Dear Livejournal,

Sorry I've neglected you. My parents took away my internet as a form of punishment. They think they're being hip when they try alternate punishments apart from grounding. Everyone knows they probably read it in some sort of parenting magazine. I finally got the internet back a few days ago.

stupid conformists.

I digress.

Today was a 3

A few days ago, I had my birthday. I'd say celebrate but why celebrate being brought into a world of pain?
I was sitting in my dimly lit room listening to My Chemical Romance rediscovering old message boards i used to visit. I noticed on this cutters board www.outlawedproductions.com, I had a birthday thread started by this punk rock girl Nikee. It simply read "Happy Birthday." I wondered how she even knew it was my birthday, then I realized I added my birthday to my profile when I signed up. The message board automatically tells you when people are celebrating their birthdays. Weird for a cutters board.
I started to tear up. I thought My Chemical Romance may have been getting to me, until I realized these were tears of joy. I scrolled through the topic and there were actual responses. Others wished me a "happy" birthday as well. At this point i was sobbing in bliss. I had to change My Chemical romance for Death Cab for Cutie. Only Death Cab for Cutie could understand the dreaded joy i was experiencing.
I decided to try my luck. I went to this local dark poetry site www.madfam.com.
Once again another birthday thread. This one started by this emo girl katy. Once again multiple responses from people wishing me a "happy" birthday. I would've blogged this sooner but the day was still young. I haven't looked forward to the future events of any day for a long long time.

I decided to start out on a good note. I put on my favorite hot topic pants as well my favorite Death Cab for Cutie concert t-shirt. I've never seen Death Cab for Cutie live before but the shirt exemplified the hurt I had inside. I slicked my hair over my face, threw on some eyeliner as well as some other make up.
I was ready to face the day.

I got a call early in the afternoon. The call came from this girl Misti. Immediately, I became apprehensive. I remembered the events that took place the last time I saw her out. The hurt, the embarrassment. Misti seemed different this time. Sincere. She wished me a happy birthday and apologized for her behavior from the last time I saw her out. She asked if I wanted to hang out. I'm not sure what I was thinking. Maybe it was the lucky streak I had going on, I don't know. I agreed to hang out with Misti.

I met Misti at a local park. It was a hurtful sunny day. Something didn't feel right though.
I ignored my initial feelings and proceeded to walk up to Misti. I was actually smiling.
As I got closer, thats when it happened. A rubber latex fist was thrown at the side of my head. My smile turned to a surprised look of horror. More sex toys were thrown at me. A penis shaped sword. All sorts of horrible things. I looked around in bewilderment. All of a sudden there was a group of people laughing at me. Misti, Nate that jerk who sat behind me in computer class and his girlfriend Kim. This guy Mikey. This girl Krissy. Tim my friend who invited me to the poetry reading?! All sorts of people.
As they laughed, I stood there in shock. My lucky streak over. The tears started to stream from my eyes. I eventually gathered enough courage to run when the next onslaught of sex toys were hurled at me.

I ran, I ran so far away.
Eventually I made it home. I ran into my house, flew into my room and cried. I cried a lot. My parents didn't find this odd since I do this frequently.
Later that night, my parents took me out to eat for my birthday. I had no appetite. Not even Death Cab for Cutie could resolve the new found pain I had inside.

Dear LiveJournal,

Today was a 3.

It was a cold hatefull day. Everything Dead. People outside miserable. Salt covering the roads preventing anything and everything from living. I like days like these.

My "friend" Tim invited me to go to this open mic poetry thing tonight called "What's your damage?" I agreed to go. I figured this would be a prime opportunity to finally share with others the dark sadness which is my soul and actually have people understand.

I was actually excited to go to this. I cried a little just thinking about it.

I decided I couldn't walk into an event of this magnitude with just journal entries. I needed to prepare.

I sat down in study hall, popped in a Death Cab for Cutie CD into my discman and started going through my poetry. I needed to find the pieces that best exemplified how sad and dark my life is and not look like some poser tool at the same time. Across from me, This cheerleader turned pseudo goth girl Sarah was doing the same thing. She also caught word of the open mic event. Apparently she's going to participate.
Sarah is the kind of person who puts on black nail polish, smokes cigarettes and "thinks" she's depressed. Her poetry is pretty much like this. "dear diary, my pen leaked all over my pants in school today which made me really mad. that's all that happened today." I hate her.

