I feel absolutely terrible.

I lost all concern for anything but my own worry. Oh, and how this makes me worry more.

From the deepest depths of my heart,

I apologize for the pain I'm aware I've caused and the hearts in which you might consider broken.
I'm sorry for the indecisiveness I've been unable to cease and the thirst for a second thought that I've been unable to quench.

I'm not sure if there's something wrong with me and I can't offer an explanation that clearly defines the mixed emotions that don't allow me to take the plunge.
I won't waste time on someone that won't waste time on me.
As far as I'm concerned, if I'm going to spend time, it's going to be time well spent.

You know those songs that make you feel?

I'm going to make a list of those. So far:

Stop & Stare - OneRepublic
Amazing Because It Is - The Almost
You're Not Alone - Saosin
Carry On - Valencia

I'm Curtis.

I could start off by saying that I've changed, that I'm a new me, that I've recently tried things I've never done before... But that would be a lie.

I'm still Chelsea Leigh Deen, still the same little blond girl I was a month ago. But this, this was something I never anticipated doing. I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined myself in the position I was in the past two days. I never would have thought that I'd make such amazing friends at such a giant distance. However, on Monday and Tuesday, they were within arms reach.

I say I'm no different because I am not. My physicality may have changed, but I'm still the person they met over three months ago and I'm still the person you've gotten to know for however long you've known me. This person is who I'll be forever.

Saying goodbye hurt me almost as much as my heart ached for Kyle and Brandon. I say almost because I know that we'll see each other again soon. Five weeks, five months, five years. Like I said, I don't cry over boys, but that was something that punched me in the gut.
 

All because your insides, your insides know who good people are too. 

The little brown handbook.

These blogs are for me, not for you. So don't make it about yourself. This is to make me feel better and if your comments serve no aid to that, don't leave one at all.

I really just don't know.

Tonight I, involuntarily, made myself stop being so oblivious. To stop smiling to make someone else grin. To stop laughing so to put others at ease. To discontinue focus on others so to forget about my own apprehension.

I wallowed in my own disregard and locked away concerns, so unthought of that I spoke irrationally. When I indulge myself in the negative I once put away, I will be completely unsatisfied until I am entirely clean. I don't like feeling like this, so why do I feel it's necessary?

I haven't dreamed in months.

You were dressed in a blue, long sleeved, collared shirt. It was tucked in your slacks and a brown belt was worn around your waist. I was in the back seat of an unidentifiable car and while looking out the window, I passed you. I yelled to the driver to stop, to just stop. I opened the door and jumped out of the vehicle without bidding a goodbye. I ran, as fast as I could, but I didn't catch you.

It then flashed to a room, one very similar to the room in which I slept. I noticed you then how I'd noticed you before. Excited, excited to meet everyone at Homecoming. But then someone told you "You're gone, Kyle. You died." It was as if they had said nothing, you didn't hear them. And just as soon as they started showing you pictures, it was as if I was released from a jail cell of observation, and I ran to you with desperation. I needed to comfort you, I needed to tell you what happened because you obviously didn't know. You stood there with the evidence of a broken heart on your face, with an expression of ultimate helplessness. You knew something was wrong, but you heard no one but me.

That's when I wrapped my arms around you and began to sob. You put your arms around my waist, pulled me closer, and buried your face into my neck. Through breaths I told you what happened and that I'd missed you so much. I asked you not to leave me, but you said nothing.

"Kyle, did you love her? Did you love her, Kyle?" I shook you as if I doubted you'd give me the correct answer like all the other times I demanded you to admit it. You looked at me with a stone cold expression that told me I didn't need to ask such a thing. Then hurt washed over your face and I looked around me. She was not there and that was why.

Someone took our picture. Over and over, as each photo flashed, I voiced that I wanted everyone to see you. To see that you came back and that you were really among us somehow.

Your phone illuminated the dimness of wherever we were and I knew it was telling you to go and that your time was up. You put your hand on my face and I leaned into it, starting to weep again. I took my own hand and put it over yours as you stared into my blurry eyes. I felt as if you told me you loved me even though your mouth never moved and no sound escaped those lips.

