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I couldn't think of a title, so I just hit my phone a bunch of times and that's what came out.

I guess the only way to stop hurting is to forgive, right? But I'll never forget. I wish I could, but there's just no way. Maybe its better if I don't.
The thing is, every single fucking time I open myself up, I take off my oh-so-carefully built armor, I make myself vulnerable, however you want to say it; I get hurt. And I'm not talking about normal hurts that you can just slap a bandaid over and off you go. I mean the kind that stay with you forever. The kind that make you afraid, the kind that prove to you once and for all that you'll never be good enough.
I won't lie--I am one fucked-up individual. But its not fucking fair that this keeps happening to me. I don't know if everyone else is just weak, or if I attract people like this, or what; but let's get this straight once and fucking for all.
I. Am. A. Human. Being. I. Deserve. To. Be. Respected.
And if I'm not enough, then guess what--that's not my fault. I have done my best to be everything I can be. The rest is up to you...let's hope you can get it right next time. Because as soon as the words, "I love you" leave your face, you had better mean them.
Hang on,
Ness

All These Things I Hate...

...Revolve Around You.

For days, I haven't been eating or sleeping properly. I cant sleep because I'm sick and I'm hurt. I can't eat because somehow, this all comes back to me and if I were perfect, maybe this wouldn't keep happening to me.

All I want is to be enough. But I am never enough. There's always something wrong, something you can get elsewhere. I'm so tired of not being enough. It hurts. And I'm tired of hurting.
I'm afraid again. And I hurt so much. And I can't talk to anyone about it. And I'm never, never enough.
Sorry for being so cryptic. But like I said, I can't talk to anyone about it.

Hang on,
Ness

What Hurts The Most...

...is not being able to explain why or how much it hurts.

There are things I hate, and lots of them. Broken promises are at the top. The inability to thoroughly and effectively communicate a point is right below broken promises on my list.

I am deeply hurt, and I can't explain why.

This same thing that hurts me now has hurt me several times before, and every single time, I find myself unable to explain why it hurts me so badly. Which makes the original hurt that much worse. And the worst part of all is that I can't talk about it. To anyone.

When nobody knows, it feels like nobody cares. And every time this happens, I die a little inside. I just want it to stop, and now I understand that it never will.

Hang on,
Ness

Chevelle, among other things.

I haven't posted anything in awhile.

There's really nothing going on. I'm going see Chevelle soon, in a city I've never been to. That's exciting. I'm getting my ass whooped in Words With Friends. Sudoku is difficult for my brain to comprehend today. I'm cold. Sonar still remains in the realm of Astrophysics. I feel really stupid today. I'm pretty bored. I haven't been hungry for three days, so I haven't really eaten anything...maybe that's why I feel so stupid. Actually, most days, I feel like Celia Foote from The Help; unbelievably stupid and pretty much unwanted in any company besides that of my faithful and saintlike significant other.

I guess that's it.

Hang on,
Ness

Three

It's been three years since The Day The Bad Thing Happened.

Well, three years and almost a week. And you know what? I think I've almost got this beat.

The Day itself was almost a good one. I never thought I'd say that. I went about life as usual, and thanks to the amazing people in my life, I was totally ok.

Life is good.

Hang on,
Ness

Lick And Stick

My lungs like me better now.

Well, I'm quitting smoking. And doing all right. 

I bought some nicotine patches and they're a lot easier than going cold turkey. They're like happy stickers for your arms, so everybody can tell that you fucked up and you're trying to erase yourself from the stigma. 

I don't understand the phrase 'cold turkey'. What the hell. I love leftovers. 

I'm not quitting because I want to, mind you. I *like* smoking. I like the way I feel with a cigarette in my hand. I like being the bitch with the Marlborough that you don't want to mess with. But some important people in my life don't like me being the Marlborough Bitch, so I'm quitting so they don't have to smell me anymore. 

I do smell a lot better. 

Anyway. It's 2012. I'm still around. In less than a month, it will be the three-year anniversary of the Day The Bad Thing Happened. If it's anything like last year, I'm going to be cowering in my room crying and blasting Chevelle and wishing I was dead. I hope it's better this year. 

Fuck. Smoking always helped on the Bad Day days. 

Anyway, that's my ass in a nutshell. Like usual, I have nothing interesting to say. My cat does, though. 

Hang on, 
Ness

'Twas the night before Christmas...

...and all through the house, 
Not a creature was stirring,
Except for the girl who was wishing that she could skip the next day.

On Wednesday, I turned 22. I was pretty proud of myself for doing so. 

It's Christmas Eve. As I've said before, holidays are hard for me. I can already feel the depression setting in, and--while I'm trying hard to hide it--it's always a difficult thing when you know no one understands. Not one person in my house understands why I'd rather sleep than tear open the wrapping on my presents. But at least everyone I want to spend Christmas with is still here to see it. And at least I'm here to spend it with them. 

Merry Christmas, everybody. 

Hang on, 
Ness