tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61746812992411232392024-02-08T08:03:09.707-08:00unimaginable beautygeorgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-23387654148298292762011-12-24T03:31:00.001-08:002011-12-24T03:31:58.373-08:00<em>All I really want to do right now is get drunk and play video games all night long…</em>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-60804903641314796542011-02-11T05:07:00.000-08:002011-02-11T05:08:43.528-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" >Since the only reason that any of you know that something is wrong, is because you've happened to read this, forgive me if I don't want to spill my soul to you.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'd rather talk to a screen then to someone who is only curious and looking for a new story.</span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-76239302195265004822011-02-05T04:59:00.001-08:002011-02-05T04:59:43.163-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm so desperately lonely.<br />I'm surrounded, surrounded by noise and people and yet it's all outside and far away and I'm left curled up alone and struggling to exist.<br />I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't sleep, I can't see.<br />Everyone's looking, but no one's seeing.<br />I can't stand it I can't stand it I can't stand it.</span></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-43727329498500361132011-01-07T05:09:00.000-08:002011-01-07T05:49:41.526-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" >It hurts, you know. I keep saying that it doesn't hurt, trying to convince myself that I really don't care. That I'm going to march into school this year, proud and strong. When I know that really I'm just going to slink in and try my best to keep my chin up.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >It's interesting how quickly people you thought were you friends will turn on you in a second, for something you had nothing to do with. And how you become more hated then the original people to blame.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Damnit, I had nothing to do with that stupid status or anything else that went down. I was literally just an innocent bystanders. And my problems with Cailin were no one else's business. It was between us, and no one else has the right to butt in.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >One of my 'friends' hasn't spoken a word to me in 6 months because I stayed friends with someone she hated and because she stuck her nose into something she wasn't supposed to, and used that against me. God, she's only one of the few people that won't talk to me now.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't know what to do next year. I seriously contemplated moving schools, to the point where I talked to my mother about it. But that's running away. And what shattered pride is still left won't allow me to turn my tail and run merely because a bunch of cow's chose lies and deceit over friends.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I even got it thrown into my face. Ran into a guy my 'friends' have suddenly gotten really close to, and he blurted out, 'Oh, so YOU'RE the one that everyone is talking about!' </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wow, thank you. That just makes me feel so much better.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I am so sick of all the shit. So sick of it all. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My head is collapsing in on itself. I can't think straight. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >damnit damnit damnit damnit damnit.</span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-44739822900469529632011-01-04T03:21:00.000-08:002011-01-04T03:26:42.070-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" >I ran away from home today.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, sort of. I got into a massive fight with my father. He screamed at me for no reason, literally no reason. Called me a selfish bitch despite that I was cleaning up something he himself couldn't be bothered cleaning. Lots of shit went down. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >He wouldn't stop screaming. Screaming, screaming, screaming. All these names and insults and they just... </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I screamed back, of course.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So he told me to get out. He told me to leave. I grabbed my bag, and I walked out with him screaming at my back. I told him I hated him and that he was not my father.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I can't stand him. I really can't. He wonders why I have low self esteem, without it occurring to him that maybe it's because sixteen years worth of insults and hate have been chipping away at me and making me feel so worthless and disgusting. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I shouldn't post this. But I will. Because I rarely talk about it to people other than close friends, which are becoming far and few, so I think it might be good for me. Maybe.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't know. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what to do. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm so lost.</span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-37549004823137925142010-12-13T03:56:00.000-08:002010-12-13T03:58:03.721-08:00same shit, different day.