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.
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.
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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment