Trust

Trust is the most important thing to me in the world. I want to let her in, it feels wrong not to, but please give me an answer, why does it also feel so wrong when I do?

“She will never be forgotten. The way she lived her life was extraordinary and special. She’s the hero of our time. Please Remember her.” I closed the book, and looked up at my teacher. “Thank you, Elena” he said, and the bell rang, people hurried out, and the only one left in the room, was me. I sighed and left quietly, no one needed to see where I was going. The same place, every break, every day. Just like I got up in the morning, going to the same high school, the same way, the same classes, everyday. Going to the toilet with my razor blade everyday was just part of the routine.

Home. I didn’t like home as I once had. Once home had been the safest place I knew, with the people in it who could keep me safe: My sister and my dad. Now my sister was gone, just like my mom, but I got to see them once in a while. My dad was still there, but things weren’t the same. I’d grown up, and he somehow knew that I could take care of myself, and that was fine, totally, but then he started to get his own friends. That was fine too, if it wasn’t the fact that he drank with them every single day. I came home as usual, the door was locked, as usual, I was alone in the house, as usual. Another part of the routine that was going on 200 days a year. The days I went to school. Maybe I’d grown up, but I was only 15 and my dad should have enough brain to figure out that I still needed him. Home had become a place unsafe, and hateful. It was like when I walked the step to our front door, the house said. “Oh, it’s you again. Why couldn’t you just stay away, you know we don’t want you here.” That was what made that day so special. My day had gone like every other day, the blood on my arm hadn’t dried yet, and I had thought, that five minutes after I’d got home, I would clean the razor blade again. The house spoke to me, but what it said almost knocked me of my feet. “Welcome home, Elena. You’ll find your way, just wait and see, and most important of all. Believe it, I do.” That day, and the next changed my life forever. I unlocked the door and walked inside. The house probably would look like itself to any other person, but me. What I saw when I walked inside was unbelievable. I saw warmth, and security, and for the first time in many years, I felt love. I felt like that this was my home, like I was welcome inside those normally so cold walls. It felt like I had nowhere else to be but there, and what I didn’t know at that time, was that the day after I would know why.
My dad was home at 4 pm, and he’d started to make dinner. I heard him come home, but I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want him to destroy this perfect mood I was in. It’d been over six month since I’d been this happy. And that day, six month ago I remember clearly:
I was sitting on a bench in the park, watching all the happy families, when my dad had walked up beside me, looked me in the eye, and told me he loved me, and that he was proud of how I had been holding up. He’d said that he didn’t know why he didn’t tell it to me enough, but that he was sorry. Sorry for everything. He said he wanted to change. He had sat down for a little while, and then we had walked away from the park, down to the street, and we had ate dinner together. Something we hadn’t done, in what felt like a lifetime. That day had been the day before I was travelling to Europe with my aunt, uncle and sister. I wish it hadn’t been that day. Because when I came home from that holiday, everything was back to the same hell.

Those thoughts had nearly broken my mood, so I stopped instantly to think about, how happiness often was so easily killed by unhappiness and insecurity. “Dinner’s ready” my dads voice called from downstairs. I made my way down the stairs, for once without falling, and saw that he actually had made a good dinner, and that – I almost cried of just pure happiness – he was sober. “Have you been driving for John today?” I asked, curious of that was the reason, for his soberness. “No, actually I have been over at his house, ‘till I came home, didn’t you hear me come?” He asked, with a wondering look in his eyes. “of course I did, I always do, but I…” I’d cut myself of right there, no way I should by accident start a fight with him right now. “Never mind, are we eating in the kitchen today?” I asked, hopeful for his yes. I hadn’t meant to get my hopes up, I never mean to get my hopes up, but somehow that always happens anyway. That day it just didn’t matter. “Yes of course we are, I think we should stop eating apart everyday, I know next to nothing about your life these days. How are you?” I studied his eyes for a long time, before I actually answered him. He was starting to look worried, when I finally got my expression together, and blurted “Today I’m extraordinary fine, thank you.”
“what’s been going on with you, dad?” He was staring at the wall, “not much, some things are not… good. You know my aunt, she’s getting worse. I’m afraid she might die. Soon.” Oh, that was maybe the reason for his soberness. That was at least what I thought at that time, but when I later sat down with my diary, and had started to write about my perfect mood, at least it was ‘till dinner, it hit me. Normally he would’ve gotten all drunk, to try and forget about his aunt. Normally he wouldn’t sulk. He wouldn’t act sad around me. He would just be. Be as he always was. When that came to me I was pissed. Pissed at myself. I had ruined my evening, on something just because I didn’t think it through. God I was an idiot. The only one my dad had left, was his aunt. His uncles had died, his father and mother had died. I couldn’t remember his mother – my grandmother. My grandfather died when I was about 6 years old, so him I could remember a little. I remember when my dad told me he was dead. I don’t remember where I had been, but I remember walking into the living room, seeing my dad, sitting on the couch, and being all sad looking. “what’s wrong, daddy?” I had asked in my little girl voice. He’d slowly looked up at me, and my sister, who had walked into the living room just a little after I had, and said. “Your grandfather died tonight.” I didn’t cry. I think I maybe was to young to cry. I know if it had been now, I would have cried. Instead of breaking down and crying, I had walked over to my dad. I had sat beside him, holding his arm, and just sat there. I don’t know for how long. I just knew my dad needed the comfort.
- After the news about his aunt at the dinner table we hadn’t talked much. The good thing about living with my dad, was that there were never any dead silence, it was never awkward. I had finished eating, and then cleaned up after us. I had a lot to do in the house, being the only girl and all, and of course I often complained about that, hell I was just a teenager, right?.

