I got a tattoo.

There, it’s out there. I’ve sat here for far too long, trying to figure out the best way to describe this thing. It’s all so….big. Huge. Just…honestly, there are no words for it. There are so many layers to what I’m feeling that it just comes out as nothing. It’s not only the aspect of having a tattoo, it’s also having this particular tattoo, having actually gone through with the decision, having sat through it, having taken the step, to be willing to face all the crap I probably will have to take for it, and dealing with the very little amount of crap that’s already been thrown at me.

I regret nothing.

And I know that I won’t. I just do. Because it’s so what I am, and now it’s been manifested as a physical part of me, as real as my skin, my brain and my heart. It’s me, and now everyone can see it. So if someone judges my tattoo, they judge me, and that’s fine. Because, like with everything else about me, if you don’t like it, then you can just walk away. Actually, run, because I don’t want you near me anyways.

I’ve been obsessed with tattoos in general for years now, and I’ve seen pictures of countless pieces of art. And even though my tattoo is about the shape of three coins, and don’t have any fancy designs or colors, it’s still the most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen. Because it is my life.

Faith, hope and love.

Please please please let me, let me, let me, let me.

Why can’t things ever work out for me? Things always have to be so fucking impossible, and no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough. Why does it always have to be so damn painful? Why? WHY?

I can barely see the screen as I’m typing this. A pathetic, blubbering mess gasping for air as the chains around her heart tighten – constricting it from beating as strongly as it wants to.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to please others, never giving my own desires any attention or care. I tried my best to go along with what everyone else wanted, trying to convince myself that it’s what I want too. Well, it wasn’t. It isn’t. It will never be. I see that now.

And so, three years ago, I finally realized what I had been doing, foolishly trying to change what is permanent, and decided that it was of no use. I finally asked myself – what do you want? And apparently, knowing what I wanted was never the problem, because I found it right away, the problem had been trying to quiet the voice which burned brightly inside of me. But I had already chosen.

I had already chosen a path that I was obliged to follow, for three years. I had to change myself once more, doing the things I hated, and not being good at them at all. I was miserable. Three years later, I still am. But I decided that I wasn’t going to take any more of this. No more.

I wasn’t going to be spending the rest of my life feeling misplaced. I was going to be passionate about something, dammit. And so the plan had become to screw everyone, the only one who’s in this is me. And the, oh so blatant, mistake I had made could be forgotten, right? Wrong.

Here I sit today, feeling a regret so deep I think I’ve reached a new level of emotion. I’m only nearly eighteen, I shouldn’t feel like this. But I do. Because now, I have ruined my entire life. I finally figured out what I want, but now I’m not good enough. All because of a stupid fucking decision.

And I’m feeling desperate, and desolate, and lonely, and to be honest – I’m loathing myself a little right now. Because how can I be so stupid? How can I manage to fuck things up so absolutely? My hope is fading, it really is. I’m begging to God, begging without an ounce of pride, to fix this, but I don’t see how this can be done. I want it so bad, but it won’t happen. And it’s all my fault. Why? Why God why?

So, for once, let me get what I want. Lord knows it would be the first time.

Happy birthday, dear blog!

Hello readers,

today this thing right here turns two years old. It’s crazy how I’ve managed to keep it for so long, especially considering that this is my first real blog. I’m going to be unrealistically optimistic and hope that I have it until I’m old and wrinkly. Imagine having an old IO, writing about the mysteries of death when she’s close to reaching it. That would be cool.

Anyways, so I decided to revisit my first post, and boy oh boy did I have me a good laugh. That version of me is such a child compared to the one that I am today (I’m not saying that I’m an adult now, but geez I was a baby). Clearly, I was overzealous, taking the idea of writing what’s on your mind without any second thought too literally. You have to admire my naivety though, I really was very excited to be writing like that. Of course, I didn’t have in mind that other people had to be able to read it as well. And by read it, I mean understand it. Every single sentence is still clear as day to me, but it’s such an excerpt from my mind that without context (really not given here at all), I would imagine that it’s just nonsense to others. I mean MASH, secret societies and a Legally Blonde reference all in one post? I must have been out of my mind.

And another thing, that I could write an entire post about in itself, is my signoff. Up until June, that would make it seven months, I ended pretty much every post with the letters “LSATYD”. Hmm. That would be Life Sucks And Then You Die. Really? I mean, okay it was taken out of my favorite book at the time (yes, I was a twihard and I still am a little bit. Come at me brah), but still – really? I can’t even remember if I actually thought that, or if I was being a little (hah!) melodramatic because was life was so boring back then.