<span class="Apple-style-span" >I might delete this blog. It's not like anyone reads it.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm just talking to myself on a computer, instead of in my head.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >And the answers are always the same no matter where they are posted, so what's even the point?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >What's the point of anything anymore.</span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-75639184403229356872010-12-08T03:31:00.001-08:002010-12-08T03:31:50.257-08:00<div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't know what to do, and there's no one to turn to.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I feel like I'm going insane.</span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-12761619540869792432010-11-21T04:09:00.001-08:002010-11-21T04:10:29.501-08:00our hearts were not made for bleeding.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sometimes... I get really worried about you.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">You stay in this slump... for so long. It makes me hurt to see you so broken like that.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">You hide all your feelings away, pretending, always pretending, that everything's fine. When you know for a fact that it's not.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">You take in what others say and you believe it all. You listen to them lie and tell you you're safe and loved, and then... </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; ">you hear all the crap they're actually saying.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">You walk through school wondering what everyone thinks about you, when you smile or do something wrong.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">You act nice, to protect yourself. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Just polite enough to keep them away, trying not to get close to people, for fear that they too, in turn, will leave you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">It's like the entire world is trying to take you down.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">It's like they're trying to make your life a pure, living hell.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sometimes, you cry. You cry yourself to sleep, wondering and wishing.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">You fall deeper and deeper and deeper, always falling into that black swirl, surrounded by those four walls that listen to what no one else will.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The air around you starts to disappear, and you're choking, choking on nothing. Choking on pressure. Choking on yourself.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Until you break. You snap.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">And then it's all over, for just that short little while.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Until the cycle starts again.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-60385778431910678652010-10-04T02:48:00.001-07:002010-10-04T02:52:35.373-07:00asdfghjk<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I used to be that girl.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I used to be the girl who would post links to fb pages that refer to you on your page, often receiving a cute response. I used to be the girl who you told things to. I used to be the girl you'd hug and tell that she was beautiful and shouldn't be so self conscious all the time. I used to be the girl you said was your best female friend.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Not anymore. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I hate how much it truly hurts to realise that you've lost your best friend, that they aren't going to come back, that they don't willingly want to see and hug you anymore.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I hate realizing how alone you actually are.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-39394791223006445152010-09-24T06:27:00.000-07:002010-09-24T06:44:29.583-07:00times of betrayal and lies.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">We seem to live in a time where if you prefer your own company to others, you're 'weird'. Why is it that our lives seem to be ruled by groups? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">If you sit with a group of people, then realise that actually, you don't get along with some of them and they really aren't best for <i>you</i>, and it would be a good idea to move, you suddenly find yourself losing a bunch of people you thought actually were your friends, and being shunned away.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">All because you want to surround yourself with people that make you happy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Why should you stay with one group your entire high school life? Why is it not possible to make new friends and leave crappy ones behind?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I used to hate sitting on the oval. I'd find my mood sinking, and I'd end up going home almost in tears. Doesn't help when someone that was supposed to be there for you was part of the reason you were crying. So I moved.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I became friends with people that actually made me feel good about myself. I have fun now. I laugh. I smile. I don't stare at the grass trying not to scream. I enjoy recess and lunch times now, instead of desperately wishing to just get back into class.