what things there are to write, if i could only write them! my mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. but always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.

Blood transforms the warm bath water
and, in it, I see weakly
that this was a mistake.
The razor’s cut is not deep, nevertheless
the blood rushes out happily in the warm
water as if kin to it, the same
tender substance.
Rising
a new person
transformed with an icy
sense of error
I go to the sink and turn on cold water
which is not friendly to blood.
The cut is deeper than imagined.
It hurts.
Splashes on the pale gold tile,
bright red bursts like sunlight,
like exclamation points—Another Error!
I wrap a small towel around my wrist.
A small towel indicates a small error.
Soaked through
the towel’s gold is tarnished.
There is an innocent joy in the blood’s
flow that the towel and I cannot absorb.
Another towel wrapped tight in terror
slows everything down.
On a blue velvet
love seat from which love has wandered I
sit waiting.
I am an angel with an alert backbone.
I am purified from the business
of panic.

the night is my lover, my sweetheart, and if i go out at night, i want my night to have all of these things at once: a sense of occasion, a dramatic plotline, and someone with whom i can share an exquisitely beautiful understanding. but in face, none of my nights out have ever possessed all three of these qualities. i know that somewhere along the line i get lost.

thats why every night when i get home i check my email. email begins at the vanishing point of you, me and the night. my mailbox exists with a fixed protocol, and i know so long as i dont make a mistake, as long as i hit the right keys, the messages will write and be sent out. i can be reasonably certain of this, and i find it deeply satisfying.

i like to tell stories in my emails. if a plot that has me in it is unfinished and has lots of loose ends, i'll add onto it. if none of the stories i'm ever in are beautiful or moving, i'll still go on telling them. if none of the people in my life are adequate or ideal, i still won't give up on my search, even if the best i can do is to find something that resembles those people.

when i transmit a story electronically, i'm weaving memories together between my fingers. if the recipient has come into my thoughts, he will learn what he means to me. even though i may be rather scattered, i still think there's nothing more important than stories. every detail in a story dances because every detail is a fragment. perhaps nothing has been set into motion yet today, but that isn't going to knock me down.

every day i think of you, and every day i wonder. why do you hesitate, all alone?

i don't suppose you're afraid that the sea will rise up in big, stormy waves. if only flowing water could look back. please take me away with you. if flowing water could be changed into me then tears would fall. if i were clear flowing water, i would never look back. time never stops flowing. it passes by, never to return, and the flowers on the tree burst into bloom, the blossoms so beautiful. flowers fade and bloom again, but who can understand?

i'm a star; you, a cloud. was our love too shallow, or was it fate that kept us apart? today you must accept all that lies before you.

don't ask where love comes from. love is like a song or a painted scroll.

i hope you won't forget me.

the wind came to ask me what loneliness is , but i'm too young. what do i know of loneliness? another cloud drifted over and asked me, is love a kind of happiness? but until i understand romance how can i know if it's a kind of joy? how can i know joy when all i've experienced is malice?

Heartbreak Quotes

Heartbreak Quotes

I’ll never escape. It drives me mad. I must must must do something. I feel as if I’m at the earth’s heart. I’ve got the whole weight of the whole earth pressing in on this little box. It grows smaller smaller smaller. I can feel it contracting.
I want to scream sometimes. Till my voice is raw. To death.
I can’t write it. There aren’t the words.
Utter despair.
I’ve been like that all day. A kind of endless panic in slow motion.

One of the worst feelings in the world is loneliness. Sitting in the dark
by yourself in the wee hours of the night gently crying. Nobody knows
what's going on with you. How could anybody realize what's
happening? Everybody you know is resting peacefully in their bed
awaiting the new day tomorrow. But for you, there's no difference in
the days. They pass monotonously. And before you know it, it's all
gone.

It wasn't a suicide attempt, it was an escape from everything awful.
When we cut, we're in control - we make our own pain and we can stop
it whenever we want. Physical pain relieves mental anguish. For a brief
moment, the pain of cutting is the only thing in the cutter's mind, and
when that stops and the other comes back, it is weaker. Drugs do that
too, and sex, but not like cutting. Nothing is like cutting.

is intelligence a curse or a gift?

I don't like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand right back and if possible get a pillar between me and the train.

