Daydreamer

My   eyes are glossed and I can't wake up.

And something inside of me   understands the alcoholic in you.

The need to drink pastthese thoughts. 

They aren't even solid thoughts.

The need to drink past these feelings. 

I'm sorry for sleepwalking into your reality. 

And my eyes were matted shut and my arms strewn in front of me.

Just lik  e the fucking movies. 

And I can remember      when I thought I was living. 

My body twitching. My breathing heavy, but steady. 

I can feel the warmth of the sunbeams licking at my pale skin. But I know I'm asleep.

But one night   someone told me that everything seemed so important when it was dark.

But I'm sitting here. In the dark. Face agleam with        soft light from the monitor.

I'm still nothing. Nothing  but  a  puffy  eyed  zombie  gnawing  at  my  cheeks. Put in a sick trance by  the   words    that I thought might be important to you. 

    And there are gaps in my thoughts,, amounts of time that don't exist because my   brain  was to busy  to tend to    me. It's like I' m weaving a web so carefully but I  always  fall    through the gaps. and fall. and fall. and fall. Until I'm trapped  in someone else's web where  they tie me  up and feast on my blood. But I'm asleep and think it's a dream. And I'm asleep so it is a dream. And in my dreams, you're a black widow. And in my reality, you're my black widow.

But I never wanted to be important. And I never wanted to be noticed.

And now I'm not. 

But you understand that because my fingers are laced in yours; my fingers are grabbing at the last link to humanity that I have. But the clock is ticking and I merely have weeks before you ascend. I merely have weeks before I descend. 

And I'll keep sleepwalking in the deepest slumber with no chance of waking.

A walking comatose. 

And I'll laugh, but I                      

                                                                        won't feel it. 

And I'll cry, but I won't feel it.

Because the monsters will own me like they own you. 

But I'll let them because they pull my string like a doll and I say what I was programmed to. 

And they pull your string and you say what you're programmed to.

And do you always say what you're told to?

Are you always so polite? 

It's for show because I know otherwise;

I painted my self portrait on  my face for you and you never noticed. 

I think about it             . And if phases me.

Who cares if you're the Emperor of the Universe if your thrown sits in a black hole?

And I don't want to put the suit on.
I don't want to look fancy for all of this.
My knees are shaking from weakness and my brain is pounding from all the haze.

But I'm sad. So, so very sad. My head is heavy and my heart is heavy. Because I have no future. I mean, I'll always have a future, but I'll never dream of a future with anyone. I'll never have cute words to exchange. Because, for me, life's all business. And I can never want.
I keep telling myself I'm not going to cry. And my eyelashes lick up the tears that threaten to fall. But every other part of me cries. All of my muscles are in spasms, and the stitch stays in my side.
I can't breathe. Even now. Just short choppy spews followed by a shaky gasp.

It's the end of everything and there's nothing I can do about iiiiittt. And everyone else gets a new beginning. And everyone else is talking it out. I used to be so sickeningly optimistic. But now it's not even pessimism. It's nothing. And that scares me. That I feel nothing.



Void.

                             Empty.





                                                                  Nothing.





But man, when I feel, do I feel it all. I feel the nails being driven through my bones and the hands all ripping out my hair. And my head pounds. And my head pounds. And my head pounds. And I feel the fluid. And it's makes my neck stiff. And my it's making my neck stiff. And the thought of food makes me heave. And the smell of food disgusts me.

And everything I do is to punish me, not to make me a better person. But I don't make a scene out of it. I quietly torture myself because I can't stop. And it's sick. Especially when I scratchatmybrainwithmyclaws. And it screams, but I'm so satisfied.



I'm fragile. Mostly because of me.

                                                                             But when someone else stabs at me, I crumble. And I'm fragile.

And nothing from before seems to matter to me because I know it's the end. And I know I lost. I lost because I didn't protect my pulsating heart. I let it be butchered. And it's all gone to shit.

Oh how I hate being crossed.

Iris in; Iris out. Cut.

It's like I remember exactly how I felt while I was growing up. And I've closed in on the distance between what I am willing to pay attention to and what people are trying to say to me.
It's like I always understood the general concept of what they were saying but I wasn't hearing words. Just roars of emotion. And I would react in an appropriate manner, moving my facial expression to match what emotion I thought they would want to hear back.
But you can see it in every photo. A distant, all too familiar look. And I'm always smiling a sheepish smile that is less than confident. It's just the eyes. My eyes. They are glazed over and it is always evident that I am thinking because my attention has gone to my own agenda and I'm not thinking what they want me to think. I'm thinking about me. And all the things that matter to me. And all the ways I made them proud. And all the things I wanted to say. And my imagination.
And I'm so lost in my head that I don't know what reality is until they would boom me back into it.


