I am The Scorpion Entry 9

October 5, 2008 11:12 p.m-11:21 p.m.

I realized something.

I never get sick.

Not really.

I mean, sniffles and aches and the occasional headache.

But I never get really sick.

Why?

Is this sickness inside of me causing this?

Does it kill off anything that risks overriding its hold on me?

Is it some sort of infection that devours all its enemies?

Is it jealous?

Does it want my full attention?

Or is it fueling itself? Using the would-be sickness to feed its own virus to infect me further?

Maybe I should be thankful, but it’s still unsettling.

Just the random observation of the night.

Moving this week has got me a tad stressed.

I shouldn’t say moving though. That doesn’t bother me.

I’m used to it.

It’s a convenience to have boxes instead of shoving all the possessions I can into a bag and hopping a train.

My Mother is just making it Hell.

I’m smoking like my lungs breathe cancer instead of air.

Maybe that will be the sickness that wins out over this thing inside me.

Here’s to hoping.

I am The Scorpion Entry 8

September 5, 2008 7:02 p.m.-7:07 p.m.

My body is tingling.

Nicotine coursing through me.

I’m numb.

And in this moment I am happy.

But so brief.

It’s already fading.

I tell myself it’s the stress making me chain smoke.

Maybe it is.

Maybe I just like to keep this feeling.

Shaking hands, unsteady feet.

Numb in this haze of nicotine and hate;

Bittersweet.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore.

Honestly.

But maybe I do and I’m in denial.

All I know is when I find a means of self-destruction, I throw myself head first into it.

I put my whole heart and soul into it.

I wish I had this much commitment to other things in my life.

I am The Scorpion Entry 7

August 30, 2008 10:34 p.m.-10:42 p.m.

See, this is why I don’t keep a diary.

I always forget to write in it.

I’m sorry.

I’ve been thinking about you; yearning to write.

Just…too distracted.

Things inside my head have gotten worse.

I started smoking.

I know, smoking is bad.

It kills your lungs and, damages your heart, stains your teeth- I love it.

Self-destruction in a tiny little stick of tobacco and paper.

I’ve figured out why I have such a fascination with drugs.

Trust.

I put trust in them.

I trust the smoke when it goes into my lungs; or the heroin, if I used it, as it goes into my veins.

I take them into myself and trust them in their intimacy.

Also, I get to destroy them in the process.

Burn the cigarettes to ash; leave the needle an empty shell with no purpose.

They give me themselves; everything they have.

I put the trust I can’t seem to put in people into them.

And in return, they sacrifice themselves for me.

Now that is love. ♥

I am The Scorpion Entry 6

August 1, 2008 1:04 p.m.-1:16 p.m.

It’s been a few days since I wrote.

I have no excuse really.

Didn’t have anything to tell.

But I must write this down before it fades.

Dream Worlds- Do they continue after you wake up?

I just had a dream and in it a town I dreamed up probably…three years ago was in it.

And it had changed.

Not in the dreamy “details change like fucking Alice in Wonderland” sense.

No.

New buildings had been built; businesses had been bought and sold.

There was visible construction going on.

Yet all the other details were the exact same.

It leaves me with an unsettling question.

Do dreams end when I wake up?

What if all my past dreams are trapped in my head; forever flowing, but completely ignored?

What if there are a million little worlds living in my subconscious?

What if I am insane?

I am The Scorpion Entry 5

July 27, 2008 9:50 p.m.-10:30 p.m.

I haven’t been writing in you much.

But, here’s the good news- I’m sorry.

Anyway, I had a realization.

I don’t really write anything.

I mean, I write; but nothing about my life.

Maybe because it’s the same everyday?

Basically all I do is take care of the baby.

I never leave.

But I shall try to start writing the things that happen; if only to remember them better.

I have a horrid memory, if you recall.

So…lately.

I’m going to Cruefest.

Pit Tickets.

I’m fucking…dying to go.

Getting to watch a band I love, up close, crowd pumping and screaming…

It’s like a fucking dream come true.

Trapt, Papa Roach, BuckCherry, Motley Crue, and Six A.M.

This is the one thing in life that is keeping me from being fully numb.

I feel…

Young for once.

Not jaded or empty or too experienced for my years.

I’m excited- nervous, even.

It’s refreshing.

Also, I’m reading The Heroin Diaries.

The book is…indescribable.

