So I’ve got my main, this one.
And my Brony blog of slow start.
I’ve got a private blog of nothing but dreams. 
And I’ve gotten a few posts going on my music blog.
But I think I would like an art blog.  To post my drawings and to show what I can do.  You know, outside of peering DeviantArt eyeballs.

I know it’s all excessive, but I’m just searching for more ways to express who I am and what I stand for, how I see things.
I sound stupid though, and I think pretty soon I’m going to have to get rid of these blogs for being untouched.  But that’s okay.  I just needed to be sure some part of me got out into the world somehow. 

I gotta stop reblogging crap.

typicalbrony:

youdumbdominick-might-be-a-brony:

pyralspite:

Who remembers

Motherfucking Scholastic

Book

Orders

And then the magical travelling romani circus of scholastic would randomly show up and you’d never care to buy any books but they had AWESOME gadgets and toys for sale

at the motherfucking BOOK FAIR

Holy shit! I WOULD SAVE PENNIES FOR THIS!

Oh god these ;-; best days of my life.

This shit must be special as fuck in order for me to reblog it.

Today has just been a mess for me.  I know that there are people out there who are worse off than I am but sometimes I just don’t feel okay.

Well, first off I just want to mention that yesterday I accidentally hurt my boyfriend’s injured wrist.  He does this thing where his tone of voice completely changes and he drawls out curse words and every time I hear it I want to cry.  It scares me and it makes me so uncomfortable and I can’t stand being around him when he does it to me.  Hurting him triggered that and something in me wanted to stop it from happening ever again.  So I grabbed the arm with the hurt wrist and held it down.  Tried to stop him from touching me with it.  ’Cuz you know, I was JUST gonna hurt it again.  It was excessive but I ended up unsuccessful in keeping it away.  We began walking home.  He asked me what was wrong.  A lot.  He offered to carry my books.  A lot.  I kept saying no and didn’t want to make eye contact with him.  At all.  After a while, I finally gave him one of my books and told him what I thought.  That I didn’t like his cursing, the evil tone I mean.  That I didn’t like whenever it was my fault too.  And he told me it was okay.  Not to worry.

WELL, THAT WAS A LOAD OF BULLSHIT.

Today this morning I found him in the cafeteria like usual.  I sat next to him and laid down across his legs like usual.  I decided to tell him about a creepy-ass dream I had last night.  In the dream there were schoolmates, a theater for Jeff Dunham’s show (I don’t even know who that is but I know that there are puppets), and ponies.  Well, when I told my boyfriend about the pony part, that it was my first pony dream, he didn’t take it too kindly.  He’s a fierce Brony-hater.  So he called me a faggot.  That pissed me off like hell.  I’m going out with him for shit’s sake.  So I slapped him.  And he glared at me, lowered his voice and started cursing.  And he pushed me off of him.  I sat up and stared off, feeling my face get hot and my eyes fill with tears.  I don’t deal very well with things like that.  So I wrote down the rest of my dream on a sheet of paper, threw it at him, and ran up the stairs when the bell rang.  

During third period, my lovely piano class, I was busy practicing for a few seconds after the bell rang.  Then, my worst enemy walked through the doors and I had to stop.  He’s working on Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven and he takes up at least 4 octaves on the keyboard we’re on together.  I’m working on Chopin’s Prelude from Opus 28 No. 4, and I can barely get 3 octaves to myself if I’m lucky.  Whenever I try to play I’m always afraid of running into his hands.  It sucks.  Before, I used to practice all I want, but since my piano teacher moved him with me, he’s excelled in his piece and I barely get a note in on mine.  Well, since I couldn’t practice, I decided to write some poetry ideas down.  He looked at me, shook his head and said “Trash… Always writing.”  He calls everyone and everything trash so I didn’t really get offended by that.  But he had such a negative tone when he said that I just had to ask “So what’s the problem with that?”  You know what he told me?  The fucker said “It’s annoying.”  I felt like punching him.  He’s so much better than me at guitar playing (I can’t play at all), piano playing, songwriting, poetry writing, et cetera.  And he couldn’t let me have my obsession with writing.  He couldn’t let me have one thing.  I looked at him for a second, and put down my pen.  I didn’t need his shit after what happened in the morning.  He said “You know what, you’ll impress me once you write a song.  You have a piano at home.  You can work something out.”  Bullshit!  I can’t write no motherfucking music!  But I HAVE to be better than him.  I just have to.  So I’m just… I’m just trying hard.  I know he said my writing is annoying.  But I’m afraid he’s just joking about it.  Cuz I always take him seriously at the wrong times.

