in a song that no one knows.

I love how I have this blog to confess EVERYTHING to, because no one ever reads this one.

Confessions:
-I'm a whore & I don't care.
-I'm falling for him & the second he finds out he'll drop me. This is really bad.
-I'm most likely going to fail out this year.
-Everyone I care about is leaving me or else I'm leaving them.

I guess I should tackle them one at a time.
I allow myself to get wasted and then taken home. And while I don't always go the distance required to get myself in trouble, it's always enough. Always enough. It's not a good thing.

Him? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Sean, if you're reading this, you'll know how unbelievably FUCKED over I am. Help me!

Seriously. This guy wrote the book on getting laid and playing girls. And he's just using me. I know he is, and I know he doesn't care about me at all- but he still kisses me goodbye every time I leave. He keeps me around, and will continue to keep me around until I stop being useful. And then? Then what? He breaks my heart? It's not like it matters. My god, even if he did care he's five years older than me. I'm heading towards heartache again.

I can't even face the rest.

i'm here.

I am a human wreck.
Last night I got wasted out of my mind. The messy kind of wasted, not the sick kind but the smudged mascara, too loud, making mistakes type. It's only twelve and I'm sitting in the Cameron library in a misguided attempt to hide from last night's stupidity.
I remember it and just think... fuck.
Guys, I need help.
I can't keep up with school, boys, life, family, soccer. I can't even stay sober long enough to actually do something about it- someone says "Let's go for a beer", I drop ten bucks on a pitcher and I'm done.
I'm such a goddamn sucker for blue eyes. And then someone else charms me and I'm drunk and I'm theirs.
What the FUCK is wrong with me?
Honestly. I'm losing friends faster than I can count and I'm losing myself in alcohol the second something goes wrong. And something indubitably goes wrong the second I start drinking, causing me to lose more friends and me to drink more.
And the scariest part is that I don't give a flying fuck.
I was at the doctor's today and he's all freaked out about my weight and eating habits. I decided to stop fucking around with the whole "I don't eat red meat" thing and bascially cut all meat out of my diet. I'm also anemic. Hooray. He says that I'm making myself sick. I said that the rest of me was fine and after the asthma test when he told me I had wicked strong lungs I told him that I smoke two packs a week and he didn't believe me.
Then again, no one ever does.

holding on tight. don't give away the end.

In light of recent events, I'm really freaked out.
I feel betrayed and I keep telling everyone that I'm totally fine. But I'm not.
We actually had entire conversations about this exact situation.
I TOLD him that he scared me when he got drunk/violent. I told him.
And what does he do?
Gets drunk and violent.
The bruises are fading.
The thought that he could do that isn't.
"It wasn't me. Please understand that I could never consciously decide to do that to you."
BUT YOU DID.
It was you, you were just drunk. Once we talked for hours on the phone and you swore to me that you could never do that.
Now you swear that you don't remember; and ask me am I sure that it really happened?
I have the bruises on my shoulders and chest.
Do I need more?
Everyone who says they love me ends up doing this. But it's okay.
This way at least I know what to expect.

Waiting for something to come along.

FIVE OH SIX PM LIFE.
I'm hanging out in SUB like a loser. Waiting for people to meet me. But, as always, I have ulterior motives. Because, you guessed it, I suck.
He's going to be so upset when he finds out.
There's no time like the present.
I'm falling into something I shouldn't be.
This is what everyone warned me about.
Do I always do the opposite of what people tell me? Is there a real reason?
Or am I just insolent?
Maybe I like the attention.
I want to give someone a lot of money. Just because.
Someone who needs it, not someone who thinks they do.
Even if they buy alcohol or drugs with it- I probably would have too, right?
Let them have a chance at drowning whatever it is inside themselves that makes them hate their own minds.
I get to do it all the time, whether it be drinking, chain smoking menthol cigarettes or chasing some unfathomable prospect until he becomes fathomable.
Writing doesn't mean anything.
Everyone always told me that I had talent.
I think everyone lied.
No one can judge what everyone else will like, but it's not what I'm putting out.
All I am is pretention. Lies. Desperation.
OUR SONG IS THE SLAMMING SCREEN DOOR. SNEAKING OUT LATE TAPPING ON YOUR WINDOW. WHEN WE'RE ON THE PHONE AND YOU TALK REAL SLOW CAUSE IT'S LATE AND YOUR MOMMA DOESN'T KNOW. OUR SONG IS THE WAY YOU LAUGH. THE FIRST DATE. "MAN I DIDN'T KISS HER AND I SHOULD HAVE."