But now
            I can hold my brain into a con
                                                        versation for a while before I drift away
                                                                                                                  into my world.

And people like that. And people like me. And people like me when I listen. And maybe people would like me if I talked.
But talking is even harder than listening. Because I can't track myself. I can't remember where my thoughts spawned from so it's hard for anything to have a point to it. I have no idea what my thoughts all collectively mean.

But in my world, in my head, I am a genius. And I think complex thoughts about things I could never verbalize. And in feelings I'll never know outside of my dreams. And it's suffocating. And it's suffocating me. But less than it has in the past. Because now I have realized that no one can really communicate their soul and self to another person. And I'll never take anyone seriously because no one feels like I do. Feels so strongly, like I do. And no one spends as much time analyzing everything as I do. And I do. So, accordingly, no one must know as much about life as I do. But I don't.

And because we all think we are smart, it must be that we all are not.
I mean there are obvious spheres of intelligence that people fit into. But some times I feel like I have my own sphere of being an intelligent moron. And what's the point of participating in an oxymoron if you don't even get to benefit from it.

It's just a thought; let it go.

What has this become? My sad prison cell that I vault my thoughts in because it's the only space left in my entire universe.

East of Edenburg

Well, I don't know.
It's like I'm staring into everything and seeing nothing.
And I want to know everything,, but I can't break down this wall.
There's no nobility in gluttony and wrath. And between the two,, when I look in the mirror,, I see something so lost and scared. And it's not that I feel like I'm sinking into a black abyss,, but rather I feel nothing at all with the exception of the cold glass of the mirror on my finger tips. But it's normal. And I know that. Everyone starts to feel this way:: lost.
Something will happen to pull me back into reality though. That's how it works,, right? At least that's what I've conjured. Normally,, I would mark my forehead with the sign of the unique,, but I'm not that lucky. I'm different,, but I'm not the only weird person,,




But I do everything for everyone else because I know I can't please myself unless I can make someone genuinely happy. It's just those times. Those times when I try to do whatever it is that I think I've become a master of and I get rejected. But goddammit,, I'm not doing it for you;; it's all so I can feel something.

It's not a worry though. I'm not worried. I just want to be left alone,, honestly.

Alone.
                               

Alone. Alone. Alone.

So my ears stop buzzing and my heart stops racing.
Because I can't handle having to try to make that connection. I'm busy. Too busy;; my head's busy.



Full of feelings, not words.

Fragility

People suck. And I've been a vicious person so I know. I lure people in with a sweet smile and then gnaw away at their innards as they lie there trusting me. What a sick, sick game I'm playing. And no one realizes until they are too invested in me to back out, no one can see until I blind fold them and push them off a cliff. And in a demonic way I really enjoy it because I would rather be alone than to be hurt by someone. That is so gross to say. 
And the more brutal you are to people the more they are tainted by this suppressing spirit you have pushed onto them. They don't understand and you don't have words for them because there's no real reason for anything to have ever happened.
And just so everyone knows (ironic statement to make because I know no one will read this), I'm sorry. I really am.

And in all cases, romantic or not, this is my fear, and this is why I'd rather be alone.

I'd drive my car off a bridge if I knew that you weren't inside.

I have nothing on my mind but sleep. A sleep that won't come to me...

But what about me? I am sad sometimes and I am happy sometimes. They are in extremities but are sincere.
And I believe I am an extremely sincere person to my disadvantage. People often confuse sincerity with obsession and it makes it really difficult to say what you actually think even if you have no personal gain. I have nothing to gain. I want nothing. Everyone just deserves to know the truth and it's disgusting how many people will withhold it to save face. And what for? We already regard each other as scumbags and nobodies... so what's the point?

Vulnerability is brilliant. And kind.

And after all, kindness is the art of love.

And kindness is selflessness.

But we're all so fucking selfish and refuse to humbly cut ourselves open in front of people and let them see our demons drenched in colorful blood. But we all have them. Dancing in our heads, taunting our sub consciences. And minimal transparency would prove that we weren't alone in life but instead we remain aliens to each other, acting out a real life lie that pleases the audience.

