What is me?

I find that Tumblr is a bit too publicized for my taste. I want to write about something personal, but it seems like Tumblr isn't the best option. So here I am once again.

What am I? Who is me? The question that I ask myself, whoever "myself" is. Sometimes, I catch myself not feeling anything. As if I'm not alive; I see myself doing things, but not thinking. Has my mind died? Why does my conscious stop working? I start thinking: how do I think? What makes me human? Sometimes I really believe that my mind and my being are seperate. They don't go hand in hand, and they tend to act on its own. Am I a ghost of my own body? And when I use "I" am I speaking from my mind, conscious or what? Yeah "I" speaks as the entity of a whole.. But clearly, my being and mind are not in sync with each other. So when I use "I," "I" think I'm using my mind, or am I just thinking from a soul? It's so hard to explain, but when I think about it, it makes sense. I have these moments a lot now, where I question my aliveness. It sounds pretty psycho for a seventeen year old to be saying all this nonsense, but I feel so worn. And weak. Almost as if I'm deteriorating. I'm so tired. Not because of lack of sleep. But because my mind feels weak. I feel so emotionless. My parents, boyfriend say I seem emotionless. My parents especially, believe I'm heartless. To my defense, I believe it is because I've trained myself to be thick-skinned and unmoved by any attacks to my character. Thus, thick-skinned means I have a barrier around me. "Me," would mean the soul/mind. But I've been called emotionless since I was in sixth grade (middle school).. I would beg to differ. I was bullied, harrassed and teased in sixth grade. I felt sad, lonely, defenseless, and even depressed. So how does that count as emotionless? I feel as though I have felt more emotion than I have ever felt in my teenage years, than in my youth years. I'm so used to hearing me being called emotionless, that it gets sickening. Okay, say I'm emotionless; I am what I am. I can't force open a niche on my exterior to let the inner me flow out. That barrier isn't even a barrier anymore, it's me. I've had this barrier around me for so long, that it has become a part of me. I don't believe that's a bad thing, it's just how it is. Now for the heartlessness. I get called that from the parents too. Now, a heart is supposed to give and receive love right? That's the "blood" that keeps the heart going and pumping. Maybe it's because I never have that display of affection from the rents, or maybe it's because of that barrier, but I don't know how the love feels. When have I heard a meaningful "I love you" from the parents? Probably in first grade. Oh yeah, I was six. How old am I now? Seventeen. I remember, every night in Basking Ridge, NJ, when I was still in fourth grade, I would head to bed, shut the lights off, and watch my mom close their bedroom door. But before she would shut it, I would always say, "good night, I love you!" And every time. EVERY single time, I wanted to hear the "I love you" choraled back. But I never did. She would either smile, or say "stop lagging, hurry and go sleep now" and the door would close shut. Maybe my mom had the same problem too, with saying anything affectionate. But it's fine, that doesn't bug me. What bugs me is that when she calls me heartless, or a cold-blooded animal, it makes me wonder what she thinks of herself. But honestly, being thick-skinned is sort of a pro for me. I don't get hurt. I just get cold. I say I don't hold grudges, but I can use everything negative to alter my viewpoint on someone. When I start disliking a person, I find every possible point to prove to myself why I should hate them. It's quite bad honestly. I would say it is decidedly so for my dad. I don't ever recall the good things he's done for me (which I might add, there hasn't been much, honestly), but the bad things just keep piling up in my mind. There are so many bad things, that it buries my love for him. And we all know it's illegal to dig up graves. What's been buried should never resurface.

I believe I am a shallow person. Not like, judging people by looks shallow, but more like emotionally speaking. I don't go in depth with anyone, and by "in depth" I mean fully loving someone. I am a shallow being. I can't just smash a hammer to my brick-walled barrier, and expect to let the emotion gushing out and giving handfuls of my feelings to people. I don't know what it is that prevents me from doing so. I've always thought it was fine to be a shallow person, and I still think so. But it's my "shallowness" that pushes people away. Straight up though, sometimes I don't know how to feel, and that's what scares me. Whenever I start thinking about that, I feel like I'm not alive. Like I'm not human at all. And the worst part is that whenever I see people "loving" each other, I think it's all fake. And I scoff at them.

I honestly do believe something is slightly off with my inner self, but I don't think I'm that off. Call me emotionless, heartless, animalistic all you want; I've heard it all. And it doesn't bother me. Just teach me how to feel, and let me be alive. I feel like what I'm doing is fake, and that I'm a fake person. Fake, as in not real. I don't feel real, and this reality is just time in the hourglass passing by.

The Pathway is Broken and the Signs are Unclear.

I've been hurting for a bit now. There's nothing I can do. I need to build myself around it and learn to face reality. I prepare myself for the worst, but hope for so much (a miracle would be nice). I wish I had appreciated life. I need to tell someone. But I can't. I can't spread the pain to other people. Some things really need to be kept on the downlow. Nobody will get it. Telling someone won't solve anything. I don't want people's pity. I want people to view me as a cheerful person. I want to go through this by myself.

Remember me Always.

Well, being that I live in California, the most prone area for earthquakes, wildfires, and such, I will plan my funeral right here, right now. You know, I like to leave messages/secrets for people to find when I leave, fyi. Don't think I would leave earth one day, leaving nothing behind.
My funeral would be a celebration of my life, not a mourning gathering. Songs like : "Iris"- Goo Goo Dolls, "If You Want Me to"- Ginny Owens, should be played. And uhhhh I forget what else I should add. Kbye.

It ended with a crash.

I'm bruised- face, arm, leg, back. It only hurts on the outside, but nothing can pierce my interior.

The rents: Who do you love?
Me: My friends.
The rents: Why?
Me: Because I feel love back.
The rents: What is love?
Me: Something I will never have for you two.

