Must..... Have..... COFFEE!!!!!!!

Hey all,

Just figured I'd warn you, I'm kind of a caffeine addict. Not as bad as T.C, of course, (who got me hooked on coffee, yes I blame you.) I love my coffee, and even though I prefer the gourmet stuff from Caribou or Starbucks, I'll settle for gas station coffee once in awhile. Usually I just make it at home. My favorite is the Vanilla Northern Lite Latte from Caribou, and the White Chocolate Mocha from Starbucks. And do not even get me started on the cake pops. Those things are like heaven on  a stick. Pair them with that White Chocolate Mocha, and I just died and went to heaven.

Sometimes if I don't get my coffee when I need it, I get severely cranky. Especially if you wake me up before noon. If you wake me up at any time before 7 AM, you damn well better be carrying a Caribou cup, or the results may not be pretty.

I tend to crave coffee as well. It's the addiction. And a love-hate relationship. Coffee is too darn expensive.

Consider yourself schooled in the way that is me.
Signing off,

Xx~WesternWriter~xX

Masquerade

What disguises do you wear? Where or for whom do you wear them?

An amazing question, and one I'm glad was brought up.

"Masquerade!

Seething shadows

Breathing lies...

Masquerade!

You can fool any friend

Who ever knew you!"

I wear many masks, each one of different color and expression. You would never know I wear them, except if you know me well. It's not an easy task, donning all these masks. Sometimes one will slip, or one will break. I refuse to let myself be exposed, and replace it with another. Let me explain my masks.

The first mask is yellow, with a smile on it's face. Daises line it's edges, a happy mask in place. I wear it with my friends, to hide the mask beneath.

The second mask is light blue, worn only with my family and friends. Clouds hover across is, and it has a sense of calm.

The third mask is pink, with roses lining it's edges. A slight blush on it's face, worn only with my love.

The fourth mask is when I'm frustrated, generally at school. It's orange, with a scowl on it's face. It has fuzzy lines, blurred on it's edges. Frazzled and unsure.

The fifth mask is green, with it's eyes narrowed and a frown on it's face. A mask of jealousy, not seen often.

The sixth mask is lime green, with yellow lightning bolts running down it's sides. It represents hyper, or energetic.

The seventh mask is a muted blue, almost grey. It's eyes are droopy and clouds hover at it's edges. It represents fatigue.

The eight mask is bright red brick, with small, brighter red cracks in it. It represents anger, and is blatantly seen.

The ninth mask is one of white. It's a blank slate, as is my mind when I wear it. This mask represents boredom.

The tenth is a mask of dark blue, with tears streaming down it's cheeks. Sadness is evident upon its face.

The last mask is colored black, red slashes across its face. Silent tears run down it's cheeks and the edges are lined with rose stems, thorns running along them. This mask only comes out when I'm alone, but it lays in wait underneath all the other masks. It's my true identity, the face of me.

Break-Ups

I hate break-ups. I hate hurting people. It's one of my worst faults. I can't stand to see the pain in someones eyes when I tell them it's over, goodbye. I'm still friends with most of my exes, but break-ups take a toll. It hurts both parties, no matter what anyone thinks. I cry every time because I know I've made a mark on someones life. Whether it's painful or not, I still feel bad.

I've had my heart broken plenty of times, but some stand out profusely. I fell hard for a boy in eighth grade, and he was very sweet to me. But when I dated someone else he got angry with me, and we didn't talk until my tenth grade year. He was a year ahead of me. He asked me out again, and I, of course, said yes. We dated for a week until I learned he was just using me. We don't talk anymore.

My junior year started off with heart-break as well. I dated a new guy for about a month. He was sweet, but wouldn't talk about his past. I later learned that he was on probation for assault, and had been in trouble for numerous fights. He was violent, towards others and himself. He was a cutter, and suicidal. He also took drugs, and got high on painkillers frequently. I had to call the cops on him once, and my friends mom called them for me twice. The first time was because he was threatening suicide. The second time because he was threatening me, the boy I liked, and his own life. The third was because he threatened me again. The third was the last time I ever spoke to him. Before that night he had asked me to get drunk and sleep with him, I refused. That night, he sent me a picture of something written on a wall in blood. Supposedly in dragon-speak. He was high, very high, and had cut himself pretty badly from what I could tell. I told him I never wanted to talk to him again, and he said I would never get rid of him. I told him to watch me. He replied with "Have a nice suicide, hun." He really made me angry. He had left me for his ex about a month before, then found out she was using him and she dumped him again. He went crazy, and started on drugs again. He was sleeping with several other girls as well. I haven't heard from him since, but I hope that wherever he is, he's getting help.

