So I received my first piece of hate mail today. Never had hate mail before (durr) and never actually expected to get any, either. I've pretty much made my life here in Alpharetta as uncontroversial people-wise as is possible. I hate confrontations, I can't stand up for myself, and when I snap, I always feel bad about it later. I can't find it within me to get mad at my friends, nor can I be an ice queen. The only time I get mad is at my mom, and the majority of the time I just start crying or get stressed out. I don't understand why I got my hate mail, because I thought all of my friends and I were on the good side, and it's pretty much my friends who know about the hell that I've been going through the past few weeks. So yeah, someone who thinks he's God sent me a letter, typed, Times New Roman font (I think...) in a letter envelope, stamped and sent through the Alpharetta postal service on June 9th. Any clues as to who this fucker is would be greatly appreciated, because I know some people who would take great pleasure in kicking their asses, and for once, I'm starting to get angry. When I've been nice to just about everyone and their goddamn MOTHER hate mail is not what I expected. Beans.

My mom is downstairs offering up pizza to teenage girls who are too carefree and naïve to want to get drunk, to want to smoke cigarettes, to want to feel anything other than the fun of their lives. They have not gotten their licenses yet, have not tasted the first bitter drips of pain, have not had to deal with the fact that people hate you for no reason. They have not yet had their first kisses. She is offering them pizza, finding out when they would like it, doting on them because they are young and perfect and they are not me.
I do not exist to her, she has not said anything to me since she came to Ian’s house to force me home. She made me drive, I was drunk, she didn’t know, I wasn’t going to tell her. If she knew, it would only ruin me in her eyes even more. I got home before she did, and went upstairs and locked the door and fell asleep, and now I no longer exist. I am the bad child, the devil spawn, the let down, the disappointment. I used to be the child who could do no wrong, I never fucked up, ever, they never yelled at me for grades or bad decisions. But now, it seems that all I do is fuck up and all they do is threaten to throw me out. I wish they would throw me out, it would be so much more preferable to this state of agony and solitude. This quietness, this trapping myself in my room so I don’t have to see her, screening my calls so I don’t answer to my dad… is unbearable. And it’s indefinitely. I’m going to remove the screen from my front window so that I can climb out at night, or people can climb in, whichever they prefer, so that I don’t have to be alone all the time. I can’t stand being alone. I asked for more me time, and this is what I get, this hell. I don’t want to feel this alone, because it’s cold and its lonely, as opposed to quiet solitude. Part of me wants to claw at her, scream FUCK YOU MOM at the top of my lungs and run out to a waiting car, my bags packed, important things stowed away. The other part of me knows that she’s just doing her job, but since when did parents jobs include making your kid feel like shit every second of the day? I know I fucked up, I know I let them down, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. Do they really think that harping about it for the rest of my life is going to make matters any better? Do they really think that if they yell enough and let me know how much of a disgrace I am, they can reverse time and I’ll make a better decision? Their doing all of this makes me proud that I messed up because I showed them I wasn’t perfect and I found out who they really are… unable to accept anything that seems out of the ordinary, unable to accept the weird, the mistakes, the things that make people human. I am happy that I have been drunk off my ass so many times in life that I would need more than fingers and toes to count them. I am happy that I smoke my fucking cigarettes, things that I used to swear up and down I wouldn’t do. I am happy that I did my drugs, that I’ve had my sex, created my scars. Fuck you mom and dad, I’m not an angel, I’m your own little hell beast, now accept it or tell me to move the fuck out.

Do you ever get to that point where you don't want to be around anyone at all, I mean, literally, at all, but if you stay home people will nag you, so you go out, and you find that you're a boring person and don't really have any fun anyway? I've been doing that a lot lately. It's mostly the turn in recent events that has caused me to turn quite this inward, but I've been spending so much time with people that I can't seem to get my own act together. Last summer I would stay up until four in the morning, not even on AIM or anything, just thinking, reading, writing, figuring myself out. And this year, everything's so wham-bam in your face you have-to-do-this-now that there isn't any time for introspection. If I stay up until five in the morning (as I did recently) I'm absolutely exhausted the next day because I can't sleep in until 3 in the afternoon and deal with my no-sleep hangover the way that I feel like it. I know that it's only the first week of summer, but already I'm exhausted and just wishing that I could quit living this kind of life. I don't like my job - sure, when it's boring, it's okay, but I'm so high-strung that when it gets busy, I tense up and feel like I'm about to snap into a zillion and three pieces. And the Ian thing is really killing me, everybody knows, everybody knows why, and I have turned myself into a joke, which is what I really, really, really didn't want to do. But I did it anyway, half unknowingly, half consciously, and now I've nothing to show for it except some scars and a broken, defeated heart. I need me time, but I want to be with my friends, because soon, I'll be gone. I don't want to hang out wiht my family when my dad's not home, but when he's home, it seems like we have to jam so much into the weekend that it's not really any fun, it's just one big required activity. I really feel like sleeping, but I'm not going to because my dad wants to hang out with me after the Strangs leave, and I miss him a lot, so I'm going to. I have to work 8 - 5 tomorrow, if I get off on time, which will be a blast, especially when church rush hits. Part of me keeps thinking about the speed, how it made everything better, I could pack so much more into a day when I was sniffing back crystallized energy, and now I'm tired all the time, like my body has gone into one big state of shock. Maybe I should stop smoking. Maybe I should move past this Ian thing - though it's two days fresh and still hurting. Maybe I should quit whining. Yeah, I think so.

he is the keeper of the windows
his roses draw up the blinds and
unlock the latches, removing the screens
so that he can climb through and keep safe
quiet in the yellow slumber of my bed
beneath the quilts that make me feel as heavy as I can
so that I can be protected and sleep wholly

one for love and one for friendship
the petals are scattered about my room
a carnation dried and red sleeping in a bucket
the sunrise roses to signify our early morning escapes
pale beneath the clouds
a favorite

and the roses protect my windows
keeping him here keeping them out
leaving my body to moments
leaving my mind to instants
quiet without frustration
the street lamp flickering out outside

I. Am. In. Hell.

Fine Mixed Drink #1: Fuzzy Navels
Bacardi Fuzzy Navel Mix
Bacardi Rum
Ice

Fine Mixed Drink #2: Raspbery Sunrise
Raspberry Sorbet
Limonade
Seltzer
Ice
Popov's Vodka

YUM!

My world is smashed, just like my front right light. Three thousand confusions enter my head, and now I understand what Joel meant when he said that he would not relinquish light. I'm trying. I will not relinquish light.