ラッドウインプス

RADWIMPS ラッドウインプス !! 
Another Japanese band that I discovered about an hour ago~
I fell in love with them instantly.
I wish I could have some merch from them like posters and CDs and DVDs!! 
That'd be great :)


The song that got me : 

I need to know what that song is called so I can look up translations!
In any case, they have a great sound and every song I've listened to so far is great<3
I wish I knew Japanese, hmph.

I cried tonight, 

and

what I thought was

tears

dripping into my mouth

was actually

blood.

There's such a lack of control in my life,

I almost
kind of
sort of
can't
stand it.

Every time
I try to take control
I lose more control

I can't win.

I am out of control.

I just got out the car from driving,

and was standing on the sidewalk because my dad was going to park the car

then Mr. V drove by

and waved hi to me.

It made me happy.

Our last days

The dead days are shaking again
Speaking, yes, those days are also over.
You've been far, that also remains to disappear
"Someday I will forget this day," was said.
Those with their backs to the wind, just like an adult
We forget them.
Today seems to be gradually falling to night
We will wash away the tears, isn't that what we thought?
You looked back and waved with your small hand.
Yesterday, with repentance, will be big in style
This pain will, with downcast eyes intact
Forget, forget it.
You've been far, that also remains to disappear
"Someday I'll remember this day," was said.
Those with their shoes pointed down, just like a setting sun dyed red
We forget them.

My mind is filled with a deep haze of fatigue, melancholy, and a subtle wave of nostalgia. I have not slept within the last day or so. The most I got out of last night was about a half an hour. I need to take care of myself more.

The most anticipated, but most painful day of the school year; the last day. Bonds that had been forged together and strengthened must now be loosened and undone in order to move onto the new year. No one will be forgotten, but when things come back, nothing will be the same. Everyone will have found new friends and the closeness that we all once shared before would be shattered by the separation and solitude of summer days.

I've always felt like the end of the school year was oddly strange. When you leave, it always felt like you were left hanging on a thin piece of string, looking back on what you've left and wondering what's left at the end of the line. Time has run out but it's still going.

I stayed up all night making last minute touches onto the plans that I have orchestrated among my peers. T-shirts and stuffed animals and letters and jars of stars. Everything for a teacher who has given a great amount of inspiration and motivation to me as a person.

I had planned it out thoroughly and assigned everyone in the class roles. I wanted this to be as sentimental as possible without being corny, also, I wanted this to be something to leave behind as a good note. I didn't want to leave my crying face as the last memory embedded into her eyelids. I wanted to leave behind something so great, so happy, so she could forget the me that I've already left behind.

I woke up from a 25 minute nap to shower and prepare myself for what was planned ahead of me. Mr. J was up first. I had given him his jar of stars, neutral colored, and then pink on top for his beloved daughter. Even though I have only ever seen her once, and only hear of her, I care about her a lot and hope for a kind and happy future for her. She deserves it. Her father is a great man.

I visited Mr. C for the last couple minutes before homeroom sweet; the last couple minutes we would talk for months. He pretended to sob, for whatever reason, that was embarrassing, but he also hugged me. A secure hug of reassurance and genuine kindness and care. I could feel it. He told me that I'd be okay over the summer, he believed in me. And that was the last I saw of him that day. I already miss having someone to talk to. Maybe.. I'll see him around if he ever comes to visit Mr. V down the street. Maybe I'll see them both and we'll all talk -- as neighbors and people. Even if it is only for five minutes, that's enough for me.

I visited Mr. B along with JP to give his cake. Next year was his last year, and we wanted to wish the best to him. Plus, I liked him a lot. Despite my lack of words as a person, he's grown a liking to me, or so I'd like to believe. He knew nothing, but knew something. He was always asking if I was okay, and giving me motivational words, and never pushing me to say anything I didn't need to, and letting me stay in his classroom during lunches. It really meant a lot to me, that he did that and all. We took a photo with him, which I think came out lovely. He put his arms around us and gave a big smile. It caught me off guard. He always seemed so distant that I never even thought he would do that. Thanks Mr. B. I didn't take your class next year, but I'll be around. You can count on it.

The day went on and I was almost sad for my 2nd block teacher whom I've claimed to hate for most of the semester. She's actually a decent person, and the kids in my class just brought out the worst in her. I felt bad that I had left the impression that I did, but at least I was on her better side, I guess. I hope she has fun in France for vacation, that her future students will be much kinder to her than we ever were, and that she gets her masters and reaches her professional goals. Oh, and I wish her happiness.