I never wish harm on anyone, or I don't try to. I'm human, I get angry, but I always regret it later. I apologize if I can. Although some things just make me so angry that I don't want to forgive them, but I try not to hold a grudge. Even if they don't know it, I don't stay mad. I live by the policy of forgive and forget, if I can. I try my best, but like I said, I'm human.

Break-ups are probably my least favorite thing ever. They hurt, no matter who you are. You try not to care, you try to wall it off, but you can't. It's no use. You feel the pain anyway, and you can't help but hurt. I couldn't care less about myself, but I hate the fact that I hurt someone else.

Consider yourself schooled in the way that is me.
Signing off,
Xx~WesternWriter~xX

Friends are the People That Know Your Flaws but Like you Anyways

My friends are my saviors. I have had very few friend survive thus far, and most of them I met my freshman year. Sky is in her second year of college, and she graduated my freshman year, the same year we met. My friend T.C graduated with her, and I met him through her. Those two are my angels. They have been there for me through thick and thin and have saved me more times than they know. I love them both to death. They're like my older siblings.

My ex boyfriend, Adam, also graduated with them, and he and I still talk from time to time. Most of my relationships end with friendship. My friend Svennewitz and I are pretty close. He's more like my older brother now.

My friend Mady and I have been friends since 8th grade. She's a year younger than me, but she's like my sister. She knows practically everything about me, and I go to her for advice a lot of the time. She and I have had our fair share of fights, though. But the best friends are the ones that you can swear at till your face is blue and they'll still forgive you. I have a few good friends like that. Even though I tend to try not to take my anger out on them, even when they tell me I can. I don't like to let off steam on my friends.

My current boyfriend has been my friend for over two years now, but we have had more than our fair share of fights. He's very jealous, and he's liked me since he met me, or so he claims. Every time I dated someone else we would fight. But we always made up, so I think he has potential.

I look for friends that are honest, loyal, caring, kind, smart and sweet. I have alot more friends that are guys than girls, and alot of them have liked me at one point or another. I've dated a couple of them but some of them just don't appeal to me. It's not them personally but it's my preferences and the way I was raised.

I also look for things in common. Music is my main one. But I also look for common hobbies/intrests. It's an interesting experience. I also look for people who are different from myself, because then I can learn from them and maybe find something I like.

I have lost many friends over the years, but it doesn't bother me much. Most of them either were never really my friends or we just grew apart. Some of them have hurt me, but I think that just makes me that much stronger.

My friends mean alot to me, and while I didn't mention everyone, they are like my family. I practically consider them my siblings. I love them to death, and while they may be at college or preoccupied with their own lives, I miss them and I will always be here for them. I will always listen to my friends, and try to help them in any way I can. They are appreciated, whether they know it or not.

Consider yourself schooled in the way that is me.
Signing off,

Xx~WesternWriter~xX

My Best Subject

School isn't my favorite thing in the world, but then again, what sixteen year old girl wants to be couped up in a smallish room with at least three people that hate her? I've always had problems with school because I'm different. I don't conform to their standards. I don't dress like they do, I don't act like they do, and I certainly DO NOT play by their rules. And they hate me for it. In seventh grade, when I first came to this school, I was told by someone, in her exact words I quote, "We were all a big happy family until you showed up." I just laughed at her. I've seen the way this school works, and I've been here long enough to know that there is no way in hell that that statement was true. No, this school had it's problems. I was the least of them.

In eigth grade I had trouble with people teasing me for my love of horses. They made posters that consisted of drawings of hamburgers that said "Free horse meat." I was followed down the hall with shouts of "I'm going to shoot your horse and kill your cat." That was a favorite, too. My mom came in and spoke with the principle after a teacher asked me if I would skin a horse and live in if I was freezing in the wild. My answer was to walk out of class. I screamed the F word at a kid that called my horse stupid, in the middle of class. I ended up apologizing to the teacher in the room we were walking by. I had one kid go as far as to email me pictures of dead horses. I don't use that email anymore. Another kid, the one that started it, would pull up pictures of dead cats and horses, strung up by their necks and/or nailed to trees or posts. He even described in great detail how he would kill my cat. I never admitted where I lived after that.

