"When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time."

"When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time."

Teens commit suicide.

When you're a teen, you are supposed to be growing, trying to find yourself and who you are meant to be.

But when teens kill themselves before they even get a chance to see what they could have been... it just... ruins so much. Because they keep getting called out for trying to express themselves and find themselves, they push themselves so far away from everyone and everything else that... there's nothing left but their corpse... their body cold and empty.


I've been suicidal, and luckily it has not been because I've been bullied or because I'm gay... in fact being gay is one of the smaller reasons I don't like who I am. I'm mostly just afraid that the people I care about will be disappointed in me and drift away from me. People have distanced themselves from me because I needed to grow up or because I grew up to be someone they didn't like, and I really don't care much about the reasons why they stopped liking me - it just hurts that they did stop liking me. Best friends that I imagined having fun with for years to come stopped talking to me years ago, and it was never my decision to let that happen. It hurts when you can't control things.


I'm a little afraid that coming out to my family will be the final straw where they actually express their disappoint in my to my face. I know some of them don't agree with the things I've done or who I'm growing up to be, and in a way, I accept that because I don't plan on remaining very close to my family in the future. But still, the fact that someone you have grown so close to can just drop you from their heart like you were never meant to be there in the first place hurts so badly.


Right now, I really like this boy. And I know that as a teenager, I've had crushes come and go more often than I text, but he's different. I think he sort of ... initiated any flirting, and it's such a serious head game trying to figure out how he really feels about me. He's extremely weird, so I don't feel like the odd man out, he's a musician, he's an artist, and he's fun. Sometimes, I feel moments where a connection would be made if it were written that way in a story, but like I said, he's hard to figure out, so I can't figure out what he feels. And I like that - he keeps me guessing. As a girl who writes love stories, not knowing how my own is going to end up is a thrill. I can usually see how things might end up, and there's only been one instance where I was so naive and blinded by love that I couldn't see us heading for disaster. With this guy, I don't know what's going to happen, but even if it ends in heartbreak, I'd still be buzzing from the excitement of the few times we've spent together already.


But in liking him, I've realized something.


I haven't acted very much like myself around him, not because I felt like he would judge me, but because I've been too busy analyzing him, really. But if I am to be myself, how much of myself should I be? Not many people are accepting of gays, bisexuals, etc. Not many people are understanding of depressed people. I've been lucky to find some who are, but can I find any who would be willing to date a mess like me?


I didn't mean to make this personal, but if I kept writing about suicide, I was going to cry.


I'm still here. I like it here, being alive. I haven't known anyone who's committed suicide, and I hope I never do. It wouldn't make me stronger or weaker - it would make me scared that it could have been me giving up like that. I don't want to envision myself hanging from up high, or bleeding to death because I cut myself, or having my body mangled or torn apart by whatever gruesome end I thought would help. Because I know suicide doesn't solve anything. It doesn't solve any problems at all. It's like when I had a list of math problems to do, and no matter how hard I tried to work it out, no matter how many people I asked for help, I was still lost and confused, and I would leave the page blank. The problems were still there, and they still hurt me in the end, but the world would move on and those problems would be forgotten for me. My problems would just float around somewhere until they bothered someone else - they never go away for everyone.


Lately, I've been thinking about my brothers, and I've wanted to make some art piece with a message to them and anyone else who's misunderstood. My brothers express themselves, and even if they get into more dangerous and life-threatening situations than most people, I still think that they might outlive me soon. And I don't want that - I want to grow old with them. 


When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time.


I'm tired of slowly dying. I want to express myself, one art piece at a time.

Italian Sonnet 1 (my attempt at an Italian/Petrarchan style sonnet)

a   Please grace me with your fondest memory
b   Don't let it get distorted as you sing
b   A thought that wraps you up, a tender thing
a   And kisses you with warmth - how you should me
a   Share with me what terrors plague your poor head
b   Make me weep with what sorrows torture you
b   Smother me with the pain that brings you blues
a   So that your woes will bother me instead
c   The things I know about you show much growth
d   But I fear you won't keep pushing forward
e   The problems weighing down on you are strong
c   I swear I'll bring happiness to us both
d   What gives me power are your sad, sad words
e   Trust me - your problems won't stay very long

*IT WAS SO HARD TO WRITE THE LAST SIX LINES, mostly because Italian sonnet rhyme scheme has like, eight possible end rhyme schemes. I tried to do it according to the notes we took in Creative Writing - cdc dcd or cde edc... I think. I'm not sure I wrote it down correctly, but on Monday I will show her and ask her opinion.

*Also, I might have written this for someone, but I'm really unsure if my feelings are romantic or so friendly that I'm in the "I'll do anything to help my friends, even risk my safety" stage for this friendship. I was inspired by this techno song "Britney Spears & Louis La Roche - Inside Out (Bugzz French House Mix)" to write this poem.

Tell Me (a poem)

How could I encounter such a problem
when the answers lie right beside my hand?
How can you say time is running out
when I still hold so many grains of sand?
How can I prepare for new beginnings
when the past is still stalking up behind me?
How can I be drowning in misfortune
when I never took a trip out to that sea?
How can I be filled with all these questions
when the answers are staring back at me?

Minesweeper

With my family, I sometimes feel like I'm playing a game of Minesweeper. It is a game that I am not particularly good at, and I am pretty careless with how I play because I don't know how to play with a strategy and I will always lose eventually, but I just have this desire to play it because it keeps me busy and doesn't require much focus.

I think of the game as me dealing with my family. I don't know how to do it correctly, but I still associate with them. I need to keep myself distracted until I can worry about my own personal problems in the future when I have my own life. If I make one wrong move, then it's game over and a massive explosion happens that you didn't expect and it can be devastating. I never know when something is going to explode and I can't avoid it, so I just have to keep clicking away. That's the only way to play the game - just click away and hope for the best. But the worst part is, no matter how many times you lose, the game starts right back up again for you to try and fail. It never ends, there will always be more hidden explosives to avoid in life. You just have to hope for the best.

One of my friends pointed out a quote I said in one of previous blog posts: "Friendship is my oxygen." I still agree with this, only now, I'm afraid that no matter how much oxygen I have, I still don't have the proper help. Air only gets you as far as living. You need a whole lot more to make sure you stay alive.

"Skip to the ending... I'd like to know. Author of the moment, can you tell me? Do I end up happy?"

"Skip to the ending... I'd like to know. Author of the moment, can you tell me? Do I end up happy?"

It's weird... as much as I love stories and happy endings, I can't really see myself wanting to know how my story will end. Mostly because I'm pretty sure it'll be the exact same way as it is now: me having everything I could possibly need, the possibility to have what I desire if I work hard for it, yet me never being truly happy. I feel spoiled and bratty, and often bitchy. I snap at people who are my friends and family and who want to help me. I can't let myself be happy because every single thought in my head just brings me down. Looking at my brothers and their autism, I wonder if I have my own mental problems. Depression never scared me. But schizophrenia? I'm not really one to self-diagnose, and I hate when people try to solve other people's problems without even knowing all the symptoms, but if I had to say what was ailing me, I'd say schizophrenia is a close one.

Right now, I am debating whether or not to break up with my boyfriend, not because he has done anything wrong because he hasn't, but because this whole thing is stressing me out to no end. He'd understand, and I know a lot of my friends have seen this coming, but I really don't know how he would react. Of course, I won't actually do this. I'll chicken out as always. I can't figure out if my chickening out of everything is a good thing or not.