I'm afraid I've been sent somewhere I've been before. Somewhere not pleasant in the least. A place of envy and self-pity and pensive, immature thoughts. And if this is the role I have been relegated, then so be it. But I will decide to make an effort while I'm still stuck at the border. I refuse to allow myself to be willingly and easily returned to that wasteland. Is anything truly mutual? One can only hope...

Why do you have to be so much better than me? It does nothing for my esteem.

I don't think I can stop being a miserable person.

Shit. I complicate things.

Although I've never been in one, here's a thought:
I respect the intricacies of the teenage relationship. It's an agreement more than anything else. It's two people admitting that at some point in time, they'll no longer feel the same way about the other person. That, at some point in time, they won't be together anymore. That, at some point in time, they'll hurt...badly. That in the future they'll feel like shit, that they'll hurt and hurt and hurt, that things won't be the same. But, in full knowledge of this, they allow themselves to be known intimately and become enamored and infatuated. They say: I know that you'll hurt me, or that I'll hurt you, but right now I don't care, right now you make me happy and I want that happiness more than I fear the inevitable pain that comes with it.

If person can get someone to feel that way about him, then there has to be something wonderful and amazing and courageous and crazy inside that person, even if both parties will choose to ignore those qualities in the future.

There really aren't bad guys. If you're alive then you've hurt someone, how can you hate someone else for doing the same? Whether you know it or not, you've caused someone pain.

So fuck that shit. Life is dynamic. And I'm willing to trade a lot of pain for a little happiness, because otherwise you're just stuck with a shitload of pain.

But like I said, this is something I've never experienced.

All the talk of "accepting who you are" and shit is stupid. Why would I want to become complacent? Why would I want to ever become comfortable with all the awful things that I inherently am? Why would anyone? Fuck that. I'm glad that I am never satisfied with myself. I hope no one ever is.

I'd hate for someone to think that I'm looking for pity.

? retend to punch someone? You harbor some ill-will towards them. You pretend to drown yourself? You wanna die.

? I see motive behind everything because I put motive behind everything. You take a step to the left? You wanna be closer to the person on your left. You p

Today, I should have been glad. I felt guilty for not being happy. My stupidity made things awkward and stupid. As long as there are better people than me, I won't have much luck at getting people to like me. I need to better myself.
I also wish I had the self-control to actually try.

I should be feeling good. I can't help but make myself suffer.

I can't help but feel fickle.

? Everyone struggles with esteem issues. The greatest compliment, that I can think of at the moment, is to ask, "what do you hate about yourself?" and then

? to dismiss that hate.

Christ, I am a whiny bitch. But I'll indulge myself like I have been.
I have a deeply, deeply rooted fear of rejection. I'm often too anxious to ask even my closest friends to hang out or something, because I'm afraid they'll say no. I hate that I'm not driving, because I think of it as only another reason for my friends to decide to not spend time with me(although I do spend quite a bit of time with friends).
I am livid with self-hate.

I am livid with self-hate.

Self-awareness isn't righteous. Irony isn't clever.
I'm doing what countless other people have done and what countless otheres will do.
This is crude, ugly writing.
Oh, to be a poet, to work around a language with wit and originality.
I can't even get the grammaar right:or the spelling.
Everyone's out of my league. Everyone's too beautiful, too smart, too in-shape, too quick, too kind, too good for me. This was a cruel and hilarious prank.

When I like something, I like it a lot. When I dislike something, I dislike it a lot. I like to have reasons for those things, so I don't seem like I arbitrarily like/dislike things. I try to be a passionate person.

My final year of high school is sneaking up on me. Kind of like complacency.
I remember hearing that "wisdom is too painful for the young." I'm glad I'm not wise, but I can't let myself start suspecting that I am.

I am too mean. I need to work on that.

I was recently told that I'm one-in-a-thousand. You know what thought immediately came to my mind? That there are 3000 people just like me in the United States alone.

I'm too hard on myself? I seem to hear that a lot. I don't think I am. I think I'm honest with myself; I think I don't let myself slip into a feeling of undeserved self-content. I try not to delude myself. Not that these people that accuse me delude themselves, but that I know that I will if I become complacent about myself. Not that I'm immune to complacency or pretension or anything like that; I don't know...

"In love addiction, the individual will feel needed and so insecure about themselves, that they become attached to the object of their affection. It is typically not normal desire of a union, but a hungry, insatiable power, that distorts the person's perception of reality. Because of this, love addiction is simply suffering brought about by an obsession over another."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_addiction

I am such a burden to my friends.

Sometimes I wonder if I've ever added anything. However vague that is...What I mean to say is: I only detract from a situation. No one has ever been glad I was with them for an event. No one I want to be glad, at least. But that's selfish and mean of me. But what I can I say?

Catharsis makes me stupid. I don't wanna be pretentious or silly or immature, but I can't help it. All roads lead to hurt. All roads lead to self-hate.

I'm not trying to be a poet, or an attention lover. I just want to put my head into words, but I'm so dumb that sometimes I can't even do that.

There are some places it'll never snow, some ways the wind'll never blow.

Sometimes I miss my dad. I remember one time he took me with him on a trip to Austin for some reason. In our hotel room he let me try on his cologne. I was about 11. It's moments like those that I miss, moments that are nice. I wish my life had more nice moments: they've been missing lately.

Is painting the art or is the picture>

I love waking up to a text message: what a great feeling it is to wake up knowing you were in someone's mind?