Dear Big Sister,
I was going to secretly blog, as I usually secretly blog when I don't want readers to know what I think of them, but then I came across yours.
Now I say this as inoffensively as possible, but you make me so sad. I know that you are a melancholy person and for that I am too.
I have been thinking a lot lately of how scary it is to me the idea of being stuck in the same place forever. I don't want to be born, grow up, and die in the same place I have always been. I don't want to lose the option of becoming something else. Something other than this house, this town, those people.
Now I am especially upset because I see that you are stuck. You have been stuck for a long time. With that boy, now this boy, now that boy again. It makes me itch how you are stuck, especially since I know it doesn't have to be that way.
Perhaps I am wrong in my observations, but I really feel otherwise. I have a knack for observing well.
I wish I had some wise quote from an even wiser philosopher to relate my thoughts to you, but no one ever wrote about being stuck.
Additionally, I use stuck for lack of a better word.
The night you came home, crying and upset, the night the rain was coming down really hard and your dog slept with me in my bed, I wrote you a letter too.
I said I was sorry and that I wish this sort of thing didn't have to happen. I said why does this sort of thing have to happen to people like us and then my eyes became real blurry from the tears.
My eyes are blurry again.
I called my friend while you were at the police station and I cried to her too.
I just want you to know you don't have to be stuck. I want to take it away and rescue you and sprout wings and fly away from everything bad that's happened, everything we have gone through and live a life of serenity and peace and never have to put up with bad things again.
I am aching for you so. At this point my eyes have gone red and puffy and my cheeks are rather moist.
I love you.

I can't stop dreaming about Mom. She comes into our house and barges in and I hide.
I watched a show about meth and I wondered if that's what her life was like. I wonder if that's what her life still is like.

You need to sprout wings like I said I would do.
Get away from this mess of left over emotions and endless cycles.

I'm sorry I'm so scatterbrained. I miss you a lot and I wonder what you're up to. I hope you don't feel too sad most days.

I love you.
Sincerely,
Baby Sister

I wrote a story: about her not for her

"Doesn't it seem like she was always sleeping?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. I don't really remember."

My sister had brought up the topic of our mother and the time of her residency on Lashley Street.

What memory I had of the tall, white apartment complex was faint. But, my sister was right; mostly, my mother slept. When she was awake, I don't remember her being there much. She would awaken after days, leave to be with friends, come home and make us dinner, sleep, and resurface again.

Sometimes, I was in the apartment by myself, or Mom was asleep just asleep just upstairs. It felt the same though. I practiced my front flips on the pull out couch. My sister was out, trying to make friends with the shady kids from the other buildings.

During the summer, I would go to the apartment pool. I had to wear floaties on my arms because I didn’t quite know how to swim. I knew how to read. The pool sign said there was no lifeguard on duty and that anyone under the age of 14 had to be accompanied by an adult. Often, I was the only one at the pool. No adults and certainly no Mom. She was sleeping but she’d be down in a few she said. I usually waited, just swimming around in my floaties until finally she came around.

There was a man who brought my mother flowers. Each time it was a bunch of different colored roses.

“I hate roses,” she said after closing the front door behind her. She walked from the entrance and set them on the countertop. My mother sighed and retreated back to her elusive bedroom.

I had watched the two tapes of Titanic in her room. I ate warm, hard boiled eggs while doing so.

“She never ate. She fed us Ramen noodles but never had them herself,” recalled my now grown sister. I guess she was right. My mother was always at the table asking how it was but there was never a plate in front of her. Mostly, I had assumed that was just a characteristic my mother had. Upon review inside my mind, the real reason lay very clear.

“Take a look at the timeline of photos. See how the woman in the last frame looks so aged compared to the first one? This is only a five year time span. This is what meth can do to you.” Oh god. I’m back in health class in middle school.
“Meth users begin to develop sores on their skin. They can go days without feeling hungry and skip meal after meal. Most people get addicted the very first time they try it.”

