A Narration

You want to  know how my days going? 

Woken up at an hour too early, to discover a jacked-up nose and a throat that aches like no tomorrow.

Get yelled at by you*lovely* sister  and mother multiple times to get up, because 'we're leaving in an  hour' when it only takes you 30 minutes to get ready.  

Go downstairs and are rudely told to clean up a cat's projectile vomit from the couch, but right now you wouldn't be able to stomach the smell of water, so you opt to temporarily cover it with a towel.

On the way to church, you realize that your throat'a ache, and nose's stuffiness are not jut a passing winter morning feeling, but the beginning of a bought of sickness, but wait, there's more: you're starting to cough a lot.

Your sister teases you about not being awake yet, but you're just too focused on not coughing your head off to talk much. Next to that, she rudely asks if you brushed your teeth- which you realized you hadn't.

Now, you are worried to breath too close to someone, so you don't breath sick-morning breath all over them and become permanently repulsive.

Talking is painful, let alone singing worship, but you try one song anyway. It hurts. Oh well. 

After service, your sister attempts to abuse her power by demanding you help her take are of toddlers. 

You just barely manage to get her to let you alone. 

You're forced into taking embarrassing, dirty-haired pictures with a man in an Olaf costume, 

And then unintentionally third wheeled by your best friend and her new exploits. Onc you're finally home, you find zero suitable food, no warn soup to ease your sick feeling, so you just have cold ice cream, in November, which relieves you momentarily before your throat begins complaining more.

You can also hear your parents arguing in the other room, though they do that a lot these days, it still makes you sad.

You make it to your room, expecting relaxing solitude, maybe a nap, but are shouted at to clean the vomit you'd forgotten. Once you make it to the stairs, your mother proceeds to angrily tell you, essentially, to 'get off your lazy butt and clean the couch, and your room. No more reading till you're a perfect child.' When you were actually I in the midst of falling asleep, NOT reading, as she seems to hate.

At this point, you develope your now expected headache.

You then use a towel to practically scoop cat barf from the couch, and even get around to spraying fabric cleaner on the stain before you realize you're still in a nice shirt, and go to your room to change while the cleaner sits. Having not even made it up the stairs, your dad shouts for you, forcing you to change whilst walking, and he winds up shouting for you to clean the puke, so you hastily explain your absence.

No one cares that your head is screaming murder, or that it burns to breathe through your mouth, but it's easier than breathing through you out of order nose, 

But then again they may not have even noticed that you feel like the dog crap in the cold, wet backyard.  And on top of that, it's already raining, so I guess that means it can't get any worse. 

And on top of that, every time you think you get five minutes to sit down and breathe, someone yells at you for not doing anything, and at this point all I want to do is cry. So I am. 

Phrank Mc

Blood, Anxiety and Puke

So it's 6AMish.

I feel like I'm going to vomit.

I'm cold as hell.

Oh, and my vagina is leaking blood.

But I'm really confused right now, and it seems the best thing to do is post something.

Things keep happening really fast and in my head I haven't completely caught up.

It's funny how one minute someone can say they love you and the next tell you not to talk to them.

Or excuse feelings as not real.

That confuses me.

I don't think any of my feelings have ever been fake or the cause of manipulation.

Everyone's worried about me.

At least, they will be.

But it's really fucking cold right now, and if I'm gonna puke I wish it would just happen.

And I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for what's going to happen the next time I see everyone.

I'm glad they have an extra week away from me to cool off.

But I'm still scared.

I don't want to lose them.

But at the same time, my life is my life and they have to let me live it.

I know they want to protect me.

But really, they are more vulnerable than I am.

More needing of protecting.

I'm really scared of fucking up again.

Of trying to help and ultimately messing things up even more.

I feel like I'm not good enough for them, but they need me.

Like, they deserve someone better, but I'm the only one here.

I'm shaking.

Whether from cold or anxiety I don't know.

But I'm sitting in my bathroom shaking and trying to work out in my head what's happening and how to proceed.

But I really have no Idea.

I'll just try not to kill anyone.

Maybe.

 

Until next time, my babies

 

- Phred S.

The Lonely Christmas

Merry Christmas.

From the bottom of my heart, Merry Christmas.

On this day I never expected to be alone.

But now, sitting here I feel cold and alone.

The snow is all around me.

I can smell the turkey cooking on the other side of this wall.

I'm leaning on it to keep warm.

I've already knocked on the door and been told to get lost.

I thought Christmas was a day of giving?

I'm getting colder and colder by the minute.

Pulling my blanket tighter around me, the tips of my fingers are turning blue.

I'm so cold.

I remember last Christmas at my grandmothers house.

There was a big turkey and huge Christmas tree.

There were tons of presents under the tree, but my favorite one was a new white iPhone.