It's pointless because we are one in the same.

You deserve to be happy:

                 SMILE.
                    :)

A letter from my mental jail cell:

Some days I really wish I had cat eyes. Two perfect marbles sitting in the craters of my face with a sunburst of color laid beneath.
Instead they are white and sometimes red and sometime blue.

Too Dramatic

.

The Hands of the Lion-maker

I've been tired since that night you sang me that lullaby and rocked me to sleep. So, so tired.
I've been sick since that day the cold wind whipped through my hair and iced my ears. So, so sick.

And I lay down, I sit up, I dance on my puppet strings through life essentially the same way I did before you existed in my world. It's a game for me not to think of you though.
I have no future though, like I have no present. And we were not meant to have an opening night for this play we have written so many times. But we rehearse together like I rehearse alone when I'm staring, wishing for the words that came so easily in our exchanges.

I don't know how to tell you because I don't know how to say that I can't save you because I'm too weak and I've been flailing my arms in an open sea, trying not to drown for years. Just treading water, going nowhere, hoping to be swallowed by Jonah's whale. And I wish the water was warm.

And in my dreams you keep me warm and I am warm when I am dreaming of you.
But I don't dream in the colors I used to. I dream in the colors of your skin, of your eyes, of you.
For all this, I hate you.
But I probably hate myself more.
And I love you.
But I probably love myself more.

We sit, hand in hand. And I wait for you to roar because I expect you to; you never do.
It frightens me like you are a jack-in-the-box waiting to surprise me. And I silently whimper in my head, and you will never hear.

You are my lion,
I am your lamb.

SOMETHING

i see Your beautiful words and i've read them slowly, and i've read them quickly. 

i even read them out loud when i thought no one was listening. 

And i think i know You;

And i think You know.

i'm scared of You though. 

i'm scared of everything about You. The roaring sincerity in Your eyes when You talk to me. But mostly i'm scared that You are tangible and that is something i'm going to have to deal with. And although i don't want this to be a dream, i wish so badly this was a dream. i'm frightened of how You analyze every movement i make, every twitch of my eye or slight flair of a nostril. 

And You think You know me;

And You think i know.

And i wonder how my skin feels under your callused bony hands that hold me so tightly in the cold, in the dark. And i don't mind that 

neither of Us have 

words. 

i don't know. and i've never known. and You'll never know. 

soul meets body.

Early, I became a pro at blowing bubbles when I would wash my hands.
Index finger smugly on my thumb, soapy net suspended in the opening, gentle breath and quick movement of my hand to close it off. A ritual of sorts.

And that was beautiful.
I mostly think that because I was young and innocent and didn't have an obligation to anything for that minute of my life I spent blowing bubbles. And the time was beautiful. And the pride was beautiful.
But now, instead of smiling at myself in the mirror because I had perfected my art, I sit here. I sit here typing this story, in a moment that I'll never remember because it has little significance to my person. And I won't remember that Hallelujah as by Elisa is playing in the background because my time is now compact and not strung out into oblivion.

Perhaps in the 10 years or so that it takes me to remember days like today, like everyday of my today, I'll think of your smile. I'll probably smile too. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to find a truth about life that I learned while dancing in the palm of your hand.

Although, then, I'll know everything about nothing, just like I do today, I will think that what I am thinking actually means something as a whole and will effect people, it will only reach a handful in my lifetime. My life will only truly have effected the reality of very few.


And, for me, that makes those people mean the world.

Invisible Man

I feel like empathy is a petty thing to ask for and I would rather not be sympathized with. Sometimes I just want to be heard and don't care about the response. Sometimes.

4 years ago exactly, I was spending the day with my dad and we had each other in hysteric laughs on and off. That's something about my dad that I love so much: he is me. And we both think, we both feel, and we try to solve universal problems like scholars. On this particular day, however, it was just us spending time together, smiling. As the sun began to set and the air was getting crisp we passed a wreck and began joking about being heroes and saving the people inside because he could run fast and I was super strong in our fantasy world.

Now, this probably all seems really stupid, as do the majority of day to day conversations. But this particular exchange of words will always have importance to me because it would be a while before we were happy together again.

The body pulled out of that car would be a boy, a 17 year old. Kurry. He would sit next to me at lunch, but never again. He would make everyone in the proximity laugh, but never again. He was just gone. Not many people realize how it effects an individual when someone just disappears.

