Doesn't Matter, Wrote About It

So I woke up this morning full of happiness and oddly jovial energy and basically danced around the house wearing absolutely nothing because fuck clothes, and I hate whoever invented them, so fucking useless. And anyways, I was feeling pretty awesome and made naked toast and spread naked grape jelly on it and I don’t even like grape but I was naked so butt fuck it. 

Then my stepdad saunters into the kitchen and I was like “hey” and stayed all casual ‘cause it was like five thirty and I just didn’t have any fucks to give and he was like “holy what the fuck I don’t what. What. What.” And so I offered him some toast and he was like “no, thanks” and like limped all awkwardly back to his room rubbing his eyes and I ate my naked grapejellybullfucktoast and downed it all with some buckassnaked chocolate lactose and went and showered in my clothes. 

And that was my morning. 

Have a nice day. 

(via butterisnotacarb)

There’s no reason for this to exist

I regret nothing

So alone

I’m going to go play on the freeway now

kthanksbye

I want her babies

now

(Source: thebadgersarehere, via sex-drugs-andhomework)

I’ve written a great many personal things, penned out of pure emotion, and the words made memories and dreams mesh and made these…well, I don’t know what to call them. Violent meshes of words. 

And I’m highly debating posting them on here. I’m afraid people will take them as memories. Some are, yes. But some aren’t, and some are both. Some are nightmares. 

I’m also a little afraid of judgement, butt fuck it. ;D

Anonymous asked: You should be a writer. An author. Go do it. Write books. Even a semi-autobiography, you can write about your life but can do it in a way that it's a fictional piece based off your experiences. I would love to read one of your books.

Let’s get married, and then our sexy ass babies can read our literature. <3

paging-doctorfaggot:

What happens when spiders go on drugs.

(via funnybro)

“Same sex couples should be able to get married.” President Barack Obama made history on Wednesday by announcing his support for same-sex marriage, making him the first sitting U.S. president ever to do so.

(via octorokcockblock)

I officially swore into the Air Force. The awesome thing about that is that I only qualify for jobs such as journalism/photography, and photography might be open immediately, so I might be able to just get the fuck out and take some badass picture pretty soon. Now, onto the spiel. 

Look. I went to a psychiatrist the other day, and he told me all of my fear, all of my anger, all of my nightmares and all of my pain wasn’t really there. He told me I sounded off, but not off enough to be a problem. I told him he was wrong. I told him to let me write it. He said he would. Because that’s what I’m like, sometimes. I can’t speak. But the written word? Hell yes, I can do that. 

I’ll start off like this: I am absolutely irrationally afraid sometimes. Like at school, yesterday. A girl came up, grabbed my shoulder to say hi, and I flinched and started shaking. She frowned, but we’re not close, so she just walked away awkwardly, and I heard her talking about me in class, calling me a ‘freak’. That doesn’t hurt as much as my reasons for flinching like that. I’m not anti human contact, honestly, it’s just that I’m used to being touched and hurt. That’s the best way to describe it. 

And, look, I know, I know my mother can’t hurt me anymore. I know my life is alright, now. I know I’m safe. But I still feel like she’ll find a way, or I’ll make her. I still feel like everything could fall apart in less then a second. I feel like if I breathe wrong, she’ll snap and destroy everything my father has given me. 

Let me talk about my father. He’s never REALLY been there. He ditched me because I lacked a penis, but hey, that happens. But the end of last year/beginning of this year, he’s come into my life. He’s helped me in more ways then I can imagine. He took away most of what made me feel ugly, and that just blew me away. He may have essentially ‘bought’ my love, but I feel so much better. I wore an open back dress to prom. I felt almost okay. It was great, really. I was happy. And god, I loved that feeling so much, I was afraid it would never be that okay again. 

And after, I came home, and I just fell down. I didn’t know, anymore. I’m not sure if I can describe it as my heart and hope falling out my metaphorical ass, or what. But I felt so drained. So empty. I felt alone. And it was an absolutely terrifying feeling. 

I wasn’t alone. God, I know. I’ve made so many mistakes with people who care, and I can’t forgive myself for that. I’ve taken people and torn them to pieces with just my words, and I don’t mean to. And at times, I just get angry. Pissed. I feel a leak of anger and then it just grows and I’ve done things like hit walls and scream and made my little brother cry on several occasions. 

I’m so afraid of growing up to become everything I am starting to hate. 

And today, I tried to look in the mirror. I saw my uncle, my mother, my father. I saw pain and fear and anguish. I felt filthy, but finally, I could see myself and not feel completely disgusted, nauseous. I didn’t feel the need to wretch. I may not have particularly liked the person I saw looking back at me, not even REMOTELY, but I didn’t take my disgust and toss it out of my throat. I swallowed it and tried to accept what had happened. 

So what, if I was raped? So what, if I was abused? Who cares who knows?

This is me. 

And if you can’t accept it, then you don’t deserve it. I can’t change what’s happened to me. But I can, hopefully, change everything that makes me wrong, and fix everything that makes me right, and take it all and make a better person then my mother. That’s my only goal.

I just want to be okay. 

So I was watching people and being lonely, like usual, and I notice this couple. They look normal, hand holding, little kissing, happy. Other than being extremely awkward, they seemed completely content. Which was really odd, considering my social standing. 

I was sitting behind my grandmother, at The Calvary Chapel. My mom was to my left, and next to her, my grandpa, and next to him, my stepdad, who usually doesn’t attend but was invariably forced to considering my mother’s pressing and nagging. No one looked particularly happy, and it was before the actual sermon begin. The only person who seemed super pumped was my grandpa, and I’m assuming that’s because he’s expressly religious. The pastor was talking with one of the people who run the little money baskets, and I apologize, but I can’t remember what they’re called. 

I turned my attention back to the couple. They were still smiling, and holding hands, and I could see them trying to figure out where to sit. Pastor Dave then noticed them. He walked over. I watched, and was actually a little afraid. He hadn’t reacted too well to my coming out, and for a moment I thought he was coming towards me.

But Pastor Dave stood in front of this couple and whispered in the taller one’s ear. He put his hand on his shoulder, and the shorter boy said, “No, thanks, we’re fine”, and I could hear Pastor Dave say something about prayer being able to “help” them. When they very politely refused, Pastor Dave less then politely ushered them out of the church. 

I watched, very sad, as these two beautiful boys left, and they never broke apart their hands. 

And then the singing began.