I don't like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation.

ultra numb.

Turns out you can repress your entire life, but it WILL catch up with you in the end

All alone now. Me and my thoughts. How can I fix me? Do I even want to try?

it's so dark now. and so cold.

i sit here for 15 minutes between each word i write.

as if waiting for some self-actualisation that never comes.

there are no stars in the sky. there is no moon. there is no laughter. there is no gossip. there are no friends. there is nothing to disctract me from feeling.

i dont want to feel. i have spent a lifetime learning not to feel. i do not want to unlearn it.

my earliest emotion was blinding hate. a hatred i held so strongly that it took away the power to speak. it was this hatred that i held so vehemenly and compulsively that rendered me completely unable to feel any other emotion. hatred was my sun, happiness, hope, every other emotion, just stars, too far away to ever touch me. occasionally i would gaze upon them and will them into my life, but i had no more of an ability to make them appear than i could turn back the tides or fly to the moon.

hate blinded me. imagine a 4 year old with a burning desire to kill. i should have been playing with dolls, instead i mutilated them. at school we had to draw pictures of our family for easter project. i drew you trying to kill me. it was the only picture they didn't put on the wall.

i was brought up to belive in god. i prayed every day. i prayed for revenge. i prayed to hurt you as you had hurt me. i prayed not to have the nightmares. it soon became clear to me that if there was a god, he did not like me. i probably lost my religion when i was 5 and my mum found me stabbing jesus's eye's out of the picture version bible with the end of some scissors. his eyes scared me, because they were blue and cold like yours were.

i remember when you died that i was devestated. its funny that that coincided with the time i started cutting my arms and legs. i had no friends at school, i was bald from chemo and the other kids thought i has a disease, noone would have noticed the cutting if i wasnt sick. i remember the doctors telling me that my immune system was so weak from the cancer treatments that cutting myself could give me infections and kill me. they shouldnt have said that really, because it made me hurt myself more. i hacked at my body so bad when i was 13 that they took me away for a while to hospital. it had white walls and angry people. i remember the sound of crying. i thought it was strange because i didnt cry. ever. when i was in the hopsital the nurses realised that every night i smothered myself with a pillow in order to sleep. the funny part was that i didnt realise this was abnormal. i thought everyone pushed their head into their pillow, depriving themselves of air, in order to sleep. afterall, i'd been doing it for the last 8 years. i didnt know HOW to sleep normally.

i felt close to you in the hopsital. i liked it. i liked it because the pain felt exquisitely beautiful and clear. not the dull throb in the back of my head that you are now. i felt like i could reach out and touch you. that you would come back for me. i wanted to take you with me.

as i grew older i grew colder. the fire to kill you dimmed a little. i met dave. a product of a broken home, in his own way as battered and vulnerable as me. i remember laying in his arms and feeling safe. i remember love. after so many years of feeling nothing the dam finally broke and let loose a tidle wave of emotion. it is the way i have always loved from then on. with everything i have.

i have always been scared of losing love. because nothing lasts. i was convinced dave did not love me. i was sure of it. he said he loved me with everything he had. i said he didn't care. i gave him everything i had, but i never was able to feel love. when he killed himself i willed it to be me. i blamed myself, for this wonderful person dying thinking that he could never show me how much he loved me.

i didnt eat. i didnt sleep. i wanted to dissapear. all i had was nirvana. he was kurt. i was courtney. i listened to those CD's to death. they made me cry. after 18 years of not crying i finally cryed. it was liberating. its probably ridiculous to any "normal" person, but crying was a break through. crying was a release. you even took away my tears.

its 20 years since you destroyed my life. its 20 years since you poured the arsnic into my veins. 20 years of pain and hurt and broken hearts.

i am incapable of feeling love. no matter how much i give i can't feel anything back. i make excuses. i run. i destroy everything beautiful that has ever entered my life.

i found love. i found someone fn incredible. i found hope. i found a future. i found a reason.

i destroyed it all. because YOU took something from me that day. you took something from me that i will NEVER get back. you took away the ability for me to feel LOVE! you took away my humanity. you took away my fu cking soul.

