why is everybody

SO CALM? How can everyone be so contained, and rationnal, and BORED? We are breathing and the air is cold and it rushes in and out of our lungs and it feels like opportunity, the leaves are bright reds and yellows and still some greens and we are BREATHING little leaf particules and we are BREATHING the crisp fall air and everything is being redefined. In the instant of a breath we are reborn, the edges are sharpened, my vision is sharper, my goals are sharper. I want to run, run, run, not away but towards you. I want to want and I need to need and I live to live. I am starving to starve. I am everything twice over and how can one NOT be overwhelmed? Colors and shapes and smells and feelings, they are all there, so vivid, so innocent, unscathed, how did I not see them before? In the fall I become an explorer. An athlete. A whirlwind, sometimes, a thunderstorm, maybe. I wouldn't mess with a thunderstorm. I need this now. I need to not be on the computer except to hear from you. And maybe tell you a few things. I need to stop erasing and start racing and it's not a race against time, it's only going as fast as I can to be the most I can at once, it's a race against immobility, it's a race for being a lot of things at once; a race against ce qui est immuable, because I do not know the english word for that. And I should! And I will. Race, race, race. Run, run, run. I haven't done this in a long time. And I don't remember why.

a guilty conscience

it eats its way out from your heart and you collapse into yourself.

i want to fade into the background. i want the ground to open up and suck me into some other dimension where i can count flowers or draw clouds for the rest of my existence.

i want to get out. i want to be alone.

let's give this another shot

You know what? I've had enough. I don't want to be "sane", I don't want to be "happy", I don't want to be "healthy" anymore. Screw your misconceptions. I am allowed to have my own conceptions and my own vision and my own perspective. You are not allowed to qualify me or anything in my place. I qualify what I want how I want to. You cannot choose what I call thin or fat or beautiful or wrong. You can't. I have my own mind and my own subjectivity. You call what I want dying, worse, killing myself, you define me as more beast than human, but you are wrong. YOU are killing the human in me. This is so much more than just being myself. It's just being. And I'm so fucking tired of hating myself for being. I will live by my own standards. And if you don't think I can, just watch me. I am taking a stand. I have my own dreams, my own expectations, my own priorities. Subjectivity is what makes me a person. I am allowed to be different, to see differently, to laugh at things that are "shocking" or cry at things that are meant to be "pleasant", or "entertaining", or "practical". I want to be thin, I want to be MY thin, just like you want to make eighty grand a year and live in a mansion and drive some fancy sportscar. And if you think I'm ridiculous, just imagine what I think of you. You won't make me one of you. I will NOT be average. I will be above average by all of my standards. And maybe, when you'll see that I've beaten you all, when you see that you don't have your own standards, when you finally come to realize that you are living a life defined by mediocrity, when you find your own skills and dreams ridiculed and beat down and thrown into a sewer by those you thought were your allies, maybe you'll understand. Not that I care, hopefully I'll be long gone by then.

I will live by my own standards and no one else's. Try and stop me.

right now

Right now I am at school. Right now I should be happy, because the sun is shining and there's a cool wind blowing through my hair, twisting it around my face. I should not be bothered by my reflection on the screen. But I am not happy. And it does bother me. School was like liberation to me, it was freedom to speak and think and learn, and now I am stuck in this mess, and I don't understand how I feel, or why I feel it, all I know is that it's wrong. It has never been easier just to give up living than it is right now, I am fighting a losing battle, because I am on both sides of it so no one can win...

I know somewhere in my brain that I am losing brain. I register it, just a fact, like so many others. But sometimes it creeps up on me, when I am startled by my reflection in a window or by the sudden heaviness and thickness of my arm. Everyone and everything seems so mundane and it makes me feel all alone in the world, which is why I come back crawling to you, as always, my fellow bloggers. I want to stop feeling again. I want to stop THIS feeling. School has driven away the anxiety, a little, and the pain, a little, but it has amplified the violence inside me and it has amplified this feeling that I am not meant to have. I am usually driven by this strange combination of thought, logic and instinct that is common among us teenagers but now none of those can help me. I am stuck, I am frozen in terror, I am freezing in ice. It is getting colder and colder and I want to be active and I want to be cold at the same time. I don't know if you get what I mean. I don't. I say things and I don't know what they mean or where they are from.

