Tell Myself Stories

I like to hide in my books. I let myself be completely enveloped by every word I read and lived my life through these fictional characters. Maybe some day I hope I can be them...that maybe I'll wake up to a sunlit room, look in the mirror and see someone else. That someone would make me smile, be sure and confident. THat person would fly through life and intrigue everyone and everyone would want to be my friend or go out with me. But that isn't exactly how it works, I realize. So...what's so bad about living a double life? The half of you is in a fictional world you either create or read off of the thin pages of a ridiculously romantic story. Maybe if I keep the sentiment going and keep believing in it...maybe on day I'll have my own intricate lifestyle. In the grand scheme of things we all have great stories if you see your life as a whole. No, I don't think I'll be alone and depressed. I'll probably still be an analyst but i'll be my own character with my own hidden story. My only wish is that it will be memorable, maybe that I too would be remembered.

Santa, I want the Wholesome ME back...

I've changed too much. Escaping used to be a huge part of my home life, I would dream and be happy. I was naive enough to convince myself to believing these dreams and they kept a steady pulse. I need that magic now more than ever. My imagination is waning but it's still there! I think if I start reading again I can get it going. Books will be my life support. HAH! I don't care if it means I have no life! I just want to get bac kto how I was in grade 4. I want to be ridiculously amused by what I have to offer myself. And maybe it will only take the small things to get it working. All I need is my daydreams and endless hope. Even if it means lying to myself. I need the fantasy back, the hope, the plan, the significance, I want it all back.

I used to be considered tomboyish. I would listen to Avril Lavigne, Sum41, Blink 182, the works! I liked playing video games on PS1 and even though I did wear it sometimes, I didn't like the colour pink. My favourite colour was purple. I had long wavy, brown hair which was much plainer than it is today. I was very chubby, even more than I am now. I hated my body and my life and how I never had a solid group of friends to depend on. All the girls in "the crowd" thought I was weird and some of them teased me. The boys teased me to. I had such a hard time with boys; trying to get along with them, trying to get them to like me and just to be treated like the other girls. But I wasn't treated the same. I don't know why exactly but i wasn't and it sure didn't feel good. I do believe it is the reason why I have trouble with guys and girls today.

It's Funny How Things Turn out to Be...

Update on life:

That guy you had a crush on in grade 4 (grade 5, 6, 7 & 8)
has a girlfriend. For 2-3 years. It seemed impossible two years ago!

That girl who made you cringe from her stare, the one who excluded you, humiliated you and made you insecure?
She's dating a drug-dealer---not even joking!

That dorky boy you thought would never stop badgering you about how much he loves you and wants you: has completely moved on! He goes to a different school and continues to badger some lesser-girl.

That girl who you always admired but never could stay in her life long enough...
She still loves to read, write, dream and hang out with the same crowd of people that you will never manage to be apart of.

That girl bestfriend whom you thought would always be in your life...
You let her go last year and it may be the harder but best decision you made. Why?
Because that girl is sneaking around, hanging out with the wrong people and smoking her way through high school.

This Close to Conformity, This Time.

Once upon a time there lived a pathetic girl who attended a pathetic school and lived somewhere you could say was completely pathetic. Everything she would talk about was nonsense and negative. The way she made herself look maybe people think she was full of nonsense and completely negative. When she would come home after a miserable day at her pathetic school she would yell out nonsense and profanities to her unreasonable adult advisors hired by some hidden anti-anger management club of do-gooders and traditionalists. She left to go to a brilliant camp to supervise commercialistic tweens. This camp was just the lowest form of propoganda. Nobody followed all the promises or truly understood the values they were supposedly 'practicing.' Why? This was because the other supervisers like the pathetic girl, are actually drones! They have no hearts, no values and they eat up every commercial idea fed to them by the media. Sucked into this image, so strong! So brainwashing! Pathetic girl...almost completely lost it. Why? Because she almost gave in to being one of them.

I Can't Describe

Everything I feel, I feel so deeply. It's fascinating. It's always associated with music where I want to soak up all of the emotions and the feel of the songs. Feeling the words and sensing the emotions curved with every note or chord. I can understand that better than everything else.

Except when I listen to his music. When I listen to his music I am overwhelmed by it's complexity but easy-going melody.

Grammar Corrections from a Fictional Male

I'm not just angry as of today.
It's not that kind.
It's the kind of anger that is annoying and eating inside you. Pent up anger that no one could come close to comprehending.
It's the kind of anger that makes me want to say "I hate you" when I know that really isn't the case.
I hate what's become of you and how you pretend to see me. I hate those jokes you use to cover up the truth and reality.
If you want an escape go live with the Mennonites or take acid or drown in music's sweet, bottomless reverie.
Don't talk to me expecting that I'll just let things slide like everything you say is okay and never bothers me.
And don't wear a mask with me because I'm determined to see through it anyways.
Don't talk to me with the intention to be polite but be impolite when you disregard me with pity. It's selfish and sick.
And maybe we shouldn't talk at all.
Because I know these arguments don't show that you care.
They only show me how I've always been, Caring.

What is it worth if it means nothing to you?

It was the Brook Tree

That boy you grew up with...he's not a boy anymore. He's a man.
And now that you're not a little girl either, he sees you differently. He's sees you as an option, full potential. It's more of a confusing case than anything. But just because he's so hard to understand, decipher or get to knowing; don't let him go. No matter how much pain it is, no matter how many times you feel put down or left out. See all of that through because you have an idea. And when you have an idea, it's great and it can expand into something genuinely magnificent! Come now, you have the potential to make things better. You have incredible insight, the stuff that created chairs from trees and wheat into bread. Don't let these silly little barriers get in your way. And if along the way you discover that it only is what you see at face-value then before you quit, you better know you tried.

Dear you,
You're hurting me. There is something on your mind, or some feeling you have that you are keeping from me. This gets in the way. Every time we talk I feel like you're tense and will just shut down any minute. Of course I will end up feeling like i did something wrong. But I didn't, and I'm not. It's just you, and something about you. So what exactly am I to do? We've been friends for this long. Why are you letting me go like this? Why not be there to save it. But no, you don't want to. You couldn't possibly want to take the time out to try and know me. How far behind you'll be in knowing me after a few years. I hope you just remember, It's your choice. And it always has been because you always have the upper hand. I'm sick of you selecting the time of day where I'm "allowed" to talk to you because every other time you do your best to belittle me by saying something incredibly low and vile. Everything is a joke to you. All I ask is that you don't see me as one of your jokes.

Inevitably,
Nat