imissmylast3braincells

[imissmylast3braincells]

im about to lose it in my catholic school :P

i think i have a good relationship with god, just not catholics. i dont try to pretend anymore. i refuse to stand with those who look down upon strong women afraid of their sexuality. i won’t stand for those who persecute parents and children of divorce because the simply didn’t, try hard enough. my compliancy with hate speech under the guise of a 3000 year old book is no more. i refuse to be ashamed of who i love because it doesn’t fit the standards of people none of us have even met. and yet, because i have a boyfriend right now, it means im healing, moving away from the darkness and evil that is my bisexuality. trust me, i still very much like girls. if you have the nerve to say i have horrendous anxiety that stops me from being the first to cross a street because im worried about the possible eyes on me, or the anxiety that tells me if i dont have a 100%, i am worthless and not deserving of another breath. and i absolutely refuse to go along with this excuse of love and togetherness when it comes with conditioning and brain washing. so i say to you, was my uncle just at a poor place with god when he swallowed a bottle of pills because of his fear that god would hate him because he’s gay. or my other uncle who walked around on the streets with a knife intending to kill himself and believed god was punishing him. or when i considered slitting my own wrists because my world was changing for the worst and i was so young and felt so fucking alone. was it because i that i didn’t go to church every sunday just to put on a show.

[imissmylast3braincells]

i was crying in a parking lot

the sound of a car being shaken by the wind is peaceful when you are inside the hurricane, eyes closed and hiding from the crueler noises outside. the sounds that cool your insides as their icy tones slide down your shoulders and creep into your mind when you are left alone for long enough. im okay with others, i smile and mean it, which is more than i can say for the smaller version of me that felt the world on her shoulders as she laid on the bathroom floor crying because she had to be quiet to not worry her parents. the smile with others is sincere and means that im not alone, left with the loud noises in my mind that is sometimes drowned by the cocktail of medicine i need to numb the ‘sad times’ in my mind. this isn’t meant to be a soliquey of the sadness that i try to deal with. its hereditary, which means we all know about it and feel the shame as it spreads its darkness across our bodies, silent and shameful, because you were the weak susceptible one. the one that is drowned out by the laughter of others, the one who must sit and be still and pretend she is comfortable around those who would persecute her because of what she believes and who she loves. and the shaky hands and stinging eyes that write this now must shape up and go for a walk, maybe try exercising on the weekends, and getting more sleep to officially tune out the sounds of screams and the dark walls that have been rid of dolphin wallpaper years ago. to say goodbye to your home is difficult when it was your last stance of normalcy to the fate of many years ago. the horror of falling so out of love that everything is the same you just have different homes. and i dont want to worry, or be the concern i know i am. i hate the fear in their eyes when i say i need a walk, or am left alone with enough pills that could rot my kidneys or let me finally sleep. the bags under the eyes that cannot begone no matter how long she has lied there motionlessly, the death like sleep that feels a little too close to home is never long enough. but now i smile and i mean it, around those i have grown to trust, but its the times when im alone. distractions can only distract for so long before it gets too loud. everything is too loud, the emails are too loud, the calls the texts the bells the bills the future pressure of who am i. what do i want. what am i going to do. ive had my whole life planned out from the age of 12 because that was the only thing that kept me from closing the book and declaring ‘the end’. the pills that are needed feel as though they are not enough, and yet they feel too much when they affect thoughts mid sentence, forced to stutter and try to start over, to gather thoughts you have already made and repackage them to see if this time they will flow. they feel as though they arent enough when that same feeling of dread, like a car coming at you in the dark, when given the task of throwing out a finished apple in a quiet full room. but ‘the end’ is never the answer, instead you must endure, suffer your lottery and make sure you don’t make anyone sad in black clothes and cold winter days standing in silence around a carved rock and flowers in hands that have gone numb long ago. make sure that the things you smoke dont smell so everything seems okay, when okay just means you arent feeling at all. are you taking your medicine? is it working ? when would you like to get off, you cant just stop it hs to be a process that you will begin and continue for what may be the rest of your life. yes it is completely normal and yet that shame placed upon you is more natural than the two swallowable pills given in their neat little package every month