You faded away as I regained conciousness. I then woke up with a start and an immediate cry. Crying because I had no pictures and weeping because I had no you.

Things are not the same.

My mind is flooded with an ocean that seems to have no bottom. Coming up for air is necessary, but not as important to me as the dive downward. As I sink deeper and deeper, the darkness frightens me and a second of doubt flickers through my mind. I then find myself, arms outstretched, hands searching for another, swimming frantically as if time is running out. Arms are then around me, and you steal from me all that I am too willingly to give up. I savor the kisses like you savor the oxygen, my breath, that you need so badly to live in a place that you are inescapable of. Then you push me away. Up to life, reality, and a place of forgetfulness. This is a breath of air that the concerned above want me to take for myself, when really, I know for a fact that I only breathe for you. I hardly notice that attempt sunlight is trying to make to distract me, to draw me into supposed security and a place in which I can disregard all that this light misunderstands. I inhale, dive downward, and "jeopardize everything" all over again. I do this all with a smile on my face, however careful to not let any oxygen escape my lungs. It may be a blind travel, but there is enough hope waiting to welcome me at the end of my journey to give me all the willpower needed to keep swimming.

That's not being me.

Is it fair that I am notified or informed that I am accepted by an individual, but I naturally and subconsciously will accept you for whoever it is you are with the first look I take at you or first word I hear of you?

No. It's not at all fair, but I won't change my ways out of spite.
Choke or swallow.

She might have been the death of you, but baby, you killed yourself.

Your imagination has been held captive, it's created something that dances on the tip of your nose ever so gracefully. Unable to keep your eyes off her, you give yourself a headache concentrating so hard. You tell yourself you'll be okay if she goes away, but beyond your self assurance you don't know what you'll do if she disappears.

She travels to your eyes, slow enough to make you shiver, and you close them only because she asks you to. Her soft hands caress your eyelids, her touch reveals her yearn of your blindness. She prances to your ears and whispers lyrics you've never heard before, it seems as if it's a lullaby intended only for you. Her presence washes away all doubt that ever existed. You then realize that your eyes don't need to be sewn shut to experience only her and nothing else, but it makes her happy and you'd be visually ignorant forever if wanted.

She slides down your neck and stops at your lips. Her slow moving torture should have been an easily recognized warning. She parts them with her highly addictive fingertips and slides inside. Before you even have a chance to gasp, move, or open your eyes, she's in your throat and no one is there to save you.

Pathetically enough, yes, I'll still be here.

I'm in a choke hold that does not allow me to stray, even for the slightest second. It's a figment of my imagination, but it exists, all at the same time. As soon as I loosen your fingers, just a little bit, you notice with a start and almost kill me in your panic. I'm against the wall and I know you fear, behind your upright chin and pin straight backbone, that I'll somehow escape. I know you're scared that if you let me wander, I might not come back.

And like the grip you have on my neck, all the hurt you've caused me, I'd be pretty fucking uneasy too.

Sure, write it on your suicide note.

I never want to hear/see someone say "fuck life" in serious context again.

Ponder that statement before you habitually blurt it out.
If you want to kill yourself, then by god, go kill yourself. There's people that want to be here, and if you want to leave, then leave.

Dear God,

I'm so sorry you had to take two for me to believe in you. Find some way for them to visit my dreams and I promise you won't be able to get rid of me.

Carry On - Valencia

I heard your footsteps this morning.
You know it's hard to get by when you don't sleep at all.
I heard your footsteps this morning.
You know it's hard to get by when you don't sleep at all.

I'm just trying to be honest
When I say my body's feeling tired,
And I've got to move on,
But I hope and I pray that your legs
Will somehow find the strength.

And they all carry on.
They want nothing but to be better off,
And I've heard in my rage,
But I found it in my heart to believe.
You are home.

Some nights I have this blurred vision,
Where we dance in a dream to the songs that we love.
Those songs have paid for those lonely souls who where singing along
When it wasn't enough just to hope,
And to pay that there body's some how find the strength.

And they all carry on.
They want nothing but to be better,
And I've heard in my rage,
But I found it in my heart to believe.