Amazing.

You’d have to read it or you’d never understand.

I had a random thought.

If I got Motley Crue’s signatures tattooed on my body, I know where I’d get them.

Mick Mars on my right shoulder.

Like a guardian angel I guess?

Always has your back, always behind the scenes.

Always giving you courage.

He’s such a fucking brave person- perusing his dreams even with all the pain.

Tommy Lee- Inner thigh.

Pretty sure that one is self-explanatory.

Vince Neil?

Base of my neck.

Kind of like that itch you can’t scratch.

Monkey on your back.

You kind of love to hate him.

It wouldn’t be Crue without him.

And finally, Nikki- Right under my collar bone; not really over my heart, but close.

Why?

Because, he is closest to my heart.

I relate to him.

And his book stirs things in me I had forgotten.

Emotions I thought had died.

Memories haunt the corners of my mind.

Would I ever get the tattoos?

Maybe.

Why did I think this out?

I was half asleep- so sue me.

Anything else new?

Just college.

I’m starting in a week.

Online classes.

Forensic Profiling.

Why do I like this subject?

Maybe because I can relate?

Maybe because I like to pick things apart?

Maybe because I want to understand myself?

Maybe because I just like psychos?

Doesn’t really matter why.

It’s my future, and I know I will enjoy it.

My mother has been in bitch mode lately.

Nothing new.

I’m a horrid mother.

I’m addicted to the internet.

I don’t care.

I don’t want her haunting the pages of my diary too.

Fuck that.

I am The Scorpion Entry 4

July 25, 2008 5:21 p.m.-5:24 p.m.

Can one be addicted to meat?

I was cutting my leftover steak and a piece dropped on my gritty, nasty kitchen floor.

I picked it up to throw it in the garbage disposal.

When I got to the sink, I looked at the meat, looked at that the faucet and thought

“Fuck it.”

I washed the thing off for a second then examined it.

Before I could convince myself not to, I popped it in my mouth and said,

“Fuck it, alligators do it.”

It was delicious.

I am The Scorpion Entry 3

July 24, 2008 9:56 p.m.-10:10 p.m.

My brain hurts.
I think I’m getting sick.

It always happens when I get like this; when I go to the ‘Nothing Place’.
I stay up as late as I can (or am allowed) then sleep.
I sleep as long as I can; trying to get lost in my dream worlds.

I hate life.

I wish I could just…watch.

But I’m forced to live; eat, sleep, actually survive.
So, I sleep as much as I can.
I don’t do drugs or fuck and I don’t want to bleed away the numbness.
Drugs aren’t an option.
So I sleep.

Is this even making sense?
I can’t tell.
My eyes are burning like I have a fever; my brain feels sick.
I’m reading Heroin Diaries, but I don’t even know if any of it is getting through.
But, I know it is because I’m having day dreams.
Even when awake I dream.
I lose myself.

I was zoning out and I felt a sting in the crook of my elbow and this warmth flooding into me. I looked down at my arm to see what it was- only to realize that I had been dreaming.

It had felt so fucking real.

It wasn’t like the cold ice of a vaccine; no latex slide of gloves against my flesh. It was an almost comforting feel of a calloused, calming hand lightly gripping my forearm; a warm, tingling heat spreading through my veins.

What was being injected into my arm?

Who was holding the needle?

I have my suspicions, but I will leave them unsaid.
If I write them down, I fear these sick dreams will only become more vivid and my obsession with this subject will only get worse.

I’m afraid, yet I am so numb and brainsick I can’t seem to make myself care anymore.

All I can tell you is- if I had been born 20 years ago, I’d sure as shit be a fucking junkie.

(I look back and ask myself why I ‘Drugs aren’t an option’ was in bold, but I’m afraid to answer my own question)

I am The Scorpion Entry 2

July 22, 2008 2:47 a.m. – 2:54 a.m.

I hate going to sleep.
It is the beginning of Erasing.

It seems like every night while I dream, my brain erases the day.
I’ve been forgetting for so long I can’t remember how to stop.

Clean page; new day.
But it’s not a clean slate.
Just a new page to write this shitty existence on.

I sleep with a light on.
I hate to sleep alone.

For someone who dislikes most of humanity, I sure depend on others.
It’s ironic really.
I hate what I need.

