- Creed Lyrics




Yet another song made of love.

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

Current Mood: loved

Cut- Plumb
I'm not a stranger
No I am yours
With crippled anger
And tears that still drip sore
A fragile frame aged
With Misery
And when our eyes meet
I know you see

(chorus)
I do not wanna be afraid
I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists I find it when
I am cut

I may seem crazy
or painfully shy
Amd these scars wouldn't be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye
I feel alone here and cold here
No I don't wanna die
But hte only anesthetic that makes me feel anything
Kills inside

(chorus)
I do not wanna be afraid
I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists I find it when
I am cut

I am not alone
I am not alone

I'm not a stranger
No I am yours
With crippled anger
And tears that still drip sore

(chorus)
I do not wanna be afraid
I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists I find it when
I was cut

Dare I say how much I love this song? It makes me feel strong enough to get through the dark days when all I want to do is get that blade and see how hard I can cut into myself. To sound cliche'd, it makes me feel a little less alone, a little less of a freak.
Much as it is great to stand out, to be apart from the 'norm', anyone who is truly different only wants to be the same as every one else. Take (because I am slightly narcissistic) myself (or perhaps it is because only I can tell really wtf I am thinking, I'm not a mind reader, its not like I can actually see/hear you thoughts. Wouldn't it be interesting to taste thoughts but now I am sooo left of center its really not funny). Anyway, take myself. I only want to be like everyone else. I want to work in a boring arsed job, I want to be able to speak to people (you know, that thing where you open your mouth and words come out- so very different to thinking things) I want to be able to go out in crowds or have a couple drinks without feeling like I'm on a bad trip.
Hellooo- sure its a great life- I can't work, have trouble interacting with people and struggle with anxiety all the time.
Top that off that when I finally start getting comfortable around people I forget about the scars. There is only so freaking many times that I can tell people that 'oh I ran into a barbed wire fence.'before I finally lose my cool and tell the truth. Then you look at me like I'm crazy.
Hello?!?!?! You see scars, of various ages, various states of healing running from wrist to shoulder and you ask what happened. When I actually tell the truth (which I did politely) and say 'Oh, I self injure, I'm not crazy, and I'm not going to hurt anyone besides myself' you start edging away, looking at me as if I'm going to whip a freaking arsenal out of my bra and start randomly attacking people.
I guess its just not 'cool' enough to self injure, let alone when I bring up the other side of my illness.
Oh yeah, you should see the reactions when I mention about my PTSD. Again with the edging, and the disbelieving stares. I mean WTF. Yes, I have PTSD, no I'm not a returned serviceman or have been in any sort of war, and most of all no, I don't feel like sharing my deepest most painful experience with you, a total fucking stranger. I have enough issues actually speaking to the people in my life about it who I give a damn about, you know, like my partner and even my therapist.
Yeah, grow a fucking brain people. Its like asking some one how they are today, only to get that frozen oh fuck grimace on their face when you actually tell them you feel like shit. Ok hon, ask a question people are going to answer you honestly (or at least occasionally). I guess this means that I have no place in my life for social niceties. At least when it comes to questions which are treated as rhetorical but most definitely aren't.
Talking about public assumptions, I despise the people who call me emo. I am not fucking emo. Do you see skinny leg jeans anywhere, kitchy little badges promoting bands and other little slogans? do you see me as dressing to the cliche?
No, so fuck off. Don't you dare tell me that I am some little fad. I was cutting and burning before I found out it had a name. I cut because I have a desire to claim parts of me back. I cut to not feel so numb, I cut to not feel to much pain inside, and I cut to punish myself.
Sure the self titled 'emo' crowd (or what people perceive as 'emo') may express themselves by cutting, but not every cutter or self injurer is emo. I actually find myself wanting to grab them by the ears and shake them, hard.
Not that I blame them, I mean, every generation has had its slightly left of center clique. We've had punks, goths, and now we have the 'emo' crowd. Truly I couldn't give a flying rabbit what so called group, if any, you claim. Just be yourself, be happy, and for fucks sake, find a better way of expressing yourself then with a razor blade.

Current Mood: anxious

Sometimes, occasionally, life does more then suck.


Let me tell you a story, or rather share a story with everyone (not that I think anyone actually reads this.)

Anyways, this is the story.

I grew up with two brothers, a sister and both parents. To those looking in, mine was a perfect family. They didn't know what happened when no one was around.

My oldest sister is ten years older than me. She left home when she was seventeen because she had enough of my parents fighting with each other. They were never violent, and it was Mum who usually did the yelling. She always said the worst things to me, no matter who she was mad at. I was always the one who seemed to catch the focus of her anger, and I was the one who reacted most to her words. It was as if she was never satisfied till I was in tears.

My childhood after that gets a bit fuzzy. I was sexually abused by my brothers at different points of my life.

My eldest brother started touching and 'playing' with me when I was seven or eight. At first it was touches, then he had me kiss and perform oral sex acts on him. Eventually it led to intercourse. He would even put his hands into my pants and penetrate me while my parents were driving the car. He just didn't care. I often wonder why I didn't tell then–I think deep down I was ashamed and confused. I didn't want my brother to get into trouble.

I remember one of the last times he had intercourse with me–I must have been eleven or so. He used me then held me down. He called my twin in and told him to 'have a go'.

Yes, my twin. At that point I was physically bigger than him, but it didn't matter. I was numb, and stayed that way for years.

