Moving Old Posts From Myspace

For about two years I posted on Myspace, I am deleting it now and moving old blogs I want to save here. So they will be popping up now an again, so I can remember what I was going through in 2008-2009. Sometimes I will post several in one chunk. Here we go kids!


July 7, 2008

It's been a bad day, and I feel accordingly. Don't mind me if I use up a little quiet time. That's what happens before the storm

July 7, 2008

Current mood:cynical
Do you know that when you slit your wrists and get taken to the hospital in an ambulance you didnt want, with police officers you dont like and dont want touching you, they put you in a very very cold room and leave you alone for 5 hours and then a crisis worker comes in and tells you, " Why are you crying so much, your such a pretty girl and now your face is all red from you rubbing it, there is no reason for you to do this."

Omg, she is RIGHT. Why would a pretty girl want to kill herself. I should of thought of that when I was sitting on the bathroom floor and the words, no one misses you when your gone, leave me alone, were ringing through my ears during my panic attack.

I should of stopped then, snapped out of my panic attack, my depression and the betrayl of a person who the night before told me how much they love me only to tell me how much they hate me the next morning and gone, WAIT, I'm PRETTY.

Pretty solves everything. Im so lucky. I mean if I had been ugly, they would of actually had to HELP me, but since I am pretty, they just gave me half a xanax, kept me in the cold for 5 hours and sent me home to go see my doctor.

Thank god for the Crisis workers in the ER here, or else I might not have a good reason to wake up today.


Oh and when you sign out, the nurse tells you, Have a nice day!!!!

July 9, 2008

You don’t get

Current mood:calm
You don't get to touch me anymore
Not in my heart, or my head, not my body.

You don't get to smell my hair, kiss my smile or lay your hand on the curve of my waist while I sleep.

You don't get to tell me what to do, who I can talk to, when I can go out, or what friends I get to have.

You don't get to care, you lost that option.

You don't get to lie to me, you don't get to hurt me and make me feel like less then a person, you can't shame me for who I am ever again.

I am free.

Are you?