I eventually got my work narrowed down a few pieces after about 20 minutes. My feelings of gloom and despair were replaced with a sense of pride and accomplishment. I was actually smiling at this point.

That feeling would soon diminish though.

This guy Ryan, a transfer student from Minneapolis MN took note of my new found joy. He came up to me, slapped me on the back of my head, grabbed my papers and started reading them. I was shocked and horrified by his actions. Fear grew inside me. I was frozen. Frozen like the icicles that grow on my heart. What was he going to do? Would he destroy my one true outlet of pain and sadness?

No.

After he finished reading, he threw my work at my face, laughed and walked away.

Normally an experience like that would have me in tears but this was more of a relief. My cherished works were once again safe in my hands.

The rest of my day went as normal. sad and depressing. It was a little different though since I was pretty excited about the open mic event.

When I got home, I immediately got ready. I threw on a Hawthorne Heights CD and got dressed. I put on a black button down shirt, black pants and a red tie. As I was putting on my black eye liner, it happened. Snow. A lot of snow. The roads were barely visible. It was like a blizzard of pain outside. My mom came up to me and said it probably wasn't a good idea to go driving in these conditions. She apologized and said she wasn't able to give me a ride. I pleaded with her. I explained how serious I needed to go to this open mic event. She still refused. Like always, she didn't understand. The pain grew inside me. I could feel the tears coming. I held them back in hopes that this snow storm of sorrow would end shortly and I'd be off to my event.

The storm didn't stop.

I felt crushed. The pain was so great I even refused my peach cobbler dessert at dinner.
I slumped into my room defeated. I turned off the lights and cried myself to sleep.

Dear Live Journal,

Today was a 3.

I'm actually going to write about what happened last night.

Yesterday, I was sitting around my house listening to My Chemical Romance while writing some poetry . It hurt a little, but it was the good hurt. The kind of hurt that makes you cry tears of utter and complete darkness. The hurt that makes you cut heart shaped skulls into your arm. I can't do that anymore since my parents took me to that conformist therapist Claire Howell. Ms Howell says talking about your feelings can be hard, and cutting myself is not only destructive to myself, but to my loved ones as well. What does she know? She doesn't understand the variable pit of darkness which is my soul. Only Death Cab for Cutie understands.

Anyway, So I'm sitting around listening to My Chemical Romance while writing some poetry and I get this call. I answer the phone and it's Nate Marx, the stupid football jock who sits behind me in computer class. I wonder how he got my number or why he's even calling me. I held back the tears of confusion long enough to find out why he was calling. Apparently Nate wanted to invite me to this birthday party for some guy named Dave.
Dave is this guy who graduated about a year ago. He played football with Nate and still hangs around the high school.

Not even questioning Nate's motives, I agree to go to this birthday party. Maybe it was a feeling that Nate finally understood the darkness of my soul but I smiled a little. I felt this feeling I feel only feel when I listen to Fall Out Boy. I think this feeling is called happy.

That feeling was going to change abruptly.

I got ready for the night. I felt its good to make the right impressions. I wore the brand new pants I got from hot topic. They're like the pants ravers used to wear but black with a lot of straps on them. I threw on my favorite Death Cab for Cutie shirt, gelled my hair over the right side of my face and put on some plastic bracelets that resembled barbed wire. I cried a little bit because of how well I was able to convey the darkness which is me through the clothes I chose to wear.

My Mom gave me a ride to the party. When she dropped me off, she smiled and told me to have a good time. I entered the party to discover all these abercrombie and fitch hollister and co conformists drunk listening to 80's music. I almost ran away crying but I told myself I needed to maintain. I needed to find out why Nate would invite me to something like this. Maybe Nate wanted to get to know me, possibly share a feeling. I smiled a little bit thinking about that.

As I walked through the conformists, this girl Misti Caldwell came up to me, called me a " Emo Fag" and punched me in the face. I almost lost it. I held back the tears and quickly moved away from her and continued my search for Nate.

As I weaved through the crowd, more and more people kept coming up to me calling me a "Emo Fag." This one guy Ben tripped me and screamed "epic." It was a little disturbing. Eventually I found Nate. Nate was hanging out with Dave drinking and having what appeared to be a "good time."

I walked to him and said "uh, whats up man." Nate looked at me and said "You're that emo fag from computer science, why the hell are you here?" Once again holding back the tears of confusion, I tell him he called me up and invited me. Nate also confused, pushed me and realized that he had called the wrong person. Shocked by his own mistake, Nate poured his drink on me and told me to get the hell out of there. Everyone was laughing at me.

