Anonymous

A secret Story Book.

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Friday. June 29, 2012. 1:19AM

I’ve taken a hiatus. Not just from this blog (if one could even call it that) but from myself. And I’m not the only one who has, sadly. Will you ever come back? I’m scared not knowing. You provide me with no answers at all. But I hope you’re happy. Because honestly, I don’t think you are. 

It’s been a very rough year for me. Starting college, shit with moving, and with my parents. With my mom. My grandfather passing away. Now I’m back in this shit hole town with all of these empty people around. I really have moments where I just know why I left. But I wont be heading back to my real home (even though it’s burning to the ground) for a couple of months. It wont come soon enough. I feel myself turning into things I don’t like or want to be again. It’s hard to explain. 

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Permalink eatsleepdraw:

9” x 12” ink & watercolor
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November 22, 2011, 2:53AM.

"My heart feels like a cartoon valentine card that some bratty kid’s balled in his fist until it’s become nothing but a ragged wad of paper, then thrown into churning, chopping depths of the trash compactor." -Mysterious Skin, Scott Heim.

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November 22, 2011, 12:15AM.

Sometimes I just feel like crying. Out of nowhere. Like there is not one single person alive who gives a fuck. And there really isn’t, maybe..2 people. But even so, that doesn’t make me feel any less lonely, actually, it makes me feel even more lonely. 

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November 18th, 2011,Friday - 19:09AM

I’m avoiding speaking to my mother right now. When she sent me a text saying she loves me no matter what, it made me so angry, and I’ve never felt so lied to before.

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November 18th, 2011,Friday - 7:21AM

And suddenly.. everything hit me..

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November 18th, 2011,Friday.

For the first time in my life I want to be completely shit-faced. So drunk that I’ll only laugh, and forget. To forget him, and her. And the wounds in my back, and the breaks in my heart. The people who aren’t here anymore, about the people who were never here. That all the words I held under my breath, that slowly build up would just pour out into a long drunken slur. And be completely numb, and pass out, and not give a fuck in the world. To think of just nothing for a while. To wake up the next day feeling the effects of the night before and not even remember what the fuck happened. To throw up all the shame, the drink, the pain, the misery and the life. I’d just like this, for one moment, for one night. To escape with someone else, just this once.