Other than the taunts of killing my animals, I was called names as well. I've been called a whore, a slut, and everything else in the book. Even though I was none of those things, they still thought it was funny to spread rumors. A popular one was that I was cheating on my first boyfriend, Adam. They said I was kissing a good friend of mine, Dylan, in the hall. I hugged all my guy friends, everyone knew that. But they took it to the next level. At that time I was in tenth grade, and on the cheer squad. They had the nerve to ask me to stop hanging out with Dylan. They had the nerve to tell me that I couldn't hang out with one of my best friends anymore. I hated them for it. I never had many friends on the cheer squad, and was kicked off the following year. They told me that "We, as cheerleaders, already have a bad reputation for being sluts, and we would appreciate it if you didn't do anything to confirm this." Meanwhile the coaches' sister is grinding on the other girls and doing inappropriate dance moves fit for a whore. To say this made me angry was an understatement. Also, the coaches deemed me unfit for the state competition, when I was better than a girl that went. That same girl became "Junior captain" the next year, when she's a full year younger than me and seniority is supposed to rule. The coach always hated me, and I have no doubt she still does. I loved the sport, hated the team.

My best subject in school has always been English. I have a talent for writing, not just poetry but stories, too. I love to write. In an English essay at the beginning of my junior year, I decscirbed my passion for writing in a personal narrative titled "The Fire Within" about "An experience with fire." I used the fire of loving something, the passion, as my hypothetical, "Fire." Like my drive to do it. I explained how my writing was brought out by my cutting. My narrative was voted one of the best. A lot of my classmates didn't know that about me. I'm pretty open about it now.

My worst subjects pretty much included everything else. I am not very athletic, and therefor I struggled in Gym. I'm not very good with numbers, so I have a hard time with math. Science doesn't appeal to me, and I find it boring. History is fine as long as it's U.S history. I never cared much about the rest of the world.

When I go to college I'm hoping to get a degree in elementary education. I have loved working with kids since I was one myself. When I was small I taught my little brother when we played school. I taught myself to read at the age of three. I love to baby sit and I'm now working with special ed kids over at the elementary. I struggled with elementary school and I watched my little brother struggle as well. I want to give the future kids of America a good start so that they learn to love school. I always believed a good start would affect them for the rest of their lives. I want to be able to make that difference.

Well, that's my school life.
Consider yourself schooled in the way that is me.
Signing off,

Xx~WesternWriter~xX

Why I Am the Way I Am

Everyone is staring, but why? Am I so different from everyone else? What makes me special or wierd or so strange that they stare?
It makes no sense, this world of mine. It tortures me till the end of time. It pulls me under, farther and further. Taking me where I have no wish to wander. The pain is easy, that I can bear. But this fucking life, well, it's not fair.
I'm torn between two worlds, you see. This monster here, this isn't me. I'm trying to make things right, but I'm hiding out of fright. I don't want to hurt anyone, but this feeling, well, it's done.

"I watched it all up close, I knew her more than most, I saw a side of her she never showed. Full of sympathy for a world that wouldn't let her be.
That's the girl she was, have you heard enough?
What a shame, what a shame, to judge a life that you can't change. The choir sings, the church bells ring, so, won't you give this girl her wings? What a shame to have to beg you to see, we're not all the same.
What a shame.
That's the girl she was,
Have you heard enough?"

That song is pretty much exactly how I feel and what I'm thinking about. I feel like everyone judges before they really know the person and it bugs me. People are ridiculed for no apparent reason other than how they look, not who they are. I feel like no one cares because they only see what's on the outside. Scars, pained eyes, and they're afraid. They're afraid to get mixed up in it and they're afraid of the person, so they judge. They insult and they hate and for what reason? Just because the person looks different. Just because the person is foreign to them. Just because the person isn't like them.
It makes me so god damn angry. People hurt and cut and feel the way they do because other people couldn't take the fucking time to see who they really are. No one understood or cared to try to understand so now there's no one in this cruel world that they can really talk to and that will understand them. And when that's gone people get lonely and they get hurt and they feel worthless and then they hurt themselves and then they're ridiculed and judged and then they commit suicide. And why? Because no one took the fucking time to take a second look. No one took the time to care or understand. They just pointed and laughed, and no one cared.

