4,000 Luxx

I love these roads where the houses don't change.

Fix it, nigga. Right? My mind is a huge pot of sauce, and I don't know if adding more stuff will help. I do that, don't I? I say, "Oh, here, let's add this and this and this and this." I can't write, I can't function. I don't like when I get like this. It makes me hate talking, or hearing other people talk. It makes me yearn to be alone, but then crave interaction. It makes everything backwards and reversed and rewinding. It makes waterfalls shoot up, clouds rain on the atmosphere. It's not okay like this. It's not okay to feel like I'm on something when I'm sober. Mania.

Mania. When ghost alcohol runs through my blood, I scream in my car, I drive twice the speed limit. I can't stop. I keep going, going, smoke the next cigarette, find the next person to be around, find something to destroy yourself. Cut yourself. Kill yourself. Do something new. Try it once. My mind races, my heart races, I struggle in my bed like I'm in a straight jacket. I toss, make noises. Can't sit or stand or watch or listen. I can't do anything. I make lists, tell myself I'll get up and do this or that, but something brings me down. The up. Everything becomes spongy, like the moon, and I can feel fake laughter frothing at my teeth. I feel like a hound in the night, ready to take off when the patrol guard comes around with his net. It's mania, it's crazy. It's weird these days because I can see it for what it is. I used to think I was just different. I don't know what I am. My heart hurts at the thought of silence. I want to talk but I know once I do, I'll hate myself. I hate myself even when I don't. It's a never ending, fucked up nightmare. Spiral up, Spiral down. One minute I care, the next I sleep the days away. I don't eat, forget to shower, or just don't. Everything becomes a mess, I try to lose my mind, I call him and cry and feel sick and funny. I don't know I don't know I don't know. I want a hug right now. I just want a hug. That's all. I want a hug and someone on the phone. On and on I go, but you know what really helps? Self pity does NOT. NO, NO, NO!!!! Working my ass off. Throwing my all into something nice. My first broken heart carried me all the way to the fucking podium. So fuck the haters. I just need a little reminder: FUCK. YOU. I'm going to make something of myself. I'm going to learn. I'm going to laugh. And all of you who don't think I will, you'll fucking see me race ahead. I have determination. FUCK DEPRESSION. I need to write my paper, turn it in, then find something to do. I'll be okay. I'm so crazy, but I just want to fly and be me. I know one day someone will get that. I'm not as scared as I was when I was younger. Being young is really hard. Its get better. (Joke.) You don't need anybody. You don't need anybody. There will be a person, many people even, who can see me and be okay with it. My dad. I think of him. He still loves me no matter who I am. And I grew up telling myself, he has to. It's his job. But now I see it's really not. There's so many shitty parents who don't love their kids. I was just lucky. I am so lucky. I want to stop wanting. But the things is, and we all know, it's not going to stop. Ever. I've always been like this, and I always will be. I will always have depression, always have mania, always not want to trust. But I need to know how to deal with those demons. I've gotten a lot better. Remember when I used to lay in bed all day? Remember when I'd cry and drink and self harm and feel like shit over some boy? I'm better now. I smile sometimes, even. Don't tell me I'm not beautiful. I am gorgeous. Tomorrow I will look nice, I will be nice. Tonight, Jessi, who is an honest girl, said I make her happy. I look at her and see how beautiful her face is. She's a person who is real. She's gorgeous, so you'd think otherwise. She's awkward at times, happy, bubbling, unsure, but fuck she is a nice person. She wants to be liked, but she wants to be good. She reminds me of myself. She said I make her happy. Wow. That's an honor.