Arachne in Blunderland
Explanation of Self
[25 Nov 2006 | Saturday]
Current mood: dead
I am not a pretty girl. I don't wear pretty clothes and I rarely get new ones... I'm too fat for most of the things I want to wear. I'm not very good with make-up.
I don't know as much about technology as I should, being part of this generation... I don't have a nice cell phone, mp3 player of any kind, video game system, satellite TV or high-speed internet.
I'm not into a specific music scene. I don't know what band the majority is listening to... Or the minority. I live for My Chemical Romance and well... They aren't coming to Texas anytime soon and recently put out what is most likely their last album.
I don't do well in school. I'm intelligent, surely, but the point of Class is lost on me. I don't need to know what happened in the past. It happened. I'm more worried about the future. I don't care what the velocity of my car going downhill is. I'm not going to think about it when I'm driving. All the math I need was taught to me by freshman year. I know how to write and speak in as perfect english as anyone ever uses. And maybe I'm just not cut out for a journalistic career.
I have a sister who recieves a lot more of the general attentions of my mother and adoptive father because she is smaller and sweeter and blonde haired with blue eyes... She can get just about anything she wants with a show of tears.
My mother is an amazing woman who had me when she was far too young and later fell in love on the internet and got married while she was pregnant with said sister. They got on fine, I suppose... But he was never there and/or didn't care enough and she drifted away. Now thay cannot stand each other and are most likely going to get a divorce. I won't mind.
He is a disgruntled old man who is trying too hard to save his marriage. He disappears for hours, saying only that he is 'going to the store'... He never brings anything back, but makes sure to tell me what a horrible failure I am, that I'm going to live in a hell hole with too many children and a dead beat live-in boyfriend. I want to murder him, but can't and won't because I know what they do to girls like me in prison and I'm not prepared to take it.
I have the most awesome boyfriend I could really ask for. He's not pretty and he's a little too Christian but he loves me and he thinks I'm awesome (or so he says). I've kissed him exactly once in the strange array of months we've supposedly been together. It lasted for about a second and a couple hours later I kissed a boy who used to love me, but just really LIKES me now... I haven't told anyone that until now.
I go through boys like cheap whiskey, though I'll never drink or smoke. I've been in that knock-you-off-your feet 'love' four times. The first was probably the best choice, except it turns out he was gay. The second was an accident interred by a series of embarrasing events that couldn't be. Number three was one of my former best friend's first love... He doesn't think much of me. And the fourth, my 'truest' I think, is a beautiful girl named Rebecca, though she won't go by that anymore, who is probably more than a little messed-up, but I can't see it because I want her to be perfect. But I want to save her too.
I do not smoke or drink, do drugs or injure myself unless I'm just feeling that pathetic. I cry twice a week on average. I sit in my room and write stories about girls who are stronger than me and much better looking because in stories, everthing works out. I don't like romance novels, but that's all I seem to be able to create.
I want to die. But I will not kill myself because I understand what it would leave behind, not to mention that I'm too much of a Pansy to actually do it. Two Septembers ago, my mother dragged me to the My Chemical Romance concert, unwillingly, and they somehow, through all their gloomy rock-ness, made me want to live. I have a collage that is five by four feet and growing made entirely of their pictures. Gerard Way is my favorite because he's a recovering suicidal alcoholic and drug junkie.
I don't know why I needed to tell all this... It is in no way the full story. It doesn't give very much insight. But I hope you listened...
I won't say it again.
But I want you to tell me about you.
Current mood: dead
I am not a pretty girl. I don't wear pretty clothes and I rarely get new ones... I'm too fat for most of the things I want to wear. I'm not very good with make-up.
I don't know as much about technology as I should, being part of this generation... I don't have a nice cell phone, mp3 player of any kind, video game system, satellite TV or high-speed internet.
I'm not into a specific music scene. I don't know what band the majority is listening to... Or the minority. I live for My Chemical Romance and well... They aren't coming to Texas anytime soon and recently put out what is most likely their last album.
I don't do well in school. I'm intelligent, surely, but the point of Class is lost on me. I don't need to know what happened in the past. It happened. I'm more worried about the future. I don't care what the velocity of my car going downhill is. I'm not going to think about it when I'm driving. All the math I need was taught to me by freshman year. I know how to write and speak in as perfect english as anyone ever uses. And maybe I'm just not cut out for a journalistic career.
I have a sister who recieves a lot more of the general attentions of my mother and adoptive father because she is smaller and sweeter and blonde haired with blue eyes... She can get just about anything she wants with a show of tears.
My mother is an amazing woman who had me when she was far too young and later fell in love on the internet and got married while she was pregnant with said sister. They got on fine, I suppose... But he was never there and/or didn't care enough and she drifted away. Now thay cannot stand each other and are most likely going to get a divorce. I won't mind.
He is a disgruntled old man who is trying too hard to save his marriage. He disappears for hours, saying only that he is 'going to the store'... He never brings anything back, but makes sure to tell me what a horrible failure I am, that I'm going to live in a hell hole with too many children and a dead beat live-in boyfriend. I want to murder him, but can't and won't because I know what they do to girls like me in prison and I'm not prepared to take it.
I have the most awesome boyfriend I could really ask for. He's not pretty and he's a little too Christian but he loves me and he thinks I'm awesome (or so he says). I've kissed him exactly once in the strange array of months we've supposedly been together. It lasted for about a second and a couple hours later I kissed a boy who used to love me, but just really LIKES me now... I haven't told anyone that until now.
I go through boys like cheap whiskey, though I'll never drink or smoke. I've been in that knock-you-off-your feet 'love' four times. The first was probably the best choice, except it turns out he was gay. The second was an accident interred by a series of embarrasing events that couldn't be. Number three was one of my former best friend's first love... He doesn't think much of me. And the fourth, my 'truest' I think, is a beautiful girl named Rebecca, though she won't go by that anymore, who is probably more than a little messed-up, but I can't see it because I want her to be perfect. But I want to save her too.
I do not smoke or drink, do drugs or injure myself unless I'm just feeling that pathetic. I cry twice a week on average. I sit in my room and write stories about girls who are stronger than me and much better looking because in stories, everthing works out. I don't like romance novels, but that's all I seem to be able to create.
I want to die. But I will not kill myself because I understand what it would leave behind, not to mention that I'm too much of a Pansy to actually do it. Two Septembers ago, my mother dragged me to the My Chemical Romance concert, unwillingly, and they somehow, through all their gloomy rock-ness, made me want to live. I have a collage that is five by four feet and growing made entirely of their pictures. Gerard Way is my favorite because he's a recovering suicidal alcoholic and drug junkie.
I don't know why I needed to tell all this... It is in no way the full story. It doesn't give very much insight. But I hope you listened...
I won't say it again.
But I want you to tell me about you.