I guess what's bothering me is that you stopped following me. You don't answer any of my texts. And you're treating me and him the same. I guess. I don't know. How could you do this to me? I guess you're sick of me after all. I think I need to tell you soon. I don't know what the fuck has been going on with me lately. it's been so long since i've been happy.

Hey, i have something to tell you.

For the last few months, i've liked you a lot. Look, i know you may or may not like me, most likely not, but whatever. the point is, that i like you. and unless there's something to be done about it, unless you want something done, then. idk. but i felt like, you should know. and i'm sorry for whatever might happen, whatever i may do. but just know that i think you're amazing. and a wonderful person. I don't even know what the point of telling you is, anymore. I guess it's just that point where I want you to know.

So, here it is. Everything in my mind.

Hey, I like you. Is that post about me? 'I want you to be happy' 'I love you guys so much' 'You deserve to be happy.' But it can't be about me. Because it just can't be. Because it's about the other guy. Vanilla bear. You think I'm depressed. He doesn't get it. I need to clarify it with him. I was going to ask you. But, it's not worth it. I want to be more. I don't want to be another one of your friends. I want to be one of those people that you love, that you cherish. That you really care for me. 'You deserve to be happy.' 'My mom walked out on us. I was crying, and no one was saying anything. How could they let her go like that?' Pathetic. Pathetic. She was being sincere. Maybe I do feel loved. 'You deserve to be happy.' 'You deserve to be happy.' I like you. Wanna be my girlfriend? But no, how could you? Do I annoy you? Why don't you talk to me about your problems? Strangest urge to tell you that I love you. I liked talking to you. I can't lose all of those messages. One of my friends thinks I'm depressed. I never told him the worst part. I can only imagine. I just want to be special. That you talk to me a lot. "I want to be the only one left when your day is done." Do I deserve to talk to you? Would I deserve to be with you? I want to tell you. But I don't. What would you say? I don't know. I like you a lot. Should I tell you? Is it about me? I don't know. My heart is breaking. My heart is breaking. I want to tell you that I like you. But I don't know if I can.

And so that's it. My heart, broken. I don't know what the hell I want from you. I think it's just to hear that you like me. But I know you don't feel that way. I swear I'm crazy.

I just want to hear that I'm special. That I mean something to someone.

I think I know what it is. It's that I don't feel special, that I'm just another one of your guy friends. That I'm nothing more. And that I wish that I was more, but I'm not. I'm not worth much. Just another one of your friends.

I just don't get it anymore. Why can't I be loved? Is there something wrong with me? It's been happening to me for so long. That girls don't like me. God, I hate it. I hate it. I don't deserve to be liked, I guess.

God, I feel so crazy. I have the craziest urge to tell you how much you mean to me. How much I like you. I don't want to. Because I feel like I finally might be annoying you. I think I've become one of them. Oh, God. I feel dependent on you. Why am I so dependent? I don't even know. Anyway, if you're reading this, you already know. Let me just tell you how much you mean to me. That it would kill me to lose you. And I feel so strongly about you. But I know you would never feel the same. I just can't let go of you. I don't want to try. I'm so confused. I don't know anything anymore. I can't express it. I feel like how you left, and how you ended our conversation was really really bad. So, let me just say this. I like you. And that's all there is to it. I like you so much. So. much. But I guess that'll all be behind. I'm sorry if I annoyed you. I'm going to try to let you go. Because I don't want you to hate me.

I hate everything.

I thought I deserved you. But I don't.

I don't think I could hate myself anymore than I already do.

are you fucking serious?

i am so pissed off.

