Time: 1:37 am.
Rule 1: When you start to ramble, your mind is struggling to keep
up. Simply take a breath. Collect yourself. Visualize your goal.
Identify the next step. Attempt that step.
I'm just going to write. If people read this and like it, thank
god. If not, then I've completed one step and one goal. That's
all any of us can do at any one point in time is attempt to
achieve our goals. I've been thinking about my past a lot. How
much I've fucked up. I wish I was a little girl again. I wish I
was someone I looked up to when I was 8.
What if everything had just ended the way it was supposed to in
8th grade. What if I hadn't listened to everyone and my problem
just kept progressing until I did die. Well, I guess I'd just be
dead. Ha. Why do I want to die? Well that's a good question. A
better question is why do you want to live? To see the world? To
find love? To achieve something you thought you never could?
Chances are none of us will do that. 25% of you reading this
won't be alive in 10 years. The other 75% will wish you weren't.
Why do we crave this world that is steadily getting worse every
day? Everyday there's more drugs and violence than ever before.
More people dying every day until one day a scared politician
just presses the button and we're all gone.
Let me introduce myself. I'm Izy. I have a few nicknames. Izzy,
Punka, Punk, Nixy, Pumpkin. And bitch. I'm 18 years old and I
live in Chicago. I trust no one. I live with my mother, Stacy,
and my aunt Kitty. I have two younger siblings, Michelle, who's
about to be 11, and another Dana, who I believe is turning 6.
Dana doesn't live in Chicago with me, she lives with our dad in
Arkansas. I haven't seen my dad in 2 years I think. Or is it 1
1/2? A long time. We're a normal family. I'm the outcast as every
family has. I'm the artist in a family of geniuses. My aunt is
like a president of an environmental consulting company. I don't
suppose I can name them. My mom is currently unemployed but she's
going to school for I believe surgical technology (it changes a
lot). She also got a 99 on her ASVAB. My sister....is a modern
marvel. She spends all day researching topics like sharks and how
to invent certain things. She disassembled my laptop at one point
and helped my reassemble it. Keep in mind she's 10. She also was
able to multiply at the age of 3 and is currently attending a
gifted school that 1,000 children applied to go to and there was
only 5 separate spots for. She managed to snag one and keeps up
Coming from such an amazing family you must be thinking, 'well,
if you're an artist you must be very good at what you do! You
must have taken many art classes in high school and excelled just
like your family.' Of course you realize by now, that is not the
case. I actually spent my first two years of high school fucking
around as many of do, barely passing from grade to grade. We
moved to Chicago my junior year. I was so angry to be here that I
really didn't focus, latching onto any friends I could have. If
any of you have ever been to Chicago, you realize you NEED to be
a little more choosey of friends. I dropped out when I was 17. I
got enrolled in online classes and graduated a year early when I
was 17. Maybe I did get some of my mother's brains.
Other than that, I've been on my ass. Waiting for something to
happen. I know I need to get up and make it happen, but I'm too
terrified of where I live to even try to make something of myself
out there. I live down the street from a park that's known for
gang activity. My little dugout behind my apartment building has
gang tags in it, which mean they hopped our fence to tag our
building. It's right outside of my backdoor. If I hear voices,
even my neighbors, I get paranoid, dead bolt the front door, grab
a kitchen knife and try to talk myself down. By now you must be
thinking I'm completely insane. Positively paranoid. Maybe. But
let's list some facts. People in my apartment building have
gotten robbed, meaning their doors kicked in, a few times since
we've lived here. They are never home. You know what dropouts do?
They are ALWAYS home. You know what gang bangers don't give a
shit about? Killing the dropouts that are always home.
Rule #2: restoring your faith in humanity is impossible. No
matter how many good people there are in the world, there's 10x
more bad people waiting to fuck you over. Believe there is good
in people, expect there to only be bad.
My one claim to intelligence though is my theories. I have many
theories. Like Evolution or Creationism. Why couldn't God have
created the planet and had us evolve. The bible is just a book of
stories that aide us in how to live our lives. Not a book of
direct ways we must live. Otherwise it'd be slightly ironic to
sing the national anthem with God's name all through it at
football games. Because touching the hyde of a dead pig is a sin?
Or my dot theory. My thought that the brain is it's own organism
and everything we have is just a casing to protect it. Like a
mollusk. Our bones, skin, organ are all just a shell to protect
I have a few more things to explain. For now...I need rest. Good
night book. I hope this turns into something special.
Time: 3:21 am.
Time: 7:24pm Saturday the 13th. Yes write this under the time.
God I actually remembered to write this. I can't write what I
want. What would my mom think. Watching adventure time. I need to
get some Tyler the Creator. Shit. I can't breathe. U You can't
breathe. Inhale. Inhale retard! There ya go. You're breathing
sweetie. Ut's beautiful isn't it? I miss my mom. I can't breathe
again. Wait was I talking in 3rd person? That'd be if I kept
saying Izy breathe. You is 2nd. I'm not watching adventure time.
Wtf? Regular show dummy. That's 2nd again. Oh god am I gonna
puke? Sweethear are you --
Time ended: Unknown
Getting too tired to write. Uneventful day anyway. Came home.
Cleaned. Drew a picture. Talking to a boy right now. Goodnight
Time: 1:02 am.
Two sink holes in Illinois. Two bombs went off in Boston. They
believe over 7 were found. I think around 10 were supposed to go
off. Chicago floods. Fertilizer plant exploded. 3 people killed
in Boston bombing. Over 100 injured. Man peoples limbs were blown
off. President Obama calls the act an 'act of terrorism'. Police
come up with suspects. Suspects are found in a car with bombs.