I wish we were best friends like before.  I miss it.  During 5th period my classmates kept asking if I had the notes for class and over and over again I would say that I left them in my other notebook.  You know.  The one with my poetry in it.  And it sucked because for some reason whenever I get into 5th period my mood fluctuates and I can’t think straight.  It’s supposed to be my favorite class.  But I can’t do it.  Everyone has a connection in this class.  But I feel the most alone.  I heard a lot of students got scholarships.  And what am I?  I’ve got nothing.  Because of the one time I let a stranger review one of my scholarship essays.  He crushed my dream, tore up every part of my essay, basically told me it was crap.  After that I never wrote another essay for a scholarship again.  I know I should but I’m only gonna be disappointed…

In 7th period, this weirdo called me a loser.  I usually play games with this girl who I’m gonna call JJ.  JJ always wins.  If we have point systems she beats me by at least 20-100 points.  It sucks but we have fun.  But the weirdo calls me loser and I don’t know how to do anything and it just makes me feel worse.

Finally, after school we had to take a practice AP exam for Calculus class, which I totally definitely hate.  Math is not my best subject and staying after school until 5 pm when today was supposed to be an early release day?  Totally sucked.  Well, I would like to put out there that I have plenty of scars on my arms, shoulders, legs.  All self-made, of course, because of a lack of thinking, because of pain, regret, and sadness and guilt.  Because of hatred of myself.  I’m not afraid to say it online.  Because no one I know will be out to judge me. But at school… Just recently I started to come to school without sleeves.  Not because I FINALLY want the world to know that I cut, but because it’s the summer, and it’s hot.  I didn’t want to come home covered in sweat and having to wash my jackets every minute.  Well, every day I’ve been wondering why anyone hasn’t said anything to me about my cuts.  I wasn’t looking for attention per se, but I was just wondering how they couldn’t notice them.  They either can’t see them, I do a good job of hiding them, or they choose to ignore me about it.  Well, for the first time, one of my friends (well, she calls herself that so I guess I can too) saw my scars.  Instead of asking if I was okay, she decided to call me crazy.  To tell me that I needed a psychiatrist.  That I was a bad person for doing them.  I’m like… “Uh… Don’t worry these were from a long time ago.”  I expected her to be like “I can’t believe you used to do that.”  or “Wow, you really have done that before?”  But no.  She proceeded to tell me how SHE almost started cutting because of these couple of bitches we know.  How SHE wanted ME to be her psychiatrist because “calulus made her all depressed.”  She switched it all over to her.  I was so close.  I thought that I finally found someone who cared.  But I was wrong.

‘Cuz no one does.

When I got home, I had  a craving for piano songs.  I went onto Pandora and played the Yiruma radio.  Mom listened to me and walked into the room saying, “See, I want you to play piano like that.  Why can’t you be good like that.”  I got a little loud but I said “Well, you gonna pay for my lessons?”  Then she said “I want you playing the songs, singing these songs like this one you’re listening to.  Singing it.”  I got mad.  ”These songs don’t even have lyrics in them!”  Then she kept talking.  And apparently, she thinks that all piano music is religious.  Big fail.  This woman.  Seriously.  I hate her.  She kept going on about trying to make me communicate with God and “sing the Jesus songs” and shit like that and I’m just like… BULLSHIT.  She was never interested in my piano crap in the first place.  She and Dad cut off my lessons when I was little and now I don’t know how to play.  It sucks.  She’s been getting more health and religion oriented nowadays and it leaves no room for opinion that differs from her and that’s what I hate.  She doesn’t care who you are, she’ll just preach and preach and won’t let you breathe.  She thinks that her religion is the only religion and— she just doesn’t understand anything!!  Why do people who CONVERT from religions think they know everything about their new one? It’s so stupid.  Not only that, but to add to the mess she starts talking about money.  A lot.  I can’t deal with any pressure to get a job, to stop going to college after her years of incessant bitching and whining for me to go.  I hate her.

I don’t give a fuck if this is too long to read.  If you take the time to read this I will have so much respect for you.