[ 15.12.02 ]
That last post was an entry into my journal. Someone asked me about it, and this is what I said:
Ah.
That.
Screams from my childhood
streams through my mind
begging to be heard
wishing to be forgotten
wishing to be gone
burning, blinking
fading
hurting
When I was a kid,
I was different.
I was a kid completely bent --
on comfort.
Comfort meaning:
not dressing up,
no makeup,
not fixing my hair,
not having the latest styles.
When I was a kid,
I found myself the object--
and subject--
of contempt.
I was the outcast.
The one they picked on.
The last in line
The hated, the tormented.
So I took the only way--
that was available.
I tried to make myself,
less visible.
But one thing--
always stuck out
I had a haircut--
a very short haircut
No matter how much--
I hid
No matter how much--
I didn't show myself . . .
It didn't matter
they always found me,
they always hurt me
they always tormented me.
I tried to be perfect--
to have the perfect slang
perfect ideas
perfect agreements
I tried to show that--
I wasn't scared
worried
angry
I buried everything
turned myself into someone else
only to survive
and I hate myself for it.
Val [4:22 PM]
[ 14.12.02 ]
Hell, I don't know.
Dear God,
If I said that sometimes I didn't feel like I was completely human, would you be mad?
I don't feel as if I have the same feelings as everyone else. Sadness occurs, but I don't know how to comfort others about it. Some people are just born good at it; and here I am, seemingly emotionally disconnected.
It was Friday the 13th yesterday. No one cares. No one cares about the weather or the details of life. No one is observant enough.
Oh and I am? I think that I am. If you asked me, I could tell you kind of shoes Mr. Corley (my band director) had on today -- tennis shoes.
I suppose that perhaps I could eventually be the queen of meaningless trivia.
Oh and btw, Mr. Corley was woofing at me today (b/c I had a spiked dog collar on). So I simply shot him an "obscene gesture" -- as he put it -- while scratching my face. It seems that I have him pegged pretty good. I just don't know all the limits of his game.
Maybe that's why I'm interested. I wish to know the limits, in order to how far I can push the game.
Perhaps, just be/c I'm older, doesn't mean that the game of survival is not always somewhere in my list. Maybe it's not my #1 priority anymore; but perhaps it just gets moved around on the list.
Deep down -- perhaps even subconsciously -- I'm still scared.
There's something about being made to feel utterly helpless for three years of your . . . my life, that hasn't really left me yet. I can deny it however I like, but in the end, the truth remains.
I think that I am the only person who can understand lastcrazyhorn. No one else can do it, because they don't have all my throughts -- thoughts that were hidden during school, during the bus, and even during counseling.
Home represents all those years on the bus -- w/ Chad (my main tormentor) and all the rest. Probably he doesn't remember anything.
So what am I doing thinking about teaching Middle School?
That would mean facing the place that destroyed everything that I was, and created what I have turned to be.
How can I face the murderer of my soul and mind and heart?
Is the battle truly over?
If it is, who will win this time?
Who even won last time?
If I wasn't silly all of the time -- my soul, my pain -- would certainly threaten to take over once again.
And who will win this time?
-Why must I hate myself so?
-Why did I have to be so weak?
-Why did I have to be so afraid?
-Why did that fear have to control my life?
Teachers are not gods.
.....If they were, they could have saved me.
..........lastcrazyhorn might have lived.
...............She could have been remembered.
a face dark in the night
lost forever that face
gone
Hello T
here
.................... No one noticed that my drawing said that. Not that anyway.
.....I'm putting myself into a mood. I can feel it.
.....I can't feel anything -- yet I can feel Everything.
.....................................................................................
And that's a glimpse into my soul.
Val [10:00 PM]
help?
