The Original Fake Audrey.

FROM 3/30/07

I’m starting to come to the conclusion that I’m at fault or everyone is entirely mistaken….my anxiety as reached an excruciating point. I think it doesn’t do much brilliance that I have everyone as the impertinence to come at me still. I’m done with the sick minds of today. I’m starting to realize the ones who are most trustworthy are the only ones worth being around period. There disregard and my less importance to them shows more than ever. There requirement to put people down is now getting almost old… it hard to see these people wasting there time as they wonder why good things never happen to them….it’s hard to be apologetic to someone who doesn’t deserve any amount of sympathy. I try to be around people more regularly but end up almost feeling myself suffocating in anxiety once again yearning for a drug to get me elsewhere. There are sometimes occurrences where I don’t feel an ounce of sanity in my veins. It can’t be ALL them but my negative mind also in full effect. It isn’t my fault my mind doesn’t ooze of sunshine and enthusiasm. I don’t know if I even have a cause for my constant difficult intellect to plant seeds of depression. Being an outsider in a social world isn’t exactly enjoyable. Having the two people you consider best friends putting you second to each other isn’t accurately a party. Having the boys you have always loved and admired become strangers and move on isn’t the happiest thing. The most “splendid” thing on top of that is having a family that seems to never have faith in you as much as you even try. There beliefs are to get to the acme of everything whatever means necessary. There religions, reading to be the opposite of a person like me. I seem to be more than sinful with it all over my skin and am more than happy I don’t live my life avoiding half of the things I do or people I’m around because of what’s written in a book that ages back to B.C. My generation happens to be one that feeds on gossip magazines and rumors to cure there loneliness. My generation actually wishes to be more filled with fame than wisdom. My generation as no meaning in existing if we only harm and damage each other than give love and happiness. I have yet to feel it. I doubt the bible could have predicted that our world would come to war and destruction so long before the revelation. I don’t know all the answers to the questions and I find myself changing views and opinions on every person because I know everyone has there good and bad points is it my fault the bad, in my mind, always dominates the good? I’m losing a religion I’m losing the people I found it most easy to talk to….does it even matter when you’re always second best or second to last? My loner status is for there lifelong ignorance and there polite way to saying they don’t want me, ignoring me….I’m also starting to realize that a drug isn’t the only solution….maybe a departure is just the medicine I call for.

I just wanted them to show a single sign of caring. Someone who didn’t always put me at fault….someone, who realized what I was doing in the bathroom…, carving letters of annoyance, there ignorance, and my insanity on to a trembling anxious leg of terror. Would they even notice the blood on the wall that I tried so hard to erase? Again I add I’m crazy and have nothing but pain and negativity to bring to this world. I can’t remember the last time I felt that the world wasn’t crumbling under my feet. Everything about this world angers me in a way I can’t explain. Did it matter one solitary girl was alone in a bathroom and cured herself with blood and some vomit. Again now writing on the walls throwing things, kicking stuff, not even shedding a single tear as I felt weak, depressed, and passionate……it was something about the moment that gave me a certain degree of closure. It also made me realize how dramatic and passionate I was about each and every moment. How every hand motion and jump I did to let out my frustration was quickly helping. The feeling is now almost a blur. My second outburst was a little more reckless…..it has been many times that I’ve lost my self control though yesterday I actually felt if I had went even more insane I would have crossed the line. I would have done something worse. I stopped and realized I care at least enough to stop myself for once. I cleaned my blood that was on the walls, mirror, and tub, lipstick that I wrote profound things with and the water that I flooded the room with. That was my decision. I trashed my own bathroom and had my satisfaction and now needed to realize I was still in a house with 5 others and in a world with billions of others. Though my views of the world and everyone’s sad judgment are pretty much the same, image seems to be everyone to people. I don’t take back my outburst and the reason why I did it. Though I tell myself the right thing my free will and need to rebel makes me kick my way to destruction. My mind is filled with demons and angels’ contemplating what I should do next and it’s a struggle. I’m still violent in many things I do and most of the times don’t feel bad. I always ask God why…Does it matter how pretty and skin you are when you’re a horrible person? Why does image have to be everything? Why is it that even my parents spread that message? I refuse to remain sane if I feel like the only one who knows about common sense. The maturity everyone lacks is a great deal….some days I can’t go a day without an argument with an ignorant brainless shallow person who thinks there views are always right. All I have to say is they have it coming….because my mind attacks in a way that I would say terrorizes the person in a emotional and physical level and will make sure I devour there soul as if they had taken life from me, and do it until I feel the satisfaction that never seems to come easy….revenge comes without difficulty thanks for making my a hateful human being world.

(Sorry about the color just highlight as if you were going to copy and paste to read.)

As much as I express amusement and disclaim all the pessimistic things that have once left these lips, I still find myself staring  in the mirror just to see what other imperfections I could try to repair. It never seems to work since the day after I do the same exact thing and feel the exact same way as I reach my fingers in my mouth collecting mucus and vomit. Oh look at that tragedy! She puked to feel better about herself though ended up feeling inferior and insecure. It’s not like she ever felt good enough or pretty enough for anyone to look at her and you had to be that insecure with yourself to pick at her! Though her vulnerability proved she was weak and defenseless. She didn’t do anything but was an easy target because she was already falling apart and tore herself apart as she stared at her scars and scabs on her pale legs. They never go away and these painful memories will stay everlastingly. She is ME! Then my apprehensions, if I do this will it makes me seem more awful? If I lost control for just a second will I still I have my dignity? If I lose and fall completely will I be more vulnerable and figured out than I ever have been? As I stood confessing my sins in the presents of my abhorrence, which is the person I seem to too noticeably  express my hatred for, leans over and asks me why I bite my nails and shake my legs continuously. I am a paranoid anxious human being and can’t bite my nails long enough to hold back the horrendous things I’ve been wanting to say to the hatred of my life…the ones who keep taunting while swearing they are sincere and write theses degrading phrases with love…why would you be deceitful to someone who you is your companion or is your blood relation? Why am I, the one who cowers in fear of people knowing my secrets when I basically indicate this every chance I get? For what, remorse, sympathy, for a prayer?! I’m a perplexed with the human species…with them…with myself….I experiment with myself and examine/dissect my legs as I make great big cutting scenes on my leg. I experiment with them as I begin to know what makes a parent tick, go for there weak spots and emotions, cutting there hearts opened….I’m becoming the bitch that criticized me while trying to make myself as cold and motionless as the ones who assured they couldn’t feel it as they did this to me. It hurts; I just want that same reaction from them, since I realized I could feel with my first cut, I just want them to examine themselves, make them be able to feel whatever means necessary.