Extremely long. Rant. This is my sadness, don't read if you can't control it...
"
God he DISGUSTS me, horrifies me.
I want to convulse in my own vomit.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs and tear my veins through my bleeding fucking wrists.
God, I hate guys/boys/those with penises.
Uncontrolled urgencies for the vagina, only new ones.
I HATE EVERYONE. Why the fuck am I even the slightest bit sad that I'm leaving?
No one here could fucking care less..everyone's happy I'm going, there's no "farewell."
I'm really upset.
Because they all lie to me...he lies to me.
He tells me "it's not true" " I can't believe in this and that" then he does, he does.
And he invades in MY FUCKING LIFE!
And I can't even stand to return what he does...because when I do, I end up throwing myself on the ground, tearing my hair out and almost puking on myself.
GET OUT OF MY LIFE!
I can't do it to you, so stop probing me..get out of my life, you liar, you hypocrite, you two faced demon.
Don't ever touch me again, act like you play out my fantasies, tell me that you can?
YOU CAN'T! You wouldn't have the courage to do the things I want.
You couldn't throw yourself into a pit of drugs like I CRAVE.
I'm not straight edged, and I don't desire to be.
I want to do ether. I want to fall down and not understand where I am, I want to see paper manipulating into something and luring me to transform it.
I don't want to smoke pot, I want to inject things into my skin and let it take me the fuck away from here.
I want to sit in a puddle of myself and quote everything I love, and I don't want to be touched,
not unless they'll do to me as much physical damage as emotional.
And YOU, you...if you were to equal out the pain, you'd torture me a week straight, tearing off my skin slowly with dull fishing hooks, and you'd pluck every single hair from my body one by one.
You'd pour acid in my eyes and lather my tongue with baking soda.
You'd kill me, only after telling me everything I've dreaded that is true.
Mississippi, fucking MS, you won't be ready for me.
Your walls of country accent will tilt it's head at me, and not understand one fragment that I happen to be.
I won't have friends, no one real... I'll have to fake it.
LIKE I FAKE IT HERE!
And I'm so damn tired, so FUCKING tired..
I have to hide myself..because no one could take it... They wouldn't be able to stand or hold, or understand what I really am.
And I haven't desired my own death this much...in so long.
Since I last saw my defeat.
And here I am,
with so many friends, right?
With so much love.
Right?
How about not.
How about me cutting off my hair, and send it in the mail, with my blood dashed on it, just ever so slightly..to all my loves. To anyone who was ever my best friend, or my lover.
One night stands.
I've had one night stands.
None involving sex, but they existed.
Fucking shit.
And they put their skin on me...they shed off on me...they've gained something from me, god, why....
I think of them almost daily....
And then, when I start to really think, I get so sick.
And he touched me with those hands, those..lying..cheating hands.
He touched me with those forceful hands, he might as well have ripped me up from the bottom.
He touched me first and I sickened him.
He touched me to blister me, he touched me just to be inside of me.. He loved the inside of me.
He took me away from a comfort, and he attacked me, but he swore it was love.
He was pretty, but he was wrong, and he lied, and he wanted only that touch.
He took me when I was incoherent, my first drops of blood were his...for he took them.
He grew so tired of my touch, my convulse, he's the only one who got it in full, and the only one my heart swarmed for, but his eyes and lips, and fingers wanted not mine.
His hands were too young..yet it would've gone on an on.
Because I'm sick.
She tore me, she licked the blood from her hands..
So much worse then anyone knows...So much worse.
But I have to lie, I have to lie, otherwise I'd be so much more alone.
But then again, I'm leaving, so what does it matter?
Want to know my scars, want to feel me?
Fuck you, fuck off, Die. You had your chance.
You could've been the one....to know.
But you lied.
Way too much.
Fuck you.
They're now mine, and you can't touch them, or me..
Stay out of my life."
Ali: it's not nice, nor will it make people like you
So what, so no one likes me? Fuck it.
I'll leave..just like this..