mind. insanity. people. why are you awake? go to sleep. cutting. red. blood. black. blood. slit. cut. cut. wrists. wrists. sunday. wrists. impressions. sharpening knife. parents. alone. why am i so alone? what is wrong with me? blood. cutting. knife. pain. numbness. bloodshot eyes. anger. anger. rage. fury. screaming. parents. downstairs. why is she downstairs? no talking. cut. cut. slice. blood. blood. white. blood. slit my wrists. insanity. i’m insane. asylum. nothing to eat. i want to die. i want to fucking die. i want to bleed. i want to cut myself bad. i want to hurt. i want to pain. i want to die. crying. anger. tears. why are you doing this to me? blood. anger. tears. punch. the wall. the sun is going to rise. why can’t i just die? i’m so angry. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK .WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. someone kill me. someone kill me. gruesome death. crying. knife. knife. knife. into my skin. screamo. screaming. i want to screaming. breathing heavily. someone shoot me. someone kill me. anger. fury. rage. shallow breaths. what the fuck is wrong with me? i have the strangest urge to punch something. cut. cut. blood. blood. blood. blood. blood. blood. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? someone help me. someone help me. someone help me. SOMEONE HELP ME. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? oh god. oh god. oh god. i’m breaking. this is it. this is it. fists clenched. someone help me.

I feel like I'm going insane. How could you so this to me? We were fine. I guess you got tired of me. Well look at me now. I think I'm starting to become dependent on you. Oh, God. I need help. Otherwise I might start to die.

Would it be bad for saying something, because of something that isn't your fault? I don't know. I'm angry.

Oh, and thanks for texting me back.

Is it that I'm worried you won't dream about me anymore?

Is it that I'm worried you won't ask me if I'm okay anymore?

That you won't worry about me anymore.

That you'll think I'm okay, because of what I said, that I won't.

I don't know. But it's bothering me.

I think it's that you'll think I'm okay. But the thing is, that I hardly ever am okay.

The fact that you had a dream about that, really makes me wonder. It really does. It shows that you cared, though. And I'm happy that someone did care, after all of this. Someone does give a damn whether I live or die.

I feel weird for telling you about whatever I was going to do, last night. I feel really bad. I don't know why.

one dark night, he's all alone,
just him and the knife,
he's cold in his own zone,
he's staring into space,
wrote his suicide note already,
he's having a hard time keeping a straight face,
the tears keep rolling from his heart, deep and heavy,
he's crying for the lost times,
he's tired of feeling unwanted, all these times,
maybe if someone asked if he was okay,
he would be here today,
and be here to say,
that he made it through the day,
that he found something worth living for,
and it was something he had to live for in any way,
but he cant' see it, not anymore,
no purpose, no reason, to be here anymore,
he's lost the will to live, for sure,
he's gone, left into his own world,
there's no one left to live for,
he's done, he's tired, he doesn't want to live for this war,
he thinks that he means nothing in your eyes,
that you don't care about him, he's just another guy,
but he loves you, he can't have you, so he has to make a disguise,
telling you about this girl, that's breaking his heart,
that makes him want to die, and go back to the start,
forget he ever loved her and forget her name,
that when he would remember her, he wouldn't feel any pain.
that when he looks at her, he knows there's nothing to gain,
because she doesn't feel the same way, not the same way at all,
there's nothing to do, nothing to say, nothing but fall,
because he loved this girl, he really did,
but now he has nothing to say as the knife sticks in his skin,
he wants to call her and tell her how much she meant to him,
but he would be a bother, just another guy on the phone,
so he's tearing up, he's losing it, 'cause he's all alone,
he's tired of seeing the things that he's seeing,
seeing him touch her, and hate within his very being,
he's tired, he's sick, he doesn't see the purpose,
so he's gone, he's left, he's feeling worthless,
he can't believe that to her, he wasn't worth it,
he's just another guy, why wouldn't he be hurt by this?

