This bridge was written to make you feel smittener

Well. The haich is rising. This explains my erratic behavior lately.
It will pop up suddenly, for a few seconds at a time. Enough time to look around. Enough time to take control. Enough time to scare us. It wants us afraid. At some point it stopped being a dumb beast... it's part of me, after all. It's learning. It's changing. It's getting stronger. Strong enough to break the bonds holding it. Who wouldn't be afraid?
I doubt anyone will recognize the seriousness of this. Night and darkness is one thing... but then I showed it daylight. I showed it compassion. I taught it how to hunger. And should it break free, there's no telling what it will do. No doubt it will involve destruction.
Mostly I'm afraid for Tasha. Most people would be merely strangers, faces, unknowns, but it knows her. She is the only one who has held it, who has shown it kindness, who has looked into its eyes and not been afraid. Liz was the first human it saw, but Tasha... I don't know. It knows her face, her flesh, her, for want of a better word, scent, and if it finds her again I don't know what it will do... the haich is a beast. A monster. Locked away for so long, I doubt it will be kind.

Skeleton fought it once today, when it tried to break free. The battle tore through my mind. The pain was excruciating. But he won... this time. I hope this will end soon.

And... dammit, I miss Tasha. It's cruel to make me see her every day, hear her laughter. She deleted her blog. That hurt; in this subculture our blogs bind us together in a way. Maybe she didn't want to remember me. I wish I didn't want to remember her anymore. I know that she's happy and all I can think about is her tears, my blood, and all the times she told me that she loved me. It's not fair. I shouldn't have to relive memories like this. I hate memory. You always have to dig to find the good parts.
I wonder if she loves and hates me as I love and hate her... no. I doubt she loves me at all.
I don't move on. I just suck in someone new to hold and hurt me.

I blog more when I'm depressed. Hm.

"I used to worry about being consumed by the church of mediocrity the world keeps building around itself until I realized that the so-called experts they made me talk to were full of shit." That's the sentence I'm using in my latest Lit project. Interesting, at least. Still needs work.

I'm so tired. I haven't slept at all lately.

Oh, and I finally got round to changing my blogger name from Sevenfold to Nine. Should have done that ages ago.

I think my problem with dealing with my emotions might stem from the fact that I keep them so hidden. No one else seems to care so I tell myself I don't either. Then on the occasions I do open up I either make someone upset, or afraid for me, or more often than not told in one form or another to stop saying such things, we don't want to hear it. So I stay locked up so everyone can go on pretending I'm happy. No one who opens me up is prepared to accept what comes out. Maybe if I felt confident to act like myself, truly myself, and screw what other people think of me... but it's been made clear that's not acceptable. Being recognized for the way you think and feel is out of the question.
At this point, predictably, I'm going to say that I'm just moping and droning on about the same things without doing anything about it. Maybe the reason I keep bringing it up is because I want someone to take it seriously, maybe help me deal with it. Again predictably I'll call myself selfish, but seriously, I HAVE PROBLEMS. Why can't anyone recognize that these aren't just words?

Afraid of rejection. Afraid of people turning away. At least... those I care about.
Always afraid of scaring away the ones I love, dragging them down with me until they hurt me to get away. That's what I'm afraid of. That's why I insult myself every time I bring it up. Afraid that I won't feel wanted and helpful. Fear is always there. It's wrong to live in fear of love.