onwecarry onwecarry

I think I've been out for two days.
When I woke up my door was open.
I'm so fucking sick of this. It is my head. MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE. Between the fucking headaches and this new thing, I feel like someone's trying to pick it apart but NO ONE CAN BECAUSE IT BELONGS TO ME AND IT'S MINE MINE MINE GET OUT. I feel like it's her, that she's picking me apart like she picked my mom apart, like soon I might think she's my beautiful beautiful sister or something, that she'll lure me in like she lured my mom here and I don't think I can stop it. I don't think I can hold out. Maybe if I can just keep saying what's real here on this blog I can look at it over and over again and I will know what's real. She's not human she's a monster she's not the precious-est prettiest girl who ever lived she's a brainwasher and maybe a killer and
WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE

and hear a song that I could understand

I was thinking about not posting here any more. I don't want to talk about everything or think about everything and every time I log on and see all my entries I feel like I'm falling down a rabbit hole or something.
I was in something like a trance (???) for several days. I thought I was asleep but I can see that I posted an entry, so I must not have been? It's so easy to lose track of time here, to forget that outside the sun is rising and setting and that people are going to and from work and school and all that. I keep trying to look at the entry I posted, but every time I do I can't read the words, like trying to read books in dreams, and I get a headache, but not really a headache. More like someone is trying to split my fucking skull open and I can't even see straight.
Maybe I'm still asleep. Maybe I'll wake up soon and this will all be a dream

Cats and rabbits
Would reside in fancy little houses
And be dressed in shoes and hats and trousers
In a world of my own

All the flowers
Would be very extra special colors
They would sit and talk to me for hours
When I'm lonely in a world of my own

There'd be new birds
Lots of nice and friendly how do you do birds
Everyone would have a dozen blue birds
Within that world of my own

I could listen to the babbling brook
And hear a song that I could understand
I keep wishing it could be that way
Because my world would be a wonderland

bad moon on the rise

It's sunny and bright but the grass is cool, and the radio's on, the classic rock station, and I'm lying on a towel eating popsicles while my dad hums along to Sympathy for the Devil.
It's cold and the blue sky is dazzling on the snow and my dad's tugging me up the hill in the sled, pretending like he's a sleigh pony, and I'm laughing and yelling, faster, faster,
it's raining slow and drizzly and misty against the windows and my dad drives me to the warm bright library
it's early and the sky's grey and pink and I'm waving at my dad out of the bedroom window while he pulls out our driveway, going to work, until he's out of sight
it's a storm, the winds whip branches against our windows and the sky is dark grey and my mom is panicking by the front door because it's late and my dad isn't home from work and he hasn't called, and I'm hiding behind the couch