Dear you,

I don’t know how you do it. But you make me happy. You make me so happy to be alive. Not to mention that you’ve kept me alive, so many times. And for that, I thank you. Dear girl, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you, how much I like you. And how much I’m struggling to not use the word ‘love’. Because that’s what it feels like. I feel like I love you. That’s the only word. What else describes someone who won’t get out of your head? That when you talk to me, my heart soars, I’m happy. You make me happy and no one else can. You know how to get through to me. You know me. But I don’t think I could ever tell you of the feelings I have for you. How I feel for you, and how much I like you. Because of the circumstances of two of your friends liking me. And how I don’t think you would ever do anything because of that. I could never tell you how sad that makes me. And I know that these visions I keep having of us being together won’t actually happen. But I do like you a lot. But you don’t like me. I don’t give you butterflies. I don’t. It’s 6:55 A.M., and I’ve talked to you pretty much the whole night. Let me just say that I love talking to you. I love it so much. And we’ve talked pretty much til 6 AM every single night for the past week. And we’ve talked almost every day. Til early in the morning. Girl, I don’t know how to say this to you. And I’m not sure if I ever could. Because of whatever. I mean, what’s the point of telling you? Just so that you would know? It would save a lot of awkward silences. A lot of times where we wouldn’t talk to each other. And I don’t want that. I really don’t. I want to talk to you. I love talking to you. I just wish I could tell you. No, I wish I could tell you, and you’d feel the same way. And you would tell me that you feel the same for me. But you don’t. I heard you say it. That you don’t like me. And I don’t know why that kills me inside. Because I like you. I like you a lot. I just feel like I was so close. So close to being with you. But I don’t know. I don’t know why it didn’t work out. We would have been wonderful together. We would have. I’m writing this letter, because it’s so early in the morning. And you left me about an hour and a half ago, to talk to someone outside. And I haven’t gotten any sleep. Because you’ve been on my mind the entire time. Let me just say, that if I had any wish right now, it would be for you to love me. Airplanes by B.O.B? That’s why it reminds me of you. I could really use a wish right now. I would wish for you. I don’t want my liking for you to end. But I don’t know if I can keep this up. ‘Cause I’m hurting a lot. I really am. But let me end this letter by saying, that I think you’re absolutely beautiful, inside, and out. And that you are the most caring person I know. You are the absolute most beautiful person, ever. You’re an amazing friend. And I would be blessed to be with you. I am blessed to be friends with you. Because you care so much. And you’ve kept me alive so many times, that I don’t know where I’d be without you. I don’t know. You’ve saved me, you’re my angel, sent from somewhere. And you saved me so many times, and I’m not sure if you’ll ever know.

I guess that there's always something wrong with me. That's why people hardly ever ask me if everything is okay, anymore. They stopped caring. Because when I make it clear that I'm not okay, people don't ask if I'm okay.

"I just want to die, but I don't deserve death.
I just want to cry, but I don't deserve to die yet.
I tell you I'm fine, but I lie if I can get away with it."

I guess people are sick and tired of hearing me complain about stupid things.

Sometimes I wish someone would read this, so that they can know what I'm going through. So they can know. So, they can know that I'm not ever okay. So they can ask if I'm okay. So I can know they care. But of course. They don't. And everyone thinks I'm fine. Because I don't show it on my tumblr. They think that I have my occasional lapse, my occasional depression. They don't know that I feel this way every single night. It's become a usual thing, this depression. Because I'm not fine. I'm not. At all. I just wish someone would ask if I'm okay. Because I'm not. I hardly ever am.

fuck my life.

I feel bad for putting this all on you. I feel so terrible. Goddamn me. Goddamn it. For acting pathetic. I hate the fact that nothing will come of this. I hate the fact that you'll never like me. I hate it.

Being rebellious made me feel better. Isn't that funny?

Lately I've been making myself bleed... It isn't good that I'm proud of that.

I want to explode at someone. And just blow up, and I want to kick and scream and shout. Because none of this is fair. None of it. I don't know what's wrong. But something is really bothering me.

My grandparents are leaving on Tuesday. I had a fun time with them. I want to go. But I don't want to miss anything here. Goddamn it. What the hell should I do? Maybe I'll fly down later? I don't know. I feel so alone. I want to die.

I told myself that I wouldn't like you anymore. I broke my promise. I already hate myself. 'Cause I'm so hung up on what you say. I feel pathetic.

On a side note, I feel like shit. Everything hurts.

So, it's my goal to not care. I'm going for apathy. And Goddamn it. I will reach it.

I am utterly convinced of it now. You don't give a damn about me. I guess I was surprised. But now, I'm more pissed. I guess it's 'cause I'm a negative person. But, Goddamn. I'm finished with you. Get the fuck out of my life.

