Anorexic beauty queen, silhouettes of fair white skin.

Persuade yourself to believe the fiction you take part in for this life. I can’t hide anymore. These sunglasses don’t suffice so well as they used to. Neither does this starless night sky. I’ve run and I’ve hidden, I’ve showed myself true. I’ve scattered my own ashes and I’ve proven what I could. There’s nothing more of me. I’m withering away. I’m deteriorating in front of my own reflective glass. As I step out of the shower, I can’t help but shed a few tears. I can’t look at myself in the same way. I’ve been told not to ask for help. An independent woman is one to look up to in this day. But we aren’t looked at the same way, the way that we should unquestionably be. We aren’t cherished for our soft curves; lusted over for our muscular legs. We are expected to be plastic, painted, and fake. Our eyes are to be toxic, our kiss—sensual and surreal. Our feet are to be petite, our stomachs feminine, our teeth white, our hands crossed in our laps. Our legs always closed. We are expected to do only what permitted and when told to. We aren’t the goddesses we used to be looked at as.
I am sick of this days society. I am tired of being sick of the way my life is lived. I am in love. I hold very closely and dearly the ones I adore. You know who you are, don’t question yourself, don’t question me.
I am sick of using the words ‘I’ and ‘me’ all the time. Am I really so self centered? Selflessness is a hard practice to proceed in, now-a-days. I can’t believe the things you have to sacrifice in order to be looked up to. Do you know that I look up to you? Do you know who you all are?
I know who have pieced together the parts of my puzzle. I know who will remain, if they so choose to do so. When I look at magazines and pictures, when I watch movies, and listen to the rock stars that I envy. Paramore. America’s Next Top Model. American Idol. These things all remind me of who I cannot be and will not become. These things all remind me of my future that is a fantasy.
So many things I will give up to give you all pleasure. Too many things. What is left of me? For me? What else do I have to give?
I am so insane. I am so lonely. I am so scared. I am an 18 year old girl living in a materialistic world. I am a woman living in a modern day fucking conformist environment. I will not comply. I will not reconcile. I cannot any longer give to you things that do not exist. I am sorry, to all of you, to those of you whom have looked up to me. To those of you whom I have looked up to.
Don’t look at this as written by me. Look at this as something you all want to say to each other. Look at this as a short story, without an ending in near site, partially existing phrases that aren’t really fact or fiction. Look at me and tell me your darkest secrets. I won’t promise not to tell. I won’t promise to be perfect. I can’t give you anything anymore.
This is me. This is who I have become, the girl I was afraid of all along, the girl I am not capable of saving myself from.
I will continue to starve myself of nutrition and education. I will continue to deprive myself of the lifestyle I know I deserve. When you step in, do your part, tell me—I will be waiting. I am not saying that I have done no wrong. I am not claiming to have finished what needs to be finished.
I am just simply stating, that I am done.
With what? I am not sure.
But with something. That’s for damn sure.
I’ll see you all around.

pee.ess. My fiance is home from Iraq.

Oh my gosh, we’re in the 30’s.

As of midnight, (in 3 short hours), it will be exactly 39 days until my fiancee comes home from Iraq!
This is just amazing. I got the pleasure of hearing his voice today. And let me tell you, it was heaven. Though I could argue that a satellite phone was merely invented to torture those with loved ones in Iraq, it was still quite pleasing.
There is talk of a one on one vacation to Disney World a week after he returns home. That would be freaking perfect.

Otherwise we’re staying optimistic and dreaming big.
We haven’t any definite wedding plans as of yet. But we did decide on the location! My church. (Ha ha). It was a tough one.
And in November my best friend (Sasha) is going to accompany me to the Marine Corps Birthday Ball (It’s at MYRTLE BEACH this year!) to attend with a marine whom she has never met. That’s how much she loves me.
No actually I believe she is only going to get a free trip to myrtle beach and an excuse to dress up. But at least it’ll be a blast! I know that’s not for months, but thinking ahead is what gets me through things like my fiancee being gone for half of a year + some.