I think I’m going to read some more of my old posts, learn something new about myself. It’s funny how we realize things about ourselves that could have been really useful at the time, but it’s like a gazillion years later and too late to be useful. Oh well, I guess learning something new about yourself is useful no matter what time.

LPATYD (Life Pwns And Then You Die)


(Warning: The following content is a bona-fide rant featuring stream of consciousness. There will be disjointed and trivial statements throughout.)

My mind is all over the place and I have to apologize to myself for not being…whole these days. Time just flows together into a flurry of nothing that takes up the space of more than something. Days go by unnoticeably and nights are marred by unsettling dreams. From the feeling of being watched, to the sense of being hunted, and just recently, the end of the world. Literally. A zombie apocalypse. Why am I sleeping so deeply, and so frighteningly? I wake up with a headache, and a pounding heart. Fear. I am weary to leave the room and entering the world, the blinding light from outside making me cower deeper into the comfort of the darkness under my blanket. Like a newborn child. But then, I force myself to get up, because life moves on. And the final step outside is a gate. A teleport. A time machine that fast forwards my day until I’m at the end. Confused. And now my thoughts are all jumbled. And Remember Me made me cry. And my faith is being tested. And my tenacity. And Henry is gone (where are you?). And people are posting pictures of tie-dye prints. And the sun will die. It’ll be in a gazillion years but it will happen. And then it’ll all be gone. And I don’t care if it’s my grandgrandgrandgrand -> infinity children, it’ll still happen. So why aren’t we trying to come up with a solution? Are we just going to leave them hanging and say “Oh well, not our problem.”? Maybe we will have time travel then. Or a way to teleport to another planet. I hope so. I really, really do. And my nails are crimson. And crushed crimson velvet is occupying my thoughts. And I think that I might be growing up, college and clubbing and being legal and having responsibilities. And being social. Oh, how I loathe the social scene. And need it to function properly throughout the day. And jelly beans. And why am I taking Spanish again? To learn Spanish.  Right.And why does the sound of Phreckles speaking in english make me want to dissolve into a puddle of nothing? To learn Spanish. No, wait. Hmm…pass. Right. And I have finally gotten over my oxymoron, which isn’t even an accomplishment, just about time. And the thought of death. Which opens up a big case of emotions. Let’s close that case. *Closes case*. And my overuse of punctuation. It’s bad. Or is it? No, I think it’s fine. It’s my “style”. Gag. Alright, my signature. And the thought that maybe becoming a nun would be easier, to run from real life. Or maybe join the Amish. And Crete is coming soon. And I’m losing touch with reality. And I’m not sad. I’m not sad. I’m not sad. I’m just confused. Really confused. Time time time. The only thing that’s constant.

My brain is ready to explode.

Back to Phreckles…and school.

An auditorium. Students streaming in through the doors, bringing with them excited noise and an air of anticipation. Me and my friend are sitting on a nearly empty bench, alone and exposed – an intentional position on my part. As the benches start to fill up, my friend murmurs observations about our returned school mates, but I’m barely listening. My eyes are trained on the door on the right, an unconscious exclusion of where it might happen. I am waiting. Waiting for the only thing I have looked forward to on this day.

As the time passes, I grow more and more frustrated. But it is a feeling muddled with fond amusement. Being late is so typical for him, and it’s a part of him I’ve grown to love. Seeing him enter quietly, pulling off his headphones with his eyes trained on the floor and the red hues of his hair glistening in the harsh fluorescents, bringing a warmth I didn’t know the lights could possess. Glancing up quickly to spot the seats that have remained vacant. I have from time to time made sure that the seat next to me is one of them. In the beginning of class, I live for those moments.

But not now. It might be okay for me to wait for you when I just saw you, less than an hour ago, but not when I’ve waited ten weeks. That is enough. Along with my frustration, I feel something else. Something I can’t really put my finger on. I feel the rate of my heart speed up and grow more frantic as I wait. What is it I am feeling? Anticipation? Nervosity? Anxiousness? Probably all of the above. But then it all dissipates.

He enters through the right door, and walks into the room, just like he always does, and I can’t keep myself from smiling. Gone is the feeling of crawling in my skin, and the rapid beating in my chest feels exactly right. I feel a soft fluttering in my stomach, and I finally understand what people mean when they talk about butterflies. I can very clearly feel the delicate flapping of a thousand wings, making me feel as light as a feather. When he takes his seat and is obscured from my view, I feel my face settle into a frown, and I try to comfort myself by thinking that I will see him again soon.