My twin took up the mantle, so to speak. While he never initiated intercourse with me, he would grab at my breasts, strip me naked, watch me in the shower, force me to endure oral sex from him, as well as fondle me while I slept.

All throughout these years (it went on till I left home at eighteen) I was being belittled by my mother, yelled at, slapped and pretty much treated like I was below everyone else.

I remember attempting to tell her when I was thirteen about what was going on. I had barely broken into the conversation before she cut me off and told me I shouldn't listen to rumors. It took me nine years to be able to speak of it to anyone again.

I ended up writing my mother a note, telling her what had happened, a couple of years ago. She, well, she pretended that I hadn't left the note. I approached her about it and was told, "What do you want me to do about it?"

My relationship with my mum is getting a little better–she at least doesn't rant at me when I refuse to come to family events. It is the other problems I have that cause a lot more problems.

I have guilt over my abuse–I mean, I felt dirty and at times it felt good but I didn't want it. I don't know whether it would have been easier to speak of it if my body hadn't reacted physically to what was done.

I have been told that I have PTSD from counselors. I haven't gone to a psychologist to have a formal diagnosis because I can't afford it; however, I guess even knowing that I'm not crazy is some sort of relief. I spend every day with high anxiety levels, panic attacks and depression. I get stressed out enough over small things to the extent that I don't feel hungry so I don't eat. I have flashbacks and almost nightly nightmares which make me unwilling to sleep–the worst are when I wake up in a dark room thinking that some one is touching me. My poor partner (who is very understanding) has been hit by me far too many times when I come out of a nightmare. He says it's lucky that I hit like a girl. Me, well, I still feel guilty that at times my wake up response is to fight if I'm startled.
I also panic in crowds, in bathrooms and even just walking out the door. I slip into dissociative states and I self harm to the extent that my left arm and thigh are covered in scars from self inflicted cuts and burns.

I survived being sexually abused, but I still feel broken on the inside at times. I feel like I'm in so many little pieces, each edge razor sharp. I might try to put the pieces back together, but it only cuts me up into so many more.

Thanks for listening to my story. I hope that one day I can heal enough to function in society.






Yes, this is me. This is my story.

Life, I live it.

Chaos

Current Mood: pensive

Find me a cure

A light in the dark

Lost I am, alone

Come find me love,

don't leave me here

I'm sorry.

I can't control me

Find the off switch

Let me go.

I'm falling, flying

Leave me alone

Let me cling

I feel your warmth

Reassuring heat

Melts the ice inside.

Don't blame me for this

I can't seem to stop

My own addiction

A love of pain.

My broken soul

Shattered into shards

Millions of glimmerings

I slice you deep

make you bleed.

Inflict my pain upon you.

Forgive me love?

I don't want you to feel this

Bad enough I do.

Just want to hide it

You see through me

See the truth

Love, you see me.

Current Mood: contemplative

RL is actually looking up.

Had a job interview the other day (one of many mind you) and they are going to highly recommend that I be hired.

*bounces and runs around nekkid*

*coff*

Oh rat girls are going good. Silk her usual vivacious self, Whisp is still having problems with lung issues though. Think the damage is already done and she won't ever breathe any easier :(

May put my big cage on lay buy when I get this job. Is big, the ratty girls will love it.

Current Mood: bouncy

You don't know me, not really
I just see your pain, a whole sea away
and cry with you.
I don't want you to hurt, it hurts me too
just let me hold you, let me share it with you
This pain I see, a desperate measure
did he not cry for help? did no one hear him
This action he took no way was it right
Still he found a way to share his own pain
He chose this path, of blood and death
I'm sorry for your loss, your pain, your tears
Think but a moment for theirs.
They are the other victims, his family
He may not have fired a bullet into their midst
yet that betrayal was one inconcievable
His family, just one more left torn and broken
His actions hurt them too, reflect on them.
Give them Mercy, forgive them please
Give them the chance to forgive themselves.

Current Mood: gloomy

Really.

WTF? I mean, how the hell am I supposed to keep dealing with this shit. Told parents the other day that I was planning on moving out in a couple of months.

Their comment. . . . . Why? is it that so bad living with us?

No mum. I have no problem living with you, cleaning your house, cooking your food. I have no problem doing your washing and looking after your animals.
I have no problem with being expected to do all that, manage my depression, self harming OCD and panic attacks. I have no problem living with my brother who sexually abused me for ten years.

Duh
WTF

can't wait to get out.

Okay, don't everyone die of shock, but. . . . I met some one.
A Guy even (yes I know, not so long ago, I was so sure I was gay). I mean I just didn't find *anything* remotely attractive about males.

And then I meet Luke. I mean, he makes me feel safe. He doesn't judge me for the scars on my arm. He doesn't freak when I do, in fact he keeps me centered.

Luke is one of the few sweet guys out there, really. He makes me feel like I could be loveable. I'm just not sure if I am ready to love. This isn't to say I don't care about him, or that I am not attracted to him, but I am majorly messed up.

I mean really. Between what my brothers did to me growing up to Warren beating the crap out of me and treating me like I was nothing and Clinton, well, politely he raped me. He was a sadistic bastard about it too. I mean, he pretended he was a dom but had no idea, not really on how to treat a sub.

See. Just a little messed up. And yet, Luke makes me feel safe. I can't remember what safe was like, not really. It's suprising to feel it now.

I guess we'll just see what happens. I just hope that I don't hurt him. Me, well, I've survived worse. Him though, I don't ever want to hurt him. That would hurt me more then anything he could ever do to me.

Current Mood: loved