After I tell a few more people about what I think of them.
God he DISGUSTS me, horrifies me.
I want to convulse in my own vomit.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs and tear my veins through my bleeding fucking wrists.
God, I hate guys/boys/those with penises.
Uncontrolled urgencies for the vagina, only new ones.
I HATE EVERYONE. Why the fuck am I even the slightest bit sad that I'm leaving?
No one here could fucking care less..everyone's happy I'm going, there's no "farewell."
I'm really upset.
Because they all lie to me...he lies to me.
He tells me "it's not true" " I can't believe in this and that" then he does, he does.
And he invades in MY FUCKING LIFE!
And I can't even stand to return what he does...because when I do, I end up throwing myself on the ground, tearing my hair out and almost puking on myself.
GET OUT OF MY LIFE!
I can't do it to you, so stop probing me..get out of my life, you liar, you hypocrite, you two faced demon.
Don't ever touch me again, act like you play out my fantasies, tell me that you can?
YOU CAN'T! You wouldn't have the courage to do the things I want.
You couldn't throw yourself into a pit of drugs like I CRAVE.
I'm not straight edged, and I don't desire to be.
I want to do ether. I want to fall down and not understand where I am, I want to see paper manipulating into something and luring me to transform it.
I don't want to smoke pot, I want to inject things into my skin and let it take me the fuck away from here.
I want to sit in a puddle of myself and quote everything I love, and I don't want to be touched,
not unless they'll do to me as much physical damage as emotional.
And YOU, you...if you were to equal out the pain, you'd torture me a week straight, tearing off my skin slowly with dull fishing hooks, and you'd pluck every single hair from my body one by one.
You'd pour acid in my eyes and lather my tongue with baking soda.
You'd kill me, only after telling me everything I've dreaded that is true.
Mississippi, fucking MS, you won't be ready for me.
Your walls of country accent will tilt it's head at me, and not understand one fragment that I happen to be.
I won't have friends, no one real... I'll have to fake it.
LIKE I FAKE IT HERE!
And I'm so damn tired, so FUCKING tired..
I have to hide myself..because no one could take it... They wouldn't be able to stand or hold, or understand what I really am.
And I haven't desired my own death this much...in so long.
Since I last saw my defeat.
And here I am,
with so many friends, right?
With so much love.
Right?
How about not.
How about me cutting off my hair, and send it in the mail, with my blood dashed on it, just ever so slightly..to all my loves. To anyone who was ever my best friend, or my lover.
One night stands.
I've had one night stands.
None involving sex, but they existed.
Fucking shit.
And they put their skin on me...they shed off on me...they've gained something from me, god, why....
I think of them almost daily....
And then, when I start to really think, I get so sick.
And he touched me with those hands, those..lying..cheating hands.
He touched me with those forceful hands, he might as well have ripped me up from the bottom.
He touched me first and I sickened him.
He touched me to blister me, he touched me just to be inside of me.. He loved the inside of me.
He took me away from a comfort, and he attacked me, but he swore it was love.
He was pretty, but he was wrong, and he lied, and he wanted only that touch.
He took me when I was incoherent, my first drops of blood were his...for he took them.
He grew so tired of my touch, my convulse, he's the only one who got it in full, and the only one my heart swarmed for, but his eyes and lips, and fingers wanted not mine.
His hands were too young..yet it would've gone on an on.
Because I'm sick.
She tore me, she licked the blood from her hands..
So much worse then anyone knows...So much worse.
But I have to lie, I have to lie, otherwise I'd be so much more alone.
But then again, I'm leaving, so what does it matter?
Want to know my scars, want to feel me?
Fuck you, fuck off, Die. You had your chance.
You could've been the one....to know.
But you lied.
Way too much.
Fuck you.
They're now mine, and you can't touch them, or me..
Stay out of my life."
Ali: it's not nice, nor will it make people like you
So what, so no one likes me? Fuck it.
I'll leave..just like this..
After I tell a few more people about what I think of them.