onsdag 17 november 2010
I love dreaming just as much as I hate it. Some dreams are hilarious as hell, while others only causes you to feel confused once you wake up. More annoying is when you first have a hilarious dream that slowly turns into something resembling a nightmare. I don't think about it much while I'm awake, but my brain works at it as I sleep. My brain is probably more offended than I am. I guess that happens sometimes.
söndag 7 november 2010
Hi. My name is Valentine. I'm twenty years old. When I was thirteen I killed both my parents. From that moment on I've been alone, still am. I fall in love with no one and I receive love from no one. That's the way I want it though. Alone is fine. Since I've become a monster.
It's a funny thing, this feeling. Something itching inside of my chest, telling me to dig it out. Scratch myself wide open. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, I can still feel how it's grabbing my heart and sucking my lungs empty. The constant terrors that plague my dreams, making the sweat fall down from my forehead as I sleep. I constantly feel volition to pierce my skin to see if I'm still a human being, made out of flesh and blood. I constantly have need to punish myself for the thoughts I'm thinking. Where do I even begin to describe the heavy thoughts I carry around with me on a daily basis? I don't know. If you were me, you'd probably not know either. But that's just life. My life.
I have a feeling you're starting to question me already, am I wrong? Why so gloomy? The world isn't as bad as you think it is. If you imagine yourself happy, you'll feel that happiness eventually. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it! Try to get a move on! - I'm afraid it's not that easy. For you see there are some things that are easy to forget and others that are impossible. I'm haunted with those kinds of memories. Constantly reminded of what I've done. Constantly feeling anguish since I know nothing can be undone. Some days I just feel like hiding away in my room. Stay there forever. However, the naked walls remind me of myself and as I look upon them I feel pathetic. I almost start to questioning myself, just the way you are right now. Though I'm probably not as strong as you are. Or maybe I'm stronger? I can do nothing but wonder how you would handle my situation, if my situation was yours.
I hate when people smile and say “I have no regrets in life. The actions I've done have made me who I am today, and I wouldn't want to change that”. I don't think it's possible not to have any regrets, though I guess it makes us who we are. I sometimes catch myself wondering what things would be like if I hadn't killed my parents all these years ago. Every time I think about it, only one conclusion pops up in my head. I can't help but thinking that I'd probably be a lot weaker. I mean, living alone at the age of thirteen isn't exactly the easiest thing to do, neither mentally nor physically. I had no home to go to, nothing to eat and probably most importantly- No family. How things would be so much easier if I could look myself in the mirror without wanting to change the image it's reflecting. The boy that stands there before me, staring into my eyes the way I stare into his, makes me feel nauseous. I wash my hands at least ten times a day, thinking that maybe the guilt that covers them will flow down the sink, along with the filthy water that just a minute ago was pure and clean. Whatever I touch breaks. Whatever I touch burns. Whatever I touch-, wherever I go-, whoever I meet will never be the same after I've left. I'm a living ghost, haunting through reality as I search for salvation. I can't find peace until I know that I am forgiven.
It's remarkable how lousy the police is around here, don't you think? I've been on the loose for years now and no one's even looking for me. There's not anyone out there who actually cares what happens here, in the slum where I live. Shit happens everyday, but we have to take care of it ourselves. The police has given up on us long ago. The truth is, no one knows of my existence but the people from my neighborhood. There are no records of me in any books or documents. The government doesn't know that I've been born, nor do they know that my parents even came to this country, all those years ago. It has it's advantages, but also it's disadvantages. I can do whatever I want and no one can stop me from doing it. No one can catch me. But if I ever get in trouble, ever get sick or hurt, I have nowhere to go. If I ever get sick or hurt, I'll probably die.
to be continued....