Anyway. This was just a happy update. So enjoy!
Ellie

Stay 18 forever?

Rant. This will be a rant, not a poetic, harmonic, journalistic piece of writing like my usual blog.
I am honest to God just going to complain about my life right now. I am also going to write very personal stuff on the account of nobody reads this thing. And if you do read it, and are appalled, then I’m sorry. But none of this stuff should be stunning or out of the ordinary for most.
Let’s start with last November. It was my fiancee (boyfriend at the time) and my 3 month. We found out we were pregnant and decided to have an abortion. (He was leaving for Iraq in March, and didn’t want me with a baby at 17 with the possibility of his never returning.) Jump ahead nearly a year. June, 2007. I find out I have HPV. The bad kind. I have to have surgery on the 27th of July, and there’s a 80/20 chance it will make it so I can never have kids. Make me regret last November a bit? Yes. Very much.
Jump back nearly a year again. August 24th, 2006. My best friends house explodes while she is in it. I was 4 minutes late. FOUR MINUTES, and I would have been in there, too. She was in the hospital for MONTHS. Came out ‘just fine’. IN full body garments, a face mask, and lots of other problems. But no, I shouldn’t feel bad, people tell me it ‘all happens for a reason.’ But for the past year now I’ll sit and watch her in complete and total awe and know that if I had been there, we would have both died, due to different places in the house that blew up first, and if I had lived I wouldn’t have been able to deal with it myself anyway. She’s so strong.
Jump ahead a few months again. February 2007. He proposes on the 26th. I’m so so happy. Only 17 and engaged? So what. Tell me I’m to young to be engaged. I’ll tell you I’m to in love not to be. March 7th. He leaves for Iraq. Time actually goes pretty fast in the beginning. Before I know it, it’s April. Move ahead a few weeks. April 28th. I leave for Parris Island, MCRTD, to train for the Marine Corps. Jump ahead about 2 months. We’re back to June again. I fall about 15 feet on an obstacle, and get sent home on crutches. My only dream. Crushed.
Fiancee? Thrilled. Never wanted me to go in the first place.
Okay. So backwards again. April. The guitarist in my fiancee’s band tries to kiss me. Jump ahead. June. I tell my fiancee. He tells the guitarist he’s an ass. Lots of rumors get started that I cheated on my fiancee and am lying about the guitarist trying to kiss me to cover up for myself.
So my fiancee and I fight for weeks. He finally ends up believing me. But now, I can’t even go around most of my old guy friends anymore without getting yelled at and/or ridiculed. Who cares, right? Who needs them!?
So jump back again. June 20th. I go to work as a lifeguard at a Girl Scout camp. I make it one month before I go completely insane with how fake everybody there is and how happy they all are, and knowing I’m sick and having to check my voice mail/email all the damned time.
I quit.

Jump ahead again. Now.
My fiancee is still in Iraq. Yesterday, my parents tell me they’re getting a divorce. I have 4 younger siblings. And they are all devastated. My mother has decided to shove them in counseling. My youngest brother? He’s 8. And he’s gona get his brain all fucked up before he even has the chance to live as a regular kid.
My two sisters? 11 and 13. They’ve both been doing this for a while. They’re both ‘depressed’. You see, everybody in my family seems to think that talking and pills can fix everything.
Fuck my methods. (Therapy through art, writing, music, sports.) They all work for ME. But I suppose it’s too SIMPLE for THEM. (Grr!!!)
So all of this. And I find out one of my closest friends since gradeschool died in a car accident and I can’t attend her funeral because she moved to Florida.
Shitty?

I know. People have it way worse than me.
But damn. This just seems awful at the time.
Fuck being 18.

You are not.

