The Fictional Church of The World Wide Web

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
Well, not really.

I don't actually want forgiveness from anyone's father, and I fully intend on being a sinner for the rest of my foreseeably odd life. But I want to make a confession, and like any American, I've been conditioned by the media that all confessions must be preceded by that timeless phrase.
So.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

In That Which My Life Closely Resembles An Oreo (Without Being Half So Delicious)

The tense voices of my mother and sister drift up to me from down the stairs, rising in a hushed crescendo as they have so many times over the course of our living here.

Here being our (technically unofficial/semi-illegal) state-wide move. Here being a 2 bedroom house-y thing with three whole bathrooms. Yeah, I still can't get over having 3 accesible toilets.

There's a Receipt on My Wall ("This is Just Ridiculous" is Scrawled Across the Back)

My life has always been categorized by destruction.

Er, well- not really. More like by disintegration.

Oh hell, maybe both.

Choke Me with These Threads of Life

I've had a headache for the past 2 weeks, and it doesn't seem to be go away anytime soon.

One of the biggest contributing factors to this all-encompassing migraine is A, my father's ever asshole-ish tendencies, B, the remnants of my apathetic funk that I still haven't entirely escaped, and C, my mother and sister. 

I just- ugh. Just ugh. I am going to be a shitty teenaged stereotype and just summarize all this with "ugh". Sue me. 

Lost in A Maze (Of a Thousand Rainy Days)

I am in a funk.

(my mother's words, not mine.)

Though it's true. I'm just sort of. . . meh. My eyelids are made of lead, and I'm taking long, long blinks. There are bloody scratches down my arms, my thighs, and I find myself fidgeting. Picking and trimming and biting and frowning and jiggling and wriggling toes and cracking knuckles. The bags beneath my eyes have reached truly epic proportions, but I'm too busy staying up until dawn to notice nor care.

All Those Bleary Nights will Shine with Light

I'm meeting my father for lunch tomorrow.

Silent Scream

The thing is, no one cares.

And even if I were to tell anyone, it's not as if anything would change. It'd just be a momentary discomfort, and some added paranoia, perhaps. Nothing even really happened, but I think I wouldn't feel so bad about it if I could tell someone, anyone. But the few people I've tried to tell have ignored me, and I can't even post here.

I'm Awfully Off

Sometimes I can't help but hate myself, and more often then not, my life.

And sometimes self-insecurity will hit me like a brick wall, and I'll just kinda of freeze and look at all of the coolly dressed, confident, attractive people that flow around my frozen stance, the literal pebble in a stream. They have friends. They have a happy life, at least to some extent.

And so do I! I'm not claiming not to have friends, or a decently happy life. Just. . . Just all of my friends (or at least a good number of them) are virtual. And many, if not all attempts on my behalf to change that fact, merely do the opposite of it's intentions, and result in my being more alone then ever.