I'm sorry

My dad used to tell stories about when he was little. It was funny because he remembered playing football and climbing trees and beating up his brothers and stuff, and when he grew up the most adventurous thing he did was buy the New York Times instead of a local paper. We'd always joke that he didn't get grow up and get stronger, he grew up and got weaker, and then my mom would say that he must not've eaten his spinach and shit like that. I'm writing it here so I'll remember it. I'm writing it here so whoever finds this blog will remember it when I'm not here.
I looked in the kitchen cabinets for the advil, it was nerve-wracking as fuck and I almost had a heart attack several times, which would've solved a lot of problems. There was no advil anywhere. I took a knife from the drawer, but I can't make myself use it. What if it didn't work and I sat here with stabs wounds for days before I died? Maybe I could drown myself in the bathtub? I don't know how that would work, I feel like I wouldn't be able to stay under long enough to pass out, that I'd pull my head up in spite of it all. And when I came back, the plastic bags were sitting on the bed, with a note and a little paperback book attached.
"Page 59, line 28. Don't you want to face what you were born for?"
I tossed the bag out the window again, but I still can't stop shaking. Someone was in my room and I don't know who. I took off the comforter where the bags were sitting, but I still don't want to sit where they were. How did they even get into my room, I've locked the doors and everything just fuck it I don't know what to do. Will they come in when I'm here? Are they going to kill me? Could I convince them to do it quickly? I want to go into the closet but all I can remember is my mother's eyes watching me through the door.
My dad talked about his siblings, the stuff they did when they were little. I've never met any of my aunts or uncles. I wonder if they didn't talk to him or he didn't talk to them. I keep wishing I had their phone numbers and that I could get them to come and take me out of this, but I know if I did have them I wouldn't call. I don't want them to die too, or get taken by her.
Page 59, line 28 is, "'consider the secret of my name!'" The book's called Song at the Scaffold and it looks creepy as fuck. The drawing on the front has this crazy-looking nun with a bunch of other nuns lined up at the guillotine.
I don't know what to do.  "Consider the secret of my name," like fuck I will. Like fuck I was born for this, or maybe I was. Maybe I was, maybe my dad was born to be killed and my mom was born to be taken over by a monster.
JESUS FUCK I'M GETTING A BRAIN MELTDOWN AGAIN. I can tell by which part of my head hurts, they fluctuate from the front to the back to the sides as different thoughts run through my head, and I can't escape my birthright I can't escape my place
There is nowhere to run. There is nowhere to hide. My name was written down before I took my first breath, my master trained me since before I took my first step
Guys, please, has anyone ever experienced this before? I have all these thoughts they hurt and they won't stop even if I write them down and try to get them out. Sometimes when I was little I would get horrible headaches and they wouldn't stop until I wrote down my thoughts. I had notebooks full but my mom threw them out and I don't remember what the thoughts were.
It hurts so much and it's not stopping. I want to sleep so bad, I just want to sleep and forget and maybe I won't wake up.

I'm going to go look for the advil. Be right back. I'll make a post, maybe I'll, like, liveblog my suicide. What it feels like to take a lot of pills.

There's no advil. I couldn't find the bottle. I know there was some in there and I don't know where it went. It wasn't spur of the moment, okay. I've been having these weird...brain meltdown things on and off and.
I don't know. I don't know what to say except that I really really want to die. It's not that I think my parents don't understand me or anything boo-fucking-hoo because once I would've said that, oh my god guys I want to die my parents don't understand me waaah.
They're alive. They both alive and they're home right now and she doesn't exist and it's just me. It's just all in my head and I just need to make it go away. Fuck I'm crying my head hurts so much I don't just want to stop existing I want to die and there aren't any goddamn pills. I know everything. I know the WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD and we're all screwed it's all in our heads and there's only one way to get it out. NOW YOU KNOW SO GO DO IT DO IT.

screw this fuck all this shit NO NO NO I can't hear you I'm just typing JUST TYPING it's not real I'm just crazy it's not real it's all in my head WORDS HERE ARE WORDS this time I'm not going to let it in IT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.
Please someone talk to me I swear to god I can't breath and they won't leave all the words keep coming everything keeps coming I'm trying to think of things, just stupid things that have happened like the time when I was little and my friend nextdoor was sleeping over and we snuck downstairs and stole ice cream out of the freezer while everyone was asleep. I remember how we hid in the basement, trying to be really really quiet eating ice cream and playing board games and remember. That's never going to happen again, is it? Nothing's ever going to be the same and FUCK it still keeps running through my head.

I'm awake. Great.

