This Isn't Good.

Tonight, I feel like I could die.

I hate my family.

Fucking Frustrated

I feel to bottled up right now. Like I have all these pieces that belong somewhere but I can't find the right pieces that fit together. I'm so fucking sick of it. I'm so tired of feeling like I need to cry, but I can't cry, which only makes me angrier. I'm so tired of feeling like I KNOW someday I'll be famous, but it's just right out of my reach, just beyond my grasp, and I struggle to reach it, and it's right there, but it's laughing at me. And it jumps out of my clutches every time I almost have it. I'm tired of people hating me. I'm tired of hating people. I'm tired of being fat, and being told that I'm not, but knowing that deep down I am. I'm tired of hating myself but not wanting to die. It's like I'm in a fucking Mexican Standoff. I can't sit here and do nothing but that's ALL I can do.

And there's this little fucking voice inside of me screaming, "You can control this! Stop! Think! Breathe! You're unstable! Give yourself a second and it'll all be okay." I don't have the patience to give myself that second, because that second is actually three years away, six years away, forever a-fucking-way, I don't want to wait.

I was happy, and there was this little voice inside my mind saying, "Be careful. This happiness won't last, and you know it. It always goes away." And I just brushed it off because I was basking in my happiness. But that's gone. And now I sit every day, feeling as if there's a knot inside of me that needs to be untied, but no one knows how to untie it and until someone comes along, it's just stuck. It's just fucking stuck. And that's what I am right now. I'm stuck. I'm fifteen. I have no life. I'm on probation. I can't do drugs, I can't party, I don't have friends who like to party. I want fame. But fame is for the people with sob-stories. I don't have a sob-story. I'm just Savannah Fucking Hill. Savannah Fucking Hill who expresses herself with music that I didn't write, with stories that I didn't write, with everything that's not mine.

I'm so pissed all the time that I'm dangerous. I don't want to die, but that pisses me off more because all I can do is sit here and wish things would get better. Wish wish wish. FUCKING WISH. I don't want to die, because then there will always be 'what-ifs', but I'm always queasy, because I KNOW there's more out there. More that's unattainable to me. FUCK. I'M SO FRUSTRATED I JUST WANNA SCREAM AT EVERYONE. I wanna punch shit and kick shit and hurt people but there's no one I can do that to, and if I did I'd get arrested. I'm just stuck. I'm stuck. I feel like I'll always be stuck. Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

God Hates Me

Yes, it's official. God has officially decided to disown me as one of his creations. I'm no longer Savannah the human, but Savannah (That-Thing-That-I-Can't-Kill-Off-For-Some-Reason-That-Is-Only-Known-By-Me).

I've had such a hard fucking time with people, being accepted and loved and all. I just wish I could die so I wouldn't have to fucking deal with people.

The person that I felt the most for in this world left me on my ass, and now I have to act like I'm okay so he doesn't pester me. He doesn't understand things, I don't think. I act fine during the day but it totally comes out at night, and I feel like I can't control it. I can't STAND it.

Sad music is the only thing that doesn't remind me of him right now. I want so much to hurt myself, but I won't do it.

I think I'll learn new piano music.

Fleeting Memories

There are days when I can just sit here, thinking. Memories come and go like a slideshow moving to fast for one to comprehend what the pictures are, but I still know what they are. I still know, when I see rain scenes and then my mind moves onto something else, I still remember what days they were. I still remember who I was with, what I was wearing, where I was. I wish one memory could stay longer than a fleeting second, but as the days move farther away, the memories stay for less time.

Rain makes me think. It makes me think of darkness, of sorrow, but at the same time, it brings back memories of another day, another place, another time, when things were okay. When things were different, when I was allowed to run in the rain with my friend because we had nothing better to do. When such things wouldn't be considered juvenile because "you're too old for that." And as I get older, I get less and less innocent. I start changing, molding myself into an image I believe will be accepted by society.

I always told myself I would never do such a thing, but as I look back, I always have. I've always changed my shape and ways so that I would not be considered "crazy," or "stupid," because, as much as any self-respecting human hates to admit it, that's the only way to get by. You simply cannot survive by just "being yourself." You must learn to accept that society has its views on things, and that's all that matters.

If you want a tattoo, but the job you want or do doesn't allow them, you will not get a tattoo. If you want black fingernails, but your school has banned them, you will not do it. Rules are what shapes us. Deep inside, we all wish we could be brave enough to do the things we truly long to do, but society has such a band-aid on us, that the sting would be more than a sting if we ripped it off. If we removed the proverbial band-aid and allowed our scars to show, society would not accept us and only push us away. The sting would become a slight burn, until the pain was so white-hot that we were forced to put on another band-aid, this one also approved by the FDA of life.

If our scars are deep enough, society puts a bandage on us. Society wraps us so tightly that we cannot break free, until our nurse decides it's time for another bandage, and for a little while, we are truly ourselves. But then the nurse gets back with the gauze and tape and wraps us right back up again.

Speaking in metaphors again, eh Savannah?

Yep.

Interview With Savannah

So, Savannah, where did you begin your writing career?

Well, it was a couple of years ago, and all my friends were into writing fanfictions. I was pretty good at essay and term papers, so I thought it'd be a cool idea to write my own story. Of course, having been in seventh grade, it sucked complete balls, but, hey, it was my start. I remember it was long and ridiculous, with original characters thrown in here and there because I didn't know enough about the actual characters to write a story.

Hn, interesting. So, Savannah, if you had to choose anyone from any fandom, who would you date?