But now, with all the stores closed there's no shelter for me.

The only food I've gotten was some candy from the parade.

The best present was a fleece blanket I found on the side of the road.

I can't stop shivering.

I'm falling asleep when a little girl comes around the side of the house.

She looked at me and ran back inside.

Her mother came out and picked me up to bring me inside.

Everything is fuzzy and fading.

The last thing I heard while I was alive was someone calling 911.

The Last Christmas.

The Lonely Christmas.

Now I watch over the ones like me.

Alone on Christmas day.

Refused a place to stay.

I'm the warm wind air that keeps them alive.

And the chill you feel when you turn away a homeless child.

Christmas is a day of giving.

And I watch over the ones with nothing to give or take.

The ones with lonely Christmases.

 



Why we broke up and what's happened since

Hints the title,  Danny and I broke up.  And I feel as if I owe you an explanation as to why? Even though none of you probably give a crap, except maybe my sister, who is just nosy. 

Alright, so what happened? Don't worry my lovelies, your dearest phrankie hasn't been wallowing around in heart break for the past three weeks, as it seems is common in this situation. 

No,  It was actually a rather uneventful thing in my eyes. 

See, I could spend my time telling you every little detail, making jabs at Danny, the 'traditional' post-break-up-rant-of-pain, but there is no pain, no need to rant, no need for jibes, so I'll just tell you the flat truth and set all records straight: 

I just don't love him anymore. Not how he wanted me to. 

Yes, I did say anymore. I know someone had said the reasoning behind it was he asked if I loved him, and I said no. That's a lie. 

A wise soul once told me they believed that there's not just one person in this world you get to love romantically, and that just because you're not meant to be with someone forever doesn't mean you're not meant to be in the first place. I love those words. They make total sense to me, and I accept them as my own philosophy. Having said that,  I did love him romantically, and I think we were supposed to happen, but over time it was at the point where I thought that I loved him, but everything he said and did made me want to put him six feet under ground. 

Not even kidding. 

But I said I wasn't taking jabs tonight, so I'm not going to. Moving on.

 Out relationship got to the point where, I was plain miserable for seeming no reason. And I hid it for a time, thinking it was just teenager issues or something. But eventually, it would go away, in fact it got worse, and I just got so flipping stressed. I knew that I had given up long before my 'misery' was visible to any except maybe Phred, and by the time I managed I voice to him that maybe we shouldn't be together, every attempt of his to get me back admittedly just ticked me off. He sent me 'poetic' (as per Phred's description) messages, even though I hate poetry, he told me to listen to a 'take me back' sort of song (which made me so angry I nearly threw my iPod across my bedroom), he did the expected 'don't leave' speeches. But at that point, we were on 'break' already and despite my many, many different wordings of 'stop trying to force me to love you again yore just making it worse', he kept trying to force me to love him again. It was rally the last straw. 

And then we were through. 

I was already set to move on and just be friends again, put it all on the past, I was so RELIEVED, I felt so free and happy and carefree for the first time in so long; I hadn't realized how weighed down I was until that point. 

And then he got all sad, 'depressed', of you will. I didn't account for the fact that, though I'd really gotten over us before we were officially sone, he had the whole 'mourning' period. Buy he was so depressed, it was making me guilty, the very last thing I wanted to feel, was guilty about soon something that made me happy.

Frankly, it ticked me off.

I was outraged.

In a few moments of blind selfishness, I said a few very mean, very selfish, get-over-yourself type things to him. Yeah, I understand I was mean for doing that, but don't you judge me, don you go judging me, Danny, over twenty minutes of selfish anger. 

But of course, that's exactly what you did. 

You said you 'saw me in a different light'. 

Basically, what that's saying is that if you know someone for almost two years, and they have one bad moment, discard all the positive thing about them, the times they've helped you, and give them harsh judgment over one stupid thing. Because that's apparently how life works. 

I could have gotten over that, if it weren't for the fact that every conversation since has gone like this, in summation

Him: hi

Me: hello

Him: can we still be friends

Me: yeah

*civilized conversation for five or ten minutes*

Him: *says something rude or no longer acceptable that makes me uncomfortable*

Me: *tries to handle it civilly-*

Him: *says something to start argument*

*argument commences* 

Him: *well the how about we just don't talk anymore* 

Me: are you serious you claim to want to be friends

Him: ignores me for three days

Me: why do I try

Me: *rants to phred* 

'.' 

I'm not even joking. 

That's how they all go. I'm getting tired of it. However, to give him credit, he did text me a couple days ago and I never responded, but I was emotionally compromised over a book. And he hasn't texted again since, so... Yeah. 

That's what happened. Yup. Bye.

Adio

Phrankie Mc

The Problems Of Phred McSparrow

Disclaimer

I'm not being serious, so don't go off on me about how dumb my problems are.