This is the day that changed my life. Not because of his death, but because it was the start of a chain of events that no one had the power to stop. A chain of events that I would spend countless hours, that I was supposed to be sleeping, crying over. 

And today, I don't feel sad.

I don't feel much of anything. 

And I can't decide why.

Somber. 

I don't find myself wishing he was alive for my sake.

For his mothers? Yes. For his little brothers? Yes.

But I know it will never be for me again. 

Today, I am sad for everyone else. I am especially sad for my older sister who, before she had dropped out, had become closer to him than I would ever be. 

And for me, he's just a missing person. 

Here's to happiness and clarity.

I've been doing this all wrong. You see I'm not a bit sad. I'm completely content with EVERYTHING. I just get cynical some days and this skewed view is a consequence. But when I think about it, the ratio of days I write cynical blogs to the days i do not is extremely low. 

I'm happy; I'm happy.

Soy diferente.

You.

The you I talk about, the you I address.

Do you even know who you are?

Some times I don't even know who you are, so don't be afraid to be confused. 

I'm confused too. 

I used to be able to critically analyze everything and spit out the logical answer like an android. The problem now is that I feel everything so deeply instead of brushing it all off. I can't decipher fact from emotion. It's all so beautiful yet deadly. And no one will acknowledge the fact that there is this other thing happening in our society, this numbness that is enjoyed by the mass. Emotion isn't real, it's just this thing generated by our need to be like those around us. Unimportant things have become so important to our drowning generation. I can't name it, but I can put my finger on it.

I just don't want to be part of it; I just can't be part of it. Instead, I observe everything, wondering how we became such melted plastic, regurgitating the lies we have been told about EVERYTHING. It's the lies about how life really is. We paint each other this beautiful facade of happiness and the american dream and all the stuff that comes with it that and it's just unrealistic. Life's always going to feel the same and you're always going to have to work to gain any amount of pleasure. This silver platter idea that we have in our heads is poisoning our perspective.You don't just get to a point in your life when you can stop planning and just live. We have psyched ourselves into believing in this stagnant life style in which we are always getting to do what we want, when we want, with no budget and no concerns. 

I say that it's all a fake, but like the other 7 billion people here, I believe that I'm going to get there someday and I'll be so happy.

We'll never make it. And I'm so sorry :(.

Dido Style

I hate how the people I really miss don't miss me. It drives me insane to think that I'm constantly trying to be the mortar in the cracks of these relationships with no avail. 

You got me. My hands are up. It's all up to you.

Ciao

Well, kinda.

I am starting to have friends. (Though this is debatable).

I don't know what it is about living that makes me so grey. Surely I'm not the only one who sees the utter deification I am living in. And more than anything I think this makes me want to talk to people as though they all had a mental handicap that I somehow overcame, or maybe never had. I say the same generic conversation to avoid boring the surface mindset of such cookie cutter, average joes. It's always the same disconnect, so I sit on my thrown and observe every aspect of the people around me and analyze there potential thoughts in depth, just trying to figure out if they possess at least an equal amount of consciousness. I would like to say that like I have a high realization of life; I believe I do.

The main problem I face with dissecting people close to me is that I always find out too much and then I have to put my facade back up and pretend that I only know the them that they want me to. I used to scoff at the phrase "ignorance is bliss" because all I could think about was the agony of only having enough sense to realize that there are things you'll never uncover because you just mentally can't. Maybe I'm right, but I also know that in context, the saying is pretty spot on... except maybe it could have an amendment: "complete ignorance is bliss."
It's more truth full, don't you think?



... seriously, everything I just wrote is the problem with me. I'm too critical and self-righteous. I put my state of mind on this pedestal but want to play life like an equal with the same expectations I have for others. I care, but I don't. I just want to be happy and live life. It's all about actually trying to experience life, right? It's about being human, right? Maybe you'll fight me on this one, but this is me actually being happy. I really think all of this but in the most sickeningly cheesy way. If I could just reach a little farther maybe all my vanity would be worth while.

On Second Thought:

There's actually more for me to say.

I feel different than anyone: alienated.
It makes me want to congratulate myself: good job Mariah, you've broken out and managed to become something no one else is, lonely. Are you proud of yourself? I'm proud of you. Isn't that what everyone wants? And you did it! You didn't even try, it's just something you always were. You were always afraid to speak, always afraid to show someone that you had emotion, but isn't that where we're all headed? You just made it there first. Or maybe you're the only one who will ever make it.