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">But apparently that's just not good enough. Apparently that deserves to be taken as a personal insult and that I'm obviously not worth it as a friend. I've suddenly found that people are being rude to me, people that I used to be friends with. 'Oh, so now we're good enough for you?' 'Why are you even sitting here?'</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'm being ignored now. People start walking away from me when I come up. People come up to me and a mutual friend and completely cut me off as if I'm not even there. I get banged into in the corridors, and they stare and whisper at me as I walk past.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I was part of that bitchy group, I was essentially safe. But now that I've joined a group that's actually nice to their friends, my walls have fallen down and I am basically defenseless.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'm tired of being guilt tripped. I'm tired of being upset. I'm tired of feeling worthless. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of not being able to have someone I can genuinely call a friend. I'm tired of no one understanding.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I first left them, and my friend from the new group posted a status defending me and the group that resulted in a massive fight between groups, I got in shit from the old group. I got accused of being a bad friend and not sticking up for them. But tell me, why should I stick up for people when they wouldn't even think about doing the same for me?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A friend of mine once said that he wishes that people could just be alone, and for it to be socially acceptable. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I wish you could be friends with different people, without the backstabbing and bitching that seems to come from having different social groups.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Oh, how I truly hate high school.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">And yeah, I know that people from that group will probably read this, and gossip about it, and talk about how I've changed and become so rude. Go a-fucking-head. You'll merely be proving my point for everyone to see.</span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-47413936576257092992010-09-13T07:39:00.000-07:002010-09-13T07:45:09.799-07:00hate.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">i hate you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">a phrase used so often that it's losing its meaning.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">a phrase that means less as time passes.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">a phrase that means nothing anymore.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">it's almost like a toy, something that is being tossed back and forth and back and forth for senseless reasons, and every time that it is used and abused...it gets a little older, and a little more </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">chipped. a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; "><span class="Apple-style-span">little more broken.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">but just like a child, you never give up on it. you never throw it away. it's a comfort to you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">it's your only comfort anymore.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">i hate you. i hate you so much.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">hate, hate, hate.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">over and over and over again.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">the same words pouring from your thin lips and pushing themselves into flesh and bone and mind; the only thing that can keep your vision straight and give you some sense of control.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">but these people, all these people that cower behind those words, do they feel like we feel?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">do they feel ugly and worthless and pathetic and uncomfortable in their own skin?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">do their thoughts and minds ache this bruised blue colour? are they always filled with lying hues and cheating images?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">why do they hate us?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">is it because we're not the same as them?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">is it because we're just unwilling to change to how they feel we should be?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">do they feel that because we take the chance to be different, take the chance to be who we are, their protective wall has been stripped and all that they have left is the hate festering inside of them.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">does it bubble up until it finally explodes, in a mirade of dark colours and cutting words?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">do they suffer like us?</span></span></div>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-72162313774555783382010-04-13T06:19:00.000-07:002010-04-13T06:33:59.806-07:00Is there a place where I can start again?<span style="font-size:78%;">When someone asks if someone is okay, it always pops up in their mind that maybe they aren't, no matter what their answer is.