every fucking word. I meant it when I said everyone else just makes me feel worse, like I'm just a big fucking attention whore with a problem and I just need to get some meds and go away. I meant when I said you were the one that could make me feel normal and better for ONCE. You gave that to me, and then you snatched it away. You made me feel happy to be around you, and then you chose her. You had already picked me, and then you chose her.

I can't even tell you how much that hurt. I don't cry. Hardly ever. I cry when I'm ashamed or angry, and that's it. But after you said you'd come to conclusions I probably wouldn't like, I cried for something like an hour and a half. Because I was sad. And I never do that. Ever. Then I went home, read what you actually wrote, and then cried some more. I don't cry about people. I don't like to cry at all. I think it's weak and stupid and illogical and pathetic. But you made me do it.

And right now, I can't really deal with you. I want you to continue trying to talk to me, not because I miss you (I do, but I won't let myself act on it), but because I want to shove you away rudely and yell and shout at you. I want to ignore you viciously. I want to see it effect you. Because I want to hurt you. I want you to feel how much it hurt when you pushed me away. I want to see you miserable without me. I don't want to see you perfectly fucking FINE in Journalism and in Schol Bowl because that means that everything you ever said about me, how much you cared about me, how much you needed me to talk to you, that was all a big fucking lie. I need to see you miserable without me because otherwise, I didn't mean a damn thing.

And that hurts more than anything because of what you meant to me.

And that thing in Journalism today? Acacia and her friends were blocking the door, and when I went to go through the newsroom, you were standing in the door between the newsroom and the classroom. And I try so fucking hard to avoid you both, and I couldn't do it. I needed to get past you, and something just broke, and I panicked. That's how I panic. I was hysterical and hyperventilating and having a panic attack because I couldn't take it. And then you asked what was the matter as if you cared (as if you're allowed to care at this point), and it just made it worse, because after a week of evading you and internalizing and pretending I'm okay without you (I'm not), one tiny bit of concern from you and I was ready to give in.

I can't do that to myself. Because if I continue to be anything, I will just be miserable. And I know, I relish my misery. But I CANNOT TAKE you two around each other, happy. Because I don't get to be happy. Because I lost. I know you had to pick and I figured it wasn't going to be me (it never is), but right now, I don't want to be logical. I want to focus on the fact that you HURT ME and I can't be around you.

One sentence, and I was ready to give in. Can't you see that I need to avoid you?

I told you how it was going to be if you picked her. I warned you--if it wasn't me, I couldn't be around anymore because burning bridges is what I do. You obviously don't need me as much as you said you did. So let me burn the bridge. I can't do this.

I can't do anything anymore.

Love,
~Brinn

Yes, I am mad. Get the fuck over it. Stop trying to tell me to just get over it because I don't even like Anthony anyway. Well, yeah, that's true, I can't stand him. At all. But the fact remains that he still knows exactly how to piss me off and he DOES it. Far too often if you ask me. I realize that Anthony is an idiot and an ass, but the fact that he fucks with my mind on a regular basis still pisses me off. For example: Today, sending me all those texts. Because he KNOWS that even though I don't WANT a date to homecoming because I just want to be able to dance with everyone, I still want to be ASKED. I would say no, of course, but I want someone, anyone really, to care enough to ASK. I want to know that SOMEONE thinks of me like that and would consider spending the time in my presence. Because apparently, no one actually thinks of me in that respect. I would totally give it up if someone would ASK but I guess to everyone, I'm just unapproachable and scary and intense and anyway, I'm just that stupid crazy short IB kid who most people just avoid and the ones that don't just stay away from me because they think, apparently, that that's what I want, even though it's the farthest thing from it.

I'm angry because I still want Anthony to ask, seriously and want to go with me. Because I want to say no in the meanest, rudest way possible. Because I want to hurt him the way he hurt me. I want to reject him completely. I hate him and I can't stand him, but I still want my revenge. Because as hard as I TRY, apathy is too fucking hard. So I'm going to hate him instead.