I've been waiting for good news.
Since you left, a little piece of my heart
Has been pounding out of my chest.
We're waiting for good news aren't we now?

And they all carry on.
They want nothing but to be better off,
And I've heard in my rage,
But I found it in my heart to believe.
You are home.
I've been waiting for good news.
Since you left, a little piece of my heart
Has been pounding out of my chest.
We're waiting for good news aren't we now?

I don't want to do this again.

James Kyle VanWagner,

You made me feel like I was doing something right and I'll continue to do so, just for you. You told me every time we saw each other that we were going to get married. I don't know what compelled me to stop to see you, but I'm glad I did. You asked me just a week ago if we were still getting married and I told you yes.

I wish I could rewind back to leadership class; spelling our names with foam letters and sticking them on our faces, making signs that said "creeper" and threatening to put them on your truck, you snapping pictures of my "dike hairdo". And what about prom, babydoll? We matched perfectly.

I'm so happy you and Brandon came into my work that night. Brandon did nothing but make fun of me, but it was great all the same. Words can't describe how much I'm going to miss seeing both your faces when I'm out and about Ocala.

I promise to take care of your baby girl. I know, everyone knows, that you you loved her. I knew it all along.

Brandon Cordwin,
Baby boy, when I first met you I thought you were the cutest thing I'd ever seen. We didn't talk nearly as much as I would have liked, but you made my best friend happy and that's all I can ask. You always had something "mean" to say to me, but I just laughed at you and I know that was your intention. I sat on your lap as Patrick drove me home the night of your graduation with a Coke Icee in my hand, without you I wouldn't have made it there.

I remember our little adventure you, me, and V had before Ash came to North Marion. You told us to watch after her and I promise to do my best from here on out. We laughed as the black woman cut your hair and as we wandered aimlessly about town. I am thankful for that day and I am thankful for that night. I appreciate all the times you made fun of my hair or what I was wearing, a funny thing to say, but this I promise.

I love you both and I feel privileged that I got the chance to know you. Pay me a visit. I don't believe in ghosts, I believe in angels.

I'm quite interested in the media today.

Everyone, I'm sure, has already heard of Craig Owen's removal from Chiodos. The negative comments towards the remaining four of the group are quite sickening. Craig obviously did something big enough to cause him from being booted.

http://www.myspace.com/chiodos

However, I wish the best of luck to all of them.

http://arkansasvarsity.rivals.com/content.asp?CID=992976
On a lighter and much more uplifting note, this was a great story. Good luck to this young man as well. Arkansas also has a Marion County, neat!

Dear Mom,

I sincerely apologize for calling you stupid in such general terms, but let me finish. The knowledge you've acquired over your years may be plentiful, this I wholeheartedly agree with, but your mind has hardly broadened in that time. You've convinced me that you are ignorant and I find that to be the most selfish and disgusting possible way to live your life. You believe God is there, blind to all the other theories that have surfaced that suggest otherwise. While that does prove your faith as a believer of God, you also must be accepting of everyone's opinions even though you might disagree. I find those theories believable. Because of this you question my heart, soul, and faith? I naturally doubt all that has to do with this "man", but this does not mean I am spawn of the devil.

You can pretend, but I'm aware that you have never accepted me or my way of life. Yes, I have rebelled. You've expected too much of me and when I don't meet those expectations... I am a failure. So why put in my best effort when I know, in your eyes, I will crash and burn anyway? I've told you to simply "give up" and you haven't. I will be your definition of responsible when all my responsibilities lie solely on my own shoulders. That means no reminders, no questions, no pressure, and most importantly: no degrading comments. I'll be eighteen years old in ten months, but that's not when I'll be an adult; I graduate in eight months. I'm sure my father has already informed you of my plans to move out. However, my mind has changed since then. I will not only be moving out, I will be moving away. And yes, mom, right now it is because of you.

