2.15

Heartbreak has been dealt in heavy doses this week for us. Love is so painful. It's that kind of pain that 'makes you stronger', that kind of pain that feeds your soul to push forward through the worst times in your life and reach something safe. Vulnerability is terrifying. Feeling open to danger, whether it's by physical force or emotional, is similar to feeling weak and helpless. The heart is a strange little organ. It is the center of our life, of our functioning human bodies. Or our dysfunctional mutant animal bodies. I don't care what you believe; people were not meant to be alone.

When I love someone, it's like a piece of my soul is given to them, like a bead from a bracelet. When that bead is handed over, willingly or taken by surprise, I simply cannot get it back. That unique little fragment of my being forever belongs to its keeper. And when the keeper hurts me, or somehow leaves my pocket of social relationships, that bead slips from their hands and rolls into a corner of their room. And it sits there in the corner, collecting dust - still ever present.

I cannot create new pieces of my soul, and I cannot control who possesses each little bead. But with only so much life to live, I'd like to think that whatever I do give out, it makes an impact in the keeper's life. Because that's all anyone can really hope for. To be held dearly in the palms of someone special.

I broke down.

About two hours ago, I lost my fucking mind.
But I found my strength

I got into a huge fight with my dad. It was a series of fights, events each building up with intensity, ready to explode into chaos. I was sobbing non-stop. In fact, I didn't stop until about 20 minutes ago. I tried to run away from everything. I grabbed my keys and threw on my boots and started running for the door when my mom and dad caught me, screaming at me to get back to them and to stop running. I turned around with my hair flying everywhere and my tears drenching my face and clothes and I threw my keys to the floor. I ran upstairs, away from their yelling and all of the confusion. I literally could not get away. I flung myself onto my bed and I cried so hard I lost every ounce of strength and sanity in my little body.
My younger brother came up to my room and picked me up, holding me in his arms as I just sprawled out like a rag-doll. Heaving sobs and shrieking unrecognizable phrases. I couldn't see, I couldn't move. I just felt so much pain.
My brother then carried me down the stairs and put me on the couch in front of my father. I curled up in a ball and held my knees, rocking back and forth. I didn't want to hear what he had to say to me. He'd already done too much damage.
He opened his mouth to say something, and I absolutely went fucking berzerk.

I screamed every single word that I wanted to tell him for four years. All of that anger and hatred and fear just poured out of my mouth like word vomit. I couldn't stop myself, I just kept going. I cried and yelled and cursed and fought my way through every single thing I had felt over four years of not saying anything to my father.
And he took everything I said and didn't fight it back. He just looked at me and took it all in. And I just dove into his arms and cried some more until I my dehydration took over. I ran to the bathroom and threw up, and then I passed out cold on the floor.
My brother came in and got me up, stuck a straw in my mouth and made me sip on orange juice until I stopped shaking so violently.

I talked to my dad once I was 'stable' and we sort of reconciled. Everything isn't fixed, but it's better.

get up.

It's Act 5.
And you are the only character left.
Everything you used to know was wrong.
And everyone you used to trust was an enemy.
And the person you loved is gone.

But, the play isn't over until you fulfill your destiny.
So, go on.
Pull yourself together.
There's still some pages to go.
And we're not done reading about you

Extracted Chapter

So, I've been writing this story in Creative Writing, and people seem to like it. I figured you might enjoy looking at some of it. Nothing is finished, this is very raw, and some things may not be composed well yet. WHATEVER. ( also, this is KIND OF inspired by Fight Club, but in a strange way)

"Get up, Flick."

I rolled over, clutching my stomach, woozy from the raging pain. That was a good hit - a sucker punch, but a good hit.

"Come on, girl. Don't quit on me."

I glared at him. He was definitely going to get it.

"Brennan, you stupid shit!" I lifted myself up, arms quivering, and threw my dead weight full-force at my smirking boyfriend. He laughed as we both collapsed to the floor. The grimy, dank basement floor that had become familiar territory to my bruised and overworked body.

I managed to throw a couple punches at his chest, as he blocked his face with his hands. Not like he had to, anyway. That was one of our rules.

"I'm gonna kill you, Flick!" Brennan shouted through broken puffs of respiration. But the truth was we'd both been dead for some time now. Dead, in the sense of our imagination

"Keep talking, you're making this easier for me." I retorted.

Brennan shoved me away, and then offered a hand, almost as if he was mocking me.

"Fuck you." I said smiling, taking the offer.

This was our routine. Neither of us could recall the exact origin in time when it began. In fact, we didn't understand most of it. Just that it felt good. Sure, anyone could have called it abuse and sent both of our selfish asses to therapy or jail. We'd just sit in our cells, grinning with broken teeth.

I brushed the debris off of my soiled, blood-stained clothing. Both of us were panting and clutching a damaged limb.

"You're gettin' better, babe. I should start taking you seriously" Brennan said.

I shook my hair out of my ponytail. "Hah! Take me seriously. You're starting to sound like my useless father." I spit, noticing a red tinge to my saliva. I must've bit my lip or something.

"You're so sore on that. Stop wasting your time on people who just don't care about you, Flick. He abandoned you. He doesn't want you anymore. Just accept it and move on" he said, wiping his face on his shirt.

I laced up my Chucks angrily. "Eat your words, Bren. If you weren't still hung up on your mom bailing we wouldn't need to do this shit."

He looked at me, those fierce amber eyes flaming with angst. I wasn't scared, he only hit me when my fists were up. Fair and square.

"Look, Flick," he said while lighting his cigarette, "you're just as stubborn and fucked up as me, quit pretending your situation is so much worse. We're both abandoned, neglected souls with lame service jobs and bad social skills. It's not like I made this happen to you. You are just a lost puppy I picked up in the alley." He paused an took a drag.

"I know, that's why we're such a perfect match" I said cooly.

He came over to me and kissed me, blowing his toxic cigarette smoke between my lips. I inhaled. To Brennan, these Newport flavored kisses were his way of showing compassion. I accepted, despite my distaste for menthol.

We walked up the cellar stairs and he held my hand. This was our Saturday night, and despite the slight addiction to painkillers and ice packs, it was special.

12/6/09

So hey guys.

Today was really good (:

I hung out with two of my best friends; Dave and Ryan.

We went to Taco Bell, AC Moore, and Barnes & Noble.

It was so much fun!

We ended up spending an hour looking through this AMAZING graffiti book,

which was basically a blackbook that this artist brought to all of these dope artists,

such as; Lady Pink, Cope2, Seen, and JA.

Basically, we need that fucking book.

Then we went back to my house and chilled in my kitchen,

drawing and painting.

But then we decided that we all needed new sketchbooks,

so we went back out to get them :3

Now, I have a brand new beautiful sketchbook

AND I worked on my painting, and it's coming along nicely.