I’m not really…afraid of the dark.
I’m afraid of what I see.
Afraid of the places my mind goes.
The dark allows me to think, and my brain is an awful place to live.

But, as always, responsibilities.

Maybe I have a little help to keep my own demons at bay tonight?

Deus servo mihi. Tutela meus viscus ex vulnero, tutela meus animus ex malum.
Contego mihi ex hostium.

It’s worth a try, right?

I am The Scorpion Entry 1

Make Me Care

Slipping, slipping away
Relapse of emotions
Worlds turned to gray

I’ve never craved salvation
Or a white knight on his steed
But I’ve had a realization
Self-destruction is what I need

Rusty knight with golden eyes
Shining lance held in his hand
Fill me full of all your lies
Make me feel, make me understand

No solution, no remorse
Injection made to make me feel
And as the drug runs its course
I realize it isn’t real

Rusty knight with golden eyes
Shining lance held in his hand
Fill me full of all your lies
Make me feel, make me understand

Daydreams of solutions
I will never seek in this life
Sex and pain pollution
But too scared of needles or a knife

Rusty knight with golden eyes
Shining lance held in his hand
Fill me full of all your lies
Make me feel, make me understand

Glamorized
Stylized
Actualized
Realized

I crave these things that I know destroy
To feel, to breathe, to live
I know that drugs are not a toy
Though the only solution this world seems to give

Rusty knight with golden eyes
Shining lance held in his hand
Fill me full of all your lies
Make me feel, make me understand

Would I push the plunger in?
No one will ever know.
Do I wish I had the courage to give in?
I bet you pray the answer is no.

I wish I wasn’t scared
I wish I could make me care
I wish I was scared
I wish I could make me care

I wish I could just give in
I wish I could make me care
I wish I would feed this sin
I wish I could make me care

I wish I was someone else
I wish I could make me care
I wish I could be myself
I wish I could make me care

I wish I could feel
I wish I could make me care
I wish I wasn’t real
I wish I could make me care

I wish I could just give in
I wish I would feed this sin
I wish I wasn’t scared
I wish I could make me care

I wish I could make me care
For just a moment

July 21, 2008 4:10 p.m.- 4:32 p.m.

If Nikki Sixx can do it, why can’t I?

The Diary I mean, not the heroin.

We are both in a very bad place; wasting away before out very eyes and not knowing how to fix it. His solution was to get clean. What is my solution; start doing drugs?

I wouldn’t say this is a depression.

That would be so much simpler.

No, this is quiet the opposite. I can’t seem to feel anything. Yes, rare glimpses of emotion; but few and far between. Most of it is acting; ghosting through life and praying.

Praying for what?

Praying to who?

Doesn’t matter.

I just pray that maybe…I will start feeling?
Or maybe that I can teach myself to care?
I don’t even know what I pray for, all I know is that I hurt inside. In a vague sort of way.

I ache.

I ache for these emotions I can’t seem to find.

It feels like my life is some hideous play. There are a few reoccurring characters, but I am the star.

But I don’t have a script.

Everyone else has one and they all expect me to play the part that was written for me, but I have no clue what that part is.

So I stumble and try to follow what they do, but I always end up failing
So I go silent, which is apparently worse.

But I am sick of falling and failing.

I just want…

I don’t know what I want anymore.

All I know is that I am not happy.
I’m not happy with who I am or how my life is.

I will never regret having a child, but I hate that she has to be raised by me.
I am by no means a bad mother.
I know this.
But I am not…what I want for her.
I don’t want her to end up like me.
The girl that wishes she was stupid enough to do drugs to feel something other than emptiness.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am not glamorizing drugs.

I want the bad effects as well.

The Fear, the Paranoia, the Pain; anything that can get through this shell.

I crave destruction.

I crave self-destruction.

I want to remake myself.

Only when you have reached the lowest pointing your life can you truly see yourself and fix your problems.

I wish…I had run away on my own.
Killed the girl I was completely.

I don’t want her inside me; crying all the time.
I want to beat her into submission.
I hate the weak little shit I used to be, and the scared girl I am now.

I want to be…fearless and reckless.

I wish I just…wasn’t me.

I don’t want to be me.

I want to throw it all away; everything.

Leave this all behind.

But I have responsibilities.

Baby is crying. I have to go. Like I said…

RESPONSIBILITIES

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Hold on a second.

Okay okay. I'm in here too. Yeah, I'm in here. Alright.