The first suspect is killed (gun down), younger suspect drives
over dead brother (suspect 1) in an attempt to get away. Boston
is basically shut down. Suspect 2 is found in a covered boat, in
a man's backyard. I don't think a bomb was found on him. He was a
year older than me.
This is not a few months of events. This it not even a few weeks
of events. This is one week. One fucking week. I'm beginning to
fear the worst. I'm beginning to suspect it is the end. There is
snow in April.
This is the world we live in now. This is the world we have
created. When I went to the bathroom as a kid, in the middle of
the night, house pitch black. I would live in terror that the
moment I'd open the door, Chucky, the serial killer doll, would
be standing on the other side, murderous knife glistening against
some imaginary light. I'd muster all of my courage, open the
door, ready to attack him with my sidekick Spot, the handmade
doll (ironic that I planned to fight a murderous doll with
another doll). Of course once I opened the door and scrambled to
the light switch, there was no doll. Simply a shadow of Spot. I'd
get back in bed, phone next to me, swearing I'd figure out the
Powerpuff Girls number and they'd aid me in any fight I had with
Chucky, watching music videos until I fell asleep.
Fast forward 10 years.
I go to the bathroom as an 18 year old. House is not pitch black,
fish tank gives off a little of light. Cats are running around
the house. I look at myself in the mirror. Take a quick note of
how many acne scars I've accumulated through the years. 6 now. I
pick at my nail polish, vowing to stop biting my nails. I hear a
creak from behind the door. Too loud to be a cat. I'm too old to
believe in Chucky. Spot got thrown away when I was 11 by my dad.
She can't help me anymore. Panic sets in. Logic tells me to
think. It must be a cat, maybe even my mom trying to get a
midnight snack. Panic tells me someone's broken in. Panic wins.
My bravery as a child has all completely faded. No person has
survived from being brave, but I can't stay in the bathroom
forever. I go over every possible person that could be on the
other side. A scared punk ass who just wants to break in and rob
people. Easily scared off if you show that you're in command. A
hardened criminal. Perhaps if caught off guard could be subdued
if hit with a metal device. I grab the metal thing we keep to
hang hand towels on, on the counter. The bottom's pretty heavy.
Could defiantly fuck someone's world up. I stayed in place. Fear
too overwhelming. Then I thought of the worst human. The most
terrifying human that I would never hesitate to swing this heavy
thing at their head. Keep swinging until I hear a clink on the
tile. That way I'd know I'd actually hit them enough times to cut
through their head, having the metal connect all the way through
to the floor. This human is the one who sees the bathroom door
shut, but opens it to keep everyone together. Visions of someone
with a bandana covering their face, gun pointed in mine bursting
in. I decide I will not be a victim. I will kill who's on the
other side. I open the door. It was my sister. My heart is
racing. She asks why I'm hold the towel rack. I lie, saying I
need to clean it. I give her a hard time about being in my
business, she laughs walking to the bathroom. Hopefully next time
she won't ask why I have the towel rack. She doesn't need to know
about my paranoid fears, for now, it's best for her to be afraid
of fictional monsters.
She'll have the rest of her life to be afraid of the real ones.
I saw a movie called Megan is Missing. I can't even type what
it's about because it disturbs me too much. Google it if you're
brave. *Warning* I did a report on serial killers for a project,
have watched many documentaries about them, and spent countless
hours googling images, newspaper reports, books, and many other
things telling the haunting stories. I am not weak when it comes
to movies. I watch them, eyes glued to the screen fascinated,
excited, entranced. I am not a weak girl. This movie made me
unable to look. Squeamish almost.
When I was growing up, I often wondered if I was paranoid. Not in
the sense of feeling like something that was up that wasn't. In
the sense that I always was afraid of something. Terrified my
parents couldn't protect me. How would I be one of those
'survives' on the news. Easy. I decided not to be. I tried to
stay barricaded in my house. Or close with family. I can't really
remember not being near them. The farthest being a house away,
with other family. Only when I went to friends houses was I
really 'far'. Which I believe means they did their job. None of
you have ever seen me for being kidnapped have you? The answer to
this question is no. Ha.
Rule 3: You must always remember to laugh. If you don't, you are
Why did I tell you this long story about my bathroom habits of
when I was 8 and 18? To make you uncomfortable of course! No. To
show an example. When we are young, we fear fictional things that
could never hurt us. Not because we are so easily scared by
something as implausible as a serial killer's soul transferring
to a child doll, going around murdering people; Because we are so
incapable of believing an adult, people we see as authority,
protectors, could hurt us. People who are like our parents, our
parents friends. How could they ever hurt us, kill us, or even
Through growing up we realize that all those monsters we were
afraid of as kids, couldn't do this. It's down right impossible.
Almost laughable. That's why we enjoy horror movies as much as we
do. Especially things that could never happen. It's simply
entertaining. What makes movies absolutely terrifying, is not how
loud and suddenly they can play music to make us jump. It's when
something COULD happen. What's even scarier...
When it already has.
I believe I'm going through the change, from teenager to young
Where I'm catching a glimpse of the real world.
People should be glad I don't run the world. There wouldn't be
any people left. We are over socially. My mind has rambled. 420
discussion on FB.
I'll write more tomorrow at Amanda's.
Rule 4: The monsters aren't under our beds, they're inside our
hearts. Most people keep them locked out. But the people who
embrass their monsters, run the world.
Happy 4/20 world.
Time: 2:13 am.