Thanks.

So I'm kinda a weird kid.

Ok, I'm a really weird kid.

And I'm cool with that.

But being a weird kid means a lot of problems come up for me that'll never happen for some others.

And have and will continue to happen for some others.

But anywho, I'll continue with this post.

Hell, I might even categorize the areas of these problems.

Problems with having a quiet/antisocial best friend:

1# She won't go to dances.

Or dance with you.

Or anyone else for that matter.

Basically she refuses to shake her booty.

2# Conversations that go like this

Me: Come with me so I can flirt with boys.

Phrank: Uggghhh, nooooo.

Me: Pleeaassee.

Phrank: Wwwhhhyyy?

Me: 'Cause I can't do it alone.

Phrank: No.

Me: Please?

Phrank. No

3# I know everything about her.

But actually, I know nothing.

I couldn't tell you her favorite food, what she wants her wedding to be like, etc.

Yet, she probably knows all of that about me.

4#  She doesn't talk about herself much.

Meaning I talk about myself a lot.

And then I feel like shit.

Cause I'm only talking about myself.

Really tho.

5#  You can't stop loving her.

She's just too awesome

Problems With Being Single

1#  When someone I don't like hits on me,

I don't have any excuse to turn them down.

Besides saying I'm a lesbian.

But that doesn't work when the person asking you out is a chick.

Sigh.

2#  This meme:

3#  I give relationship advice all the time.

And yet...

Problems With Being A Blogger

1# When life happens, you are expected to give a report.
When life happens, it's hard to find time to give a report.
When life happens, it might hurt to give a report.

2# Looking at posts generally makes you feel like and idiot cause of you're me your posts are probably dumb.

3# But actually there's not that many downsides to blogging.
It's cool.

So this was a short post.
I just needed to lighten the atmosphere after the last post.
Yup.
Until next time bunny baby cakes.
>_<


- Phred M.

I Hurt People OR This Post Is Depressing And Doesn't Stay On Topic

Hey guys.

It's Phred.

I really don't know who I'm talking to right now.

Maybe no one.

Maybe.

Or maybe this blog means something to someone other than myself and Phrank.

Probably not.

But sometimes I have to believe I'm helping someone.

That somewhere in the world my stories make someone laugh, or feel less alone.

Because if I don't, then who the hell am I?

No one that matters.
Someone who is better off dead.

Because I've hurt people.

I know I have hurt so many people.

And I can't fix it with some of them.

And sometimes I can.

I try to sew up the wounds but even when they heal there'll still be scars.

I know I hurt people.

But goddamn it, they hurt me too.

People I shouldn't care about.

People I should hate.

People I say I hate.

Their absence.

Their presence.

Tears me limb from fucking limb.

And then there' the people that should love me.

That should support me.

That say they do.

Then turn around and hurt me more than anyone else.

Try to isolate me from the only people who can heal my wounds.

And all for a fucking voice in their head that says I'm going to hell.

Where is my life headed?

In two years I could try to get emancipated.

Where would I go?

Will anyone still be there?

Or will I have hurt them too much for too long?

I hate myself sometimes.
I'm a stuck up bitch, with only two real friends and I don't even know why they stay around for me.

But still, the one thought that always comes back.

I hurt people.

I've made people cry.

I've said things specifically to rip someones heart as much as I am capable of.

I try to hurt people.

And I succeed.

And I always want back the people who hurt me.

Who leave me in the dust, bleeding and crying.
Because I give trust.
Blindly.
Stupidly.
I give trust and people abuse it.
Because we're human.
The only way we can feel big is to make someone else feel small.
I try to make people feel small.
And yet I feel so tiny.
A speck.
I'm small and confused.
The other day I saw a fly try and fly into the mirror.
Over and over it hit the mirror.
If it would have turned around it would have seen the there was a whole room to fly in.
But it kept banging itself into the mirror.
I feel like a fly banging myself against a mirror.
Or a portrait.
When I turn around the peace I'm looking for is not the thing I see.
God, I sound like a preacher.
Except for saying fuck and goddamn.
I don't think any gods take offense to the word goddamn.
Then again, I'm not really sure what I think.
I think I believe in Wicca
In balance and maybe a touch of magic.
And now I sound like a fucking disney movie.
But I can't seem to find the balance.
Maybe that's just being a teen?
I hope I can find it.
But this post has dragged on enough already.
I need to do something productive.
But one last word.
If you are the one person that reads this.
You are important.
And there is someone who cares.
Cause she writes to you about her stories and her experiences.
Her troubles and her joys.
She writes to you when she feels worthless.
Cause writing makes her feel like she's accomplishing something.
And you are the reason she writes.
Thank you.
Until later.

- Phred M.