3rd block was mostly solitude and silence. I have no one in that class that I'm really close to. No one to really miss, honestly.

4th block. This is it. The class that has it all. The laughter, the tears, the inside jokes, you name it. The class that was most memorable. The one I will never forget. If I ever get to be grown up, I'll look back on these days and smile.

We started out the class normally until Ms. C came in and took Ms. S out for about 5 minutes. We all assembled ourselves accordingly, and I took a video. We presented our gifts to Ms. S. Boxes, and jars, and notes, and lions, and jars of stars.

We sang and sang and laughed and laughed until the bell rang. She yelled, "Don't go!" And that killed me. I had given her my painting, my bracelets, and my letter. I told her to read it. I had to be there when she read it. At first, I was concerned about my bus and ran out to check it, she yelled, "I love you Dianney!"  of course I yelled back ,"I love you too!" But I ran back into the classroom and figured I didn't care whether I missed it or not. It was the last day of school after all. It was actually a lot longer than I thought it was, the letter, but that didn't matter. She read it all. She laughed and smiled, and then she started to tear up and sniffle. I did too. She was reading part of the inside of my mind, the part that no one, not even I, can figure out. She was in it, and reading it, and was being pulled down by the waves of emotions that I felt. All the words and thoughts that I kept trapped inside my head were being let free among pieces of purple paper, reflected into the retinas her blue blue eyes, and released again by a shallow pool of tears. She gave me a reaction that I didn't even expect. She looked up at me and said, and said "Wow. That was really long, but. It was so nice. I'm definitely keeping this." And she walked up to me, and embraced me in her arms, "Thank you. Thank you so much." And we stayed like that for a minute. I could only cry and let out a sob of, "Thank you." I didn't even understand why she was thanking me. I wrote a letter thanking her, why would she thank me? We held each other tight, repeating the same things and we broke apart. I tried to explain more what I felt inside my head, but it came out wrong and I looked like an idiot. But it doesn't matter.

She told me that I could still talk to her over the summer if I needed to. That I could email her and that I need to visit a ton next year. Of course I would do all of that. Of course I would.

I ended up walking home. From the school to my house is about three miles, which isn't so bad, considering I run two. This boy walked home with me. We talked and talked about this and that, but most of it didn't really register into my head. I was still am spaced out from then, really. He insisted on buying me ice cream after I had said no so many times. I don't eat ice cream, but he got so goddamn annoying I just went along with it eventually. I was mad at him at that point. I wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted the walk home to just hurry up so he can leave me alone. And he wants to have pizza with me someday. Tch. I finally told him kindly I had not taken care of myself the past night and that I should rest up because I still had things to do that day. He let me leave and I've been ignoring him since then. Shallow and rude, but I can't have this.

The last day keeps replaying on the inside of my eyelids and I smile. The warmth of her hug is imprinted onto my body, her smile is etched behind my eyelids, and her voice is echoing in the walls of my ear canals. I smile and laugh because I had reason to now. And then I cry. I cry and cry and the tears swim out because of the anguish of separation and the distance of time. I tell myself it's only the summer, and I roll over and replay everything in my head again.

It took me three days to write this ever since it happened. I started tonight and ended now, almost 3 days later. Am I really running out of words to say? If that's the case then I'm absolutely terrified. I want to cry.

Everything
is
slipping
away
through my
fingertips;

Time,
Hope,
Life.

Just like sand.

Just like sand.

The days are counting down
The clock is changing hands
The sand is running.

Somewhere,
Someone is crying.

Mal nourishment.

Walking into that old building, everything was humid and disgusting. I didn't remember it ever being that bad, and so I was thankful to be moved to the Senior High for my sophomore year. I'm back here because it's an orientation for upcoming freshman, like my brother. I went only because I knew I would see Mr. Z and Mr. C there, at least I hoped I would. I didn't know what to expect, and if I didn't find them, I figured I would hangout with Dana and Nikki during the time being.

We get in, get papers, etc etc etc. Nikki points out Mr. Z and I leave her for him. I catch up to find out he's giving tours. I go around the school once, until I enter lower B hall, biology hall. I noticed that Mr. C's door was open and got excited. I left the tour and walked into Mr. C's room. The AC was on and he was explaining the curriculum, giving out summer work, and all that boring teacher stuff.

Mr. C : Advanced biology?

