i finished my novel a little more than an hour ago.

i feel so accomplished.

I am a writer, first and foremost. Words affect (effect? idfk.) me more than images. A well-written letter will inform me of your feelings better than anything else, and a lust scene gets me more in the mood than music or anything else.

I don't know much about myself. But I do know that. And I know that the happiest time of my life was when I was surrounded with twenty-eight other girls who were as passionate about it as I was. Writing has become who I am. I need to find myself a community of writers. I love the small, pretty much one person community of writers I have near me now, but it's just... It's not the same as having a group of people who love the same thing as you do constantly around you and supporting you.

I want people to geek out with over the fact that I have probably twenty pages left of my novel before it's finished. I want people who will look at something, and say, "this is shit. You know it's shit. But here's how you can make it better. Keep this one part. Expand on it. This part works." I want people who understand why I'm freaking out over the fact that for the past few things that I've written, I've actually felt like a writer, and that I can actually make something of myself with this profession, not just have it as a hobby. Maybe I should put up one of those personal ads? "16 y/o swf, looking for a tight-knit writing community. must enjoy fiction, characters, and long walks on the beach while talking about books."

7. your ex boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

Dear you,

It's safe to say you probably don't remember this. We were dating in kindergarten, after all. I'm surprised I remember it, and even I'm a little foggy on the finer details.

We weren't in the same class, I remember that much. You were with Mrs. DeBettencourt, and I had Mrs. Robinson. The only time our paths intersected was in gym.

I don't really remember how it started, exactly. Or when it ended, if we ever really ended it officially at all. I just remember the us. I would always sit next to you in gym, and we would hold hands, even though all of the other kids would sometimes make fun of us. We were dating before we knew what dating really even meant. Really, the only other big thing I remember about this "relationship" is Valentine's Day. Is it sad to think that the only Valentine I've ever had was when I was five? Whatever. I wasn't even there for it, because my grandpa had died. You still bought me candy, though. Our parents were amused by us, and thought that we were just too damn cute, and so you and your mom picked me out a box of chocolates in the shape of a heart. I was so excited to get those when I came back... I was the only kid with a valentine from someone outside of their class. I ate them all on the way to pick my sister up from preschool, and felt sick for the entire rest of the day.

We had a good thing, though. Sometimes I wish we could go back there.

Love,
me.

I know it's not your fault, but I'm a locked door
and inside I'm a mess by someone before
and I wish that I, I could find the key
to unlock all the things you want us to be

Help me open up and start again
but there's a safe around my heart
I don't know how to let you in
that's what keeps us apart

And that's why
I need time
I said I need you
I need you to understand
you, you, you
I need you to understand
you, you, you

Call up the locksmith
tell 'em we need him quick
we got a million keys
none of 'em seem to fit
and while you're on the phone
call up the clocksmith
cause I could use some time
even the slightest bit

Help me open up, start again

and break this safe around my heart 

I don't know how to let you in 

that's what keeps us apart

And that's why

I need time

I said I need you

I need you to understand

you you you

I need you to understand

I'm thinking nows the time

maybe it's time to go 

if I gave you my heart

be gentle

I'm tired of laying low

let's give the world a show

and when you know, you know

and when you know, you know, you know

and when you know, you know, you know, you know

And that's why

I need time

I said I need you

I need you to understand

you you you

I need you to understand

I need you to understand

I need you to understand

I need you to understand

I need you

I need you

I need you

you

you

♥

6. a stranger

Dear you,

I wonder about you, you know. What you think about when you see me. If you look at me for an extra second while I'm unaware, the same way I do with you. I wonder if you see me as who I really am, instead of who I usually am pretending to be.

When I see you, I wonder if we would be friends. I either decide yes or no, because I'm human and I have a tendency to judge people. If yes... well, I'm sorry, but you may be in for some awkward conversation. I like to talk to people. I like to make friends with people. I want to feel connected in some way.

I wonder if you do the same things. I want to know what your story is. I want to know the reasoning behind this chanced meeting, if we were meant to meet and make something of it.

Not-really-knowing-how-to-sign-this,
me.