<br />The other day, one of my friends who was sitting across from me asked me that randomly. Her voice got all low and serious, and she looked straight at me as if to watch to see whether or not I was lying. And of course, I simply say 'I'm fine' and avert my eyes from hers. It wasn't a complete lie, but it caught me off guard.<br />Maybe because I felt out of place where I was, or I'm just on a different level from where my friends are. Maybe it's just a process of growing up.<br />I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> okay. My life isn't horrible or anything. It's just not perfect. I know I haven't made any dramatic decisions as of late, or stirred any unnecessary drama in the past few months. I've just sort of hovered.<br />It was in that split second, that one decision to avert my eyes and lie, that made me realise that things <span style="font-style: italic;">weren't</span> perfect. I mean, I am finally making an improvement with my sleeping patterns, and school's fine really, but my socialness, or rather lack of, has been awkward lately.<br />I used to be a bit of an obnoxious person, who would go up to anyone and just talk to them, saying whatever comes to mind. But now I am timid, I try not to ruffle people's feathers (I don't always succeed), I mind my own business, and I seperate my space from others. And that's the bad part; I miss who I used to be. But at the same time, I'm glad that I'm not her anymore.<br />I don't need those 'friends' who only need me when it's convenient. I don't want to live in the past, where I know I made a lot of mistakes. I just want to be comfortable with where I am now, and who I've become. I don't want to force myself to fit in with people and environments that I don't like and don't need.<br />I don't particularly like where I'm heading, but I know that it's a lot better than what I'm leaving behind me.<br /></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-10180231964606797402010-03-15T04:15:00.000-07:002010-03-15T04:28:19.203-07:00emotion.<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Emotion</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> (n) Any strong agitation of the feelings actuated by experiencing love, hate, fear, etc., and usually accompanied by certain physiological changes as increased heartbeat, respiration, and often overt manifestation, as crying or shaking.<br /><br />That is the dictionary defintion of emotion.<br /><br />To me, it's confusion; not being able to work out your feelings or thoughts. It's not knowing what to write; staring at a blank page for hours on end with nothing but your name at the top. It's that special smile that envelopes your face like no other smile can compare to. It's staring into someone's eyes, and feeling yourself fall so deeply, as your arms shake and your breath catches. It's spending time with people and having minutes pass by feeling like hours, or hours flying by like seconds. It's writing out everything that is in your heart, yet feeling like there is oh so much more to write. It's having the vague feeling of something where it tastes and feels so familiar, but seems so much more new each day. It's that jumble in your brain, a total mess of twisting and winding thoughts that makes sense in its own way. You just don't know what that is yet.<br /><br />I hate emotions.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-83309127607970105302010-03-06T02:10:00.001-08:002010-03-06T02:10:18.682-08:00snap.<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:78%;" >I am getting pulled in so many different directions at the moment, and I can't take it.<br />It's taking its toll on me, and affecting the way I act.<br />They notice, oh, I know they definately do, but they don't even care. All they care about is being the one on top, no matter to the ones they have to step on and crush in the mean time.<br /><br />I'm going to snap soon.</span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-15357406164811953672010-01-11T23:59:00.000-08:002010-01-18T05:38:30.643-08:00Pretty Women (And Men)<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">[Be warned; this post shows how much of a walking contradiction I truly am.]<br /><br />It's interesting how low some people's self esteem is. At least, to me it is.<br />I've got so many friends that think they are ugly or fat. But they aren't. Hell, one of my best friends has managed to convince herself that she's overweight. But dear god, she is not. She's a peeerfect weight but there's no changing her mind. She's unique, beautiful, hilarious, possibly insane, and has a perfect hour glass figure. But she sees herself as ugly and fat. I've spent nights texting her, boosting her self esteem because her bitchy sister has said something out of spite, or her mother has uncaringly said something mean. It makes me cry.<br />I just don't understand all those people that constantly put you down, that completely destroy who you are, ignore you and just ruin your life. These people tear you apart, and don't even care.<br />I met a girl at ballet once, and she said I was pretty. I just laughed and said politely, "Thank you! I think you're pretty too." She just responded "Oh, you're just being nice."<br />But the thing is, she <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> pretty. The kind of pretty that makes you feel like a lucky fool to even have her look at you, let alone talk to you.