Are we all lost causes?

January 14, 2010

I don’t deserve anything I have. All the records I put forth my own money to purchase, my favorite grey sweater, and my favorite feather pillow with a deep green case. What have I ever done for anyone else?

I want to change the way I react to things. I know it is because of the build up of all the events of my day, but those feelings come out all wrong. Like tonight when I got mad at my little sister. I hurt her and she started crying and I had this smug grin spread my face. I’ll be honest- I am a bit sadistic, but I do feel bad afterwards. Though I know the next time I get mad my reaction won’t be much better. You can’t smother who you are, you can only bury it.

Today in geography class I heard about the earthquake in Haiti. (We are working on a writing piece about the earthquake.) Those people have nothing and suffer on a daily basis from poverty. They deserve what I have, a warm bed to sleep in, food on the table, and a cozy grey sweater. I know someone in that country is deserving of that.

Can you even believe it was a 7.0 earthquake? In geography class we looked at a map of tectonic plates and the earthquake wasn’t deep but Haiti was practically sitting on the Caribbean plate boundary so they got the worst of the plate shifting. And to think, they were just preparing for hurricane season when this hit. It’s estimated over 3 million people were killed, injured, or trapped underneath buildings. One of the worst parts, every single road is blocked and there is hardly anything we can do at the moment with an aftershock soon to hit.

When I told the news to my parents, trying to start conversation or debate the topic, the news didn’t seem to bother them at all. And that crushed me. I feel horrible and nothing has even happened to me. Now I sit here hoping the sound of Stephen Christian’s voice in “*Fin” will soothe me.

“Empty is the sky before the sun wakes up.
Empty is the eyes of the animals in the cages.
Empty are the faces of women in mourning
when everything has be taken from them.
Me? Don’t ask me about empty.” – Chiodos

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Just a dream, right?

February 12, 2009

02/12/09

Last night I had a dream. You see, I don’t really like dreams. Mine usually seem to be connected to inner fear or just something stupid that scares me while I’m asleep, though when I think about it later it seems idiotic. It wasn’t terribly frightening, though it was strange. It had something to do with a couple topics I’ve had on my mind a lot recently. Cutting and To Write Love On Her Arms. (In fact I’m wearing my one of my TWLOHA tees right now.)

In this dream I was in some hospital/psychiatric ward. The setup was similar to parts of my house, yet like a hospital at the same time. It was vacant. I wandered the halls with a few of my family members (I only remember my mother and Eleanor), yet I kept ending up in the same place.  As if I was going in circles. So while wandering these empty halls alone, they seemed dirty or abandoned. Finally I came across a bed, in which was my former house guest, Abby. I was scared I didn’t know what to say or do, I didn’t want to go pleading sorry. I ran back in circles, trying to think things over. Finally, I entered a bathroom. In that bathroom I found a razor blade. No, not a three bladed razor you would use to shave your legs. I razor blade. I began to cut little slits in my hand, the one I remember most was on my thumb. I hesitated a moment and went on. They were not very deep, but enough to sting. Blood didn’t ooze, but I saw blood. — My hands are shaking while I type this post.– I was tempted to go for my wrist, but I didn’t slice through the skin, only because I had a fear of “bleeding it out”. All through school the thought of cutting racked through my brain, and I was scared.