I'm homesick for the home I've never had. I want to be back with the people who make up my family. And no, it's not those who I share biological similarities with. It's the two people in the world I would do anything for. The two people I trust with almost absolutely anything. And like I always do, I managed to fuck it up. Again. I want to erase. I want to rewind. I want a do-over. It's not fair to keep throwing me these curveballs. I don't give a fuck if life isn't fair; I've had my fair share of trials and it's time to cut me a break. I don't want to be waking up afraid that I'm going to have to call 911 because I can't breathe. Again. I don't want to be taking the bus to school, afraid of what's going to happen if I speak my mind. Again. I don't want to be coming home, afraid of what mood the house is in today. Again. I'm drowning in my own fears. I can't trust anyone with them. I want to push people away so that I can find out who is going to come back. I'm sure that the people who are still here are here for just a moment, fleeting in the human-made concept of time. That once they see who I really am, see all of me and not just the good or just the bad, they'll run. Because I can't even handle me most of the time. How can I expect someone else to? How can I ask this of them? It just doesn't seem fair. So instead, I'll continue on. I can't go on; I'll go on. I miss my best friends. I miss feeling like I'm safe. I want to find someone who wants to be with me all the time, someone who holds me in their arms and proves to me that they won't ever let go. I want someone to share a bed with at night, so when all of the monsters come out of their caves and dance around my depression, I can turn over and be comforted as I cry out. But some people aren't meant to be happy. They're meant to make others happy, and just try and be content with that.

5. your dreams

Dear you,

I'm sure you know this, but I'm saying it anyway. We have a love/hate relationship. I love thinking about you, I love the places you take me; you're basically my every fantasy, everything I ever even semi-wanted.

But I hate you. Because unfortunately for us, I am a realist with pessimistic tendencies. I know that the majority of the time, what you show me and tell me is possible, isn't. Talking about the future has always scared me, and that's all you want from me. Sure, it's great when we're there, but what about when we have to come back to the present? You just get to walk away unscathed, preparing to come back later, whereas I have to deal with the reality of it.

It's not helpful.

Love,
me.

things have changed

and i don't know if they'll ever go back to the way they were. and if they don't, i won't ever be able to forgive myself, and forget about the amazing friendship that would have been.

self-realization in english class

I am an angry person. I know this about myself. I have a tendency to call people idiots when I think they're being stupid. I will yell at someone when they do something that I don't like.

I used to think that I was angry because people just weren't mature enough to act as smart as I knew they could be. But recent events have changed my mind. I'm angrier as of late - I'm sure anyone who has spent a significant amount of time with me in the past month or so has noticed this. And I think it's because of my health shit.

I'm sure that people are tired of me talking about this, too. But I have to do it in order to get my stuff straight.

I'm getting angry at people because to some extent, I can control them. I can have a good reason to be angry at them. Because maybe they said something mean, or they weren't doing their work, or just something stupid that I shouldn't really care about. Whereas with my health, and my cough... There's no use in getting angry at myself. It just doesn't work as well. It never has. Being angry because I had cancer? There was no point. I still would have cancer, I still would have to get chemo, and I would still have to face the possibility of death. So I would get angry at the people who were acting the way I didn't want them too. And that's exactly what I'm doing now.

just reflections.

I'm doing my portfolio this year on Columbine. Kind of a heady topic, I know. But since my last two were mainly just writing, it was told to me that I should probably do a research portfolio this year. I started out with early childhood education, but who are we kidding? The only type of psychology that has really ever interested me is that of serial killers, or just seriously deranged people.

But as I'm getting further into my research, I'm noticing something. These kids may have been a bit damaged, a bit screwed up, but some of their thoughts... they're thoughts that everyone has. We all think things like they do at some point. No matter how righteous we want to seem, we have all wished that someone would just go away, disappear, if only for a split second.

And now I've started listening to music and have completely lost my train of thought. Dammit.

here i go again on my own...

Dear you,

You're going to know this is for you because I'm going to send it to you. I hope you won't have blocked me off your Facebook by the time this is finished, but if you have, I'll understand.

I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I never would have posted that if I knew you were going to see it. And I know that sounds cowardly, but that's because it is. But let me explain. I know I don't deserve it, but give me just another few minutes of your time.

My head sometimes feels like it's going to explode. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning and I've forgotten how to swim. And my life preserver is writing. It's the only place I can feel completely safe in my feelings, feelings I wouldn't ever dare say to anyone. But sometimes, just writing something isn't enough. Sometimes, I need to get it out of my head, and away from my heart and head, and my only way to do that is to post it here. And so that's what I did.

The last letter I posted I had been holding onto for a while. Since the last time you and he broke up. I only just now posted it because I only just now found it. I added in a few things in the beginning that made it more pertinent to the situation now, but didn't edit out anything else.

And now to the last little part of this. Sweetie, I am so so sorry that I hurt you. I am. I love you. You are the first girl in the history of forever that I completely, 100% trust and would do absolutely anything for. You're the first girl I've felt completely comfortable calling my best friend. I know I've said things about how the manipulators in the past were my best friends, but honestly, I could never feel a hundred percent comfortable calling them that. I've never felt like I had to censor myself around you. I know that whatever was scaring me, or upsetting me, I could come talk to you about it. And I'm so scared that I may have ruined that.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry that I've fucked things up, yet again. And I understand if you don't want to talk to me again. But that having been said, I already miss you, and our talks. I was looking forward to girl time the next time I was in Rhode Island.