ALL THAT'S LEFT OF ME IS A FUCKING SHELL OF A PERSON WHO IS SCREAMING TO BE FREE.

you didnt take my innocence that day. you took it every day for the next 20 years.
you didnt just cut me once. you cut me every day for the next 20 years.
you didnt just destroy your life. you destroyed mine.

there is no going back.
there is no going forward.
this is the cliff. you made me walk it.

i tried.
i tried so fucking hard.
i tried to be normal.
i loved with everything i had.
i tried to be a good person.
as good as i knew how.
i didnt want to die
i wanted a life
i wanted a family
i wanted to feel loved. for the first time in my life i did.
and you took it all away.
i hated you.
but now i realise that the only person i hated
all along wasn't you.
it's me.
i'm the one who destroyed my fucking life.
and i used you as an excuse all along.
you didn't kill me.
i did.

fml............. now i actually have to do it.

I could fill a thousand pages, telling you how I felt and still you would not understand.
So now I leave without a sound,
except that of my heart shattering as it hits the ground.

I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mending whole was good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.

In reality, I'm slowly losing my mind. Underneath the guise of smile, gradually I'm dying inside. Friends ask me how I feel and I lie convincingly. I don’t want to reveal the fact that I'm suffering. So I wear my disguise till I go home at night and turn down all the lights and then I break down and cry.

its funny as how i wade through life, i already feel like a statistic. i wonder if people just 'know' inside of themselves that they are a suicide waiting to happen.

i am hiroshima.
i am nagasaki.
i am vesuvius.

You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only under extremes of duress, but once I'd crossed that line the first time, taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation enough. Cutting was my all-purpose solution. My scars ought to be a charm bracelet of memonics, each a permanent reminder of its precipitating event, but maybe the most disturbing thing I can say about the history of my cutting is that for the most part I can't even remember the when’s and the whys behind those wounds. It didn't take much to make me cut. Frustration, humiliation, insecurity, guilt, remorse, loneliness... I cut 'em all out. They were like a poison, caustic and destructive, as though lye had been siphoned into my veins. The only way I could survive them, I thought, was to keep draining them from my blood.

How many cuts could I count? How many could I place in time and context? I had to admit that I couldn't remember the occasion of almost any of them, their catalysts, whether epic or mundane, completely obscured by time. So many moments of supposedly unendurable pain, now utterly forgotten. u start to think, Maybe I don't need this anymore. Maybe I never did I was trying to get equilibrium from two extremes: either I was so upset that I had to cut myself to relieve it, or I was so numb that I had to cut myself to get back to being there.

I take the blade and run it gently against my skin, it cuts in deeper and deeper, the blood bursts out and slowly runs down my arm then it stops and the pain goes away. Cutting doesn't solve anything or take the pain away, but for those few seconds everything is okay...

-------

Do you ever lay in bed at night hoping you wake up in the emergency room and hear the words "shes not going to make it?"

me: 8 days ago you were my friend, now you're my everything

you: you ahave always been my everything. for months i thought you were amazingly perfect. the only person for me. and now i have you. alive again


cant stop smilingggg!

spring

i feel like i've endured the longest winter of my life. days, weeks, months, of impenetrable darkness that has shrouded my vision and left me broken, cold and close to death. there was no reason to wake up the next day, because the next day would be like the one before. painful. dark. sad.

this morning i felt like it was the first day of spring, it was still cold and dark, but there was a smell of hope in the air. a promise of something better. i feeling that something amazing was about to happen before me eyes. that the garden of my life which was so dead and bear would start to blossom and grow.

you are incredible.

out of all the people i have met, i feel me and you have endured the most pain and sadness. for so logn i wanted to comfort you, to make it better. it hurt my heart that i could only be your friend for so long. it was like we were both broken, and all our pieces were smashed across the floor, but now we're helping to put each other back together again.

you are so warm, you are so giving, you give me everything you have and expect nothing back. you know im broken, and cold, and cynical but instead of giving up on me you try to nurture me, and make me better.

i feel so lucky to have you in my life.
i want to come back from hell with you, hand in hand, and one day i want to walk into the sun. no more darkness, no more rain. an eternal summer of love and happiness.

i hope i can make you happy. because without you i wouldn't have picked myself up off the floor.

thank you, for everything you are.