where did she go? i don't know.

screw people who say that there’s no such thing as repressed memories. try being a child who constantly blocks out the bad things, and when you become frustrated with the fact that you can’t even remember the reason you were ________ the day before, you decide to force yourself to remember everything. every tiny detail. that way you will never forget what you really are and what you really deserve. you’ll never let go of hating yourself the way that they do in that moment. now i can close my eyes and physically be in the moment when i went insane. or that moment when i wanted to exert myself, to make her completely afraid of me because that’s how i always felt with them. the moment when i stared over his shoulder at her, knowing it wasn’t her fault but hating her all the same; hating all of them, for causing it, for standing aside, for loving me less. i never heard indignant cries on my behalf, and absolutely no apologies. it’s not fair, but i’m not fair either. there are still memories that i can re-enter, but at a specific point i can’t move any further. living them over and over again didn’t stop my mind from cutting out the moments that i couldn’t bear, even if the “other” part wanted to. after the point where there is a blank, i can jump right to the next “safe” piece of the memory, and go right on my way. my biggest regret is not learning this early on, meaning most of my childhood doesn’t exist. it’s an empty plain where a few fuzzy flashes reside. i wasn’t much of a writer since they went through my drawers and trash and read everything, so up until high school it’s a black hole. i want to get it back because there has to be something good hiding in there. i’m not sure where to find it, but i can hear it calling me.

—X

hahahaha ron paul 2012!!

dirty harry!

circa survive!