Love,
me.

a letter not in the thirty days of letters thing.

Dear you,

I feel like I'm losing you. I feel like you're starting a new life, and I have absolutely no place in it. And I don't like it. All you tell me is how you're so unhappy, but you're not doing anything about it. If you're so unhappy with her, and what's going on, than change it. Staying with someone you're not happy with because you'd be miserable without them is absolutely ridiculous. And don't take this as me telling you to end it. I know that's what it sounds like, but it's not. It's me telling you that I hate it when you hurt, and she seems to hurt you a lot, which makes it incredibly hard for me to be friends with her because all I want to do is rip her head off for hurting you.

Everyone on this blog is probably sick of me talking about you by now. But I can't help it. You're the person I think about whenever something goes wrong, or something goes right, or something that just happens. I know you don't watch Grey's Anatomy, but... you're my person. You are my Christina Yang. I will always be there for you, no matter how hard you try to push me away, no matter how many times we start to lose touch and then start talking everyday again.

I'm starting to wonder if we don't talk as much when you're upset because you know I'm going to look into you, and make you think about things you don't really want to talk about. I'm sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable, but that's what best friends do.

I'm going to stop now because I'm rambling and you don't even read this.

Love,
me.

4. Your sibling(s)

Dear you two,

I know I should probably write something really corny about how much I love you here, and how you've made me who I am. It's what everyone else has done.

And I guess you have made me who I am. But right now, in all honesty, what I feel towards you is a sort of protective indifference. In order to make this fair, I'm going to order it randomly. Out of the two of you. Whatever.

You:

We babied you. In a way, it's probably all of our faults you ended up the way you are now. But honestly, how much of it was nurture and how much of it was nature? I can't even tell anymore. The temper tantrums you throw are insufferable. The way you drive everyone crazy is infuriating. I don't want anyone to hurt you, least of all me, but we need you to grow up now. It's time to come into the adult world, and stop living in a world of playthings.

You x2:

I don't understand you. I probably never will. He got it right when he said we could call you me too, you know. And at first, it was endearing. To know that someone was looking up to me, that making the right decisions wasn't in vain, because someone (you) was going to be watching my every move and making decisions based on my own. But that's just it. Based on my own. Not doing everything I did. And while I hate that I became this sort of idol for you, that I can't have a minute to myself to breathe, I'm beginning to hate the decisions you make for yourself, as well. I told you a while ago some of the story behind my brief brush with psychopathy. (Not my own, of course - we all know I'm too distanced from myself to be able to admit any type of feeling.) And hun, you are going way beyond anything I'd ever known before. Just... enough with the drama. Stop saying you hate it when you create it. Stop attaching yourself to people who are going nowhere in life. And by all means, stop manipulating everyone around you. It's a surefire way to get yourself seventeen cats that you barely clean up after and a cell phone that never rings.

- me

I don't tell you things, and that makes me a bad friend.

I don't tell you that you are the most important thing in the world to me, and, all melodrama aside, if I lost you, I don't know how I'd be able to move on.

I don't tell you that everything I do, reminds me in some way of you.

I don't tell you that I'm scared about caring this much about you, because it makes me vulnerable.

I don't tell you that I'm scared about my future, and what it means for us.

I don't tell you that I need you more than anything, because I don't want to scare you away.

I don't tell you when I'm worried about something, or hurting, because I've never done that, and mostly, I don't want to burden you.

This makes me a bad friend, and it's not fair to you. I don't give you the chance to be my friend. I rarely give you the chance to be there for me. And I don't know if this is what screws up our relationship, or if we're really just not meant to be forever.

I wonder why it is

that I'm horrible to the people I love most.

I am afraid.

I'm afraid that I won't be able to find happiness.
I'm afraid that I will always be alone.
I'm afraid that my disease has crippled my ability to live.
I'm afraid that I will never be good enough for anyone.
I'm afraid that my life won't amount to anything.
I'm afraid that the reason no one loves me is because I'm not worthy of it.
I'm afraid that I'm going to go off to college and have the worst time of my life.
I'm afraid that the only way I know how to live is through fictional character's feelings.
I'm afraid that I can't seem to share my feelings with anyone, least of all the ones who matter.
I'm afraid that I will end up pushing everyone I care about away.
I'm afraid that I can't seem to make myself rely on anyone, or need anyone at all.
I'm afraid that I won't let myself connect.
I'm afraid that I will never find anyone who completely understands what I am and what I've gone through.
I'm afraid that if I do, they'll run away, because they can't handle someone as broken as me.
I'm afraid that I'll end up being miserable at best.
I'm not afraid of dying; it's living that's scary.

People are screwed up in this world. I'd rather be with someone screwed up and open about it than somebody perfect and... you know... ready to explode.

- It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini, pg 397

an amazing day in photographs that will have no explanations.

This is my family.