I do not want to spend the last months of my life in this household disgusted with you. I do not want to love you because I have to, I'd prefer to love you because I want to. I am not a child. I grew up and developed my own opinions and my own views this past year. So naturally, your knack of treating me like one is among the biggest annoyance of everything I have to deal with. I need you to realize that it's time to transition into being less of a mother and more of a friend, because I now need your support, not your guidance. The parenting style you've stuck with my high school years is not healthy for someone who is about to be out in the world all by herself. Someone who will not have anyone to tell her she can't go to that party, to a friends house on a school night, to go hang out with a boy, or when she should come home Saturday night. No one will be there to tell her when to eat, when to sleep, or how she should go about getting her homework done. If I were anyone else, the way you've raised me and locked me up would eventually corrupt the good girl I am when I move away. Studies have proven exactly this.

I've kept my little sister in mind and the image of myself I have created for her. She obviously has no trouble when it comes to schoolwork, but if she is anything like me when it comes to the more important and life altering decisions I've had to make as a teenager, I will be thankful. And then, then she will be that angel.

I'd prefer for you not to initiate a conversation about this. I choose to write. A conversation will morph into an argument and I will say things that are blunt and indescribable with my voice. Madness will come over me and I will most likely never get this deep with you again.

This is not meant to hurt your feelings. I am not one of those people that throw the low blows. I do not write this to make you cry or to twist your stomach in a knot. Just like your comments on my make up, my clothes, my hair, my interests, and my "questionable" intelligence aren't intended to hurt me, either, right? I have struggled in attempt to try to belong to you. I can't do that until you open your eyes, your mind, and your arms to accept all that I am. All 100% of what makes me... me.

With the all love you force me to muster,
Chelsea

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I am severely optimistic. I rounded the fence to this and my whole entire face lit up. I can't explain why I find beauty in the broken, but expect so much perfection from someone of the opposite sex. I am not shallow and this proves it. I find it somewhat important to be physically attracted to someone in order to have an intimate relationship, so sue me. Anyone I've even bothered explaining this to has told me the same thing over and over: "Looks don't matter." Bullshit, stop trying to make yourself sound as unconditional as you wish you were. We approach someone based on looks, expecting that just because they appeal to us, they must be normal, right? We get peoples phone numbers based off of their physical appearance and chat quietly with our girlfriends or guys of how attractive that "girl or boy over there" is. I, unfortunately, have the problem with finding someone attractive at first and then getting to know them, discovering they were hardly anything compared to what I wished them to be.

But this, yes, it is unconditionally beautiful. Mostly because it can't speak to askew any form of impression you may have received from it. I'm glad only humans were given words, because without them, I'd be unable to sort out this mess of potential. More importantly: I'd be unable to admire the true innocence of something that can't help anything.

Headphones not in song give me headaches.

You say I am hypocritical. You say I'm supposedly "so open minded" but I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Just like anyone else, I'm listening when you think my headphones are turned up all the way. How you interact with others is just, if not more, important as how you interact with me. Don't lecture me on broadness of the mind when your own is as microscopic as the speaker hole you spit your gossip in.

Practice what you preach.

So I like to Stickam. Every night.

http://www.stickam.com/chessi

Realization is the source of inspiration.

Today I realized I was born with a gift.

You know the way everyone naturally stands when they don't care if the rain is soaking their clothes or ruining their watch? When your palms face the sky and your arms are shrugging without the shrug? I stood there as the hair I primped that morning flattened and hung heavily in front of my face. Mascara stained my cheeks and droplets gathered on my eyelashes, adding moisture to the source of a few of my opinions.

That's when I realized that my ability to write isn't something you come by every day, even as unbelievable as every year. I run track, but am I number one? I play soccer, but is my picture in the newspaper? No. But I write, and I'm sure that will take me places.

Then I, dripping wet, walked through my front door, soiling the halls with a pure mess.


I wrote this down in my notebook and ruined the entire thing.

My eyes are open while everyone else prays.

I need someone to help me find God. Someone I could deeply care about, someone that can outsmart me with their theories. I don't believe I could do it unless I liked someone enough to conform to their beliefs.

Right now it seems I'm naturally atheist. It's inexplicable, but I'd believe aliens are in control of us before one invisible man. He could very well be a superstition, hope of the mind, a myth that men of past times decided to pass on.

I'm begging for someone to convince me; what if there is a hell?

The only reason I can hate immaturity is because I've learned the true meaning of it.

