Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

~*~ the here and now. ~*~ the done and gone. ~*~ who am i? ~*~ find more like me ~*~
say something to me. ~*~ what they've said about me. ~*~ feel left out? ~*~ get pretty. ~*~

fuck antidepressants.
2008-07-03, 12:31 a.m.

current mood: fuck that shit. all of it.

current song: dirty mouth by hot hot heat.

wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth
wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth

i don't wanna wait anymore

wake up cinnamon
they can't get in
and that's them at the door
cause checkout time is noon
and pretty soon
it's a quarter to four

i don't wanna wait anymore

wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth cause you taste like you're already gone

small town girls and boys
make too much noise
so i keep to myself
but acting tough is rough
enough is enough
i feel like hell
tied up in London
you came undone
with a two handed tug
with pieces of a phone
thrown at the door
spread out on the rug

i don't wanna wait anymore

wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth cause you taste like you're already gone
wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth cause you taste like you're already gone

i gotta say i cannot wait
not even one more night or day
why don't you fly and get away
and end this awful holiday
come and play come and stay and end this awful holiday
i gotta say i cannot wait
not even one more night or day
why don't you fly and get away
and end this awful holiday
come and play come and stay and end this awful holiday

wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth cause you taste like you're already gone
wash your dirty mouth
your dirty mouth
watch your little mouth cause you taste like you're already gone

fuck it. i'm done.

for months now i have been eating those little yellow and blue capsules. they make noise when you shake them. they taste sticky sweet like a drink from an open soda can left out too long.

they make you feel nothing. absolutely nothing. and when you do feel something, it's only a sadness that's so completely overpowering that it knocks you to the ground. the kind of sadness that loads the gun and puts it in your mouth. the kind of sadness that steps you over the railing, your hair in the wind, your toes on the last bit of concrete between you and the pavement laughing at you from hundreds of feet down.

i sat, holding the loaded shotgun, wondering how kurt cobain must have done it - not the actual act, but the logistics. i take note that the shotgun is smaller in the stock and shorter in the barrel, and while sitting i might be able to rest the butt of the gun on the floor, and lean in, barrel in my mouth, to reach the trigger. "it's a really sensitive trigger" i think in my head, "so i might be able to use a screwdriver or something if my fingers don't reach."

when my brother came home that night i made him hide the shotgun.

those pills are sitting here on the desk, and i'm not even tempted to take one. i am still, however, tempted to take all of them.

i tried to overdose once, a long time ago. i took all of the pills i could find. mother never did do a good job of hiding them. hell, most of the time she was so stoned she never even noticed that there were some missing, when i was selling them to classmates for cigarettes. i emptied three bottles - it was 76 pills in all. i don't even know what they were. there were big pink ones, and little white ones, and smaller oblong green ones. they tasted like fake sugar and cardboard going down, and after the first handful they started to make my throat sore so i drank the rest down with grape flavored children's cough syrup. i then laid down to die, in mother's bed, clutching the pill bottles, the cough syrup spilling on the pillow. everything was a rush and a womp-womp-womp in my ears and i could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips and see it as it pulsed every time i opened my eyes. i fought the urge to vomit. i heard the door open, and footsteps, and the yelling of my name, and a scream so loud it shook the windows.

i woke up in a room with an unfamiliar ceiling. it was clean and cold and the only noises were beeps from the machine next to me and hushed voices and the swish-swish-swish of hospital scrubs. there was something black and sticky coming from my mouth, down the front of the hospital gown i was now mysteriously dressed in. i looked in the direction i heard sniffling and heavy breathing.

no "oh thank god she's waking up". no "oh, i love you so much".

it was "what the hell am i going to do without all my pills?"

it was then that i realized that she had never really given a shit about me, and she never would. i was glad then that i had lived - because i would live despite her. i would live in spite of her.

i have lost all that, because now - now i am her. i'm an angry pill popping bitch. i am throughly for sure addicted to the percocets; i tried going without those. that lasted 4 days.

i feel violently angrily sad. and i am sick inside because i hate myself so much.

but at least i feel again.

footnote, 7/3/08, 3:30 AM: i finally got around to prettying my page, though it took a horrendous amount of coding. i did it all for you, dears, and i hope you like it. yes, that's nashville in the background...home sweet home.

~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~

~*~ entries from 2002 ~*~ entries from 2003 ~*~ entries from 2004 ~*~ entries from 2005 ~*~ entries from 2006 ~*~ entries from 2007 ~*~ entries from 2008 ~*~ entries from 2009 ~*~


sign in for me, would you, dears?
get your own guestbook here