Thee

My newest poem. I hope you like it.

The one who came from above,
The Hollow thee,
Those who gave you love,
Those who sets you free.

They don’t know thee,
The light must be burned down,
It’s no longer here to see,
You take the ugly crown.

The crown isn’t needed,
It falls to the ground,
Thee can no longer feel it,
Death brings the ugly sound.

Thee don’t give you love,
The hollow Thee,
Those who came from above,
They won’t set you free.

Update.

Hi. I thought that you have deserved now to see, how i look like, when I'm sending "the look" I don't want you to think I'm a pretty blondie, or something, so by seeing pictures, you don't have to imagine how I look like, so your imaginations can't dissapoint you.:)

It's been a while since I've been writing here, I think I may be haveing a writing problem these days. well I'm working on it.
instead I want to share the big things in my life with you.

Ozzy Osbourne concert in a little more than a week.
I'll let you know how it was :)

There was a wedding in the weekend, and i was brides maid. That was weird, but it was really really awesome! I actually did wear a dress, and had my hair done. That doesn't happen very often.

I got a B in english, wich is awesome, because the flaws I had, is flaws that was stupid, so i could easily have gotten an A :D It's kind of tough in 9th grade. homework all the time! maybe that's why I'm not writing so much therse days?

And Btw. I learned myself 20 decimals of pi... 3,14159265358979323846
That was the Update for today, ehe :)

The Room.

The room

She got down on hands and knees,
Hiding from the ugly truth and the beautiful lies
Slowly her heart began to freeze,
It suffered from the fake laugh and the truthful cries.
She wanted to give in to the numbness,
Wanted most of all to die,
Wanted to stop her breathing,
Wanted so much, to stop her heart from leaving.

She got down on hands and knees,
Her head bent down towards hell,
Down where there were no life giving trees,
Down to where she soon would fell.
She wanted so much to give in to the devil.
Wanted most of all to believe in God
Wanted to keep her heart beating,
Wanted to stop her mind from deceiving.


She lay on her bed, wondered if it ever were going to stop? She didn’t think so. The blood floated slowly down on her sheets, and for once, she didn’t care. So what if she slept on blood, in blood? It was clean blood, and it was her blood. It was who she was, and maybe that’s part of the reason why she did it? Why she didn’t stop when she promised she would. She did stop, for a long time. Two months – well it was a long time for her. After she started again, only told it to her best friend, and she told she only did it once. She was scared, really scared, and decided it was best, that nobody knew. So now she was free. But why the hell did she still feel so locked up? Locked up in a room where the walls kept coming closer, but without crushing her. A room where she were suffocating because there wasn’t enough air, but she didn’t die. A room where the most beautiful and satisfying thing she could imagine was to die. But in that room, it was impossible to die. She wanted most of all in the world, to find the key to that room. The key so she could get out. It felt like there weren’t anything besides her, her blood, and the beautiful pink stone she’d sharpened in the room. But that was of course all she needed. Food and water didn’t seem necessary. Why should she eat and drink, when all she wanted was to die? The room where she sad locked up, were only in her head, but still all around her. She didn’t have a mental problem that was just how it felt like to be her.