<br />This happens <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> many times, with both genders. Boys that don't think they're cute, girls that think they're fat, and the list goes on. Unfortunately, I've met many gorgeous people, only to find out that with some of them, that sort of beauty is only skin deep. But in a few of them, they were pretty all the way through. How sad that many of them don't stand a chance in the real world... After all, who wants to be pretty on the inside?<br />The answer, sadly, is no one. No one wants to be pretty on the inside. Because, if it's on the inside, who would see it?<br />The shallow ideals of this world have taken over our lives, and so many truly beautiful people become left out in the cold, killed socially and literally day after day.<br />It makes me so sad, to see all the destruction that happens merely because someone is insanely jealous, or angry with themselves and others.<br />Remember the old saying; "If you haven't got anything nice to say then don't say anything at all,"?<br />That phrase makes me smile because of the truth in it. Every day, you have the opportunity to destroy someone, or make them the happiest person in the world. So why do people choose the former?<br />Is it because they are so miserable with their own image that they find a strange sort of courage in insulting and tearing down someone else? Or because they have a sadistic personality and do it merely for the thrill? Who knows?<br />These people though, are the ugly ones. They may physically be the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth, but inside they are shrivelled, black and weary. It makes me sick what some people are capable of doing.<br />But my opinion is that if you are overweight, or underweight, you are pretty. If you are disabled, you are pretty. If you are shy, you are pretty. If you can speak your mind without a care of what other people may think of you, then you are pretty.<br />I find that the truly pretty ones are always the ones who don't believe it themselves.<br />Sad, isn't it?<br /><br />"Your hearts a mess, but you won't admit to it."<br />Hearts A Mess - Gotye<br /></span></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-69574740550885544762010-01-10T04:58:00.000-08:002010-01-10T05:09:08.195-08:00Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I've really stuffed up this time.<br />I managed to hurt my wrist, burn my forehead with a straightener, and upset a good friend all in one day. Yay for me. The first two hurt like hell obviously, but the last one is tormenting me. I didn't mean to upset him. And I feel so bad for it. I was just being honest and admitting something that I'd thought to myself 4 months ago. Hell, I even tried to explain it. But I just succeeded in hurting him. Oh great, now I'm repeating myself.<br />I think...I need to have a shot at completely reworking my personality. Maybe it would make it easier for myself, though definately for others.<br />I'm feeling kind of pathetic now.<br /><br />"Don't use your heart, it only makes you slow."<br /> - Responses by Barcelona<br /></span></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-81177709949820455732010-01-01T21:12:00.000-08:002010-01-02T00:25:26.624-08:00Trust is always a good idea. For someone else.<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:78%;" >It's sad really that here's me, single pringle and have been for my entire life, having people come to me for advice. For relationship advice. I've had people ask if they should break up with their boyfriends, if they should go that extra step with their significant other, or if he really should ask her out. And it's interesting that whilst I only give small tidbits of advice, never anything major that could completely sway their decision, or make them do something drastic, just enough to help them clear their minds and think easier, they still listen to what I say.<br />I don't know if he's really flirting, or just being a nice guy, so why should you come to me for advice? I've never been in the same situations as any of these people, and they know it, yet they ask me. It does make me feel a bit honoured, but at the same time slightly used. It makes me feel that they only talk to me because I'm good at listening, that they don't really care for my friendship at all.<br />I recently became closer to a girl after bonding over Barbie movies, and she's asking me for advice, but I know that I will have to to deal with the aftermath either way it goes.<br />I don't mind being used as a diary most of the time, I'm good at letting people just talk with no interruptions. Sometimes it would be nice if it weren't just a one-way diary though. I've tried to talk to people about my own problems, but they either just sympathise without understanding, interrupt through out it, or overshadow it with their own problems. Either way it makes me feel pathetic.<br />I'm not even sure why I'm writing this actually. I just don't really know what to do.<br />Should I continue being there for people, but have no shoulder of my own to rest on, or distance myself from their shit and try and work out my own?<br /></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-36790490798659470252009-12-27T04:51:00.000-08:002009-12-27T04:57:44.444-08:00If I wanted to play mind games, I’d buy a rubix cube.