I'm done apologizing for other peoples mistakes.

And I'm done hating myself,

it just takes too much energy.

I'm done running away

because I know if you gave me the chance, I would run forever.

But that wouldn't get me anywhere

just further and further from reality.

In other news: I'm home now.

And I still cant sleep.

I'm in the studio with Geoff right now helping him with his project. This is the most at-ease I've felt in a while. While I'm with him I don't have to think about where I'm going to be living next week, or what food I can purchase with what little money I have in my pocket. I'm just happy. I'm just in love. Everything will one day be okay, I can feel it in my bones.

House hopping around the city.

Jackie and Leah's tonight, who knows for tomorrow.

It feels liberating to be on my own for once.

I have a week long T pass and I'm ready to go!

I'm trying to find hope in all crevices, follicles, and fibers.

It's small, but it exists.

There are harsh sounds coming from the livingroom.

I don't want to live here anymore. This isn't my life.

There are no pills for this.

I bind myself in the ways of an institutionalized mind

where I fall from up high, crash, and unwind,

and when I get to the place where there's no where left to hide,

there will only be my true self to find.

In other news, I am his Clementine and he is my Joel in the way that I am a raging psychotic bitch (some of the time), and he is cute beyond words (all of the time.)

Time goes too fast and I need to sleep. It's the story of our generation's life, really.

I'll be home cuddling with Geoffrey and my kittyboys in about two hours.

I have never been more ready to start my life.

Just give me a goddamn cigarette, please.

Oh hey whats up, setback?

Back in Proctor 2 as inpatient. I don't even have level 2 yet so I cant go outside all weekend. I don't know how long I'll be here this time, but even though I am disappointed, I feel safe here.

I thought my meds were working. I truly believed I was getting better and that I would never need to come back here again, then, my meds turned on me unexpectedly and I ended up with a drug rash covering most of my legs, chest, and arms. I've had drug rashes before, so having it happen again was a trigger in all meanings of the word. I flipped. I wanted to die. I went through four frozen oranges to try to ground myself so I wouldn't dissociate. All of that combined made them send me back to the unit. I know it was the right decision, and it's not like I was kicked out and cant go back. They're even holding my bed and my food so when I do go back, it will be as if I never left.

More than being disappointed in my meds, I am disappointed in myself. I thought I could handle this, but I guess things can happen and I wont be able to control my reaction to them. Happens to everyone, right? .... right?

I'm not allowing myself to go back to the WTP until I am ONE HUNDRED percent sure that my meds are stable, and my mind is as well. I hope my insurance agrees with me so I'm not shipped out of here too soon, and then sent back as soon as something else goes wrong. I want to get better. I need to get better. I WILL get better, and then I will never look back.

So here marks the last day of inpatient on Proctor 2 at the McLean Hospital in Belmont. Tomorrow I will be moving to the Womans Treatment Program which is a residential/outpatient center on the McLean campus. I really don't know what to say..

I've learned a lot by being here, and I have made some amazing friends that I hope will remain in my life forever. These women are the strongest, most amazing, kindest souls I have ever encountered and I love them all.

WTP tomorrow. Here I go...

This is what it has come down to.

I am scared of falling asleep.

Every night I used to shut off all my lights, lay in my bed all curled up under my blankets, shut my eyes real tight and try to sleep. Of course I would never actually fall asleep, I would just think about horrific things and everything thats going on in my life. I would then start to cry and curl up tighter and tighter, my knees up to my chest, and I would hug myself until I would become too exhausted to do anything but pass out. And I would pray. I would pray that I wouldn't wake up in the morning. That somehow I would disappear before dawn.

I refuse to feel like that ever again. I now no longer sleep. I stay awake until I hallucinate and then pass out on my bed way after the sun comes up. I know this isnt healthy. I know that this is self destructive. I just cant take those horrible thoughts anymore. I dont know what to do, I mean, I know what I NEED to do. I NEED to reset my sleeping patterns and give my mind and body a break. But when will my mind and body give ME a break? I hate this. I hate this so much it hurts. Most of all, though, I hate myself for doing this. I hate myself for every reason imaginable. I dont know what will happen if I keep doing this. I guess we'll all get to find out sooner or later, huh?

Every time I talk to someone about how I feel, they shoot me down. They tell me not to feel those things, like I can just fucking turn it off. They assume I just want attention, that I'm not really this sick, that I just want someone to notice. Well I DO want someone to notice. I want someone to notice that I havent slept in weeks and that I've been crying for days, and that I'm serious when I say that I NEED HELP. And I need someone to understand, but no one understands, and what sucks is that they could if they actually tried. I just want to give up. No one takes me seriously. No one. I'm just done.