And that's another thing. My life would be absolutely FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC if he would just LEAVE ME ALONE. So I don't want to have anything to do with him. Boo fucking hoo. That doesn't mean he has to fuck with my mind and make me miserable every opportunity he gets. He COULD just LEAVE ME ALONE like I DO TO HIM. It's not like I'm outwardly mean and malicious to him at all. I don't even really ignore him anymore, really. We have our different circle of friends, and we hang with our own crowds, I guess. Or rather, he's an immature attention whore and I just hang with my friends. What the hell does he want from me anyway? We're not all of a sudden going to be BFF's. We're NOT going to be friends. The ONLY thing I could POSSIBLY do is civility, and that's what I'm doing. I don't know why he can't be content with that. Civility is the only thing I'm willing to give. And my civility comes with witty barbs because that's the way I roll, so he should really just accept it get OFF HIS FUCKING MORAL HIGH HORSE FOR ONCE. I don't want to be friends. I don't understand why that is such a problem. He's got plenty of people who are willing to put up with him. Why does he need my validation? I'm not going to give it. I think he's a terrible person.

The only reason he continues to do this to me is because he apparently thinks it's funny or perhaps he really just is that terrible of a person. He hates me as much as I hate him, I think. And I am SO FUCKING TIRED of having to deal with him. He needs to just leave me the fuck alone so I don't have to deal with being screwed with all the time. GOD.

And now I'll move onto an entirely different topic that has absolutely nothing at all to do with Anthony. Other boys. We'll rant about Victor for a while. Ass. It is entirely possible that I am still running on anger from Anthony, but I am quite pissed at him too. Because he doesn't even have the balls to face me after the shitty, terrible thing he's done to me. So he's got Acacia back. Good for him. Apparently, I didn't matter all that much. Apparently he's a fucking liar and I wasn't as important to him as he kept saying I was. Apparently, he really can't live without dating her and I am just NOTHING. I don't exist. I don't matter. I am useless and pointless and completely superfluous. Apparently everything he ever said about how much he enjoys my company and how we have such fantastically meshing senses of humor and how I was like, the one person he would ever talk to after high school was a FUCKING LIE. Apparently, I'm nothing.

At least he has the sense to let me burn the fucking bridge. Or whatever you do to destroy steel bridges. Because really, if he tried to continue talking to me, I'd just ignore him or yell or something. And really, the only time I've seen him since then is in class since I skipped Schol Bowl on Wednesday, and she's there so he's perfectly fucking FINE without me. Let him try to talk to me tomorrow. Let him try. I'll just shout. Or ignore him. Or shout and then ignore him.

Because as much as I say I want to burn bridges, there are still a lot of things I need to say to him. Things I need to say for closure and things I think he needs to hear. And I want him to try and speak to me just so I can ignore him. Because even more so than with Anthony, I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him as much as it is possible to hurt another person because that's what he did to me. I want to make him feel even an OUNCE of how much it hurt when he said he wanted to go back to her. And not even said. An ounce of what it felt like to READ it on the INTERNET because he doesn't have the courage to actually say anything to me in person.

Let him try to confront me. I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him a lot. I want to hurt him even CLOSE to how much he hurt me. He deserves to feel even a portion of that.

And I want to remind him what he's given up. As if he could forget. I want him to be MISERABLE.

And now I'll move onto another topic. Just boys in general. I've ranted about the specific ones, so now just in general. Okay. With the dating thing. Like... I just want a part of that. And really, I don't even need petty high school romance with the cutsey and the hand-holding and the labels and the walking to class and everything. I mostly just want sex. Yeah, I said it. I want physical affection. No one touches me. And I know, I bitch about it, but I do like being hugged. And I've said this before. But I don't even mean just like, a hug. I like making out and kissing and stuff. I'm good at it. I'm REALLY good at it, and I've been out of practice. And to be perfectly blunt, as I've said, I want sex. It can be casual. Everyone already thinks I'm a slut since I date everyone. Might as well live up to my reputation. I'll be the IB slut. I don't even care. I've only got til the end of this year anyway, and then if I get into college, I can create a whole new identity for myself. I'll start over like I did in high school. Only I'll try not to let my shyness get better of me. I'll start my reputation earlier this time. And if it's the sarcastic, witty one, fine. If it's the slut, I'm okay with that too. I can be whatever I want to be.

But for right now, I am who I am. Whatever. And because I am the intense, scary one, I don't get boys. Guys don't think of me that way. So I don't get sex. And I get frusterated. And it makes the scary even worse.