Me : shakes head no

Mr. C : Regular biology?

Me : shakes head no

Mr. C: just staring at my face ..Dianne..?

Me : smile. Surprise.

Mr. C: What happened to your hair?! You look so different, but I knew you looked familiar.

Me : Heh..

Parents and upcoming freshman kept streaming in through the doors, and he kept repeating himself more and more every time, same words, sentences and everything. I felt bad for him, he must've hated it. I got sick of it eventually, and at some points there would be too many people so I got up and walked around the school some more. I caught up to Mr. Z a couple of times, but he was doing the same thing, only with tours. God, these things must be a real pain in the ass. Eventually I left him too and sat in Mr. C's room some more. More parents and students, and I left again.

I did this for a while, until one point I found Mr. Z in the hall by himself, not giving out tours to anyone. I walked up to him nervously. I was shaking, I could feel it. He looked at me and said, "Your hair." He smiled at me. "Let us walk."

We walked down the hallway into his classroom, which was, thankfully, air conditioned. I think I would have died of a heat stroke or suffocation if it wasn't. He asked me how I was doing, and I told him the truth. Horrible.

We sat and talked about this and that and this and that. I told him how I've been screwing up, making mistakes all over, ruining my own life, and getting help and things like that. He kept trying to encourage me, but it wasn't working. He tried doing so by bringing up future scenarios of me moving out and going to college. He said if I screw up now, it won't happen and I'll be stuck home.

Mr. Z : What are you going to do after high school, huh?

Me : Die. Just kidding. I don't know.

Mr. Z : Looking straight at me. Don't die.

The conversation went on like that. He told me that I needed to take care of myself and exercise and not skip lunch. He told me I could be feeling bad because of mal nourishment, could you believe that? He kept pursuing that topic and telling me I needed to eat and stuff. I knew chemical imbalances could happen in the brain due to a lack of nourishment in your body, but it didn't phase me. I always had crappy eating anyway. He already knew that. So I don't know why he kept being really harsh and focused on that single topic.

He kept talking to me, trying to bring me up while I was dragging myself down. Trying to bring me up out of the hole I put myself in before it got too deep. He said some things that still are floating around the fractured walls of my skull.

Mr. Z : If I could. I would turn back time and making my parents treat me even shittier than they already did if it meant your parents would be less shitty and you could be happier, then I would. I really would if I could, but I can't. I just can't do that. The best I can do is help you now. and I mean, the last time I checked up on you in November, you said everything was doing great. You know, I was doing better, and staying stronger knowing that, but now I'm not so sure. Remember what you wrote to me? "Be strong for me, I'll be strong for you." You didn't think I would throw that away, did you? I'm being strong for you, so please be strong for me.

It really got to him. His eyes were watering an red and his nose was running. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly and kept talking. His held my hand tightly in his with a tight grip, but not full of anger and malice or handled roughly, but with tenderness an kindness and caution. Every time he held my hand like that I felt so goddamn safe. Whenever he was holding my hand like that, I didn't feel so alone. I felt like he would protect me from all the bad things and keep them away from me the best he could. Even if he couldn't successfully keep them away, his genuine effort in doing so was more than enough compensation to make up for it and I would be okay. I wouldn't be mad or upset with him. I would tell him it would be alright and thank you, and that was all.

"You're not gonna give up are you? Please don't give up. Promise me. Dianne, if you give up on me now, it'll be so much harder for me to get by. You can't give up. Please, please don't give up."

And he wrapped his pinky finger around mine, and made me promise not to give up. Not yet. His pinky held the same strong yet tender grip. I wish I could've stayed like that forever. I looked out the window and back at him, and he looked at me with deep concern and care, and.. love? 

I told him I him I was near giving up, and I didn't know if I could keep going. But I still promised him I would. I said I'd try because it's just so goddamn hard lately. He said there was no try and tried more phrases of encouragement.

His eyes were getting redder and redder, and water was spilling over the brims, and his nose was turning rosy while I could hear him stifling the mucus that wished to pour out.

That damn near broke my heart. I felt guilty for even saying the truth.