She had to go to school, but when she walked, the room walked with her. Everyday the room changed color. The only two colors it didn’t became, was her favorite. Red and black. She couldn’t really explain why those two where the favorites. Maybe the red was red as blood, red as the sky when the day got taken over by the night, and the night taken over by the day. The color of her diary. The color of her life.
And black, was maybe because no one else liked it. For everybody else black was the color, that came with death. But in a way it was for her too. But for her death wasn’t scary, death wasn’t evil.
Death was the only exit to a better life, it was the most beautiful thing in the world, it was something she dealt with to many times to count, and it was a thing you couldn’t avoid. It was a thing only God had the power to control. Death was where she would go, when she had nowhere left to go on Earth. For her, black was also the color of life. Not really a color, different and the same for everyone who see it. There aren’t two identical lives in the world. There isn’t one person who can understand you, just as you are. The only time you can be truly yourself, is when you’re alone.
If you try to be truly yourself among other, you won’t be accepted. Even not your best friends even though they say they would. She’s tried to be herself, and all she got was misunderstanding, and pity. A pity she didn’t want, they could give the pity, to the people who needed it. She would survive The Room. I will survive, she told herself. And in the way you think, she did. She was still walking on earth; she was still eating, drinking, and feeling. But sometimes she felt like a dead person walking. The only time she felt really alive, was when there’s music. She couldn’t understand how music could be so tempting, satisfying, and necessary; it was only some sounds, coming out together. For her it was mysterious, but she was still trying to understand it, and sometimes it went pretty well. She’d taught herself to play on the piano, and she’d taken flute lessons. It was so frustrating when the music didn’t came out right, but when she had it, she felt like she could fly. Fly up to heavens gates, down to hells fire, or just linger in between. Between the two places where she wanted to be, she didn’t know which path she should take. All these emotions weren’t so strong when she felt it, but when she sat down and thought about it, she was confused. And she wondered about, when she sat with the piano, reading the notes which stand always so beautiful on the paper. She pushed a tangent down, and a sound came out, a note. And if she kept pushing tangents down in a rhythm, there came a melody. Often she had heard a melody so beautiful, that she started to cry, and she was afraid, if that melody stopped, she would die. And there in that moment she was afraid of dying. Afraid of losing the music. In that moment she didn’t want to die. She was close to panic, but as long as the song still played, she felt like she was a little safe. She was afraid of not knowing when it ended. She was a girl who liked to know. She got nervous when she didn’t. She was a girl who easy got jealous,a thing she had worked on all her life, but still had problems with. She told herself, that she just had to keep working. And somehow the jealousy got better. And luckily it had never been where, it was really serious. She only got that knot in her stomach she couldn’t get rid of, but she had always accepted it. She hated that feeling. The feeling of someone else, coming and take those she loved from her. For her, jealousy came from fear. Fear of losing a person to another. And in a way it was selfish. When you love a person, you should just want them to be happy, and if they’re happy with the other person, then that would be that. But that doesn’t change the fact that she should still fight, for her right to be with that person. She shouldn’t give up she should make that person be happy with her. Be there for that person. That was another thing she felt guilty of, she felt selfish. She felt like she weren’t always there for her friends. Another reason for the jealousy. She didn’t feel like she deserved the friends she had, so when another person came to take her friend, she felt like they could. They deserved the friends more than she did. When she first told them, that she was a cutter, they asked her to stop. And she considered stopping for their sake. But she didn’t do it. She kept making the scars that now lingers on her arm forever. And every time she looked down at those scars, she felt the guilt wash over her. The wash of guilt, felt like hot water against very cold skin. Skin so cold that it hurt to feel the water. It hurt very much, but not enough to give up. She just had to stand and feel it through. And so she did. Every single time more than once a day. Sometimes she thought about her life. Had she felt pain all her life, and did not know how it felt not to feel pain? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t remember a life without pain. If she once had been happy, it had been when she was a little girl, who didn’t know the difference between right and wrong, death and life. When you’re little you don’t understand anything, but when you’re little you don’t mess up, you don’t feel pain. You live inside a little safe bubble. She wanted to be inside the bubble again, but she wanted to move on with her life too. If she could choose, she would choose what she had. Her friends, her memory, and the possibility to move on.
She had almost finished the primary school. She was sad that it was soon over, and afraid to move on. But happy in a way too. She got to move on with her life, and she got to take the tasks up that life would bring. She believed that she one day got to show the world what she was capable of. She herself thought that she at least had a few talents. She was a good writer, or so people told her. She herself was always very skeptical with her poems, her novels and her songs. “But that’s what a want. Why can’t you just accept that?” she had once told her dad. She had told her about her dream, of working on the ocean. Her dad always came up with the negative in all things. She came home with her grades, and told that her average was lower then last time. The first thing he said was “why, what are you then?” she had gone to her room, listened to a cd, and let her mind wander. In school, she herself knew that she was good at the most. She once read a book called Breaking Dawn. In there Bella –who’s the main character, says that she was good at school, but never the best. She was used to not being the best. And then she got a vampire, and found the place in the world were she belonged. She felt like that. She was good, but never the best at anything. She wasn’t ashamed of that. Life wasn’t about being the best, it was about being yourself, and do what you want and what you’re good at. She still needed to find the place in the world where she did belong. She once wrote a poem named Belonging:


You have to belong in the world somewhere,
You’re always going to have a rough start.
And you’ll see along this road,
That the world is only pretending to care,
You can’t make me fit in your heart,
For life there isn’t a secret code.

I’m still holding on
I’m still seeing the good in life
I’m still being strong
I’m still begging myself to find,
I’m still believing,
My heart can’t leave me

I need to belong in the world somewhere
I can’t give you the living kiss
And I have to make a good start.
My life could just stop and stare
But I need to tell you this
You’ll always be in my heart.

More is coming. I'm sorry if there's a lot of mistakes, english isn't my first language.