I'm not tired anymore. Fuck everything, I just want to sleep. It feels like everything was always just this room and these sheets and the same four white walls and the bathroom door. My head hurts too much to listen to music and I can't sleep and I don't want to think about it, every time I stand still I see my dad's face catching the light in the trash bag and her staring down at my mom and I just want to go home. I want to wake up and I want for all of this to be not real and goddamnit I'm going to cry and I haven't cried since we got here and I don't want to now my head hurts too much.
Guys, I know some people are reading this. And maybe it's just for the fun of watching me go crazy, maybe you think this is all in my head. And maybe it is, maybe I'm in a padded room in the fucking looney bin, I don't even know. I wish I was, I wish this was all my head, I wish I knew whether it was or not. I would go in the bathroom and take the bottle of advil that I saw in there and take the whole thing and my parents would still be okay and Kate would be okay and she wouldn't exist. The halls of Kate's house, the green carpet and the pretty landscape paintings in the family room and the typical suburban street outside seem like they aren't real. If they were real this couldn't be happening, nothing happens in the suburbs, I wouldn't be here, sleeping and waking up and sleeping again and eating and sleeping and dying
OH FUCK NOT THIS AGAIN

This is the dawning of the rest of our lives

Oh god it's taken me so long to write this, but everything has changed.
I found my father's body. I'd come back from my first trip out of the room and started write a blog post, when I noticed a pair of black plastic bags left on the side of the bed, a sharp heavy smell hanging around them, the neon plastic ties glowing poisonous. Now I feel like I knew in my gut what was in them before I even opened them, but I don't know if that's true.
Inside the first bag, swimming in bright red, was my father's face.
I tossed them out the window, didn't even give them a proper burial or report them to the police--I feel like there might not even be such a thing, I feel like they wouldn't help. Or maybe they'd think I did it, or my mom did it, or Kate. What if I was left to care for her?
That night I decided that I needed to know what was happening with my mom and Kate. I thought maybe they were in some kind of lesbian relationship, since they were sleeping in the same room and everything. Maybe my mom had even helped Kate adopt her? It hit me that she might be my sister, if they were together, and even though it would mean telling my mom I was bi a hell of a lot easier if it meant she was my sister I hoped they weren't.
And so that night, I snuck out and peeked into Kate's room. I don't know what I expected--them cuddling or something? A box of dental dams? A sign over their head that said GAAAY in rainbow letters? But god, I never expected what I saw.
They slept deeply and in between them she was sitting, watching them sleep. She turned to me, and looked me right in the eyes and at that moment, as her strange bloodshot eyes bored into me, I know that she was something inhuman and terrible and powerful, and that we are inextricably caught in her grasp.
I ran back to the guest room and locked the door, but I still feel her gaze cutting through me, and I feel like she'll see me for the rest of my life. She's some kind of alien or demon, I don't know what, but I know that she  wants to destroy us all.
And worse, that she could as easily as I could squash an ant.

Mama we all go to hell

I'm so afraid to open the door I don't hear anything out there but it's almost as bad. What if they're standing right outside the door what if they're waiting for me

Okay I made it back I didn't see any of them I can barely breathe now but at least I have food, SO MUCH FOOD. It was eeriely quiet, except for when I heard someone shuffling around in Kate's bedroom. No sign of herOH GOD 

Everybody wants to change the world, nobody, nobody wants to die

It's been two nights that Mom hasn't come to bed, and two days I've stayed in here with the door locked and slept and eaten the food we brought from home. It's gone now. Oh god I can't go out there what do I do what am I gonna do

Run away like it was yesterday

I haven't been outside in...two days? Three? It feels like years, like I might step out to a completely different world. It feels like there's a magnet in her, she pulls me in, even as I hate her oh god help I'm scared of her she makes me think about her when I shouldn't care.
I told my mom, I told her I hated her (I don't even know her name). She was so mad, she shoved me into the closet and turned out the light and whispered through the door...so many things. That I would rot for hating her. That I didn't know anything, that I was a stupid child. That she wished I didn't exist. That my father had killed himself to get away from me. Finally I stopped listening, just put in my earbuds, but I could see her eyes glowing through the slats in the door (it was one of the flimsy ones that aren't airtight and have the little ventilation blind-y things). I listened to music until my iPod died, then broke through the slats at the bottom. It's dark out now, it's nightime (and my timezone is completely messed up now so it's gonna look like I'm posting this in the morning and oh god maybe it is morning) and I'm in the guest bedroom where me and my mom were sleeping. She hasn't come in yet. Usually back home when she got really mad she'd come into my room and try to apologize. And oh god, I don't want her to come in I've locked the door oh god I just want to wake up there are eyes in the window
no

It's really quite pleasant...