The events repeat themselves a while later when I sit in the classroom, waiting for him, once again, to make an entrance. When he does, I get the same feeling, but this time, my apparent happiness is caught by him. He smiles at me and I can feel the corners of my lips drawing further up my cheeks. I think: Oh, if you only knew how much you do with just a smile.

After the, incredibly dull, run-through of what our last high school year will entail, I go to the school office to wait for my friend, who went earlier to talk to the principal. When I get there, I see that there is a long line outside. I stop and think: “Great.” Then I remember that there are some seats just outside the door. I stand on the tip of my toes and stretch to see above the heads of the students. The seats are empty. Bingo. I squeeze my way past the line, looking down and practically chanting “excuse me”. On my way, I see a very familiar pair of Vans, but ignore that observation for the sake of my…well, sanity. I plop down on the sofa and let out a light sigh, looking up mindlessly. There he is.

He’s standing in line with a girl from class, one of the few people I actually think are pretty cool. Not in this moment though. “Uhm, we’re in line.” Excuse me? I mean, sure, she seems to genuinely want to let me know, but I have eyes that can see, Missy. I’m sure even the blind would notice the line forming, if nothing then by crashing into it on the way to…wherever. Without a thought, I reply: “Well, I’m not.” I say this with a little smirk, and feel my smugness grow as I see the embarrassed look on her face. She lets out a little laugh and I smile to let her know that it’s okay…just don’t try to make me look bad again. Her reaction doesn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is the, very genuine and not embarrassed in the least, laugh that he lets out. He laughs and laughs and at first, I’m puzzled, but can’t help joining in. We share a little look before my friend comes out from the principal’s office and we leave.

Now I’m left wondering what exactly it was that he found so funny, and the big question – what will happen? I at least know that if nothing else, my thoughts of Phreckles will keep me occupied this year. I think we’re off to a decent start, don’t you?


I haven’t felt this way all summer, and I haven’t missed it at all. This heavy rock pushing down on my chest, filled with ugly, dark emotions. I hate this so much. The loneliness tugs at me, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s causing it, and I don’t know how to make it go away. Fearing the unknown is as natural to humans as breathing, and this is the Unknown that I fear the most, second only to death itself. I feel sad and I don’t know why. It hurts.

It hurts so fucking bad.



These past couple of weeks have been fantastic. I’ve had this amazing job, spending some quality time with one of the few non-living things I love – books. I had fun every day, and learned a few things from my supervisor. I saw the last HP film, which was the epitome of bittersweetness. Mostly sweet though. I’ve been to a festival, which was one of the craziest experiences I’ve ever had. It included seeing some awesome bands, crying at a few concerts, dancing with strangers, moshing, and laughing at silly things…like seeing someone you used to consider to be pretty bland fucked up. And I mean really fucked up. Just generally living in the moment. Oh, and what might be the biggest thing – I’m getting a tattoo. Well, I’ll have to wait six months, but it’s happening. Which is bigger than getting a tattoo would normally be. Because I never do these kind of things. Things that aren’t neutral, things that can’t be taken back. I feel like I’m improving. At least I’m trying to. And trying is the first step, right?

But there’s still something missing. There’s a void, and I keep telling myself that I should be focusing on me, and let the other stuff come later, but it’s easier said than done. I thought that the summer would make me forget him. That the infatuation would fade when the “object” was taken away. I think that it had the opposite effect. Which is bad. And good. Or I don’t know. I guess I’ll just have to see when ordinary life kicks in again. Maybe this is a good thing. In any case, I’m going to focus on the here and now, and try to really enjoy my life. Because I know that I’m really lucky to have it.



I’m stuck. Trapped in a big white room of nothing, staring into brightness. My head is filled with lack of substance, a pressure applied to clear the space – to prepare it for something more. I’m in this seemingly infinite void, waiting for something. I know what I’m waiting for. I think I know what I’m waiting for.

Do I know what I’m waiting for?

Am I waiting for my destiny, or the thing that will keep me from it? Doubt fills my head as I wander, going around in circles. The eye of my mind sees a picture, a picture of my potential future. I want to reach out and touch it, but every time I try, it moves further away. Getting smaller and smaller until there’s nothing but a small black dot of insignificance left. I realize that my impatience ruins the possibility, and stop trying to bring it to me. Instantly, the picture returns to its original state. Instead, I try to see what the picture depicts. I squint my eyes, trying to discern the motif, only being met by fog. It’s of no use. I can’t touch my dream, and I can’t see it, so how do I know that it’s real?

Faith is blind.

I’ll just have to hope, and try my best, even if I don’t know exactly what I’m working for. I’ll just have to focus on the feeling alone, and make sure that it’s enough. And this, this is the ultimate test. To see if I can actually do this, if I can keep myself focused and centered enough to get where I want. To be able to meet my fate.

