Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in releasethebrits' LiveJournal:

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Saturday, January 24th, 2009
3:18 pm	this, I needed I can remember every single thing about you. Like, everything and I miss you so much and I can't even explain why this is hard for me because every single thing is almost nothing. I just remember back in ninth grade at the lunch table that I had on day 2, Joemak was a total dick and he would just make fun of you because you were always wearing those thug pants. I think they were grey or black. Maybe red. But you really did wear them every day. And that was just about it until senior year in Bachman's class. That was a weird class but you and Dom always gave him such a hard time you were ridiculous. I still remember, you wanted to be a lawyer some day. He doubted you but really, you could have done it. Bachman just wanted to give you a hard time. I remember one time he assigned us a summary of that boring guy's lecture. You started working on it in class when Bachman was still lecturing, and he grabbed the paper from your hand and started correcting it in front of the class. It was pretty funny, you have to admit. Other than that, I don't know, I just get sad thinking about the class because after midterms it was never the same and I don't know how I walked into that room every day. When all of your friends were at your funeral, I knew it would be fine to cry in school, I didn't want anyone to think I had no place there, because we weren't friends, but I still miss you and remember you and you changed my life in one way or another. I just remember going to school that day, and it was one of the hardest days of the year. Like, I probably cried just as hard the last day of school, but that was not nearly the same kind of crying, that was sad but it was right. Losing you was wrong, and I can't believe that we're supposed to just accept something like that. I remember bawling in Hemple's class, and I just really don't like that man, I hate having to be that vulnerable in front of him, terrible. The whole day was sad and I was ready to cry every second, but honestly, walking back into Bachman's classroom was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Actually, that first day back we were in another class because they were painting the law room, but I suspect that he knew it was better for us all anyway. You always messed around with Bachman, but he was a good guy, he really was. But I just cried so hard, and I didn't want to go to guidance because I don't know how they are supposed to help, I just sat there crying and listening to Bachman, trying not to sob, God I couldn't believe you were gone. I remember McNally just giving me this look, and I always thought he was a sweetheart anyway, a real good kid. Everyone was just there for everyone. You did that. I left Bachman's class, buried my head in my locker and sobbed harder than I think I ever have. When I was heading back to my car, I remember John John saw me and had to drive me to my car, I was weak and could barely hold myself up I was crying so hard. I was wearing my red Chicago sweatshirt. I couldn't even say the words to explain myself. Once I finally pulled myself together to drive home, I tried so hard to call Joyce or Christy and the gym, tell them I can't do it, I can't work. They never picked up. I had my composure, so I figured I'd be alright to work. It was the first day of a new session and Joyce really wanted me to get the kids into their warm up. I made it through. Once I got my one girl that day to trampoline, I left my thoughts running. I couldn't even think about you coherently, all I had were those two or three memories. I broke down, and Matt has never had to hug me like that. They wouldn't even let me drive home for a little while, I had to calm down, I couldn't even explain it to my girls. The next day, back at school, your friends, your real friends were all back, and I pulled myself together for the people who really needed it. I gave Alex a hug, she just looked miserable. I saw Juliann crying outside of the class you two had together. I didn't care if she hated me, I just wanted her to be alright. Then walking back to ninth period again, I just remember seeing Stacey with Dom, and walking with the two of them. I'm sure Dom never liked me, and Stacey's always been my baby, even if she's technically more knowledgable, I've always been more of a grown up to her. She had to part ways, and she told me to take care of Dom. I'm sure he didn't like me, or was at least unbearably apathetic towards me, but I walked with him to 140A. Once we turned the corner after the ramp, that poor boy's face just paled. It broke my heart, because he pretends to be such a hardass. And I knew he couldn't do it. He walked to the door and told me he couldn't go in. He needed you, and I'm sure he still does. I threw my stuff down in the room and told Bachman, went out to check on him, I don't know exactly where he went, but God, he broke my heart. We didn't do anything in criminal justice that day. And the way he acted up the rest of the year, he was just making up for you, I know it. He was an asshole, but still, it broke my heart. And then there was Anthony and Mike when we were at Nick's house. It was so sad, and I just wanted so badly to make them happy, there was just nothing to be done. You changed everything for me. I don't know, it made every day count, and all those other cheesy things. I swear to you, I think about you every single day. I don't know what I beleive in, in terms of Heaven and God, but something out there exists and I know where ever you are is better. I don't have anything to show this to anyone, this isn't a Facebook wall post, and you know all those terribly trite things to say. You were sort of a jerk, but terribly funny, and I'm sure if I rolled with your circle of friends we would have gotten along. I can't believe it's been so long already, because I remember Amanda getting that phone call from her Mom asking if we knew you. I just wondered and I know I cried just when I heard you were sick. Oh God. I was talking to my mom about you coming into criminal justice after you were better and how scary and weird that is. I went on the treadmill and did whatever work out. And then when I got off, you were just gone. Oh my God, I remember that. I went online and Michelle Kelly was telling me all kinds of ridiculous because she's Michelle Kelly. And then I IMed Mike Radigan, and he just said he didn't want to talk and then I knew and then everything changed. God, I miss you so much, I don't know how different my life would be if you were still around, but I certainly would have never known how important you were to me, and how much you meant to all of my friends. I really miss you, man. I'm so sad to see you taken from us, and I know you are resting in peace. I love you. (Comment on this)