No one understands and no one takes the time to. They're just like everyone else. They see the scars and they freak out. They don't take the time to understand why I did it in the first place. You don't have to cut to understand, and you don't have to feel the pain. You just have to open your mind to a different way of thinking.

I feel so far away and yet I'm sitting right here. My mind is nowhere near, but my heart is caged. I'm so lonely here, I want to be free.

I feel so trapped in my body, when my mind is so far away.
Maybe that's why I'm falling apart....
I'm alone. It's dark. I'm afraid, I don't know why. Maybe it's because my one fear, my greatest fear, is being alone....
I wake up curled up in a ball, in a cold sweat and crying. I'm so afraid of not remembering, so afraid of not knowing. So afraid of being alone.
I am losing you again.

It simply makes no sense. Nothing is making sense right now. I'm dizzy, in pain. I don't understand or comprehend.
I am losing you again.

I'm falling through space, just empty space. Like the holes inside me, except it's not dark. I'm standing on a cliff made of red rock, you're speaking my name. Yelling over the wind. You're trying to get my attention, but I don't seem to hear you, or I don't care. My goal is clear. I don't know why it's clear, but it is. I'm crying, you can see it. You try to move closer, but I move closer to the edge. Away from you. You're crying, too. Begging me to stay, but I'm not listening. I'm listening to the voice in my head, telling me to jump. I follow it's instructions, and I hear you screaming.....

There are two versions to this dream....

One:: You look over the edge, just as I hit the ground. My body laying there, still and lifeless. Blood all around me. You come down to where my lifeless form is, cradling me in your arms. Crying, asking why...

Two: I'm falling. The wind blowing through my hair. I'm finally free. Finally gone. This is my end, and I went out in style. I'm enjoying the fall, when suddenly I'm floating. My body jerks up with the sudden force, and I'm flying. Circling higher and higher till I can no longer see your small form on the cliff, staring in amazement. I look behind me to see black wings, shining with purple streaks in the sun. I can't help but wonder why. Why was I saved, what is the purpose? What is my purpose?

Everything goes black...
What now? I wish I had a razor blade... I do have scissors....
The snow beneathe me is red now, my arms dripping down. Some freezing to my arm, my hands are so cold...
I don't remember anything more.

Vertical- meaning up and down.
My arms+my razorblade=Blood+dizziness+angry friends
My arms+my blade+vertical=Death+sadness

Except I'm too afraid. I can't cut that deep. It would never work. I don't want to die really,
Or do I?
I don't know anymore. I want to hurt, To bleed, To be punished. It's what I deserve.
I'm nothing. Worthless.
My body isn't good enough, my heart, my mind, my soul, shattered beyond repair.
Who wants a broken toy? Much less a broken girl.
My time is up. I don't know why I'm still here. I serve no purpose.
No one wants me.
I'm just useless.
I want to cut again so bad right now.... God damnit.
I'm so tired of this addiction and this life. I'm sick and tired of living period. I just want to die....

I'm thinking of all the times I cut, the times I was scared because I had cut, the times I don't remember starting or why I started. The times I don't remember. How many times did I cut that I don't remember? Every scar has a story, but what about the ones that don't? Or the ones that I don't remember the story of. It makes no sense, the thoughts are somewhere in my mind, I just can't fathom them. I have no idea. Why can't I access them?? Why did I stick them away in a corner of my mind that I don't remember?

Today I'm missing you. More than you'll ever know. But you won't see me cry, or the fresh cuts from this morning. Because I was thinking of you. And how much I miss you. And how much I want to be in your arms again. I want you to hold me again, so that I know I'm safe. I just want to feel safe for once.

I never feel safe anymore.

It scares me, this feeling. I'm afraid of the fear, of the pain. I'm afraid of what I'll do. Or what I won't do. I want to text you so badly, but I don't know what to say. It simply doesn't connect. I wish I could tell you what's on my mind. But I can't. I miss you, I love you, I never should have said goodbye.....

I never should have said goodbye...

