Soundtrack: Headfirst For Halos – My Chemical Romance, Without You – Silverchair

Living Is The Hardest Part

When I can't sleep I listen to music which is loosely based on dreams, with the kind of melodies that floats through space - leaving no real trace, just a sense of bittersweet remorse and the smell of rain. They leave me empty and longing, but also happy-sad for everything that's said and done. Life is long, but oh so short. It swirls by in seconds when we wait for hours. There's no such thing as the right time, when ever equals never and really being alright is such a far-fetched term. I live in a wrecked world, created by myself, but I'm not alone. I drag people down when they try to lift me up. I tear myself apart trying to explain. You might wonder why I say these things, why I write this down, you might wonder how, when, where and why it all went wrong?

I can't tell – because I don't know. It has always been.

There's something broken inside me, something that wasn't right from the start - a kind of fear that lives inside and eats away, feeding on what's supposed to be my soul. The only thing I got left is my heart, and it is spread all across my floor. You tore it out and carved your name into the core, telling me to never forget that this, this is real.

It makes me want to cry, can't you see? I'm not capable of lies. It's too hard to keep it all together. So once again we're caught up in discussions about things that are irrelevant because my sickness can't be explained. I use so many words that I stumble, my tongue gets tied up in diagnoses that means no harm – but they cut, deeper than razors and harder than knives. They shred my flesh, tearing up wounds that refuse to heal. Underneath my skin I got a million tattoos. All the judging glances and badly hidden meanings have etched lines that'll never fade. Ugly-Fat-Stupid-Freak. I am every single one of those words. I live them.

… and now it's your time to cry. You say you don't believe, and I tell you once again, I never lie. There's a piece missing, my puzzle was never meant to be complete. That sounds so fucking tragically poetic it makes me want to puke, showing that really, I am ugly inside and out. I know – so please don't scream. It hurts my head and I throw papers at your face, all my pain in ballpoint-ink. I try to force my own words down your throat; a big mouthful of desperation might shut you up. Moments later I am ashamed, such a childish way to act, such a dumb way to react. I can bear with losing love but not respect. Then I'd be less than nothing. Now at least I am wrong.

I am misplaced, lost in a maze. Every time I see light, I turn and run away. Finding home is hard when you don't know where to start and when you're not sure you want to go there at all. If you fuck with misery, she never lets you go. She sucks you dry, spits you out and then leaves you to linger in the dust … longing for more. That's self-destruction 1.0.1 for you all.

You're curled up in my sofa, skin and bones makes an awkward pose when you stop crying and start hating. Your eyes burn with a new kind of flame, the kind who says: "I've had enough", I've seen it before – I know how this'll end. I get you, I understand, you're fed up with my constant borderline. See, my words are cut in the wrong places, my sentences end in the middle, and starts at the end. Confusion taste stale when I wait for you to talk. I pace and watch clouds outside my window. It's a great day outside; it's not so great inside. That's something I feel a lot of the time. Almost every day. That's what makes it hard to wake, to relate – all I know is this emptiness, the feeling of 'what's the use?' I don't want to die; I just don't want to live. I blurt that out and your fists curl into balls.

The next few lines you say throws me of my feet, makes me throw myself headfirst for halos. You know – it's oh so fucking obvious that you know what you do to me. So you're one step ahead of me when I rush for safety, when I turn to the only thing I know. We fall on my dirty kitchen floor, arms and legs tangled, hearts on display and NEED shining through in an ugly shade of neon red, much like blood that's just been spilled. The pills I've tried to reach make a surreal multi-colored universe around us as they rain down. I spilled 'em all before I got a chance to swallow. I wonder why they make them in such beautiful colors. It's almost like they're taunting us for being grey. Color me.

I scream … and you hold me closer than ever before when panic rushes through my veins. I can't handle, I can't breathe, I'm so out of synch I forget my name. Pathetic sobs spells a one syllable word that you can't make out:


I can't do this on my own, if you leave me now I'll jump out the window, I'll run in front of cars, I'll cut my wrists and slit my throat, I'll hate myself to death. But I say nothing of this, because it's too much to lay on another human being. It's something few people understand. You live your life; no one else can live it for you. You couldn't save me even if you wanted to … and that's the hardest part for anyone to realize. You're never, never enough. After awhile we talk about this and you agree. I feel better when I see the hatred in your eyes change into doubt. I can work with that, that's something to get better for.

… and when night time comes and I fall asleep with your hand across my waist I am glad to have lived another day. This is the way it works, two steps back, and one in the right direction. It's a war that I am pretty sure I can't really win because somehow life itself is a battlefield. All we do is fight, but figuring out what's worth fighting for is what really counts, that's what matters.

You matter to me, and I matter to you. Together it makes the most beautiful thing.