Acted too soon.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
As of today, I no longer part of that "family." Well, it never really was one. But oh welllllllls. I don't give a fuckkkkkkkkkkk dude.
Some people die too late, so hurry up and go die. I shoulda killed you when I had the chance. Kthanksbyeeeee.

Paradise is your Home.

So karma came to bit me in the ass; it always does. I was offered freedom in exchange for my sacrifice of being with family. Being the cold-hearted bitch that I am, I chose to stay home alone and hopefully have some winter-break-partying without worrying about parents and the brother ratting me out.

Well I got just what I wanted, but ain't no cure in the whole damn world that would heal my pain. No remedy in the world that exists that would heal my regret. They said I would regret my decision. I was selfish and ignored that. I only thought of the present and neglected the future.
I am going to Hell for this.

Resting in Paradise.
GMa.
12/25/09.

Crime & Punishment.

God is punishing me for neglecting you, grandma. And I am sorry. It's times like these when reality really hits, and you don't give a flying fuck about anything in the whole world aside from your blood-related kin. I don't know what to do; I call this my second huge life crisis. Time and God are going against me, and beating me to to clock.

You don't really know what you got until it's (almost) gone.

What is life? Ahh, the most universal philosophical question we ask ourselves. What's the answer then? Why do we question ourselves? To seek answers to those questions, I suppose. But how can you answer those questions when no answer is definite.
How do we feel? The emotions our mind controls, how do you control them? How do you allow them to turn on/off? When does our mind allow us to feel the emotions we should feel at a specific given time?

Relating to that prelude, I need help getting those answers.
They call me a cold-hearted, heartless animal. And I totally understand where they got that generalization from. My merely hopeless come-back: I just think realistically.
But my realistic points of view failed me today. GMa been diagnosed with liver cancer. I honestly did not know how to respond to that. For one, I've always welcomed death with open arms (Holy Sonnet 10, John Donne). Honestly, if everyone ends up dying sooner or later, then why are we so scared? You wind up being with your loved ones, reunited in the spiritual worlds that supposedly exist. God wanted His angel back.
Anywho, I am confused. How should I go about feeling? Feeling those nonexistant feelings, that is. What is it should I feel? Misery, anguish, depression, hopeful? I only feel jumbled: Overdosed of feelings. I feel confused, sad, upset, empty, full; I still feel emotionless, not alive but still breathing.

I can only imagine what my dad would feel.. he has yet to find out. Lack of displaying emotion kind of runs in the family.
Though I must admit I'm not exactly religious, I ask you to pray for our already crumbling family. Please?

Iris.

My funeral songs:
Goo Goo Dolls- Iris
Ginny Owens-If You Want Me To

Nothing interesting is happening in my life these days. No fun whatsoever. I'm dry of crazy, thrilling experiences; I'm just wasting my foolish teenage years.
Ho hum, I am bored.

Lacking Inspiration.

Wrap me in a straightjacket,

Poison me,

Dispose of me.

I am absolutely going crazy. I feel so lost and so unimportant in this society; I can imagine myself drowning in the vast ocean during midnight, and noone to even notice it. I am miserable.

Judgment.

 It's as if the world existed to judge, and I was the one being judged.

You what if feels like to be looked down upon, seen as the invalid? Others sneering at you, your interests, your being? Family friends think of you as the one that's bound to get nowhere in life? No, no. Not you, you got it good. You don't have it like me; you don't know what it's like to be stepped upon and thrown off to the side. You probably got some notable talent, or a simple skill that sets you apart from the others. 

So, what do I have?

I got nothing special, nothing worth noticing. The only things people notice are my bad traits and stupid things I do. I think I'm the epitome of fail in the eyes of these motherfuckers. People refer to me whenever they want to feel better about themselves, but I, obviously, just make the standards a lot lower. I don't have any talent to display, any ability to show off, or intelligence to blow your mind away. 

True, I'm just your average no-good-influence girl who gets kicked to the gutter. But did you really have to put me down, and get yourself involved in my life, which you know no part of? Get the fuck out and try not to disturb me again.

The whole world is out to get me. Come and get me bitches, and tear me down. As if I haven't had enough of your torture.

To me, Dreams can't Exist.

Every so often, I get asked the typical, "what do you want to do with your life?" question.
Trouble is, I can't answer them without being scoffed at. Being me, everything I envision doing in the future involves mere tasks that involve no usage of the brain. It's a given, I like to do things that don't involve thinking too hard.

I want to be a pastry chef: I'm good with designing details, but how can I support myself in the future?
I want to be an interior designer: I'm great with colors and am good at just designing, but anyone can say the same.
I want to be a make-up artist: I like playing around with make-up for other people, but that job can't last long.
I want to be a cosmetologist: Since I have pretty bad skin, I want to help others. But how can I do that when I can't even fix my own?
I want to be a psychologist: I'm decent at helping people with their problems, and thinking realistically, but anyone can do that.
I want to be a veterinarian: I love dealing with animals, but I'm allergic to cats, and how could I stick a needle into a puppy?
I want to be a piercer/tattoo artist: I'm fond of them, but I can't be responsible of fucking someone's body parts up
I want to have my own clothing line: I'm okay at drawing/thinking of t-shirt ideas, but I suck flat out at Adobe Illustrator, and who would buy my shit?

Pretty much, my dreams are a bunch of shit. Of course, I do want a secure future, and a stable lifestyle where I don't have to constantly fret over financial issues. Everything I want to do, is just silly dreams. Dreams that haven't been thought thoroughly about. I need to think realistically, and put all these wishful-thinking dreams behind me, regardless of the whole "follow your dreams" bullshit.