I don't remember a lot from when I was a little kid. I don't remember a lot of being ten and eleven, either, but I do remember the first time I heard My Chemical Romance. I don't even remember the song, (I think it was something off of The Black Parade) but I remember something clicking in my head and in my chest and I remember thinking this is my music. These are my people. People would always make fun of me for being "emo" and talk about how whiny MCR was, but it wasn't about that, it was never like that. I loved to sing along to Teenagers as much as the next person, but it wasn't just about hating my parents and the kids at school and my teenaged problems. It was about the Black Parade, and Mother War, we all go to hell.
I feel like I've seen it before.
I feel like they were talking about something real.

Wrote it for the ones that want to get away...

I've been so tired lately. It feels like I've entered a place out of time, almost a different world, a world where everything revolves around her.
I hate her. I hate her so much. Just hearing her voice in the next room over makes me want to smash things and break things and hide under my blankets and I hate it. I hate how spoiled she is and how it seems like all Mom ever cares about it her, and I know I've been difficult and I know we haven't always gotten along but it's like I barely exist anymore, and I know it's stupid to act as though I care. I mean, if she'd leave me alone everything would be so much easier. I'd still be at home and safe? if she hadn't dragged us here.
I don't really care, but I still hate her. I hate both of them.
Mom's fever broke yesterday.

What the actual fuck

We finally got to Mom's friend's house. I've seen her in pictures a couple times. I think she's one of my mom's friends from college, but I guess they go way back.
She was standing on the porch waiting for us, and before I'd even gotten out of the car and stretched my legs, the atmosphere felt weird. Wrong, like the sky was turning green and the grass was turning blue, or like looking at a picture of a meadow in spring with all the flowers and shit and realizing that there was someone hanging from one of the trees.
My mom was almost sobbing as she bolted out of the car. She was all, "oh Kate" and weepy and stuff.
"It's okay, Elaine," Kate said, but it was oddly mechanical. As she awkwardly patted my mom on the back, I noticed a kid hiding behind her legs, like they were shy. My mom must've noticed too, because she crouched down and said, "Hi, sweetheart. I'm your mom's friend, you can call me Elaine."
The kid retreated further behind Kate's leg.
"She's shy," Kate said. But she didn't say it like she was apologizing. It sounded kind of...adoring?
"What a cutie," my mom sniffled. Both of them crouched down again to talk to her, and then she pointed at me. I tried to scrunch down in the car, because the last thing I wanted to do was to have to play with this kid. Her clothes were filthy and  her hair was all greasy and stringy.
"Okay, sweetheart, but be careful. Don't run, you might trip and fall--" Kate fussed over her a little before heading inside with my mom in tow, promising thre kid that she'd keep an eye on her through the window.
The kid turned around to look at me, and I felt my heartbeat race. Something about her...her teeth were dirty, not just kind of yellow but blackened and cracked, her nose almost non-existant and her eyes sunken deep into her skull. She skipped up to me with a smirk on her face, and said, "Are you gonna live with us?"
"No," I said. "We're just visiting."
There was a few seconds of silence, and I tried not to meet her gaze, feeling as though something terrible would happen if I did.
"Your hair looks stupid," she said. "And your clothes are ugly."
"Look who's talking," I said back.
"What's your name?" She singsonged.
"Lin," I said, and grudingly added, "what's yours?"
"I'm not gonna tell youuu, I'm not gonna tell youuu," she chanted, skipping around in a circle before darting back inside.
This is seriously the freakiest kid I have ever met. Kate needs to get her out more or something, and some dental care, too. I'm not going to lie: I hate her. Like, I know it's probably horrible of me to hate a little kid like that. But I've been thinking about it all night and I don't care. She's annoying as fuck and I hate her.
Goddamnit I made this blog to make friends and I spend all my time talking about how I'm surrounded by psychos. I think I smell bacon downstairs. Free bacon if you talk to me? Lin out.