Now that I'm done saying things that I'm about to nullify, I will nullify:

You are just like every other person on this earth, feeling like there is absolutely no one who really understands you and you think you're so clever for figuring out that you have emotion. EVERYONE already figured that out so long ago. You're just like every one else. Stupid. And moreover, you're worse than everyone else because you're ignorant to the fact that you aren't the only one who has shit happen to them, who has to try to live while dealing with life. How dare you think that life is so hard for you when you don't know a thing. You think your eyes are too callused to cry, but, in reality, you're just too dumb to know that you're supposed to be feeling these things, it's part of humanity.


I hate that I've started saying too much.
This is the internet.
In some ways, I don't care though because if you are taking enough time to listen to me whine, you're just as bad as me.

And so, here we are, together. I've accomplished nothing; you've accomplished nothing. I guess that makes us friends.

This started out for you.

Now, I guess, it's for me.
It's to make me feel something.
To make me feel real.
It could still be me being your puppet though...

This is going to waste your time, but was filling mine.

On nights like these when I squirm so restlessly and my mind rolls at an unearthly speed, I hate laying alone in silence. I question life; I question religion; I question myself.
It seems to me that my life has been a series of things that I have loved but could never have... I wish those words were mine, but I stole them from a book. All the same, I do feel this way. It's all forbidden fruit that I lust over. I like to pretend that it's for the best and that if I were to actually have what I wanted, the very fibers of my existence would unravel. I'M SO SELFISH. If that were fact, then I would be inferring that the world revolved around my life- all the decisions I make cause everyone else's existence. Ha.

I think the truth of the matter actually goes something more like this: It's not that I don't know how to love, it's that I don't know how to be loved.
Who am I to pretend I know what I'm talking about though? I would like to think that I am the most in sync person and that I can analyze any situation  and just know how to solve every problem. I'm arrogant, but ignorant. I carry on pretending to understand the abstractions of life, like hope, love and imagination. It's all irrelivant, I suppose.

Content. That's what I am. I could try harder, but I don't mind my life as I know it.
It's all meant to inspire but instead we stand, hands in pocket, facing foreword, afraid to exist as something more than normal.



I almost deleted this several times, but I didn't for some reason. It's all white noise.

Here's a blog.

I think we thought we were anticipating our futures.
I never anticipated what I am now, but rather made an ideal situation out of the presumable future, successful me. Here I am though. I wanted to grow up so bad and I knew that moving away was the solution, but in reality I remain as childish and aggressive as I always have been. And more than anything I hate that I know exactly how I am and can pin point every flaw and know exactly where I've gone wrong but I have failed to change who I am.

I mean, let me be honest. I like who I am to a degree. I wouldn't want to be anything else in fear that any other path might have left me less enlightened to my current situation. I hate that I thought I was so special for so long, and furthermore, I hate that people made me feel that I was something special that was going to make a huge dent on humanity by changing the aspects of how we live socially. The realization that I'm just like everyone else kind of upsetting but in a soothing way that reminds me that I am, indeed, human.

Being human is nice. Not that I really know the difference.

The Dangers of Growing Up Too Quickly

I woke up Friday morning at 4:00 am with a horrible case of pink eye. This, of course, was more than alarming to me because I am in college; pink eye is simply an excuse to skip school when you are in high school. I rushed into the bathroom and flipped on the light, blinding my good eye for an uncomfortable half minute. When my eye finally adjusted I could see my matted, swollen left eye. The sight freaked me out, causing me to immediately go digging for a rag. I ran it under extremely hot water, rung it out, neatly folded it, and held it to my left eye entirely too hard, as if the pressure would change the image I was seeing in the mirror.

Normal Eye

Pink Eye

I put the lid down on the toilet and just sat there. In the quiet of the night my mind began to get off track, and pretty soon I was remembering the last images I saw of my parents together:

For the first time in a very long time, my family all went out for dinner together at a Chinese restaurant. I was in a hurry to get out of there because I was going to stand in line to get one of the first copies of Breaking Dawn, a book in the Twilight Saga. All my friends were going to be there and I didn't want to be late. I chowed down and rushed away giving my love to the entire family. Even though the book release was very eventful, it didn't end up mattering in the end. By the time I got my book and got home it was 2:00 am. I tiptoed through my parents room to  use the restroom before bed. I caught a glimpse of my mom wrapped around my dad with her face resting on his chest, and his arm was wrapped back around her. This sweet image has been burned into my memory ever since. I thought to myself, "They must really love each other. If I could find someone who loved me that much, I would be happy... I would be happy." 

