Since when did love become a belief? It used to be an emotion. I mean, happiness isn’t a belief, I’ve been happy before. Sadness isn’t a belief, I’ve been sad before. People either believe in love or they don’t and sadly enough once you believe or don’t, it’s really hard to change your mind and there’s usually something that triggers it. I’m not going to say I don’t believe in love, it IS just an emotion. Practically a fact. I don’t think that this fact will find me. Just like transgenderism, fetishes, really hot guys, etc.

I’ve been writing in this blog for about a year now (we were together a year) about this guy named Tristan. (far over 6ft tall, dark brown shaggy hair, passive aggressive, very funny, not much else to say because he really doesn’t have more to him than that) Well Tristan told me something absolutely flooring yesterday. On Halloween! That I invited him to! At my house! (Please note we have been broken up but still on very ‘friendly’ terms for the past week or two) He said ‘I still like you so much. But (always the but) I don’t think we should go out because I’m not happy around you anymore etc etc. I’ve also loved (he said it.) this other girl (Hanna- New Yorker, girl mentioned in last post. I’m a fucking psychic.) the whole time we were going out.’

Oh, wow. 

Well, fuck you, Tristan.

Isn’t that great? I mean really. I just can’t get over how fucking fantastic people in the world can be. The funniest part? I knew. I fucking knew and I was in love with him. So I let him walk all over me. Touch me with his fingers, listen to lies while I knew that’s all they were- lies, he let me believe I was something more than what I have been since, what, the fifth grade? Waste. Second-choice-girl. Settle-for-her-girl. She’s-kinda-hot-might-as-well-girl. And when it came down to it. Sitting underneath the stars listening to him tell me all this. I never even said “Wow, so I guess you really are an asshole” or “Piss off”, nothing of that sort. Even at (I think it’s safe to say) one of the absolutely shittiest moment of my life, I still let him walk on me. So what I did? You all will love this. I told him that I was in love with my ex. My ex. The pyscho Mormon with even worse breath. Why. Why did I say that? I mean, it’s true I’ve never gotten ‘butterflies’ or seen ‘forever’ (I’m a faggot.) with anyone else but him but he is unappealing to me.

So what now? Am I supposed to be fucking friends with Tristan? Say hi in the hallways? Eat lunch with him? Go to outings with our friends together? NO. I don’t want to be around that stupid, shallow piece of shit. And you want to know something ELSE? Hanna, that girl (she really isn’t that bad) she has a BOYFRIEND. Tristan’s ‘BEST FRIEND’. Wow, Tristan. YOU REALLY ARE A GREAT FUCKING PERSON. And Tristan’s best friend, Hanna’s boyfriend, he’s sweet. He’s fragile and sweet and he cares about Hanna so much and he cares about Tristan so much. The world is just FULL of beauty. Isn’t it? And Kayla, being Kayla, (oh that’s me by the way) I’m not going to tell anyone. Ha. Ha ha. Only my best friend knows. But you have no idea, 6 followers, how much I want everyone to know how scummy he is. I want everyone to know.

So in my conclusion, if Tristan ever sees this. (Which is doubtful because he never looked at this blog anyway. Yay.) I have a question for him, you have great friends who you take for granted, you have nice eyes, you have money, you have good grades, you have a nice body, you have good hair, you have education, so then where is your personality?

idc. I really could fucking care less. Actually, just by saying that I think we all can more or less tell I’m lying. Why can’t they see that they’re supposed to be together? They’re best friends, both from New York City, and their parents are best friends. So I tell him that if he wants to do whatever with her, he can. And then he freaks out. Why. Just go the fuck together and be fucking happy. I’ve always been perfectly content with my books and music. This girl from New York and I- we really couldn’t be more different. I like Simon and Garfunkel, she likes Taylor Swift. I’m from DC, she’s from NYC. I’m a realist, she’s so fucking optimistic. I have virtually no talents at all, she can sing pretty well and does, like, fencing? (Boxing?) Maybe it was rugby. I DON’T KNOW. I like John Steinbeck and Hubert Selby, she likes the Hunger Games. I have this dull, curly brown hair that’s all over the place, she has long, straight, blonde hair.

I don’t have a low self esteem- I promise. I just think this girl is more this guys speed. The guy is virtually the same person as she is. I think he THINKS he’s into poetry, underground bands, classic novels, The Beatles, etc; but he’s really just this blatantly easy-to-figure-out kid. I do love him, I do. I just wish I could be more like him and believe all the nonsense he does.

Actually, the talk with Reedster was helpful, it really made me feel better. We talked about Texas and Doha and the Woodlands and we both decided that it would be better to move. Well, not better, easier. Which is really cheap I guess but being in a place where no one knows you, it’s great. It really is.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

My mother can’t stay out of my goddamned business. I know it’s right to care and whatever, but I don’t even like her. She doesn’t need to know every fucking thing.

She bought me a cigar and then yelled at me for smoking it.

UM WAT.

Four more years.

Four more years.

Four more years.