Written in the car, posted at McDonalds. Classiness, right here

We’re driving through some kind of farm country now. Lots of, like, rolling fields and shit. Cows and horses and sheep and barns, you know. I kind of don’t want to write this but I feel like I should? I don’t know, I already feel like I’m writing some kind of essay about “feelings” already, and it doesn’t help that I’m typing this in MS Word because of lack of wifi. But I promise, there won’t be any flower metaphors. Or season metaphors. Or any metaphors at all.

He died. He didn’t reach “the winter of his life” or any of that shit. I mean, he didn’t have a chance.

I guess it would be more accurate to say that he was killed.

I never saw his body in the woods, actually. When I saw him at the funeral home, he was all fixed up, face clean, black suit. I'm pretty sure they even put some makeup on him, trying to make him look real alive, but his skin looked like wax and the veins of his hands stood out bright red.  I never saw it, but I heard about it. I  was the one who found the blood spots on the carpet, leading out the front door. 

Someone killed my dad. Someone dragged him into the woods and chopped his heart out and left him there. I have good hearing (despite what people are always telling me about listening to music turned up loud with headphones) and the ladies at the funeral home weren't even subtle about whispering. The police clomped in and out of our house for days but never even took his body. 

Sometimes I think he might've died anyways. He'd been sick for a while. At first it hadn't been that bad. He'd been tired, and run a fever on and off. A couple of times he'd get nosebleeds, and once while we were eating dinner he forgot everything he'd done that day, and my mom and me had filled him in.  Then he started coughing up blood, vomiting blood. I'd always hear him and my mom whispering at night, hear him choking across the hall. He's start to ramble, saying things that made no sense. He'd forget whole weeks, and the whites of his eyes turned bright red. He refused to see a doctor, he refused to even leave the house. My mom wouldn't leave either. They'd lock themselves in their room for hours, and I'd hear my dad muttering the whole time. 

And then one morning I woke up to my mom screaming. 

God, I just want this all to be over. I want my mom to stop acting like a psycho. I want to just go somewhere and forget about all this shit and start over. I hope my mom's friend can help her stop being so fucking paranoid. She was running a fever the night before we left. Sweat had been dripping off her face as she'd insisted she was cold. 

...I swear to god I will never complain about high school again.

I'm baaack!

We got to a hotel, finally. I think we have like eight more hours before we get there. It's honestly more of a motel than a hotel, complete with ugly wallpaper/questionable showers. But there's electricity, wifi, and we have a serious french fry feast with loads of ketchup. My mom made me go through the drivethrough for her, even though I don't have my license (I'm old enough, my dad just is was paranoid) while she hid in the backseat under my blanket. Psycho. Now she's checked all the locks and closing blinds and stuff, and while she indulges in her schizo urges to her heart's content, I can properly introduce myself. My name's Linda Beth, which is either a 100% redneck white trash name or one that makes me sound like the seventh kid in the Brady family, depending on which way you look at it. I'm seventee, my favorite movie is the Corpse Bride, my favorite band is (duh) My Chemical Romance, and I've been on of those "weird goth kids" my entire middle-and-high-school career. Now I'mma search for an icon that does justice to my fab self, so talk to you all later--
Oh god my mom is trying to pile chairs against the door FML.

I think my mom's gone craazy

I'm grabbing some wifi while we're still in the suburbs, I don't know how I'm getting it but I am. Since my mom's gone abosolutely crazy, pulled me out of school, and started hauling us out to see some friend in the middle of nowhere, I've started this blog. Now I can be one of those kids with no friends in real life who's always talking about people they meet on the internet.
Joy.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose this wifi any second and my laptop battery's running low already. Goddamnit. I'm posting this while I can.