So here we go again, with all the things we said…
Because I am a sixteen-year-old member of the Paramore family, I thought it would be a nice idea to name this journal after a Paramore song: Here We Go Again, from their debut album, All We Know is Falling, which was about their bassist Jeremy leaving…which, incidentally, happened again rather recently and nearly broke my heart, mostly because his departure could possibly spell the end of Paramore, and partly because he was just a really cool bassist and his pressure flip was insanely awesome.
But the title is really very fitting, because here I go again, popping up out of nowhere after a long silence and returning to ramble on about a bunch of really random stuff with no connections whatesoever. I mean, if you’ve ever read any of my past entries (most of you haven’t, considering the fact that people on this site appear and write and then disappear–just like me), you’ll probably have figured out that I pretty much just write about my love (read:obsession) for several people/things, my life in a different time zone, my school and classmates, the movies I watch and the books I read, and my…~feelings~. Like, depressing-as-fuck, angsty emotional hormonal teenage introvert drama queen feelings.
Just, lately I’ve been thinking a lot. About stuff. Not stuff I should be thinking about (like grades) but a whirlpool of completely random things like…like my fanfiction (yes, I read/write Harry Potter fanfiction…yes, I’ m aware that Harry Potter is more than ten years old and that I am already sixteen…and no, I don’t care, thank you…) and my OTP (yes, I also ship completely fictional characters–just the two) and my friends (whom I miss) and the world (which is getting to be pretty shitty in many ways) and my feelings (which are going up and down like a fucking overused seesaw) and my family (which is not in the best state it could be in right now) and life and death and depression and mental illnesses (I’m a deep person when I’m not spacing out, and I spend hours having existential crisises and thinking about sad things). And a shit ton of other things, like…
Like the fact that I swear a bit too fucking much. Not in regular speech–I don’t swear when I TALK–but in my writing. It just feels right to swear sometimes, you know?? Like, the situation just demands that you drop something there.
Maybe I’m only thinking about so many things because it is so quiet here. Too quiet. I don’t like the quiet–quiet that is supposed to be soothing and relaxing and tranquil, but really isn’t. The quiet is TOO LOUD–does that make sense? It makes everything seem loud and soft and big and too, too small–it makes me want to be silent, to not draw attention to myself, to hide so no one can hear me or see me, but it also makes me want to shout, to scream into it, to fill it with something, to fill it up, so it won’t be so empty and so wide and so open, like an ocean without water, or this vast, vast canyon with no other side. But I am afraid to do either because remaining silent and curling into myself like a moth makes me feel like the silence is winning, because it will press into me and defeat me and crush me–and shouting also lets it win, because if I shout, if I make a noise, I will send the noise into the quiet–and it will swallow the sound–suffocate it–swallow it whole and fold it into itself, yet remain as silent as before, while I keep giving it sound. And the worst thing is that the quiet has its own sound–not dogs and not roosters or chickens and not people or countryside sounds–but this nameless sound that I cannot hear, that makes my head spin.
The quiet is so peaceful and natural and sinister and calm and terrifying and still.
I don’t like it.
I’m not used to it, even though I’ve spent years in this quiet, in this very place.
But sometimes the quiet goes away. Most of the time, I don’t feel it–it’s like it isn’t there. Just, there are moments when it is the loudest thing, and I have no idea what to do with myself.
I’m sorry if I frightened or depressed anyone with my description of the quiet. That’s what it feels like when I’m afraid, honestly, and I don’t sound as sad when I’m talking about other things.
So, the time has come to talk of other things…like Cabbages and Kings…
Why not talk about fanfiction? I love it. I’m probably going to hell for reading it–like, I don’t read smutty stuff, god, but just the concept of reading fanfiction is probs enough to get me into hell–but I love it. I write it, too, but I’ve never let anyone read the stuff I write. One reason is, no one I know right now reads fanfiction. Especially not HP fanfiction, because most of them have never read the books or even watched the movies. Second reason is, I am way too shy to put it online, because god, I am a terrible writer and I don’t take criticism well (curse the gods for making me both a thin-skinned rabbit and a perfectionist Virgo) and this journal is like, already a published biography of me and my depressing backstory. Third reason? Well, I never really finish things–I’ll have the beginning of one story and the middle of another and the epilogue to a third, and just lose the ability to finish any of them, and just start a new one.
It’s freezing cold here, and my fingers are numb, and I’ve made a ton of typos during the writing of this entry, but the weather here still doesn’t have the decency to just snow some more. I hate cold weather without snow–like, winter, why even bother being so flat-fuck-freezing if you’re not going to whip up some snow?
Anyway, I’ve been reading quite a lot lately. I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, and I loved it! My next planned reads are: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Rebecca, The Bell Jar, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. I am also obsessed with poetry now, and I have fallen in love with the poems of Pablo Neruda. He wrote beautiful love poems, and, being the emotional piece of literature trash that I am, his poems inspire me to write stories.
In conclusion–which is weird, because I didn’t even write a proper opening, but oh well–I would just like to say that I find it awesome and slightly amazing that there are so many new people writing here. Good luck to you all–I hope you keep writing, because god knows it’s hard to keep a journal when you forget about it after a while and lose momentum. Writing is the best way to rid yourself of toxic emotions, besides throwing things at walls and regretting breaking your stuff after your crying jag is over.
Hope you all have a good Saturday/weekend/whatever.