I hate you.

[Rupert Giles]

The Manual Life of an Animal
Trapped in a Cage of Books and Rules
Striving to be just like everyone else.
If average is happy, why aren't I okay?

I wanna make the world stay far away
leave me in my hole all by myself
it's nice and cool under this rock
though it's starting to feel rather cramped.

People always make me feel nervous
never sure of what to say or to think
Behind all those masks that they wear
How can I be sure anyone's even there?

Trapped in a Cage of Books and Rules
Learning just to learn that I know jack shit.
And on the days that I feel like giving up
Life throws me a curve and ruins my fit.

Dancing madly in my own little reality.
It's a ball and I'm the only invitee.
Everyone else is crashing it though.
Fucking over my little soiree.

I'll pay them all back one day.
Hide the body parts in hay.
Their skin from their bones I'll flay.
For me being a pariah will they pay.

Striving to be just like everyone else.
Why do I have to have thoughts in my head?
Why can't I just be like everyone else?
Without a soul, no emotions, all cold and dead.

There's nothing behind their lifeless eyes.
No joy or laughter or heart break.
I can't get inside their minds.
It's like talking to a wall of brick.

They're not like me at all.
All happy in their normality.
And what seems to be normal for me
For them just outlines my disparity.

If average is happy why aren't I okay?
Anouther cut on my scarred wrist.
Anouther drop of blood in the bucket.
Why the fuck can't I just up and cut it?

Suicide is Painless, so they say.
I've tried it over and over, day after day.
Every little breath brings me closer to my doom.
Is it good to be happy to know I'll snuff it soon?

Life's a game of poker and my hand is shit.
All the cards I had have been played away.
Only one card have I left to lay.
Suicide will help end these endless days.

A Rant in Poetry Form.

By Carl Eric von Kleist, IV.

Translation:

You fucking pricks.  You normals.  You all think you're so much better than me.  I saw colours.  I saw swirls and loops and pretty fishes that burped bubbles.  I was happy.  I was me.  And you took it all away.  You locked me up in padded rooms, shot chemicals into my veins until you friend my brain.  Until you took all those colours away from me.  You left me in a world of greys, soft edges, plastic-covered wall sockets.  You chained me for my own good.  As if.  You chained me because I was dangerous to you.  To your society.  Your normality.  The colours I saw that you didn't frightened you.  You were the ones who were supposed to see the world as it really is.  I guess you felt cheated.  Left out.  Because I saw the colours and you didn't.  I was the one who ate green mouse and telephone pole ice-cream.  I was the one who went all to butterflies that sang falsetto.  I was the one who floated in air.  You made it all go away.  I hate you all.  You left my world sterile, without joy.  You made me like this.  You made me like you.  You fucking bastards.  What right did you have to do this to me?  Mom, Dad, what fucking right did you have to do this to me?  What the fuck did I do to deserve this?  I was fine.  Atleast back then I could cry like a normal person.  Atleast back then things actually made me happy.  You drowned it all.  You killed that happy boy.  Took his hopes and dreams and all those pretty colours and threw them away, held that boy's head under the waters of sanity as he thrashed and struggled for breath, struggled to live, until he gave that last death rattle and lay still.  Are you happy now?  Is what you got worth it?  I hate you.  I hate you, Mom.  I hate you, Dad.  I hate all of you.  I wanna hold your heads under the water.  Hold all your heads under the water.  Make you drown in the colours.  But I can't even find them anymore, you god damned bastards.  You took them away.  You hid them.  You gouged out my eyes so I'd never ever see them again.  You made it so I couldn't go all to butterflies.  I hate you.  You took all the happiness away.  All the joy.  All the fun.  Because you said the pain was too much.  The sadness.  The Misery.  How dare you tell me my life is wrong when you, with your damn shades of grey and sanity couldn't live your own lives right?  You made all the happiness fade.  All I have left is a memory of it.  And you wonder why I'm never happy anymore.  You took the joy away, and ou wonder why I never laugh anymore.  You took the fun away, and you wonder why I never do anything anymore.  You made me pull together.  You made me stop being butterflies.  I liked the butterflies.  They were my butterflies.  And you took the pain away.  You took the sadness and misery away.  And then you were 'concerned' when I didn't cry at Grandpa's funeral.  Why I didn't shed a god damned tear for five years of my life no matter who died or how many times people beat me black and blue.  You took everything away from me, cut off my hands, drove spikes in my ears, clogged up my nose, tore out my tongue, gouged out my eyes, and you wonder why I can't interact with the world.  I hate you.  I hate you for not understanding.  For not understanding that I was happy.  For not understanding that you're the reason I'm sad now.  I hate you for making it so I couldn't cry when Grandpa died.  I hate you for all those weeks in those padded rooms.  I hate you for all those times I was strapped down and tranquilised till there wasn't any Eric left.  Not even any me.  I hate you for taking everything away and then expecting me to be happy.  I hate you for not dashing my head against the rocks when I was born.  I hate you for making me live on.  I hate you for not letting me make myself go into Gran Mal with the two grams of Zoloft.  I hate you for having the bastards in the scrubs fix my wrists.  I hate you for having the doctors cut me down when I tried to hang myself.  I hate you for everything you've done to me for the past nineteen years of my life.

