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Age_of_Mystery
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Name: margaret
Metro: Marietta


Interests: i like to write... draw... play drums and piano... and i like listening to music


Message: message me
AIM: deathawaits1026
AIM: deathawaits1026
AIM: deathawaits1026
AIM: deathawaits1026
AIM: deathawaits1026


Member Since: 5/22/2005

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Sunday, February 19, 2006

i miss this xanga. it's so pretty. =)

i sit here, looking at this screen. somehow... it's filled with pain, and people are hurt by it; me, i'm hurt by it. i'm hurt by the things that people say... and it's painful somehow. i feel rejection and emptiness chasing after me, waiting until i give in so that they may cause pain on me. he urges them on after me, to cause me pain and misery; he knows not what fate he brings upon me, he knows not what to except. he finds happiness in causes others pain. others like me. i feel minipulated by him, and somehow aware that every word is about him. i can relate loneliness and helplessness to his name. i can relate the feeling of a broken heart to his actions. people are hurt by him, without realizing it. or maybe i'm just jealous.  of what? --- good question. how can i be jealous if i don't see anything to be jealous of? i know i'm not jealous of the pain and suffering of his lying, cheating soul. what then? what is it. 
i look upon myself to see that i will never be the same. i seem so different now. i'm not sure if you've noticed. the only thing that i seem to like better than being alone is complaining about it. i do complain alot, i sure do. so how may i stop complaining? should i stop complaining? is it nessacary, if no one will read this anyway, to even ask the question? eek. more questions.
when i met him i changed... without the awareness, people told me that i changed. but now that he's gone have i changed back? do i regret leaving him? i couldn't, i'm not physically attracted to him, not at all. but would i still be if i were still with him? or would the feeling of lust take me over. he wouldn't hate me if i hadn't of left him. he wouldn't love her if i hadn't of left him.  he got out so easily, jumping from my arms right into hers. right into hers. he doesn't have to worry about being alone, ever. does he cause her pain the way he did me? i don't love her, i don't even like her, she just calls me.  there's no need to lie, old friend. you don't suddenly start loving someone whom you've known for an amount of months. it doesn't happen. one more lie. one more lie. how long will he keep lying. what makes him appologize for not calling when he promised he would if he never did before? what makes him say i love her so quickly?

what makes him say i hate you so quickly?


</3


Monday, November 28, 2005

alright. the xanga is back to normal. and i'm lame.


i depend on people too much for happiness. i was just noticing it this week of thanksgiving. i was without a david for anout 8 days. i was miserable, and amazed. i was the most unhappy i had ever been. and it made me realize that the only reason i'm ever happy is because i'm with david. no offence to any of you others, but you just don't make me happy all of the time. it's something about being in the arms of someone you love. <--- wow that sounded like some cheesy line from a movie. but i was alsways thinking about him, and the only way to get him off my mind was to keep myself busy drawing, reading, cleaning, or cooking. ( which is what i did over all thanksgiving break.) i'm not saying this for attention, hopefully you know that, but over the break, anytime i had an unpleasant conversation with david, or no conversation at all, i would just cry. my sister was not in state to watch, i had the room to myself. almost every night i found myself sitting in from of the full length mirror, crying. it's pathetic , i know. what have i to cry over? i found myself ... asking... myself ... that question and i could only come up with the answer nothing. also, that week, i seemed to find myself unbaringly disgusting to look at in the mirror. my fat seemed to be falling over my shorts, which was quite disturbing. but... it seems like whenever i do something incredibly stupid, it's for no aparent reason. for instance, lying. whenever i lie ( not to worry, it's not often ) , it's always about something stupid. and, usually, after i lie, they asked me if i lied, and i generally say yes. heh. because i'm stupid. i just ... like get a guilt trip or something.... i'm such a weirdo.

oh we had a skinny new mexican student come to school today. david thinks he's gay... and so does cooper... come to think of it. he's in alot of my classes. i met him in PE. he told me i had very pretty eyes, then through out the day  ( as i saw him in almost every one of my classes), he would smile at me and say hi. i felt as though he was staring through me, rather than at me. but he is a very nice boy. he tickled me today... and i'm just surprised david didn't beat him up... he was standing right there.... but anyway... so i hope that the two of us can be good friends. mexicans are cool... shut up....  well my goodness... it's already 11. i should definatley go do my homework now don't you think?

ah yes, i forgot to mention.
my french is picking up.
Mon français obtient mieux.


see you later.

a tout a l'heure <-- except without all of the funny accents.


Sunday, November 27, 2005

my mistake. no password is required. well... if you're reading this right now you're special, and also on a list. that allows you to see these entries.


wow. this is amazing power. i love it. only a few people can read my entries now.

but anyway... so why did i do this whole private thing?

first of all, i'm sick of my sisters reading my xanga and seeing things about myself that i do not display to my family, but do display to you guys. another thing, people look at my xanga and don't know what i'm talking about, or don't know what to say to what i write.  or some don't understand that these crazy blurbs i write are all true, and have all really happened to me; unless of course it is a story, but i think that i usually start those out with this is a story. so mhmm. but anyway.

i kinda feel like whenever i write a poem on here people are just kind of sick of it. like well gee, we know that you write poetry get over yourself. and i mean, i understand that. you don't want to hear some idiot brag, niether do i. so i mean, what do you want me to write about?

love
caitlynn-margaret*


okay... so what the crap happened to my xanga?


all my entries are private.

if you want to know the password give me a call

and i guess if you don't have my number, you wont be reading my xanga.


Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Daddy

the first thing he does when he gets home is yell. the dog is on the sofa, the tv is talking about sex, and mom hasn't made dinner. he yells at me to turn the tv off. " it's trash" perhaps he just had bad timing, when the moment before he walked in, they were talking about something that has absolutely no relation to sex at all. his loud voice almost echoes throughout the house, and everyone seems to dread the fact that he's home again, only counting the minutes until it is time for him to leave agian. home is like his station to refeul. he needs to yell at his children to release his anger, go back to work, yell at his children some more, hit the dog, go back to work, come home at 1 o'clock in the morning, yell at us for waiting for him " you shouldn't be up this late " accuse us of losing something of his ( which we didn't ), get ready for bed, yell at us for breaking something, go to bed, sleep. silence,at last. until his snoring fills the house.
the house is clean, he says nothing. dinner is made for him, he says nothing. he is greeted when he comes home, he says nothing.

she's home alone at 12:10...

where's mom? 



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