<span style="font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" >I feel like I'm just moving along in this life so slowly, my pace sluggish and weary. I go through each day doing the same damn repetitive things, and it's driving me insane. I dream of stars, and comets, and an </span><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" >endless, </span><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:78%;" > deep blue midnight sky, but when I awake, I'm greeted by the foggy air of the morning, and the whirl of the air con. I've found that my own chance of happiness is quickly vanishing, so I've been focusing all my time and energy on helping others. I'm not even sure why I bother, but I guess that it gives me a small sense of hope that maybe, just maybe someone will help me in return.<br />Though I've realised by now not to get my hopes high. The higher they are, the harder they fall. And they always fall.<br /></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-9578873923786086402009-11-30T04:18:00.000-08:002009-11-30T04:23:02.992-08:00fly fairy, fly.<span style="font-size:85%;">I am a beautiful fairy.<br />I have colourful wings that gently flutter on my back, lifting me high into the air and carrying me along with the soft summer breezes.<br />I float through the air, with bees buzzing and birds humming all around me. I fly with the butterflies, and I am </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >wild</span><span style="font-size:85%;">, a pretty little part of nature that no one can capture.<br />I am completely free and I don't need the affections of an insanely handsome, but out of reach man to make me happy.<br /><br />I am so tempted to just fly right out of here and never come back.</span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-21378872760829249352009-10-24T06:43:00.000-07:002009-10-24T06:53:23.473-07:00pet peeves.<span style="font-size:78%;">[Just a small rant of mine to a certain male I know. I don't even care if he reads this. Its a chance to say what I know I'm too nice to say in real life.]<br /><br />You sir, without even a speck of doubt, are the most ignorant, conceited, high and mighty dickhead I have ever had the displeasure to meet in my entire life.<br /><br />Who the hell do you think you are?<br />Strutting around like you own the damn place, putting people in categories before you even know them, yet claiming not to judge and to be a gentleman?!<br /><br />Gentleman, my arse.<br />A gentleman wouldn't act like that. A gentleman wouldn't say things like that.<br /><br />Why do you think you're so awesome? It fails to process in my mind.<br />Why on earth do you love yourself so much? Why do you think you're the hottest thing since sliced bread?<br /><br />Just piss off, okay?<br />Seriously.<br /><br />You're not cool.<br />And you can't play the guitar either.<br />And the face...<br />For fucks sake, the face.<br />It <span style="font-style: italic;">doesn't</span> make you look dreamy.<br />Or deep.<br /><br />It makes you look like you're having a stroke.<br />Which is exactly what I imagine everytime you pull it.<br /><br />Stop saying 'fair enough'.<br />It's stupid. It's irritating.<br />Especially considering it's coming from you.<br />And could you maybe try to stop ranting about football?<br />I don't really give a shit.<br />And could you maybe try, just once, to eat quietly?<br /><br />For god's sake, you even breathe noisily.<br />What's wrong with you?<br />Fuck off, and stop telling me every little thing that passes through your brain.<br />Nobody cares.<br />Nobody is listening.<br />No. Shut up.<br /><br />Really though, you don't half try my patience.<br /><br />You once said that you're just a word that hasn't been invented yet.<br />But dickhead comes effortlessly close, my dear.<br /><br />As long as you <span style="font-style: italic;">think</span> you're not at fault, I'm sure you'll carry on with ease.<br />Boy, you can make even the halo child feel like the guiltiest sin.<br /></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-64095432881909808742009-10-19T23:12:00.000-07:002009-12-23T03:50:48.273-08:007 times.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I've been fighting with a friend lately, and she's changed so much, and I don't know what to do about it.<br />This made me then start to question all of my other friends...<br />So here is a small drabble I came up with, just a rant about a few of the people in my life. No names mentioned though...<br /><br />[one] I wish you knew how I would fold at the knees if you weren't there to hold me up. I wish I had the words to tell you that you're the one mirror I can't stand to look at when my own lies are fogged back into my lungs because of the truth that shines in your eyes. You're my strength when I'm tired, you're my comfort when I'm crying and swearing that I'm just not enough, that I'll never be enough. You've called me brave before, but I know it's only because I managed to swallow my pride and borrow your courage. We send each other reassurances through the phone lines, telling each other it will be alright and trying to fake the joy, through cell phone screens, and blinking text messages. And when I am scared, you let my fears out of the box to run through the door, never to return, and I'll be forever safe. And when you are lost, I'll let you use my eyes because maybe other people can offer a clearer perspective. Know that I'll always be here for you; know that I will never turn away when you are in need.