I’m in a bus with some young Puerto Rican men in aviators. They haven’t said anything but they threw me a Heineken. They smell like bread and cannabis. If they drive this bus to San Juan and include me in the sex trade of PR, please look at this post and know that I’m in black toms and a blue vest and one of the men looks exactly like Ludacris. Ok, Godspeed.

i fucking hate my life

im miserable and lonely all the time

the only thought that helps me finish the day is that there’s such thing as pot and nicotine

i dont where im from or where i can really say i wouldnt mind rotting there

i dont know how to act in most social situations

i talk to myself and rarely even notice

im starting to think this is one fucked up poem even though it was intended to be a post

im not fucking poetic in the slightest

i want everything that i cant possibly have

my attempts to be kind really fuck me over

the thoughts of my day are composed solely on impossible propagandas that only i would be cruel enough to participate in

i hate myself more than my haters do 

my family hates me and you can just go fuck yourself if you hear kids say that and never stop to think if it could possibly be true

i wish i was somewhere else

in a different time and surrounded by different people

i want to die but im afraid of the pain and regret brought with it

so maybe i dont want to die all that badly

i wish everything and everyone would disappear

Well it’s summer now and I thought that I would try to regain my novel writing ideas and record them in a journal but since I’m at the computer much more often, it’s really just more convenient so here I am :)

It’s the summer. It’s great and I get to sleep in all the time. Like today I woke up at 10:30, skyped for like an hour, and then went back to bed until six. God dammit where’s my chapstick? I’ll get that afterwords. I’m off topic. I miss him. I’m being erotically deprived, which has made me turn to food. Story of my life.

Ok so today was basically just as I suspected. No one really acknowledged my existence; which is cool I guess. And I was just completely awkward and didn’t say anything and Tristan kept saying “Oh yeah, there isn’t much to say but I’m glad I’m here with you”. Well aw, thanks, but seriously, it’s better to be with someone and communicate rather than be with someone and point out homeless people and lesbians. It’s called the point out the painfully obvious game and it sucks.

So here was my day in a nutshell; I went to St. Patricks Cathedral because… I don’t really know, I guess in some place so unfamiliar I wanted to be with what I knew? That sounds very ‘holier than thou’ but I mean like cathedrals in general, they’re like my second home. It’s the architecture that I love, folks. But anyway, so Tristan, his friend Charlie (whom I do care for), and this very white guy with no leg hair (Gideon) come over and I met them at Rockefeller (spelling?) and we go to Central Park, that’s sounds delightful, yeah? Well it was, sort of. We ‘jumped’ this pathetic little fence and climbed all these rocks to the top of a mini waterfall. It was beautiful but it was a faux waterfall. A FAUX WATERFALL. It was fed by a freaking hose, I guess that’s how they roll in the city. Anyway, were walking and we went like across the city, on a subway, to this pizza place. The pizza was fantastic but around us was just a whole bunch of punks. Not like the ‘that kid smokes’ but like the blue mohawk, fishnet tights punks. And then so his friend, who seemed a little bit like a ‘I’m always right and God isn’t real unless I say he is’ type (Gideon) goes off and buys weed. That’s lovely. And then the asshole doesn’t share his weed. I mean really, you can’t make an elaborate display of buying weed and not share. I can’t even… whatever. So then (all the while Kayla being an awkward tag along too afraid to speak) Gideon spends like 30 minutes trying to find a fucking roof. It’s New York City moron I’m sure you can’t just find a damn roof and we don’t even know what he wants to do with this magical roof he speaks of. So finally after wasting 30 minutes of my short life, Charlie gives this guy (who is obviously damaged) money in his cup, yeah it was very sweet and we all know what the guy was doing with that money and then we kept running into this guy and he asked us over and over for money and then finally he just screams at Charlie “WHAT THE FUCK MAN. WHAT ARE YOU DOING BEHIND ME? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. LEAVE ME ALONE”. Well, ok.

So then we’re on the Subway right and this poor guy just says “Excuse me, excuse me can I get errybodys’ attention?”. And I’m like huddled up next to Tristan thinking ‘fuck this guy has a bomb. he’s a suicide bomber and this is his form of a suicide note.’ or ‘holy shit this man is high as fuck, he’s going to shoot someone in the face and make everyone watch’ but no, he gives a speech (well delivered, if I do say so myself) about how he doesn’t have any money and he’s homeless and no one gives him any money. I only had a twenty and… well, actually I should have given it to him. It was downright depressing. So then we’re at my Subway stop, where my hotel is, and Tristan is like dragging me to go faster because he doesn’t want Gideon and Charlie to leave him and he doesn’t even want to walk me to my room. Well, maybe that’s getting a little needy but I thought that was the right thing to do. AND THEN THE ULTIMATE HAPPENS GUYS: We get up to my hotel room and no one is there, AND HE DOESN’T WANT TO COME IN. I AM A SEXUAL HOBBIT. I HAVE THE SEX APPEAL OF THAT SEAGULL IN THE LITTLE MERMAID.

We went to the doctor’s today and my mom found out about my cutting. In a doctor’s office. And then told the doctor.

The parental unit is pleased with my clinical ‘diagnosis’ with bipolar(ism?), depression, ADD, borderline personality disorder, and having anxiety problems. I just think that they’re looking for answers because they still don’t know why they got such a shit daughter.

“Clayton                                                                                                                                                                    3:24pm

mean it like i hate when people are like well you’re hot and you’re a amazing kisser but I remember that day we were talking and you said why you liked me that’s how i can tell you are different ive never met anyone like you. you see me for more then anyone else

 Clayton

3:26pm

idk  when we kissed it was special which is really cheesy but i felt so connected to you i still do and thats all i remember and really thats all that matters kayla”

—————————————————————————————————

These were from a while ago and lately everyone has been saying how Clayton has absolutely no kindness in him… I beg to differ. He is one of the most remarkable, confused, and untrustworthy people I’ve ever met. But the memories that you can share with someone like that (even if the romantic ones mean different than they used to) you have to know that there is more to them than being an asshole. So here I am.

The last remaining believer in Clayton. The road less traveled is really damn lonely. And when Clayton delivers himself from assholedom and impending faggotry, I hope to still be here.

Even if you make it hard but refuse to realize it, you little shit Koob.