GOD I HATE PEOPLE. I hate them all. They're stupid and I am SICK of them. People need to die. In mass amounts. We need another tragedy. We need population control. The fewer people, the better. People suck. America needs a genocide. And I KNOW that sounds cold. I'm cold. Whatever. But we need to kill off the vast majority of the country. GOD I hate people. Damn near all of them.

UGH. Anyway, I think that's about all of the rants. Summary: I hate people, I hate Anthony, I want to hurt Victor, and I want to be asked to homecoming. Oh, and I want sex. That's about everything, I think.

Love,
Brinn

So yeah... I have no right at all to be jealous. Like, at all. They broke up. That's a win for me, isn't it? I should be happy that we can hang out and it's okay. I should be perfectly fine. Except that I'm totally not. And all I want is him to take another step. I get that he's sad about her. Whatever. I get that. And I'm okay with it, because I know she meant a lot to him. Two years is a long time. But I'm incredibly selfish, so I want what I want for once. I want him to kiss me. I want to have the typical, stupid high school romance. I want him to take me to homecoming, as dumb as that sounds. I want to give him time and let him be okay before I do anything, but really, I just want him to hurry up and be okay already. That sounds incredibly selfish, and it is, but that's what I want. I want what I want. Whether or not I get it is another story entirely, but that's exactly what I want.

In other news... my leg hurts like a motherfucker. And I'm halfway convinced it's completely psychsomatic because of the crazy and the depression and then learning about the circulatory system, but it's really starting to irritate me. I have shots coming up. I should mention it there. Also, I have rather low blood pressure. Not really a problem, per se, but it is kind of an issue where I get all dizzy when I stand up too fast. I'm glad I finally know why that is because that's been going on as far back as I can remember. At least now I have a reason.

I've got a million health issues. I want to find out what the problem is. I think part of it is the fact that I don't eat, and I'm afraid my body is finally tired of putting up with my crap and is finally staging a revolt against me. Cause now my chest is starting to hurt a bit. Like heartburn hurt. And also my leg. And I'm kind of tired of dealing with these issues. Also, the allergies. Because the Claritin is DEFINITELY NOT HELPING. Erg. Shoot me.

That's another thing. I have that meeting with the person/people from Seaton House on Monday. Because I'm crazy and depressed with suicidal considerations. Not tendencies or desires or thoughts, really, just... a consideration. Upon closer inspection of the feeling, I realize I don't actually want to kill myself or die at all because that would be so... painful. And messy. And final. I do still have the urge though, and it worries me. I've started driving really fast. And when I speed with the window open and the wind in my hair, sometimes I want nothing more than to press my foot all the way to the floor and crash into something big and immobile. I want to drink and do every drug in the book and generally fuck myself up. I feel so self-destructive. I want to go down in a fiery mess.

I think I just want to feel alive.

And this desire scares me because there was a time where I wouldn't even consider doing anything like what I'm talking about. I followed the speed limit. I chastised those who didn't. I would never dream of drinking or smoking. But now, all I want is another form of escapism. I want to poison myself slowly. I want to kill myself, just perhaps not all at once.

I don't know what to do with myself anymore. Sometimes I think I ought to just off myself and get it over with since I'm basically just a waste of space anyway. I lack the initiative to do anything, ever, and there's really no point in my living if I can't do this IB thing and make something of myself. I've already mostly decided that if I don't graduate IB, I'm going to kill myself. There would be no point in life anymore. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I have this need to be perfect, but what I actually accomplish is so much less. And then the disparity causes me a great deal of anxiety, and that's why I snap at everyone and hate my best friends every other week and have panic attacks all over the place.

I want to get help. I want it to go away. I want to stop feeling on edge ALL THE TIME. I know stress is normal, but it's a problem when I can't kick it. When I'm not even around anyone I know or am friends with at work, but I still can't kick the funk that leave me depressed and withdrawn and contemplating the merits of letting my car drift into oncoming traffic. I want that all to go away. I want to feel okay for once. And even if my happiness is chemically-induced, I'd be okay with that because at least I'd be happy.

Why is happiness seemingly so much to ask for?

Love,
Brinn