So this is me, reaching out for the last time.

I swear if someone says just one thing about me not really meaning it, I'm doing it. I am so hurt and sad and frustrated and completely and utterly alone.

I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like my ribs are breaking into a million little pieces scattered on the floors of glass houses that only exist in the walls of my mind. I watched the northern lights on my ceiling last night, or this morning, or yesterday morning. Time isn't real for me anymore. Thank you, Kurt Vonnegut, I have yet again become unstuck. But yes, the northern lights. My ceiling turned into waves of colorful Chinese dragons dancing just out of reach. Everything was illuminated by the dying light bulbs of my twinkle lights my mom strung up just after Christmas in my fourth grade year. I am fond of them and it makes me quite sad that they are slowly dimming, one by one. My whole room has become a tomb for everything that once brought me joy. There are countless teddy bears on the shelf next to my pathetic excuse for a bed, and their only purpose, now, is for ridiculous staring contests that I win, of course, if I can convince myself that they blinked. Maybe they became distracted by light show on my ceiling. Golden strings dance and form shapes just above my head. I watched them for hours, just lying there under my blankets.

I stare straight ahead, my eyes wont move past that part in the road. I haven’t seen the sun in days, and I can pretty much guarantee that’s enough to make anyone mad. I keep having flashbacks of angels, and how they arent really angels at all, but just figments of our imagination to bring us good luck, And Heaven is just a form of deja vu where we can go back and relive moments, even seconds, of our lives until everything as we know it no longer exists. Time is irrelevant. Time is the bastard son of God. I sit here, with pride on my fingers and love carved into my arms and I wonder... how long it takes for a corpse to deteriorate? How many maggots per second? How many bones will rot away before my soul is saved? This isnt life anymore. This is just waiting.

My brain works in mysterious ways. Right now it is fond of the soft light of my room and the colors reflecting off of mirrors and hidden things stuffed away in corners. There are secrets and regrets shoved in every direction from where I sit, and, while I look at them everyday, I am never afraid. I realize now, that for whatever reason I told you I loved you, I never showed you who I really was. Was I that girl? The one with the chains and the lack of restrictions. The one with open wounds and salt-shaker in hand. I was never her no matter how badly you wanted me to be. I never showed you my room, my space. My bed never touched the soft skin of your back. My pillow never felt the gentle resting of your head. Your curls never graced the back of my chairs. Cant you see? I never let you in. I never loved you. I was naive; a crazed teenage girl with a sick infatuation, and that's it. That's all it ever was.

I am made up of so many little pieces collected from train stations and the posts of bed frames.

I have a love-hate relationship with my life. At one moment, I can be content and as happy as the waves when they meet the shore, but then I can switch completely and I start remembering everything you ever did to me. Your long fingers and the way you swept your hair out of your eyes. I hate everything about you, especially how you left me to rot in my own misery. I loved you. I loved your luster for life, I loved your infectious laugh. You used to make me smile, now you just make me punch my pillow in anger wishing my fists were hitting your face. How could you? How could you just walk away? I was putty in your hands, you could have molded me into something beautiful, but instead you made me ugly. Ugly and cold and bitterly hating your memory.

I can hardly sleep at night with your face so deeply etched into the back of my eyelids. You haunt my every dream, and I often awaken with clenched fists and a tight jaw. How could you? How could you just walk away? My bones ache for your affection, my fingertips long for your skin.

How could you?

How could you just walk away?

Wow so my father just took away my medication because he thought I was going to kill myself over my current living situation. Really? Fucking, REALLY? That hurts. Hurts deep. Thank you very fucking much for your concern, but this just proves how much you DON'T KNOW ME. I'm over that shit, okay? I did my time getting my head fixed and I don't appreciate what you're trying to do here. From now on, I will control my medication, and you will leave me the hell alone. Goodnight.

Getting this on my skin as soon as possible.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PARKER MOODY! lovelovelove forever and ever!

I want to create art so powerfully that I am left raw and open. I want to pour my everything into each piece and then maybe I wont feel so heavy. I want to put my body and mind through hell so I can truly appreciate what it means to be beautiful. I want to learn from everything I've done and then keep doing it. I want to experience pain, cruelty, and loss. I want to mourn through art and expression. I want to tear off my own skin just to expose what is underneath.