Oh, that's a fun question. I guess, well... It varies with my mood, right now I'm stuck on Itachi, from Naruto. Although, if Naruto, Kakashi, Iruka, Jiraiya, Deidara, Sasuke, Gaara, Kiba, Shikamaru... Oh, I should stop. This is bad, I feel like a whore! D:

Coolio. So, aside from the fanfiction crap, do you have any bad habits?

Well... I'm a pot head? And I smoke cigarettes, but I intend on quitting. I guess, I should, really, it's not that healthy. Oh, and I bite my nails. Haha, wow.

Why do you do these things, Savannah?

I started smoking cigarettes because it was really the only thing to do in Small-Town USA. I really had every intention to quit after a week or so (I'm so stupid sometimes), but it never happened. And here I am today. I don't do it because I have to now, either. I really do it because I enjoy it. It's not a damned rebellion thing, either. I really just want to live my life as it comes at me, not worrying about the future. I mean, I'll make decisions that will ultimately affect my future, as in my job and life, but not really my health. I'm not going to get into hardcore drugs or anything, oh no. Just weed and cigarettes, that'll satiate me. I've been biting my nails since I was able to lift my fingers to my mouth, so... Now that I have braces, I can't really do it anymore, though.

Okay... You're weird. Anyways, what do you like to do in your spare time?
Well, there's a number of things. I play piano, sing, write, draw, and ride horses. I've been playing piano for seven years now, I've been drawing for... er... EVER, I've sang since I was able to talk, and I've ridden horses for around six years. I actually had my own two horses when I lived in Small-Town USA, and when I moved out to the city I had to sell them. That was one of the hardest things I think I've ever had to do. And then I also had to leave behind my HEIRLOOM piano. Ugh, that pissed me off. But I have a Korg keyboard in Big City USA, so I'm not completely instrument-less.

Hm. If you could be any animal, what would it be?

Oh, that's easy. A horse, of course. As long as I was in under good owner-ship, then, hell yeah.

Okay, that was an interesting interview. Any last comments?
I'll be back... with weapons.

Untitled

I've been having these weird dreams lately. I've been seeing glimpses of a woman in her mid-thirties, she's got brown hair tied back and a white 1800's style dress with a blue apron on. She seems to be cleaning or cooking in the kitchen, and has several children running around her. She's got an older daughter working alongside her, and she looks disdainful. So does the daughter.

I'm curious as to whether or not I'm seeing glimpses into my previous life. It would be amazing if that was it, wouldn't it? I'm curious as to why no one wants to know if they've had a previous life or not. If reincarnation is real, I wonder how far I've come. My soul, I mean. How many lives have I had? Every soul has to start somewhere, right? I wonder if I've lived once or twice, or maybe seven or ten times? I wonder how many of my lives have been happy and prosperous, and I wonder how many of my lives have been depressing and ended in a sorrowful death.

In the Wiccan religion, suicide is not a terrible thing, but is punished. Wiccans do not shun those who've killed themselves, and embrace the souls of the suicides as they have the natural deaths, but as a reincarnation, your next life will be just as bad, if not worse than it was before.

I've been reading a lot of fanfiction lately. I wish I could amount to something like these Mary Sues do. It's not fair. I sit here, I read all night, I go to bed, I wake up, I bitch about hating life, I go to school, I work for seven hours at school, I come home on the trolley, I do homework, I read, I go to bed, I wake up and repeat the process. These people in these stories wake up, intend on doing their daily routine, and somehow, something fucks it up. I wish I could have a not-so-ordinary life. Ah.... I feel like I'm not living up to the standard I'm supposed to because I have no special talents. Sure, I can draw, sure, I can write, play piano, and ride horses, but it's all mediocre! I mean, I do it, and it never seems to be good enough. I'm no Picasso, I'm no Chopin, I'm no Parelli, I'm no Orwell. I want to be all these things. I want to be extraordinary and get peoples' approval at first sight, but I can't. I have to work my ass off to get what I want, to get where I need to be, and no one else seems to need to do these things. Everyone knows everyone except me. It sucks.

I long to find the approval of those who mean most to me, but my heart can't even win the approval of my mother. She says it's a cruel heart. She told me she hopes it grows up as I grow up, for it's a mean heart. I've striven to obtain a mean heart, don't you see? So no one will use me like they would if I had a kind heart. I can make my heart kind if you are deserving, but I need the ability to make it stone if necessary. No one seems to understand this, and I feel so alone. I see people for what they really are: Smelly, nasty, rude, obnoxious, uncaring creatures who's main goal is to reach the top, no matter who they kill in the process. And I desperately wish I wasn't human for this reason. As George Orwell said, "Animal's only enemy is man." I wish I could hide my heart away where no one could find it, where if it was found, it would be impenetrable and unstoppable.

And I wish I could hide away from all the stupidity in this wretched world.

Yellow Cat (Slash) Red Cat

Oh, oh man. Wow. Shit has happened in the past week that I wouldn't believe could be possible. And you know what? I really don't care anymore.

It kind of sucks. You know, I constantly feel on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I'm fighting it, but how long can I fight it for, you know? Honestly.... People are only so strong.... And I think I have an ulcer. My stomach hurts a lot. Meh. But the title of this blog is a song that belongs to Say Anything, the greatest band ever. Well, for now, at least. Until I find something else that can fulfil the blank spot in my muse. Oh, and as an afterthought, you should really look up the works or Hiromi Uehara. She's an amazing Japanese jazz pianist. She's quite talented (as are all Japanese folk). Oy vey. I made a bunch of multi-lingual friends. It's fun speaking in different languages with them. I hardly ever update, and as time has passed, my muses have gotten less and less interesting, ne? Just a few suggestions here and there, and few complaints, and a few updates. Nothing too interesting.

Well, I s'pose I should end this since I'm only wasting energy. Goodnight, patrons.