So, to counter this excess of self-deprecation and regrets and guilt, I write to you. I admire the foliage of our might Canadian trees, all vibrant greens and yellows. Soon the forest will be alight with the colors of fire and I will get lost in the woods time and time again. I will walk and walk and walk and think and admire and walk and panic because I don't know where I am and find my way back. eventually, covered in mud and leaves and needles and sap. That is my element, nature is my element. It is beautiful here.

Maybe if I focus on writing and reading and music and trees and wind I will forget about feelings and violence and hatred and love. Maybe if I fed on the smell of dirt and decomposing leaves, the pollen in the air and the words from my books instead of fat and hatred and pain, I would be a healthier person. But then again health is only a perception, it is subjective, like beauty. Can't I have my own standards of thin and beautiful and healthy and pure? Who are they to tell me they are right and I am wrong? Who are they to say they are sane, and I'm not quite insane, I'm too dull for that, but just unusual and peculiar. Enough to alienate but not to be interesting. Oh joy.

Why are so many opposed to thin? Why is it worst to be thin than to be fat? Why are the obese victims and the anorexic villains, and then the obese evil and the anorexic innocent, each in turn, however they like? There are so many misconceptions in the world and those who keep them alive know how to use them to their advantage. I think we are all victims somehow. The overly obese and thin allow the average person to feel better about themselves. The obese are irresponsible and helpless creatures, and we are vile, superficial beings who try to suck others into this fatal vortex. God forbid the average person should be condemned for anything at all.... Wow, I'm really just rambling here, and my English is terrible today, my apologies.

School is boring too. If you're going WAAAAAH?!?! impossible! then you are a nerd like me. Yay! But seriously, the people in my classes are morons. PLEASE all join me in my philosophy class! I honestly don't know how many more moronic answers I can take from these overgrown apes. You'd think I was exagerating but I'm NOT. It's so bad that I can't even exagerate! My imagination is litterally bouche-bée by the idiocy of my class-mates. Aaaah life is weird sometimes.

This is my resistance. I always say ours because it feels safer, but really, it is mine.

why are withered flowers beautiful?

My skin is dry and my lips are chaped, but it feels like home. My hair and my nails are brittle, I feel my health is failing, slowly, I envision myself caving in, receeding, shrinking, disappearing. Fall is coming, whimsical fall. Spring is to birth as fall is to Death, but only Death is capitalized. I am not eating and not hungry, then eating and nauseous, too very nauseous. I am so close to that one-hundred-pound barrier, so close, and even closer now. I pretend not to notice, I pretend it isn't on purpose, but I am edging ever closer to that fine line between health and disease, between sanity and insanity. More and more I think of it, I can already taste it, barely touch it, I am almost there... Some things aren't important anymore. Mother, not important, her feelings are not to be considered, because she wants this as much as I do. Friends, not important, they have their own problems to tend to. Driving, not important. Happiness, not important. I am losing everything I hold onto; either it leaves me of its own accord, or I turn against myself, and the splendor is gone, the interest is gone, the attachment is gone, and I leave it. Under the guise of modern poetry I can get away with everything. Books school running thoughts writing music, important. Must resist the attempts to guilt me into breaking down. Must resist the nighttime panic attacks. Must resist this loss, this new-come loss, must survive the mourning, must find a way around the pain, around the fear, around the past the future the now, around my body, around what is wrong, and it is so wrong, and around the loss. This is my game and I play by my rules, what I say goes, and if I say truths are lies and lies are truths then they are. I don't need to believe in anyone but myself, because I have my own world and no one needs to know. No one needs to know anything at all. That is the key. The stillness and the frenzy and the panic and the violence and the hatred they will all blend into one simple desire, the desire to end all desires in the most beautiful way. I want to know why withered flowers are beautiful. I think this might be the way.