This is purgatory.

(The combination of burnt sienna and cyan makes my knees go weak. And it’s incredibly intricate. I could spend hours looking at this.)

Letter to Heath.

Dear Heath,

is it okay if I call you Heath? Or do you prefer mr. Ledger? I guess it doesn’t matter now. It’s all semantics. And I really love your name, I always have. Well, at least ever since I read Wuthering Heights for the first time. So, Heath…this is extremely difficult. And obviously very odd, but for some reason, I felt like I have to do this. I have to write you, a complete stranger that I’ve never even been close to knowing, a stranger that isn’t even in this world anymore, a letter. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve seen all of your movies. I’m not going to act like your performances on the silver screen saved my life. No, it’s not like that. To you, I’m just another insignificant, little human on this planet with billions of people. One tiny human who happens to know who you are. I don’t matter at all, do I? Well, you do. For some reason, you have changed me. And I ask myself, why you? Why not one of the millions of other known people who exist? Granted, the change occurred after your…death. But still. You’re not the first person to die under similar circumstances, so why are you the one that stuck? I don’t know. There’s just something about you, a certain something that can’t be put into words. When you died, everything shifted. No no, don’t fret, this isn’t some lovesick fangirl letter. I’m not stupid enough to think that it all revolves around me. But there was a change in me. In fact, there was a change in everyone. The whole world altered. And now there’s a glitch, things are slightly off. I can feel it in the air. Like something’s missing, you know? The souls of the people who live here on the planet all flow together and form a unity, but when you died, a hole was formed. A Heath-shaped hole that left the unity a little empty, and even though the remaining souls bled out to fill that hole, there is still one soul missing, and the unity is a little less harmonious. Why did you have to go and leave us Heath? Why? I don’t know exactly how or why you died. Or, at least I didn’t. Now, after searching on Wikipedia, I see that you died of an overdose of prescription meds. That it was an accident, caused by your heavy addiction. By the way, it must be strange to still have your whole life written out on one page. Or at least your public life. I guess that your movies aren’t the only thing that helps you live on, huh? Anyways, back to the topic. Your addiction. Why the fuck didn’t you get help? I’m actually a little mad at you right now, Heath. For being so careless. But of course, that anger is mixed with guilt, because I know that addiction causes weakness. And I can’t really go around saying what you should and should not have done, because I really don’t have any idea how it is to be you. How it was to be you. So I’ll just ask why. A question that isn’t directed at you, me, or anyone else in particular. It’s a question I ask the universe. A pathetic whimper to the eerie quiet of the infinite darkness. An echo that is met with complete silence. And I know that it’s useless to ask, that there are times when we all just need to move along. But I’ve never been quite fond of that idea. To move along. I like to linger. To twist and turn the thoughts in my head until there is nothing left but dust. I’m still waiting for that to happen to the thoughts I have about you. Maybe this letter will help. Maybe not. Maybe I don’t want it to help. Maybe you’ll read this. But probably not. You never know though, right? You never know. So exactly why am I writing this? Even though your films will live on forever, you’ve clearly left us. And I can tell. I think about it all the time. I’m writing this so that you know that the planet misses you. I’m writing this to say that nothing will ever be the same without you. Ever. And most of all, I write this to tell you, Heath, named after one of my dearest Byronic heroes, that I truly do hope that you’ve found some peace over there. I write this to say farewell. Farewell, Heath.



Heath Andrew Ledger

★ 4 April 1979          ✝ 22 January 2008

Coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine.


As you might have guessed, school’s over and I’m free. Finally, after all those, dark, seemingly endless hours of school, it’s done. So what have I been doing to celebrate my newfound freedom? Well, pretty much nothing. I’ve spent the past week, save for one day, doing nothing. Just moping around. It’s like a post-school depression. Except that can’t be right, can it? No, I think it’s the fact that I’ve been so used to having to do stuff that I just turned into brainless goo once I had the chance to do whatever I want. But I think I’m over that funk now. I’m bored, and I want to make the most of my summer break, because I know that I’ll regret it majorly if I don’t. Oh, and since I’ve (obviously) got the time, I’m going to get my shit together and update more often. Might give me something to look back on and reminisce about during the coming winter. Yeah, so anyways, I’m ready for the summer now. Woho. Or whatever.

Tune of the day what the fuck ever…alright, CXXXVII. Can’t be that stand-offish. It’s a classic, and it’s hella catchy. Kind of like I want my summer to be. But in a period of time, and not song, way. Yep.

Open up my eager eyes, ’cause I’m (in my case) Ms. Brightside.