Don't you just hate when you sincerely apologize and the recipient declares it insincere?
What's even more laughable is it isn't to your face, it's to other people. It proves to you that your apology was a waste of time and so is that other person. Fine by me. I'm not into actresses anyway. I'm certainly not one, hence to why I only speak truthfully.

This applies to Kanye West's apology on the Jay Leno show. He's not an actor, he's a rapper. Reason to why we shouldn't question how truly troubled he looked while apologizing to Taylor in front of millions of people. As Mr. Randy Pausch once said: "I'm sorry. It was my fault. How do I make it right?"

If you've gone about it that way, then you've done all you can do. Peoples opinions past that point don't matter.

Inches to the galaxies.

Resting in the grasses of an unfamiliar place, I close my eyes to imagine, first, what dances on the outside of my lids. I thought my mind could paint a prettier picture, but the moon proved me wrong.

You swear the man winked at you. You're very good at making a mere coincidence a cry for attention. Superstitions do not exist. We can, however, argue of fate until the fireballs of hope fade away and dawn breaks our train of thought. Nature is the only thing, so far, that leaves me speechless. Something living, breathing, and that unconditionally beautiful is light years away.

Whoever you are, you're oh so sly.

I'm aware I set examples, I've been told I'm the root of inspiration.
Admiring is admirable.
However, I've yet to stumble upon someone worth looking up to.

It's so hard to impress me. A fault I wish I could change.

I need someone smarter than me, or someone that will challenge me.
Where are you hiding?

I am not unique, based on the sole fact you all think you are. I am myself.

I'm most likely laughing obnoxiously with the boys while you're sitting there trying to look pretty for them.

Those that accept me for who I am are my true heroes.

I'm not one thing, I'm the color in the middle of black and white. Proven; neutrality is divine.

I have a tendency to assume everyone I communicate with is of the same level of intelligence and maturity as I. This, Chelsea, is mistake number one.

I've learned an open mind is hard to come by. I promise to never question the broadness of my own.

Los Angeles is calling.

I'm thinking of things beyond Ocala, beyond Florida.

I wouldn't mind a piece of shit apartment in California with someone that would put up with me.
Does anyone want to run away?

This is what your mama really should have taught you.

Kids these days are stupid. By this, I do not refer to mistakes the typical teenagers of today are almost guaranteed to make, I refer to their associations with their own kind.

Is there some hidden difficulty in the phrase "treat others the way you'd like to be treated"? I've had no trouble enforcing the term, so what's the deal with everyone else? Do other kids have a different definition of "friends"? I've always thought that friends don't talk badly about each other, that they put each others best interest before their own and, quite simply, they don't spend every waking moment trying to piss each other off. The problem with all high school drama today is that their pea sized brains have no humility, no sense of what's right and what's wrong, and no concern for anyone but themselves. It baffles me that they all just don't understand that if we're sincerely sorry for our mistakes (mistakes that are not 100% intentional), and voice those apologies, everything will be okay.

And as for teenage "love"? Give me a break. The whole aspect of teenage relationships can be taken seriously, but it isn't for two reasons:

1. The side effect of a relationship is that you forget who your friends are, the people that have always been there and the people that probably will either a) pathetically enough still be there when you get your head out of your own asshole or b) cause a very disruptive evacuation from your life. All of those that have ever went with 'option a', I hope your friend realizes how lucky they are that you decided to stick around. If not, and you haven't moved on to option b, grow a pair and stand up for yourself. All of those that went with the latter; kudos, you have a backbone.
2. The only other reason such a "bond" is laughable is because every teenage relationship is LOVE.
   

While flipping through an informative pamphlet that my younger sister brought home from school on sex, I found what might be the most intelligent logic on this subject I've ever come across.

Love or Lust?
Love is forever, lust is for now.
Love is giving, lust is getting.
Love is tender, lust is tense.
Love is priceless, lust is cheap.
Love is patient, lust is impatient.
Love is selfless, lust is demanding.
Love understands, lust manipulates.

Oh, and how I cannot stress the first point enough. The message is simple. You're 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 years old... You haven't a clue what forever is.