“To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better”

-Abraham Lincoln-

I wasn't able to control it any longer.

I stepped into my room, dropped my things and hit the bed. I cried harder than I ever thought possible. The tears weren't all salty but they did feel acidic, as if my eyes were burning. I was so happy. Overjoyed, even. But there was also something else.

Today I saw myself standing in a false corner, telling myself I live for my own glory. Then my classmates and I won the competition for the Theology project. I wasted so many sleepless nights to work on the backdrop art for that presentation. I wasted time painting with the others, laughing with them and actually enjoying what they have to offer me. Then we won. It wasn't the victory that drove me to tears. I thanked God. I thanked him profusely that my nerve endings on every part of my body quiver with passionate gratitude. I cried not because of that contest. I cried because I was recognized for something greater than my abilities. When the class director Darren announced publicly how they're all in debt for the backdrop I made, I was moved. Somehow I felt as though I wasn't so much in solitary as I thought I was. I thought about my roommates; Mea, Sha, Kate and Vera as the tears kept coming. I laid shaking in the bed, emotions taking hold of me completely for the first time in years.

I was so overjoyed. I thanked God that he hasn't abandon me. He was all too generous. He was all too good. I was nothing more than a fool to think my life is tearing itself a part with every cold shoulder I give to the next person around me, with every nocturnal fantasy I use to comfort myself, with every lie and twisted game I play with those who want to get to close to me. Somewhat vain, somewhat immature. But all this time, I have Him. I have a friend. I was in need of shelter from my own self-destruction and I was provided with one.

I wasn't really alone. And the tears testifed to my surrender. It wasn't trickery at all or blind faith. He cares about me. He really is here now.

"You loved me when I was so unlovely.
You sought me when I was lost.
You showed me how much You really loved me
When You bought me at the higest cost.
Everything I need is You,
My beginning, my forever.
Everything I need is You..."

I burned my wrist today using a cigarette. I don't know why I did it but let's say it's a whim and I was in a mood to feel corporal pain again. My brother had burned my leg using an iron once and now years after I burned my wrist and it felt kind of nostalgic. My parents were pissed but they have to get used to the fact I'm odd. My classmates were even more baffled. I guess I have now a high threshold for pain (in many varying contexts.) The week has been very fast and I don't even write stories anymore. I just eat. I eat a lot more and I'm gaining some more. All I do in the dorm is sleep or eat. To keep my mind preoccupied, I just decided to do things out of boredom, hence the cigarette burns. Without being able to write my angst I become nothing but a placid bowl of shallowness and regret. It's not the most commendable lifestyle but it's what I chose. I did made a new fanfiction account under a different writing persona and it's strictly for Saiyuki content.

Speaking of the said anime, I've been hornier with Sanzo and I kept this little pocket-size diary to record my sexual appetite. And, yeah, one of the girls I like is pregnant. It kept me up all night (well, I have other things in mind too because it's been a busy week and I guess it does help when school work traps you in a core.) I've been selfish not to realize that sex can have consequences. I don't want a child. I do want sex. And to achieve a pregnant-worryfree sex I need to assert my own decisions. I want to be infertile. Some women want a family. I don't.

I'm in a strict Classical music diet. I almost forgot my CD collection of classical hits and now I found it. They're twelve of them, ranging from violin, cello, piano, flute, oboe, etc. I pretty much get more in tuned with my own selfish island when I listen to them and now I'm downloading other classical themes from Limewire. I guess listening to contemporary crap has finally took a toll on me. I'm not saying I don't like my Eminem, Linkin Park, Green Day and Avril. I just wanna hear instrumental old sounds right now.

Life in earth is borrowed. Being able to face that cruel realization of mortality made everything seem so useless.

Here are the pictures of my burns. They're almost healed now. Did them last Wednesday. Shaped like a crucifix.

I've seen better days. Truly did.

The last two weeks were atrocious. There are many things to accomplish and my academic purpose is declining. I'm gaining weight and I don't bother controlling my eating habits. My performance in Chemistry is bleak and I missed Teacher's Evaluation and has to endure an adult ranting about "teaching me discipline" and all the stuff adults make you wanna crap out of your system. Luckily I can paint the backdrop for our Theology musical though I have to miss one meeting again for the interview. They actually have fees: 20 for late, 25 for excuse and 50 for absent. They've leaked...see...50+50+25+25= 145. Ah hell, anything for the contribution to buy materials like paint cans and canvas.

So I've seen better days. I do hope our Thesis will come along nicely about Autism and the Biomedical Approach. I guess it helps to distract yourself with this normal things because life is just a pain in the ass. I also have to go to the guard to tell him/her I change parnters so the next time he/she checks my new partner's name, it's on his/her stupid list. Dammit, one of these days a student would hopefully bring a gun to school and kill us because we all deserve to die!!!

