All You Need Is Love.

Sitting in my front room, reading, waiting for michelle.

Dad sits on the computer, listening to a playlist of all of his music, such as The Who.

Then Mayday Parade’s “Jamie All Over” came on.

I looked at my father, looking content.

I asked him why this was on his playlist.

He said he liked that song.

I have a newfound respect for him. 

I think about all this sometimes when I’m watching a football game with Patrick and Sam. I look at the field, and think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that These are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody’s dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think that their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are.
I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope they believe me.

And finally he found this really great song about this boy, and we all got quiet.
Sam tapped her hand on the steering wheel. Patrick held his hand outside the car and made air waves. And I just sat between them. After the song finished, I said something.
“I feel infinite.”
And Sam and Patrick looked at me like I said the greatest thing they had ever heard. Because the song was great and because we all really paid attention to it.Five minutes of a lifetime were truly spent, and we felt young in a good way.

is a sore subject for me for two reasons. I don’t want to think about them. But when death is brought up at anytime, i.e. in a musical, I tend to loose composure. Why is that something people don’t understand? I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. People always worry. I’m people, I worry. I don’t like anxiety caused by too many people, nor do I like anxiety caused by being alone.
I was held by a naked man in public today. He was a cowboy. He was the naked cowboy.
I love new york.
I hate new york.
I’m watching eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Sometimes I remind myself of Clementine. Except I’m afraid of people, so I wouldn’t hold a conversation with someone I think I don’t know on a train, and tell them I’m a vindictive little bitch. I just wouldn’t, but I’m fairly bipolar like she is.
I spent $40 on eyeshadow today because I didn’t want to leave empty handed.
Let’s get drunk.
My mind doesn’t make sense.
I’m joining the Peace Corps.
kbai.

was a mix of emotions. I woke up yesterday with You Make My Dreams by Hall and Oates stuck in my head. School was whatever, then I went to a show. I’ve seen Patent Pending 4 times now, and it’s pretty much always the same. however I thought, hey. I havent been to a show in a while. Why not? Thank Jesus I decided to go, because I had the best time ever. Seriously. Survey Says is so good. They really are. Patent Pending were more amazing than ever. I was feeling great.
Then he walked in. I insantly felt sick, but refused to let him damper my good mood. I ended up meeting two pretty cool cats, and I was so high on life. I couldn’t stop smiling. I went home, texted Brandon, then went to bed.
Then he texted me. Why the fuck he did it, i don’t know.
“I saw you tonight. I miss you.”
Bullshit.
Then I didn’t sleep. I just lay there. Tossing and turning, listening to fys. I couldn’t get his stupid ugly face out of my mind.
I can honestly say that I wish I never went to that show last January.

So I’m at work currently.
Its no fun. 9.00am alone at a Subway.

Weird shit keeps happening to me.
Call me crazy for believing in the paranormal, but Ryan Buell and I both think I’ve got a poltergeist. [i met him at a penn state fundraiser and asked him about it]
And yesterday I was here, working, and was pouring soup for some old lady and something pushed my arm and made me spill boiling soup onto my hand. Now I have to keep it gauzed with burn gel on it.
ALso, the soda machine keeps like.. pouring out soda as if someone was getting a drink. And I keep getting pushed into things. Its getting annoying.I hate being alone here.
Bleh.
That’s all.

I’m paranoid. I know this. Paranoid Personality Disorder. Me.

I’m sick. Physically, not mentally. Maybe I’m just a hypochondriac. I’m constantly weak and tired. I feel drained all of the time. My time in swim which was improving
is getting worse. I’m moving backward. My body hurts all of the time.

I feel alone all day long. The crowds of people in the hall just push me out of their way just so that they can get where they want to go. I don’t see faces anymore, really. I saw five faces today. 3/4 of my best friends, my brother’s and my art teacher’s.

Let me clear that up. I have four best friends. Two are named Katie, one is named Michelle, and the other’s name is Jacob.

I don’t feel like this is worth the struggle. I don’t want to wake up in the morning, not from fatigue, but from not wanting to have to live in this hell hole.

I watched Dear Jack tonight. I cried during the whole thing. I felt like shit for wanting to end my life when Andrew McMahon’s was almost ripped from his hands. I promise I am in no way comparing myself to Andrew McMahon. He’s the most talented person I can think of and who I look up to in life. It’s just…

He was battling cancer. Lieukemia. With this disease, he kept a smile plastered on his face. He tried to be as positive as he possibly could, and it payed off for him. But if I were in that position, I don’t think it would pay off for me. I mean, dealing with this fucking disease (depression / ppd … they kind of go hand-in-hand) I try so so so hard to be positive. I try to find goodness and beauty in everything in this dark cruel world, but it’s nearly impossible. I’m so done with this shit its unbelievable.

I said it earlier, and I’m sure I sound like a broken record, but I feel so alone. I need to be loved. I can’t function without knowing that someone cares. Andrew McMahon had Kelly whom he later married. If I got cancer at this moment in time, I’d be battling it without the love of someone I love. He’s off with his new girlfriend getting hickeys and spending the night in her car. I don’t drive. It’s just so shitty.

I’m pretty much just complaining at this point. That’s not what I wanted to do on here. I wanted to let out the built up tension I have built up inside of me about my fears and how they’re taking over my life, but I got sucked into this sick twisted world of my depression yet again. Fuck Depression, let me be happy. Fuck PPD, I want to live my life without thinking that everything is going to kill me.

Every time I’m in a car that goes under a stop light, the pole falls and decapatates us… in my head.
Every time someone complains about a funny smell, it’s fucking chemical warfare… in my head.
Every time someone takes to long in the bathroom, they’ve been murdered and lying dead on the ground, and if I didn’t let them go ahead of me they wouldn’t have died … in my head.

I’m so fucked up, sometimes I don’t know real life from these fucked up scenes that play in my head. I just want to be a happy healthy teenager. Not one dealing with these demons.

Purple and yellow are my new favourite colours.
No more greyscale.

I joined a school sport.
No more self-relying.

I died my hair back to its natural shade of blonde.
No more hiding.

I started listening to All Time Low.
No more screaming.

I found love.
No more loneliness.

I lost love.
No more happiness.

I still want to kill myself.

alone at my swim meet. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.
i’m not allowed to swim.
at least the opposing team has boys. XD

Not a wink of sleep.