But since the last time he's seen me, I probably look really sick and all now. From seeing me nearly everyday for 3 years, with the changes in my physical and emotional development, he had already a strong mental image of me in his head. Dark hair, round face, skinny. Now he sees me seldom once or even twice a year during football season, and everything changed since them. My bones protruding all over the place, my once chubby legs now even thinner than they ever were, barely even touching each other, bruised knees and tired eyes with dark shades of purple circling them and things like that. And my dark hair that he liked so much was gone. It was all probably a real big kick in the head and all. To see me look so different than what image he had already in his head. I looked even thinner now as a 16 year old sophomore in high school, than I ever was as a 6th, 7th, and 8th grader in middle school. My drastic 180 change in physical appearance and mental/emotional state together probably was  too much for him to take in at once. I felt guilty even being me.

We finally had to stop talking eventually. Of course, all good things come to an end. I found my brother and father sitting out on the front steps of the school and he walked me out. He held my hand another time and told me it'll be okay. We argued about, he tried to bring me up again, but I wasn't feeling it. He walked back inside and I walked in front of my father and brother. They said, "Let's go?" But my feet said no. I took off into the hallway, sprinting back to Mr. C's room. 

Only one parent and two students were left. I was still shaken from my previous chat with Mr. Z. I took a seat up on the counter. It was cool on my legs and felt good. This mom won't shut up. And he's still explaining the same things. I felt so bad for him. Finally, they stopped and I got a chance to talk to him. I told him how I've been doing bad lately, but we didn't get too in depth into what was going on. I liked that about him. He was always positive too, trying to steer away the negativity out of my direction. He played around and said he should smack me in the head with a ruler and straighten up my priorities and grades. I laughed. Being around him always seemed to bring out good vibes. I told him I had to get going, and he hugged me and told me to come visit him again soon. I told him I would. We chatted a couple more minutes about my emotional state. He said teen angst and I laughed and joked with him, "It's my frontal lobe. That's what they always tell me. From it not being fully developed and all. And won't be until I'm twenty something." I got a real kick talking to him about stuff like that. He told me he was double developed because he was in his fourties. He told me he'd try to go to football games, which made me sorta happy. If he didn't, then he didn't. But at least he had the sense to make it seem like he would. and that he ate lunch with Ms. Z. He thought she was nice. I finally said I had to go, and we hugged again. He wished the best of luck and wishes for me to get better. He told me he didn't get rid of my pictures and drawings and they were still hanging in the back. That made me happy. I miss him a lot, and I'm glad I had the chance to talk to him one on one, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Nostalgia is bursting through my blue veins, through my cold blood, and echoing through my fractured skull.

Doctor, doctor, patient.

I set myself up

an appointment with myself

unknowingly in my head.

I asked myself,

"What's wrong here?"

My broken teeth gave no answer,

but only looked 

into my glossy eyes

and saw that I 

was begging 

to be 

saved.

Screams
echo in my ears

I think
my skull might burst

Blood will splatter
along the walls
my eyes will fall out
blood will drip through my nose
and I will swallow my tongue

But instead
the screams
are on replay
in these ears of mine
in this mind of mine

I can't pause them
I can't stop them
I can't erase them

Resounding
and bouncing

Echoing
throughout my mind

Patient

In class, we learned how to do emergency first-aid from CPR, tying slings for broken arms, bandaging fractured ankles and elbows, supporting fractures and broken bones, covering head wounds, neck wounds and even eye, nose and ear injuries. I volunteered to play patient and received most of the first-aid. 

As I sat across the soft-white-thin sheets of the patient bed in the cool air of the room with a neck brace, arm in sling, eye taped down, head bandage, splinted knee, and soft baby-blue booties—the class had told me I really did look hurt.

As the class continued with first aid on others, I thought about how it must feel to be in a real hospital with its beeps an busy feet moving across sterile floors, really injured and surrounded by others who were injured, hoping to live, or just waiting to die. I thought long and hard about it, and I thought that maybe that’s where I should belong—laying in white sheets of a hospital bed in a cold room with the smell if sterile sadness and false hopes in the air, holding onto unwanted life and waiting for cold, cold death.

Although the injuries I bear to have are fake, and class has been ended over hours ago, I do not wish to remove any of the bandages and wraps that hold me together. At this point, the bandages and slings feel right on this body.

My peripherals are now limited to only one eye due to my “eye injury.” Having bad eyesight already as it is, my sight is almost useless to me at this point.  The left arm that I use to eat and do two-handed tasks with now lays lifelessly limp in a sling of white wrapped around my neck. Only one arm and a hand held close to my body is left to accomplish whatever tasks I need done. 

It’s sick, I know, but it feels right. Maybe I really should be stuck somewhere as a patient for thinking of things like this.

It feels like this is the way I should be.