...see, now I need constant doses of happy pills.

Now, I also wasted money on printing pictures (320) buying a Saiyuki manga (75) and some art materials to make my scrapbook for the printed pictures (55.)

I hope that the semester ends...well, well, I still have summer school.

Bitch.

I got my wish. The four girls are moving to a condo and I will be left alone just as I envisioned it. The day would be exactly how I imagined it to be. Their bags packed beside each other. Their scent and laughter that kept me awake will drown into a near black hole. They won't look my way and they would walk together, speaking in riddles of their absurd language of teenage glee and never look my way. I wouldn't look their way too. It would be the perfect portrait of no regrets, of submission to the things you wished to control but cannot. I won't look their way. Even an exchange of breath would be much dreaded in my part. Not everything should be difficult. This is almost too easy. I was successful deleting Mea and Vera's picture in my phone, the three of us smiling like cheap whores, the picture cropped and designed using PhotoImpact. I deleted it and it was gone. I would delete them too when I find some time. Then when the day I stated earlier finally arrives, all that would be left to the room would be my artworks and series of insomnia-driven nights on working plot storylines. I have the world to myself. Somehow even though they will take the fridge with them, the fridge will always  be me. My cold surfaces are unable to take the piling of their shitload so goodbye. The sweetest symphony of no regrets is final absolution, goodbye without even looking back. Never look my way and I never look at yours.

Not so difficult at all. So simple, as a matter of fact.

It’s been almost four months since I updated my stories in Fanfiction.Net. If I ever did update, it was with chapters I’ve already finished beforehand when I still have the free time, otherwise I may not be complaining of this epidemic that has consumed me. A fellow writer concluded that it was a writer block and that there’s no need to worry. College has also taken my time and I find myself unable to bear sitting in front of a laptop and just type away like I normally do once upon a time. There may be a lot of variables to consider and the first that comes to mind is the lack of inspiration. My artistic temperament suffered procrastination several times but I know this time there’s something different. I’m exhausted with my real life outside the alias of Harley Cooper and it may also contribute to this temporary decline in my writing progress. I’ve almost given up fanfiction writing but I promise to stick around until my obsession with Death Note wanes. 

I don’t need to discuss about the hate mails I receive occasionally but they do have a proportionate significance. I don’t want to discuss about the writers I adore and who have greater kind of caliber than my own style; they inspire me but also corrupt my own faith in my craft. There were the old days when I am comfortable with my talent and skill but now I feel the need to compete with an unknown enemy within me hence I felt being compromised with the person I should trust most: my own self, the writer who wishes to endure and prevail among the other young hopefuls. Should I let it defeat and conquer me? My writing is a symbol of my individuality, the breathing epitome of my creed and my utmost passion. It was my oxygen, dammit but to my dismay, real world has seemingly taken it as its prisoner.

I sit in front of the laptop and worry about the papers I have to finish for school. If I come up with an idea for a next chapter in one of my stories, they are left to rest in a draft, never to be explored and typed. It seems to me that I’m being torn apart between my love for the affirming glory I get from writing and my duty as a young girl of seventeen majoring in her Special Education course. These are the times when college sucks you from exhausting your other abilities in the areas you love most. These are the times when the only way you could write a story is during class when the teacher disinterests you. These are the times when you do wonders with your unlimited internet connection in your house but fail to come up with decent plots for the stories you promised to work on. These are the times when you’re doomed because you received academic probation and wanted to release the frustration of your failure in accomplishing a written piece, all the while basking in pride with the countless affirming reviews from readers, but suddenly cannot resort to that.

Sometimes I wish, in my deepest regret, that I never encountered fanfiction and that I somehow should have stayed in the comforts of the dark zones of my imagination. I shouldn’t have bred my ideas if only to cost me an unbearable loss in the process. I am a writer. I succeeded proving to everybody who knew me that my identity as one can never be tumbled upon. But alas, my confidence must have borderline arrogance. I write this now because there is no other catharsis available for me. I write this now because I want somebody to hear my screams, to look into my eyes and tell me that I am worthy of this talent, that I have not yet failed and I have more in store for me.

In my recent journal entry, I did say that I’m fierce and still staying. How I wish I could still say it proudly as I had. Now I must retire to my obligations in life such as coming up with the missing reaction papers for my subject Intro to SPED 2. I should also bear in mind that if I ever do find the strength to flourish again as a writer, I must hold onto it because I know I may be drained again from its power.

I've been down this road walkin' the line That's painted by pride And I have made mistakes in my life That I just can't hide  Oh I believe I am ready for what love has to bring Got myself together, now I'm ready to sing  I've been searchin' my soul tonight I know there's so much more to life Now I know I can shine a light To find my way back home