On my way home, there was no thunder.

Ima wa sekai ga watashi wa kirai.

Ima no boku wa watashi wa daikirai.

I dislike everything about negative emotions and problems based on them. They rile you up, put more volume to them and give you serious breathing problems including a head ache with it.

I want to throw up.

I hate the fact that I can't even mention those problems, because society has made me grow into a person who does not talk about these things. Or if, then always round the corner.

I hate the fact that no one will ever truly know what was going or what wasn't going through my head my whole life.

I hate the fact that I can't get over these petty problems. That analyzing them in a "calm" manner gets me even more riled up, because I feel that every time I get mad, I can't treat myself as a human.

I want to get out of here. Abroad. Anywhere, where I don't have any people I know to face. It'll be sad without the people whom I like and care for, but it would be so much easier to get rid of every emotion ever felt associated with a person, start in a new country with a blank page.

Evenings like this make me feel that there's two people inside me: The somewhat mad something thing, who actually likes to draw stripes on her face with a lipstick and the rather destructively mad person, who really tries their best to make sure that I am miserable. Neither of them deserve to be in each other's company.

I hate the way I keep blaming the society for things, but I really can't seem to figure out who else came up with the idea that everything remotely negative inside me must be suppressed, without ever giving up the hope that if I let something shine through, then maybe someone will notice.

I hate the way that my head is complicated apparently, cause all problems are so easy to solve and I'm supposed to feel the emotion without being it.

I hate being called an ego.

I hate being separated from myself, with someone simply dictating, that the ego is a sickness, thinking is a sickness, everything I am and live for is a sickness.

Because what is not important is your love for the people you've grown to love, but the amount of strangers you love. You gotta love everybody.

Nobody cares that you don't have enough love for that. Morals. Never trust em.

If my mind were a spine, then I'd really like to bend it to the point where it'll break. Just to see what happens.

H.

Musicless.

With a total amount of two balls and a New Year celebration, I feel that I might've crossed my limit of social interaction. Not the individual kind, but the, there are loads of people kind.

I honestly feel that I don't want to go anywhere for a long time.

I wonder if it's because I've stopped trying so hard in my life, which means that I am attempting to get along less and less with people I don't know.

I've also become quieter...it's like I do everything, yet when I need to talk about something, nothing comes to mind. Mainly since I haven't watched any kind of movies or anime or anything.

Nor read. I've just been...everywhere else. Which is more eventful and everything, but I have nothing to talk about.

Weird.

I feel like I've lost sight of the self I was before, my behavior and responses change more and more. Although I've been trying to go for the better, I have no idea what's happening.

I don't have trust issues anymore, I think. It's more of the question on which topics I am comfortable to talk about.

I read a lot. The whole Hunger Games series. Funny I actually did what a finnish fangirl told me to.

But now, I don't know whether it's the history lessons lately or myself going somewhat haywire, I feel for the whole series a bit more, take it in more seriously.

It's like growing up.

I really don't what that, mainly because I have no idea what that'll turn me into.

I wonder how the seventh grade me would feel like now.As arbitrary as the number seems, it's actually not.

I need something of a fresh start.

Should put that good thought down as well.

I know it's meant to be in a jar, but honestly, I have way too many pretty notebooks, which I should use.
I can always cut the descriptions out and put them then into a jar, ay?

H.

Dancer in the Dark

I feel like a sick pervert, who encourages people to talk about themselves, by pushing some simple buttons.

I feel fake.

I feel like I am caught up in a loop, never ending, always returning to this very same Sunday morning, where the only thing I do is write, write, write.

I get weird ideas, I feel oddly at peace, yet when talking to other people, I feel so very fake.

I feel Christmas.

The weather is windy, the sun is shining, yet I feel not confined, but somehow restricted to myself.

I feel like I am pacing impatiently in my cage, knowing I could break out, wondering what I am still waiting for.

Am I hesitating?

Cuppa.

I don't seem to be the kind of person who can go on without crying at least once per fortnight.

Then again, it is solved.

I've made a list. It's short at the moment, but it'll get better.

Ning kõndides pimedal,

kuid soojal oktoobrikuu õhtul valgustatud tänaval,
"I don't care, I love it" kõrvus kumisemas,

kogen jälle mittekuuluvustunnet

Thought I'd add it here, to sum up what bothered me up until three weeks ago.

It's hard to keep talking to people, when occasionally, you seem to tire of them, not because you feel that they've done something wring, but simply because the amount of conversation has overflown.

I wish I could put my thoughts down in the form I think 'em. I still haven't thought up how that is supposed to work, but I suppose it might be possible one day.

I think I set myself a goal to write as much as possible this month, but I already can feel that most likely, I won't be writing anymore than necessary - which is sad because it means that I'll never become a writer.

Then again, people have published a book with much weirder and more senseless texts, so who says I won't be able to get anything published, hm?

 

Thinking is a disease.

That moment when you desperately need to listen to a song, as loudly as possible in order to enjoy it, yet you simply can't because you're supposed to go to sleep.

So I'm writing this post instead, not quite sure which song I crave for, in hopes I will figure it out by tomorrow.

