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Well it's 11 PM and I've already decided I'm not going to school tomorrow either.

My luck never ******** changes.

Yesterday I attended the art/music/tech festival at our school.
Sure, it was fun, I got to talk to my friends, got to look at some art, etc.
But it also set off destructive thinking.
There were a few moments when I was left out from the group of friends who unknowingly wronged me recently.
I abandoned them to talk with better friends.
But still.
And when I couldn't find anybody to talk to, I couldn't help but watch people converse and walk around, and wish I was in their shoes.
They could find friends to hang out with anywhere.
I had to search for mine like a needle in a haystack.
And I felt so alone.

When I'm alone I feel like a ghost.
The way I look, dress, talk... it's all taboo to this town.
I don't belong.
So I am the person that everybody passes, and everybody thinks "Oh look, it's that emo girl" or something like that.
I don't know.
I am not emo.
But by most standards I guess I am.
I feel joy once, twice a month if I'm lucky.
Neutral, emotionless, blank...
Forced laughs, fake smiles...
The s**t I have to do keep people talking to me.

I'm spinning out of control again.

Damn complications.
Everything good has to warp itself into a catastrophic storm of negativity.
Falling backwards and asking myself "Why?"
Something I'm so used to doing.
But what answer can I give?
I don't know why I snapped.
What made me so sensitive to the world.
Which step of life I tripped over.
Where the future became a thing of the past.

I went home early.
I walked around to check on the oriole nest in front of our house.
Then I passed by our oak tree.
It was being climbed by ivy, so I decided to help the tree.
I got plant clippers.
And I cut them.
After cutting the ivy I cut more things.
I cut weeds, I shredded more ivy vines, I sliced clovers.
I stalked around squeezing the handles of the clippers to hear that clean slicing noise.
But then I was scared that I looked like a murderer.
I put the clippers away and squished little red bugs with my fingers instead.

I got a pet rat.
It's sick.
It sneezes and sniffles.
Snot sprays everywhere when she does.
If this keeps up we'll have to return her.
I can't think of what to name her.
But in a strange way, I don't want to.
Naming would form a stronger bond.
Maybe it's good that I didn't pick out a name beforehand if she's just going to be sent back.
A name... one less thing to remember and another moment in time to forget.

My memory.
It's been failing me since I got out of the hospital.
I remember circumstances.
Places.
Things.
But I can't remember who told me a story.
What I ate for dinner two days ago.
That somebody called for my mom and I was supposed to tell her to call back.
What I said earlier.
As my emotions die, my memory goes with it.
Emotion is my memory.
So I sleep.
Only in my dreams can I actually feel... live.

My dad was holding his head in his hand and calling for my mom yesterday.
My uncle.
He had been found in his car.
He had been in there for about three hours, passed out, alone.
The first time in nearly 5 years that he had a major seizure.
He was rushed to the hospital, incoherent.
It didn't feel real.
Later we got news that he regained consciousness and was talking.
But he kept vomiting and couldn't keep his medication down.
Today he stopped vomiting, but he has a fever.
Imagine.
If that car was his deathbed.
Death.

I wanted to watch TV last night.
I didn't want to take my medication.
I didn't want to go to sleep.
I felt this horrible unrest in me.
It was happening again.
It is happening again.
But I didn't watch TV last night.

I didn't go to school today.
I canceled my plans with my friends.
I am going crazy.
Spinning out of control.
Where's the medication that will negate this disease?
Where's the salvation that will bring me out of this mess?
6 ******** years.
Falling prey to my own malfunctions.

At 12 I was fascinated by suicide.
At 13 I was emotionally choked with my own heartstrings.
At 14 I was abandoned by so many people. The walls closed in.
At 15 I was struggling. Trying to run away in an enclosed space. Impossible.
At 16 I was failing, and the world was ending. I wanted to die.
At 17 I was on the brink of ending it all, until I found somebody who seemed to patch up the torn pieces of my life. Only to have him pull the stitching out.
At 18... I don't even remember.

Has it really been a month?
The past month seems like a blank spot.
I know I switched classes.
I know I did some work.
I know I rejoined Final Fantasy XI.
But the conversations, the events, everything, is lost in fuzz.
Somebody would have to remind me for me to remember.

What the hell has happened.

My luck never changes.