<br /><br />[two] I just hope you know that you are beautiful. I hope that when you look in the mirror and see your tanned skin, vibrant eyes and long, luscious hair, you'll know that these things are what make you so breathtaking. And when the ones you trust turn their backs, realise that they are the ones lacking; not you. I hope you know that you are compassionate and intelligent, and all together amazing. You are every single thing that every single person should aspire to be. Thank you for being there to support me when I wasn't even sure I knew how to support myself. Thank you for standing by me when my spine collapsed, for holding my hand and leading me when I didn't know where I was going. There are so many ways to thank you and I don't know if I can find all the words to let you hear them.<br /><br />[three] We definately aren't what people would call the best. We would laugh way too loud in the corridors, have impolite conversations, and talk constantly in class. We would fight in the middle of the classroom, lashing out at each other angrily for petty reasons. But then we'd try to patch it over with a hug and a pitiful apology. You know I love you, but there are times I can do nothing but hate you.<br /><br />[four] When I fall and scrape my knees, you are the first person to pick me up off the pavement. When I am standing with broken bones and a broken heart, you are the first one to cast my arm, tape up my heart, and kiss my temple. You are shielding me from all the hurt, and keeping a steady eye on me to stop me from swallowing my lungs. I know that I don't thank you enough, but I never want you to think I don't appreciate and love you.<br /><br />[five] When we fight, I want you to know that I am acidic and bitchy, only because I can see my face in yours. I want you to know that I am slicing at you viciously only because I know that we are both stubborn and strong enough to take it. So when your hand is slamming against my cheek, and my words are tearing at your limbs, I know that we will get over it because we are related in so many more ways than just blood.<br /><br />[six] You went running off with my heart in your pocket, completely oblivious to the fact that you'd almost ruined my chances of giving away what you'd so aptly stolen. And when you smiled, and I knew that smile would never be for me, you never seemed to realise that my pulse was wired around your heart so that everytime you moved, it would jump-start my nerves in the most uncomfortable way. And no matter how hard I try, I simply can't cut those wires free.<br /><br />[seven] I am holding my heart and stealing it back from greedy fingers. I am running behind locked doors and looking through parted blinds. I know you thought you could carry my heart, but I can't find the words to tell you no. So know that I mean it when I say I appreciate your friendship, but I can't give you what you want. If I could let you know, I'd tell you who already has it, who's stolen it from under your nose. But I don't have the words so just know I mean it when I say I'm sorry. Trust me, I do.<br /><br />/rant over<br /></span></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174681299241123239.post-33464249767449420452009-09-26T06:38:00.000-07:002009-09-26T07:15:23.624-07:00start of something new, maybe?<span style="font-size:78%;">Welcome to the abode of my ramblings, rants and rubber-band balls.<br /><br />So, after much poking and prodding from various friends, I finally decided to make myself a blog.<br />Who knows, it could be refreshing for me. Maybe it could help unravel the mess that calls itself my life.<br /><br />To be honest, I'm not even sure on what to write here. Do I spill my guts out? Tell everyone my secrets, or do I just prattle on endlessly about things that don't really matter?<br />Knowing me, I'll just prattle on. Talking is a skill of mine.<br /><br />Cáilin thinks I'm bonkers. But that's to be expected. She's pretty nutty herself.<br />And we really do have to work on <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> saying the same thing at the same time. It's starting to get irritating being constantly referred to as twins. Oh who am I kidding, it's fun.<br /><br />I read a story the other night, about a girl who was extremely insecure about her weight and body in general, and I nearly started crying. I mean, I'm not saying I think I'm overweight or anything, but I can still relate. Being thin/slim isn't all its cracked up to be.<br />I suppose its because I have virtually no body shape to speak of. No chest, no butt, no hips, nothing. Its not as though I'll turn to surgery or anything, but it sucks when people pay me out.<br /><br />On a side note, it's finally the holidays, And it's odd because these are the first holidays in about 4 years that I haven't had to go to ballet. I'll be completely free for the next two weeks, with no dance commitments. It's a bit of a daunting thought actually. I mean, what am I supposed to do?<br />I have a grand total of two things planned and they are occuring within the next 3 days. What a life I lead...<br /><br />You see, I'm rambling again. I have a habit of doing this, going off on tangents and struggling to say what I need to say, not needless chatter. I don't really feel as though I've gotten anything off my chest yet, or feel 'liberated' as such..actually I feel no different.<br />Perhaps it'll change. We shall see :)<br /><br /><br />Oh and before I forget; Katt, you are amazing and most definately do <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> poison my blog.<br /><br /></span>georgia.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05444287264178417230noreply@blogger.com1