Though quite untangible at the time, I can feel you. It’s not physical. And when I was taught so cautiously of disincarnation, I slightly thought of learning more and trying the deed myself. But I am reminded of the duty I have felt a calling to serve. So many of them. And I spend my last 11 nights sitting up late on my computer, getting up early to run 3 miles, coming back home. Sitting. Waiting. Wishing. I write letters that I can’t afford to buy stamps to send. I seal them all up in their envelopes. Oh, to relocate my soul to Iraq for just tonight. Proving all things possible and nothing other than just that. Oh, to be in his arms right now. He, who guarded me from all wrong in life, he, who loves me more than anybody else would ever have the capability to. I would hear the words again. i would feel the sense I have lost. Lord help those who are in charge of themselves.
The countdown began years ago. A ticking Kelsi. Nobody knew. And she didn’t either. But as I grew and realized my own voice, for some reason I started to back down from myself. That little girl that always was inside me, taking action when nobody else would. That girl that would arise in the middle of the night to fuck up whomever bothered those I loved. That little girl that wasn’t scared of anybody, no matter how much bigger, no matter how much smarter. She was scared for some reason, for years. And left in the dark, she found a way. A way to light her own path.
Never stopping to reason or breath. Never ceasing her own form of fire. The light in her eyes shined on, but the lids were closed, sewn tight, so nobody else could see. Not even you.
I am sorry.
You try to tell me I was not thinking in this act. That I don’t care. That I would be happier, better, alone. Foolish thoughts as these may run your mind in the desert. You may picture Jodi fucking me. You may fantasize my taste in your mouth, stronger than when you were actually sucking my skin while I was plastered across your bed, my sweaty palms clutching your sheets and my clenching jaws biting my lip.
I bite my lip relentelessly, now. I constantly taste that bittersweet blood that so many fear.
I have my own pink mist.
Scarred, broken, fallen. These are the things you flee from. Strays aren’t picked up. “No man left behind” takes on a new meaning entirely. Will this mission be accomplished?
I know that the second turn to hours turn to days turn to weeks. And trust me, if anybody understands, I do. How many of your friends have you watched die? Oh, this blessing is reserved for a slight few. Those who have been to war. And those who fight their very own here.
Slander, propaghanda, nothing other than your own. You can’t spell correctly, you can’t use proper punctuation. You have no idea what the term alliteration or allusion means. You will never learn POG, DI, rack, cover, or anything else. You don’t deserve to. And these simple terms that even I do not desreve make more sense to me than ‘home’, ’school’, ‘locker’. You don’t understand me and you never will.
Witness it. Feel it. PAIN. Please just for once give me a valid reason to claim that you understand me. Don’t come to me complaining about not seeing the boy you spend nights in lustful dreams over, for one single night.
You have no fucking clue.
I hope someday you understand. I hope you get more than what you saught.
I dream of this day. I dream of that first real formation, on those yellow footprints. I will be dazed and confused. But I will be finally becoming somebody. I don’t care how long the hell lasts. I just want to prove that I can handle it better than anybody I know.
I can’t get this taste of blood out of my mouth.
And no ammount of showers will prepare my body.
I can sit in the corner singing to myself that hymn. You won’t ever hear my beautiful voice.
Oh, to be in that sand pit tonight. Oh, to witness him in the suck.
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord his soul to keep. And if he dies before we wake, I pray the Lord his soul to take.”

I conquer.

(This is something I wrote a few months back before I went to bootcamp. I went to the Marines. But I got a medical discharge for getting pretty badly injured. But this was one of my readers from myspace favorite blog as of late. So… Enjoy!)

Introduction.

Though I am not going to write of any adventures or excitement tonight, I would like to take the time to introduce myself.

So, hello! My name is Kelsi. I got the idea for this blog from Michelle Black.

I needed a spot to write more personal blogs than on myspace, and a place where people will just read my works instead of look through pictures and leave messages and comments all over the place.
So that is what I am here for.
Look for blogs soon!
Love,

Kelsi