found my old notebook

i dont know if has been apparent or not but in the past year or so i have become so insecure its insane. it blows my mind everytime i leave the house i feel weird. strange. i feel like everything i do ruins something of my friends or my family i love. i feel like i am constantly on the defense, like i have to work so hard just to make people not hate me that i am not even myself. i havent been able to look myself in the eyes. but for some reason tonight that all changed. i felt the electricity. the light came back on. it felt so good. thank you to all that were there for me. sorry. not trying to be a downer or a "poor me" kind of thing, its just been a weird adventure. it feels good to plug back in. this journal entry was one i wrote a year ago this week when i think i was pretty sure id die at age 13 (glad i didnt):"i couldnt stay away. the words are obsession and always have been. heartache lite. diet love. i am a catch and release kid. kind of. put summer in a pine box. i went to sleep in june and woke up in the middle of september .love is incidental. the best verus the rest. 'they wipe their feet on our dreams'. ive got lies hiding in the smile wrinkles of my eyes. the real ones and the fake ones take up the same space in the skin. no one gives a fuck about eyes that are always leaking. its become apparent that there may be no one thinking of you the way i do at this very moment. we're "out of the woods", but i am in love with the tree i used to lie under. eyes green with envy or brown and full of shit. or somewhere in between. i want this to be a remix of our nighttimes."the smiles lately have all been real. except sometimes its hard to smile when theres a camera in your fae and your just trying to get through the day. gonna try to fuck up less. nothing poetic about it: maybe things are about to get better, maybe theyre gonna get darker. i am in love with everything that is broken and sometimes i like it that whats broken is in love with me."

these are just other ones that i thought were a little interesting"

"the lights on the hill look like christmas lights on a tree, more like through a window. i almost feel welcome. people treat hearts like cars. we are always trying to trade up. it feels good being a new car. but it always feels strange driving back onto the lot when you know you are being traded in. how you doing- is all a matter of who is asking. the opposite of lullabyes. thank you for bringing me back to life."

"fell asleep in the mirror the other day, sick to death of comparing myself. every word has already been written. every government has been done. every hairstyle has been tried. but give me some time, dont write me off yet. im not always the person i want to be-but you make me want to be her. silly girl all this is ever gonna get you is carpal tunnel and bad eyesight-but i wish i was the mirror reflecting you back so i could make your eyes look carefree. the words are all over the place, but you are lightning in a bottle. i am in love with the accents in south america-the streets are museums, the culture is breathing- alive. rolling 'r's is way cooler than rolling your eyes. the way i think of you is billboard big, only i could never tell anyone. last night i had a dream that we were breathing underwater. our love will go down (in history). i hope the keys keep clicking, the kids keep singing-its all "if they could see us now"s versus "they'd be spinning in their grave". penned in on all sides. lets split town. its always "i dont care what anyone thinks" except everyonse always does. and "better in the long run" always means sleeping alone now. stop trying to save me. except if you ever did i dont know what id do with myself. silly girl youre just dying to be tragic silly girl youre just dying to be tragic silly girl youre just dying to be tragic silly girl youre just dying to be tragic silly girl youre just dying
time for sleep."

"i am in love with observing. off the strip is the best. there is an old man at the bar, he carries his years in his eyes. he drinks gin and tonic, only he calls them "g&t's". he is a true believer, a die hard. all the addicts and pushers are sitting in pews somewhere. he speaks to me about a love and a life that has taken 50 years to figure that he cant figure it out. buzzing and lights. there is a HIPSter docked on the bench next to me. he drinks vodka straight with out mixers, because the monsters in his closet are calories. i wonder how many he burns with his constant running mouth. here no one wants to be what they are. i watch waiters run their lines. nothing changes here but peoples hair color. writing here hurts my head. but i am addicted. honest to god, its like taking a picture of a ghost. im always walking home head down, talking myself to pieces. smile at the grass pushing up through the cracks in the sidewalk. a teammate. sometimes i look at my reflection in car windows and say "worry on your own time". etc. etc."

"been writing in the real journal lately. paper and ink. hey emilee, how'd you get yourself turned so inside out? this city feels like a lull. in weather, in love, in time, in life. 'all you sensetive thugs need hugs'. i can love you in hour increments. i can give/take all your problems back/away. i want to be bright enough to blind you. think of all the love i have behind my eyelids waiting for you to wake up. dream fast. wish hard. truefuckinglove."

"heroes love heroines. i dream of lying in backyards with you in the a.m.'s-the geneva convention of romance. i work vampire hours thinking of you. the rings around my eyes are simply the proof .and when the planets align even the mercury specks in our eyes match."

i still can't believe i found that notebook
it makes me want to write more
although i feel like the passion in my heart is kind of on a minimum right now
can't ever get the right words flowing
but i guess ill try harder