I feel like I've randomly managed to find myself some creativity and now I'm not sure what to do with it.

It's quite unusual, especially since I've got no inspiration.

But I've sort of promised myself to start writing during November...I wanted to note down some stories, mostly the Potter ones, I think. Gotta look up numerology.

It's amazing how much pressure the second period suddenly brings with it - you've got separated Estonian classes just for the sake of doing your exam better, not to mention German as your first foreign language. The homework load with the first week is amazing, yet you enjoy the chance to speak proper German much.

It's amazing how much things one can simply do worse to make yourself more understandable for people.

Of cats and curly conquerors

Sometimes, I'm not quite sure what my intuition wants to tell me.

I start assuming things, which are either 100% accurate or not accurate at all.

Thus I end up...somewhere. Which makes me overthink.

But, I did get to pet a cat at three o'clock in the morning. I'd say it was a successful night.

I am seriously terrified at the moment. I didn't realize it until now, when I start putting my thoughts down.

I don't want to talk about it to anyone, just out of pure paranoia that it'll go away when I talk about it.

I don't want it to go away.

My head hurts.

I grin maniacally as I gaze down upon my driver's license, which I don't feel I've deserved.

But I am glad that this has been accomplished, so I shan't complain about it.

Step number 1: Be honest. Please, I beg of you be honest. Is gonna hurt like hell, but being honest is better than being not.

Life is like a boat. Life is like theater.

I feel like a marionette on strings, barely aware of what's happening around me.

I did get my room clean though. So that's something.

Precisely, punctually planned.

The clock struck six.

She took a last glance into the mirror - the dress she had worn for last year's school year still fit her, she had by some miracle managed to squeeze herself into the too small shoes. Her hair had been done up in a messy bunny, with two red strands falling forward. She had even trimmed her fringe for the occasion.

Her lips had been painted red, her eye lids had been adorned with two thin lines of black and she had put on her contacts as well.

She smiled.

Everything was going as planned.

It was simple - she had told him she would bail, she wanted to go the ball. She apologized profusely and told him she would meet him on his real birthday, just to congratulate him and pass over the gift. Everyone had been notified she'd been going - except she would arrive later, since she used her father as a chauffeur.

"I'll be going then!" She called out to her parents. Yes, her parents had got the reverse story - she would go with her friends, since it would be more fun this way.

"Have fun!" sounded two voices, one high and the other low, from the other room as she put on her black coat. She adjusted her bag once, checking whether all she needed was there. Then, without wasting time any further, she left the house.

The bus was three minutes late, something she appreciated. The later she arrived, the better. Her planning hadn't been that precise.

The bus ride itself lasted twenty minutes, meaning that by the time she arrived at her destination, it was remarkably darker than before.

She walked in the small silent neighborhood, admiring the peace. Yes, this was the right decision, she thought to herself, smiling slightly.

The bus stop wasn't really that far from her final destination, half a minute of a walk. Upon reaching the two story house, two rather active dogs loudly barked to announce her arrival. She smiled at them from behind the fence which separated her from them.

"It's nice to see you too. I'm sorry I lied last time." She said to the two. Her expression became thoughtful. "Although when thinking about it, I didn't know I would end up here today.Not that far back."

She hung her bag on the gate, taking out a few things. First, a dark square, which she laid gently on the ground. Secondly, her phone. She messed with it a little and then the familiar waltz sounded softly into the evening air. She did three steps before setting it down on the dark square.

Next, she pulled out an envelope. The name and school were written down, so it would surely find its owner once she was finished. She hadn't sealed it yet, so she opened it up and reread its contents. She felt slightly bad about writing this single letter, not even to someone, who was most dear to her, but she had found it easier to do it like this - in her twisted, half-joking way, this letter was supposed to cheer people up.

She hoped her puns would do the job.

At last, she pulled out the shining blade. She ran her fingers over it gently, making sure not to cut herself. It wouldn't do to have her picture ruined by some cuts on the finger tips. She took a  deep breath.

It was time.

She considered the option, whether he would find her first thing in the morning, but figured it would be too lucky, if it really happened. She sincerely hoped that he would able to get a glimpse of her though.

Well in the end, it wouldn't matter to her anymore.

The waltz in her phone ended, and started from the beginning. She really hadn't bothered to calculate her bloodloss, so she had made sure that the song played on and on, by mixing a ten hour version of it. Now she needn't worry about it.

She sat down on the square, muffling the phone slightly and spreading her skirt part out so the dark square wouldn't be seen. She supported her back with the fence, where immediately two curious noses sniffed at her back. She could have mentally slapped herself for not applying any perfume, but well, it was too late anyways.

She took out her gloves, which she had been keeping in her coat pockets and gripped the knife harder.

She closed her eyes as she slid the knife across her left arm, right up until the elbow. With slow movements in order to avoid pain, she put on the left glove.

The right arm's line wasn't as straight as the left arms, but she quickly covered it with the other glove.

Now all she had to do, was wait. Wait for the numbness take over the pain, the slowing activity of the brain and the sleepiness.

She closed her eyes, listened to her hearts slowing beats as the blood poured out and smiled.