I would've cried right then and there but I was too shocked by the events that occurred. I ran out of there, I didn't stop running until I got home. I lit up my apple scented yankee candles which I painted black, threw on some Death Cab for Cutie and cried. I cried a lot. I wrote some poetry on the evening and how dark it made my soul feel. I plan on giving this poetry to Nate. Maybe then he'll understand

Dear Live Journal,

Today so far has been a 3. Having the trying day I had yesterday, I woke up feeling a little more sad than normal.

As Usual, I made my black coffee but I decided to eat a jelly doughnut to try to make things better.

I went to school, it was the normal depressing scene.

As I walked to my first period gym class, this jerk named dustin yells " fuck you emo fag!" and hurls a cd at my head.

Now, I don't like to categorize myself as anything. Grouping people together is for conformists. Fag? definitly not.

So the CD hits me in the head, holding back the tears of darkness and pain, I picked up the cd. The band's name was Alkaline Trio. Curious, I popped the cd into my cd player and was bombarded by some of the better music I've heard in a while. The tears ran. It was different this time. The tears weren't from any sort of pain or darkness. They were actually tears of joy.

I was considering thanking dustin for his actions, but reconsidered since he's really just a jerk.

Today was going to be a different day, a brighter day.

I strolled into first period gym class with a new found confidence

Dear Livejournal,

Today was a 3. I woke up today in my dark black room. I went downstairs to make some coffee. I like my coffee black, like my soul. I took a glance outside and realized it was a bright sunny day. I hate these days. It's almost like God is mocking me for how miserable my life is.

As usual, I got ready and went to school.

School was the same as usual. Depressing.

Today was a little different though.

3rd period computer science class. I'm doing my usual. writing poetry on the anti depressants I'm on, checking out the Good Charlotte site to see if they'll ever tour my rotted city and relieve me of some of my pain, and drawing skulls shaped like hearts. pretty much a typical wednesday computer class.

When I got to updating my LJ, my password wasn't working. I was all like WTF? It dawned on me that I must of forgot to log out yesterday.

Nathan Marx. The stupid football jock who sits behind me, must of changed my password. Nathan Marx likes to do shit like that. He thinks its funny pulling pranks on me, getting me upset to the verge of tears. I hate Nathan Marx. He doesn't understand that everything isn't all sunshine, lollipops and rainbows and shit. I'll get into that some other time though.

So I'm frantically trying to change my password, but the stupid school blocked yahoo mail.

This was a serious crisis.

Frustrated and on the verge of crying, I called over my computer science teacher Mr. Sadler for some help.

Mr. Sadler is a glasses wearing conformist who listens to jazz music. I guess he was a IT guy for some big insurance company that laid him off. Now he's stuck with this teaching gig.

Anyway, Mr. Sadler comes over, I tell him about my password crisis and how I seriously need to get into my yahoo mail so I can access my LJ.

Mr. Sadler sees the Good Charlotte site, my MS paint skull drawings, and my poetry.
He looked at me and said, "So this is what you do in class? Get Back to work." He walked away without saying much more.

Mr. Sadler didn't understand my position. This was a very painful moment. My outlet to share my pain was gone. It felt like a dark veil of 1's and 0's were taking away my outlet and all it had to say was "invalid password."

Not even good charlotte could help me now.

I waited for class to get over and went to the nurses office and feigned a obscure illness.

I went home, went to my room, lit some apple scented yankee candles (which I painted black), threw on some Death Cab for Cutie and cried. I cried for a few hours before using the home computer to change my password.

Today was a tragic day.

Dear Livejournal,


I never thought this would happen to me. Today was soooOOOOOoooo a 3. It was a introspective overcast day so I decided I would spend some time in my safe place. I went to the zoo. Little did I know, thats when the pain would start. I decided to get a ice cream cone shaped like a rhino. I was pretty happy almost lol'ing until said ice cream broke and shattered into a million pieces of pain and suffering onto the cold hard ground. As I cried a little, It came to me like a epiphany. I realized at that point, that rhino ice cream treat symbolized our frailty as humans and the ground and the hardness of it symbolized the reality of life and we are all just shattered ice cream on the ground. I was so depressed I rushed home, ran into my room, turned off the lights and listed to death cab for cutie on repeat for 13 hours. I cried, i cried a lot.