It hurt so bad to realize. All I could think about was the time she cooked us fried eggs for dinner but I was so sick I didn’t want any. We had to go back to Dad’s so Mom carried me down the stairs. They were carpeted just like every hallway in the building. Before I knew it, I was vomiting all over them, all over me, all over my mother.

Upon my realizations, I felt like vomiting once more.

“Do you think she’s stopped using?”
“Well, I don’t know. Last I heard from her was that card for my birthday,” I answered to my sister. “She mostly just apologized in it as usual.”
“Yeah, she always does.”
She always does.

I want to scream so absolutely loud.
People are so fucking irritating.
They don't want to hang out because they feel intimidated.
How am I so intimidating? I can't even hold my own head right on my shoulders. I'm weaker than ever and I have no where to turn. Secret blogging is the only way I feel I can write and get things out. Actions that people do lead me to think they are threatened by me. Why? That's all I keep asking myself. Why, why, why?
Last night was an extremely low point for me. The equivalent of a miniature rock bottom. To the point where I was even tempted to cut.
"The streak, the streak, the streak." I haven't cut in over three years.
I can't break the streak
I am not physically attracted to anyone at this time. I don't think my body can comprehend romantic emotions with all of the other shit I'm going through.
It's Valentine's Day and I actually don't care that I'm alone. I didn't want to get out of bed this morning anyway. People just disappoint me anyway.
I hate pretending like I'm happy, but I hate being asked what's wrong even more.
I'm so full of regret and mistakes and bad thoughts and feelings. I wish I could scoop them all out and throw them away.
The center of all my emotions always lies within my gut. I used to think that if I didn't have a torso, I wouldn't be feeling so bad.
I wish I had practical dreams and goals. Art and writing, I feel, will get me nowhere. It's not like I'm motivated to do either of those anyway.

it is monday

I gave in. I got a different blog. The previous site I belonged to left me biting my tongue too much and I don't really think that's what writing is about. I feel there are a lot of things I would like to say about people with out getting their feelings hurt. So here it goes;
Queen: You are being SO ridiculous. Grow the fuck up. Stop hurting everyone and being so immature (especially over the internet, ass hole)
Slut: You are no better. You are adding fuel to Queen's fire. You two are so selfishly stupid
Sticks: I would really prefer if we didn't talk anymore. You were a one night stand and I honestly do not care about your new girlfriend. I am not jealous, you are just a failure. I don't regret sleeping with you, I wish I had made better judgment instead.
Dog: You blog about how you are growing apart from your friends? Well I have a solution for you: stop pushing them away. I am not your best friend anymore. I do not know who you are anymore. Stop bragging about your "great" taste in music to everyone. We don't care and I don't know if you will ever get a boyfriend. I don't feel comfortable around you either. You and Cat always judge me. As for her: tell her to actually do something with her life.
Boy: You are really cuuute. I wish you would text me, so I could get to know you better. I secretly imagine you as my boyfriend, even though I don't even know you.
Face: Oh my god, I still have feelings for you. I really hate it and I wish I could stop. You have a girlfriend and I think she is ugly. Especially since I like you still. I had a dream that we were cuddling and I was really happy. Until I woke up. Then I was upset because there is no chance in hell. Also, it makes me so upset that you are moving away to California after the school year is over. You have become one of my best friends and I don't want to give you up yet.

I called a few nursing homes because I want to volunteer at one. I can't imagine how absolutely lonely it must be to be discarded by your own family. It's not fair and I want to make good company for people. You can't throw people away.

I don't ever invite people over to my house because I am embarrassed of it. I kind of secretly wish our cat would pass peacefully so that he wouldn't barf all over and so that the hallway wouldn't smell like cat urine and feces.

It's too long of a stretch until spring break.

I need to write five good poems before late February so I can submit them to a contest. I want to win. I need a job. I need money. I need a car. I need a new bed. I need glasses.
need need need