I stayed up until 4:30 reading and then went to bed. 

In the morning, around 7:30 my dad came into my little house and woke my sister and I up claiming that he had something to show us and it was really important that we got up right away. I sluggishly crawled out of bed and changed into some normal clothes. My older sister had moved out nearly a year before and my youngest sister was school shopping with my mom, so it ended up just being my and my little brother and younger sister. We drove about 45 minutes into a neighboring town and pulled into an apartment complex. We all hopped out of the truck and followed my daddy into an apartment on the first floor of the building. The rooms were small and the carpet was an awful, faded christmas green. I could hear the people in the apartment above us pacing back and forth through their home and a baby crying in the distance as a dog barked.

"I've been thinking about what to say to you guys," my dad started out, "And I still don't have the right words, but I'm going to go ahead and tell you... this is where I'm going to be living from now on." With every syllable my dad was pronouncing, I could feel my heart rip a little more as all the blood from the pain seemed to resignate in my throat, making me want to vomit. I could feel my eyes filling with warm, salty tears that soon began to trickle down the contour of my face. My siblings seemed to have disappeared in my memory, despite the evident presence of their sobs.

I began to back up against a wall and slide down, until I was in as compact of a ball as my thick self would let me be in. My dad began to speak again, but this time with a less stable voice, "I'm going to need some help moving some furniture in because I don't have any friends. All your mom's and I's friends aren't talking to me."

He then realized none of us were going to look him in the eye and became silent. I felt so deceived by the image of my parents from the night before burned into my head. 

As I sat on the toilet, remembering the treachery, my good eye began to fill with tears and it suddenly became hard for me to breathe and my body started trembling. I wept for a good 5 minutes before gaining my composure. I was embarrassed by myself for loosing it over a matter that happened over 2 and 1/2 years ago. I realized that that was the moment I grew up, a moment when I was merely 16 that the weight of my world was no longer held up by my parents but by me, a child who had never been trained to be alone and unprotected from the world. 

I wiped my eyes down again, ran the rag under more hot water, and took it to my room where I laid in my bed with it held to my eye, just looking at the ceiling until my alarm went off at 8:00 am.

Live, Love, Be Happy.

I'm not afraid to live

I'm not afraid to live tomorrow

I'm not afraid to live forever

I'm afraid of tomorrow; I'm afraid of forever.

The things that hurt the most are the uncertainties of life and the scariest part of living is life itself. I don't know that I'll ever find true love; I don't know if I'll ever look for true love; I don't know if true love really even exists. All we can do is hope and wait and love unconditionally. Love that is not exclusive and not inhibited, given to absolutely everyone, is true love. I don't want to sit in my tower and wait for someone to tell me they are coming to rescue me... I want to jump out of the tower and know the grass beneath my feet and experience the wind in my hair.

Life doesn't have to start here. There is time to remain a child and feel the warmth of the sun in your soul. It's not all high heals and brief cases... sometimes it's about letting loose and showing your true colors, exposing your heart and letting yourself become vulnerable. When people can see who we really are, they fall madly in love with the very being that you are. It doesn't have to be a romantic love. When you love, you will be loved. We only have one spark of genius, so don't be so quick to smother the flame God has given you. 

Why do we let ourselves become unimportant? Part of love it being able to let yourself be loved. It's not about finding love because everyone has the ability to love; it's about giving love and in return, the love you think you are looking for will find you. God made us to be creatures of habit and love is a habit. So make one out of it. When you are given love, make an imprint on your heart of the love because there will be times when you will need to run your finger over the grains of that imprint to remember why you are still where you are with the people you are with. 

If you wish to be happy, be.

You are the only person who can control whether or not you are going to find the joy in life. Stop blaming others for your decision. If you want to be happy, take action and make yourself happy. If you start finding the beauty in things, there is no way you can avoid being happy. Hurt is going to happen; you either live and learn or leave. 

Time is your possession, now you have to decide what you are going to do with it. You can make it your best friend or your enemy because it's going to happen no matter what.