Well,

I haven't blogged on here in a while.
Things are changing.
Every time I turn around, something's different.
But I'll be here for a while: heyheybethy.tumblr.com

I'm falling back in love with life.

I just hope it sticks.

Seems like every time I get to be around you, I get happy for a time.
I think I'm being stupid.

"I've found the cure to growing older."

These past few weeks are the most alive and infinite I've ever felt.
And I'm not lying when I say I finally feel okay.
I stopped faking it when I realized it was getting me no where.
I don't want to stop doing what we're doing because I'm scared of how I'll feel.
Winter's coming and you know how I always get when temperatures drop and skies clear.
November spawns a different monster every year.
And I'm trying to keep it inside me this time.
So I'm gonna keep drinking until I forget things.
And I'm gonna keep smoking my breath away.
And I'm gonna keep skipping classes I don't want to go to.
And I'm finally going to live like I've wanted to for so long.


Yes, I'm scared of where I'm going, but I'm even more scared of where I know I'll be if I stop.

Something about what we did

Feels so wrong.
But so right at the same time.
It wasn't what I expected, but I'm not sorry.
And I can't bring myself to regret my decisions.
They were bad, yes.
That I'll admit.
But I wouldn't take it back.

We didn't plan this, but I hope it works out.

Best friend.

I've never felt closer to anyone than I do you right now.
I fucking love you and trust you with my life and so much more.
Don't ever leave me because promise I won't ever leave you.
I love you.

"No, I'm not real. I never was."

Physically and mentally, I've been constantly sick.
Dying with every chance I get.
Losing it.
If you knew half of what I know, you'd lock me up for good.
All promises moot.
You can't begin to sympathize.
Punching pillows, sweating bullets, and fighting back screams.
Skipping sentences because I think you're in my head.
"I can't rhyme.
I can't breathe.
I can't write.
I can't be.
There's terms and conditions to keep me from speaking.
Words and religions to keep me from living."
You think it's funny.
The way none of it's funny.
And the way nothing makes sense.
And you can't get it through you're pretty little head that I'm fucking sick.
And I hate the way you look at me like I'm faking every bit of this.
Like "it's all your fault."
You don't even understand how much it is.

I just wish you could be wrong about one thing.

"You're already the voice inside my head."

I miss you.