[imissmylast3braincells]

my friends hand

i had to write this in class for drama within two minutes and blacked out during all of it

Most of the time, i feel lost. I don’t know what taxes are, or how to pay off debt. all i know is, I'm a taker. i take and take and take. i grab things. i feel selfish all the time, but I'm told it is my duty, that I'm necessary. i don’t feel necessary. the only constant besides the taking and placing is the rings. they have been there since i can remember. their coldness and tightness around my long parts feel safe, they feel secure. my top sharp parts are falling off at a rapid rate, and I'm unsure of how much longer i will have them. occasionally i dress them up, but the covering is beginning to feel more like a disguise than an accessory. i wish i had contact with my brother, but we so rarely clasp anymore. all i can see is that shiny metallic ring that connects us. i feel that we have grown apart, our usefulness varying.

[imissmylast3braincells]

[imissmylast3braincells]

playwriting

i have to write a short piece for my drama class and i want it to be from the point of view of the three witches from macbeth. they are really just some bitches out in a field bored asf cause its the 1500s and gregory, the town idiot, just died of the fucking plague and now they really have nothing to do but fuck with sum dumb bitch in a fur coat and his twink walking up a mountain. i dont know if my catholic school is ready for that raw unleashed power

[imissmylast3braincells]

im high lets do this

i don’t like the way she is looking at me, and i especially dont like the look shes giving to whoever is behind me. as i turned around, a feeling over dread road over me as i saw what she saw. my eyes burned as my vision became glassy, the smell of moldy cheese and wet soup. the girl couldnt make a sound, but i knew she was smirking. i had looked, she was safe, and i was about to die. her heels pounded against the pavement as she ran to hide, i was going to make such a mess. i thought of oatmeal in my last moments, nothing spectaculir about it. just milk, oats, some honey and cinnamon. and yet it brought comferate warmth and joy to so many more like me, the teethless, the broken.

[imissmylast3braincells]

[imissmylast3braincells]

Sandra Bullock was EVERYONE’S first crush

[imissmylast3braincells]

yellow wallpaper but more goth

Yellow wallpaper stared back at me as my face grew warm. It felt fitting, and if I had been able to find my voice in that moment, I would have even chuckled at the irony as the bright paper seemingly mocked me, allowing for my own madness to fester because of some foolish man I had given too much control. My body felt like it was too still, all while my blood pumped too loudly in my veins. The tears that found their way down my cheeks were alien to me in that moment, and I too, felt alien. The motel was alien, my pain was alien, this situation, alien. The world shook as I held myself still, trying not to move a muscle, feeling like the pain was physically creeping up behind me, and there I was, lost. I wanted to scream, to rip my throat to shreds and crush my vocal cords with my own momentum, but I felt like I could never speak again. The few times, out of pure necessity, I was able to blink, visions of carnage, lost limbs, and blood filled my otherwise empty gaze. The sight was trapped with me in that yellow room, and I was unsure of who was the real prisoner. Finally, I was able to bring a hand up to my cheek and try to wipe away the mix of blood, chunks of friends’ flesh, and tears, and then the world began to spin once again. The pumping of my blood in my ears was silenced by my cry, and the pain waiting behind me had sunk its hooks into my back, promising to stay. I was no longer still, shaking as though I was struck by lightning. I fell off the bed and onto the floor, forced to stare under the bed. As an infant, I would have been afraid to stare into the dark abyss that was the unknown cavern underneath any child's’ bed. Now, it was almost comforting, knowing I had just witnessed the most horrifying thing I would ever face, knowing anything else thrown at my shaking body, covered in the blood of those I had loved the most would never be able to top my own horrors from the day. I thought of the man, the one with too much control. He tore through everyone like toys already weakened by years of use. He tore through them like it was nothing, like they were nothing, and now they were. With aching limbs and stinging eyes, I began the painful process of starting over again, trying to plan my next step while on the dirty motel floor staring into the darkness, praying for the times of monsters under the bed.