The Book Thief

Picture yourself walking down Himmel Street in the dark. Your hair is getting wet and the air pressure is on the verge of drastic change. The first bomb hits Tommy Muller's apartment block. His face twitches innocently in his sleep and I kneel at his bed. Next, his sister. Kristina's feet are sticking out from under the blanket. They match the hopscotch footprints on the street. Her little toes. Their mother sleeps a few feet away. Four cigarettes sit disfigured in her ashtray, and the roofless ceiling is hotplate red. Himmel Street is burning.

-

Oh Crucified Christ, Rudy...

He lay in bed with one of his sisters. She must have kicked him or muscled her way into the majority of the bed space because he was on the very edge with his arm around her. The boy slept. The candlelit hair ignited the bed, and I picked both him and Bettina up with their souls still in the blanket. If nothing else, they died fast and they were warm. The boy from the plane, I thought. The one with the teddy bear. Where was Rudy's comfort? Where was someone to alleviate this robbery of his life? Who was there to soothe him as life's rug was snatched from under his sleeping feet?

No one.

There was only me. And I'm not too great at that sort of comforting thing, especially when my hands are cold and the bed is warm. I carried him softly through the broken street with one salty eye, and a heavy deathly heart. With him, I tried a little harder. I watched the contents of his soul for a moment and saw a black-painted boy calling the name Jesse Owens as he ran through imaginary tape. I saw him hip-deep in some icy water, chasing a book, and I saw a boy lying in bed, imagining how a kiss would taste from his glorious next-door neighbor. He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

-

Rudy?

She did more than mouth the word now. "Rudy?"
He lay with yellow hair and closed eyes, and the book thief ran toward him and fell down. She dropped the black book. "Rudy," she sobbed, "wake up...." She grabbed him by his shirt and gave him the slightest disbelieving shake. "Wake up, Rudy," and now, as the sky went on heating and showering ash, Liesel was holding Rudy Steiner's shirt by the front. "Rudy, please." The tears grappled with her face. "Rudy, please, wake up, Goddamn it, wake up, I love you. Come on, Rudy, come on, Jesse Owens, don't you know I love you, wake up, wake up, wake up...."

But nothing cared.

The rubble just climbed higher. Concrete hills with caps of red. A beautiful, tear-stomped girl, shaking the dead.
"Come on, Jesse Owens-"
But the boy did not wake.
In disbelief, Liesel buried her head into Rudy's chest. She held his limp body, trying to keep him from lolling back, until she needed to return him to the butchered ground. She did it gently.
Slow. Slow.
"God, Rudy..."
She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Liesel kissed her best friend, Rudy Steiner on the lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection. She kissed him long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, she touched his mouth with her fingers. Her hands were trembling, her lips were fleshy, and she leaned in once more, this time losing control and misjudging it. Their teeth collided on the demolished world of Himmel Street.

*
I cried twice while reading this book.

I don't think my uncle believed my story about my cuts. I don't think so at all. Falling into a rosebush is believable for 3 straight cuts on your wrist... Right?

The thing that worries me the most, is that he's a psychologist. And he'd know what they mean. He would know.

Sever all ties!
Follow procedure!
Pledge abstinence!
Fuck at your leisure!
Breathe in then out!
But not out then in!
Cause over function!
Restart again!


It sounds like a battle cry. I fucking love battle cries.

If you don't want to talk to me, then that's fine. You don't have to pretend to be offline. I have no problem in not talking to you. Just 'cause I'm awake and you're awake doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean we have to talk. Like God damn. It's not a big deal.

I realized. Why do I do that to myself? To get attention? Is that it? Because if it is. Then I will definitely stop. I don't want to do that to myself, if the sole purpose of it is to receive attention. I always swore to myself that I would never do that. A lot of the stuff I do, is because I want the attention. God. Damn. That is so pathetic. I hate pathetic people. A lot of the stuff I do, is pathetic. A lot of it. It's so stupid. I am going to need to stop wanting all of this attention. Stop drawing it to myself. I really need to stop it. It's immature. I need to grow up. And if I do that to myself for the attention. I am going to stop.

"Don't go now. 'Cause I need you right here."

Oh, gosh. Here again. I'm always at this place. I'm always here. At this point, this point in time.

Oh god, oh god.

Well. I'm going to look for someone to just fuck around with. I think that's what I need.

I'm moving on. I always hate this part. But I have to move on. I do.