I hate you for making the butterflies go away.

They were my butterflies.

They were me.  And I can't find them anymore.  I can't find anything, and now I'm scared, and lonely, and frightened.  I can't make the pain stop  I can't make the crying stop, make the hurting stop.  Do you know what it's like to not be able to stop crying.  Do you know what it's like to not see the pretty colours of a sunset anymore?  Do you know what isn't life for it to take two years before you could mourn your Granpa's death?  Do you know what it was like to not be able to be with him at the end, before he wasn't there anymore?  To only get out of the bad place so you could sit next to him as he lay in his bead at home with tubes running out of him, and not have him know you're in the room?  I never got to tell him how much I really loved him before I died.  You wouldn't let them let me talk to him in the bad place.  He was dying and you wouldn't let me talk to him.  You bastards.  You heartless bastards.  I never got to tell him goodbye.  You made it so I couldn't tell him goodbye.  You took him away from me.  You took me away from him.  The one time in my entire life I had to be there, and you took me away.  You robbed me of my last chance to tell him everything that I wanted to tell him.  To see him before he wasted away.

You took the colours away.

[MedeoPlusPlus]

Wow.




























































........wow.

How does one respond to something like that?  

[~~~~Closed~~~~]

like this,


Summary, post haste.

[Bella]

Wow.



.......wow.

How does one respond to something like that?  

I guess you just have to say......wow.
Or give him a hug.

::gives Dream of the Endless a great big hug::

[~~~~Closed~~~~]

I wouldn't give him a hug if he paid me.

[MedeoPlusPlus]

I wouldn't give him a hug if he paid me.

That's pretty cold, dude.

You should actually try reading it- he doesn't sound like he's joking around.

*gives DotE a hug*

[illusion]

Me, too.  Here's a big hug from me.

[~~~~Closed~~~~]

That's pretty cold, dude.

exactly.

[~~~~Closed~~~~]

and after skimming through it, all I have to say is...



shut the fuck up. suicide accomplishes nothing more than becoming another statistic. suck it up, take some meds, and show the system who's boss.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

and after skimming through it, all I have to say is...



shut the fuck up. suicide accomplishes nothing more than becoming another statistic. suck it up, take some meds, and show the system who's boss.

Or whine about mods.

One or the other.

[Rev Thwack]

This, boys and girls, is why it's important to never let them find out that you don't see the world the same way they do to begin with.

[Rupert Giles]

and after skimming through it, all I have to say is...



shut the fuck up. suicide accomplishes nothing more than becoming another statistic. suck it up, take some meds, and show the system who's boss.

Y'know what, Hotsuma.  Shut up.  Have you ever tried it?  I've been there.  I am currently in what I consider my right mind and what my friends consider my normal mind and I will tell you right f'ing now that people who call it a coward's way out, like you are, or think that everything can be solved by medication, have no right to draw breath.  It's people like that who had me strapped down for days on end and sedated, people like that who You know what, fuck this.  It's not worth me going and getting all angry again.

[Charlemagne]

I'll join the group then.

*hug*

And again, you need it.

*hug*

[Rupert Giles]

*Twitch*  I don't like people touching me.  Please, please stop.

[Rev Thwack]

Yea, but some of us have been there before. Hotsuma is right about suicide being pointless... All you would end up doing is feeding some bugs with your decaying corpse, and since embalming has reached the level it's at now, plus with the fact that they will seal you in an airtight case, you wouldn't even be doing a good job of that. Of course, his comment about just taking meds isn't right, unless (and I hope this is what he was talking about) he means take some meds that you can't go to the doctors and get pescribed.

Psychology has become one of the most fucked up aspects of our scociety. Pretty much everywhere realizes that people are not just cookie cutter made.... different people have different ways of doing/dealing/thinking, and it's those differences that allow for innovation to happen... a system without them would be completly stagnant and would collapse upon itself. Of course, psychology seems to completly ignore this, and thinks that for some odd reason, people must all deal with reality within a very limited variation, otherwise they must have some sort of mental instability, which of course means that for their own good, psychology must fix them and help turn them back to proper thinking/reacting individuals. This isn't the way science acts, but I can tell you something that does.... it's name starts with organized and ends with religion. Maby one day people will realize that it's ok to think and feel different... and maby after that they will realize that it's ok for two people to see the same object but have it look completly different to each of them. Of course, most likely I will just end up having to give up all hope in humanity.







Fuck the system, become a teacher and tell the kids the truth, that's my plan.