I feel so aweful about that day. I miss your soft blue eyes, straring straight into mine. The feeling I saw in those eyes, and knew it was true. I wish I wasn't so afraid of being hurt again....

I wish I wasn't so afraid of being hurt again....

I wish I could call you up and tell you everything. I wish I could even text you. But I'm afraid of any communication. I'm thinking of you right now. The softness of your skin against mine, the softness of your touch. I miss your touch. And the way you made me feel. I wish I could tell you how I feel....

I wish I could tell you....
That I love you.
I feel so empty, sad and alone. I just don't understand.

Why do I feel this way? Why don't I sleep? Why am I always tired? Why has my appetite deminished? Why do I cut? Why do I feel I need to be punished? Why do I not belong anywhere? Why don't I fit in? Why do I lock myself in my room? Why do I like being alone? Why do I have such a temper? Why do I miss him so much? Why do I get so angry? Why can't I sit still? Why do I paint on happiness?

Why do I smile, when I want to cry?
Why do I want to die?

I hate those names they call me, and that bounce around in my head. My demons just repeat them, till I turn my arms and sides red. Red with my own sticky, hot blood. Running from the cut like sweet syrup. Dripping down... soaking through the cloths.

Don't they see the scars? Or maybe the fresh cuts from last night? Why do they still mess with me? When they see what they did to me?

So people keep asking me, "Why do you cut???" It starts to get on my nerves. Then when I tell them they're all like "Oh, I'm so sorry." I don't want a sorry or for you to feel bad. I want you to understand, to see it through my eyes. I want to be able to come to you and tell you everything and have you say something useful. I don't want you're sympathy. I long for understanding and comprehension, someone who can see it my way and not care that I'm different.

I cut because it's my release. I cut because I long for the pain and the blood. I cut because I like the feeling it gives me, the rush I get. It can't really be described, it has to be felt. It makes me feel alive, the rush of blood, the sting of the pain. It's amazing. I love it. I feel all the bad things go away, and I just focus on the pain. It helps me forget. It's like all the bad things that happen are pouring out of my body with the blood.

Cutting is an addiction. Many people don't realize that. It's very hard to let go of, especially when the affecting factors are still there. People need to see and understand that cutters just need someone to talk to. Be that person, and you may save a life.

This post is kind of old. I've had it around for awhile. I no longer cut, but this explains why I did. In a way, it's my life play by play. I hope it helps you understand.

Consider yourself schooled in the way that is me.
Signing off,
Xx~WesternWriter~xX

Shadows in a Poet's Mind

Poetry is one of my life hobbies. It's my escape, my out of the box. It's the way I express myself when I can't find words to speak. It's how I tell someone I love them, or that I hate them. It's my moods, my feelings, my love and my hate. It's my passion. No matter what I'm feeling, it's reflected in my poems.

Alot of the time my poetry is rather dark, but I've written a love poem or two. Everyday life inspires me, what I feel, what I see. But one of my big muse's is music. Music helps me figure out the words I want and a lot of the time I incorporate lyrics into my poetry. I bleed my heart onto the page and pour out my soul into my poetry. I give it all my feeling. I make sure the reader can feel how I do. They can see what I see, hear what I hear. I'm very descriptive in my poetry.

My poetry kind of started when my cutting did. My poems reflected the hurt and the pain I felt inside. They were my way of expressing it, getting rid of it. My escape. I left it all on the page, and it helped me heal. Poetry helped me think outside the box and cope with the pain. It was my creative expression, and I finally felt like I could do something and not be judged for it.

Recently I wrote a poem and entered it into the World Poetry Movement's contest, and much to my surprise, it landed me in the finalists. Everyone tells me I'm a great poet, but I refuse to believe them. I'll post a short poem here for you to decide.

Staring into your soft eyes

I never want to say goodbye

The deep brown enchantment

Has made my mind become absent

All senses on high alert

Wrapped in your comfort

The soft feel of your touch

Knowing you expect much

The feel of your soul-searching eyes

Knowing you will never lie

The feel of your breath upon mine

Makes it seem that we have stopped time

Your love is easy and true

And that is why I love you

Among the roses in the garden

I know we cannot be broken

~Me

Consider yourself schooled in the way that is me.

Singing off,

Xx~WesternWriter~xX