Monday, December 8th, 2008
1:38 pm	whisper whisper. This is college (this is chemical burn). I can feel your eyes burning through me and judging every move I make, tell me how you think I am and how you think what I'm doing is going to hurt me. Tell me what you say behind closed doors, how I'm just acting out and that hand print isn't funny, how I'm covering up actually being sad. Pursue me. Just fucking pursue me. Starting to feel like too much just to be wanted. A month does not fix this un want, this display of affection, this just fucking get out of my room. It was all so good, I cannot complain. My God, you can be such a whore. Yeah, but are you really happy? Tell me about all those guys, make sure he listens. She gets around. Easy. Don't do this and then come crying to me when you realize how dumb you're being. Why do I bring her out? Talk to me. Easy. Tell tell, his hands so low, so public. The couch, the verb. "Oh" Don't regret this. Once, I don't (Comment on this)
Monday, November 3rd, 2008
4:16 pm	Right. tchks511 (12:24:24 AM): my advice to you brittanee is, and i gave this advice to anthony mastroianni earlier tonight, is to stop looking tchks511 (12:24:35 AM): this is advice that i am also now trying to follow tchks511 (12:24:48 AM): just stop fucking looking and then you'll find something (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 28th, 2008
11:05 pm	You know what, I'm missing the idea of you. That's pretty much it, I bet. The next time we talk, I'll be just as pissed off at your pretentiousness. The next time we talk, I don't know if I'm still going to pretend like your busy-ness is any excuse. The next time we talk, I'm not going to tell you what happened. The next time we talk, you'll still never know. I want there to be a next time I talk to you. You know. (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 28th, 2008
1:28 am	I miss everything and everything is starting. still, I'm wishing for another June or July. why is it so hard to be happy with change? in two days I'll see how easy it is to adjust, how crazy I was to worry. I miss 2AM chats and diners and being in friend-love. (Comment on this)
Monday, August 11th, 2008
1:43 am	still waters he's got a sunrise to watch. there's a lite cigarette lit and burning there's a two week old pile of laundry there's wishing away and wishing home. his hands are cold her hands are empty. there's a place where nothing has changed and we're trapped and happy; trapped and suffocating; dogs with electric collars. outside still smells like nicotine and febreeze. the sun sets where i've been sleeping and rises before we even exist. (Comment on this)
Sunday, May 25th, 2008
12:37 am	a year maybe you'll be there. tomorrow. same time, same place. and she'll be there all over again, saving me. don't you even remember? because i still cannot. (Comment on this)
Friday, April 25th, 2008
12:31 am	Tipping the Scales. Tan and (drunk) - "Classy" Inebriated, interviews. Dressed in pinstripes, "adult" attire. Childish "Be classy" demands. Kiss, Kiss (Kiss?) Be classy, stop. "No." "Not here (there)." Feign interest - "Where'd you say you lived?" Next. Like the bus. No cameras tonight? None? Not a show to put on. (If no one is watching) Screaming the voices inside. Inside voices. (Quiet). Silence -- lips, kiss. Not okay. (Not) tonight. Nowhere to go (but further) Fingertips, here (there). Shudder. Shiver. Dress. "Call me?" Anonymous, completely. (Comment on this)
Friday, February 29th, 2008
3:54 pm	I can't force myself into creativity, and nothing sounds the same since you've been gone. I hold what I have left between my thumb and forefinger, rings, necklaces, whenever I catch your scent. I just miss you. I'm terrified of losing those memories, and I never wear your ring when that's the plan. I feel like it would bring you shame. And I love you, and miss you. I know you saved me. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 16th, 2007
1:55 am	What a good fucking night, not being with those same people feels so amazing. Really, it isn't my fault you always have a foot or objects of a more phallic nature in your mouth. I honestly cannot stand you right now, and herein lies a however long rant about her, slut (only not at all, call it projection). You are entirely too selfish and dependent on your stupid ass Mexican. He is not God, and you are not an angel, quite the contrary, I have begun to believe you are so fucking evil and stupid and I toy with the word hate here because I don't like to use it, but I can't help feeling it applies. That alone, kills me, you bitch. She doesn't care about a fucking thing, not her supposed real best friend (remember she's going through hell- how she won't see him forever? but you not seeing Mr. Mexico for two days is worse? Oh right. That.) and she sure as hell doesn't care about ever winning back my affections, in spite of the fact that it would probably be most simple. Goddamn it, all I want to do is punch you and scream into a pillow until my vocal cords burst, but that would just hurt more people (me). Remember when you cared about other things? Remember how he ruined Christmas? Remember when we liked you? I do. I promise you. One month ago I was ready to cry myself to sleep because I hurt you so badly. I would have taken back kissing him if I could, even if you liked him like a year ago, I understood how you still held on to the memory of those feelings. Guess what? I don't care. I would do it again now, just in the hopes that it would hurt you. But you'd never find out because no one talks to you anymore. I'm so glad we did what we did. And I'm just going to write you the most graphic note possible about our hands and unmentionables doing the, well, unmentionable because I remember the tears it brought to your eyes. (For the record: I'm probably going to take it back at some point, but this needs to be typed out for real because, well, it's the truth as of right now.) And holy fucking shit, he is the biggest liar I have ever met. What a Goddamn christmas-ruining douche bag. That is exactly what you are. Some things are secret because they are supposed to be, but now I know I could never tell you anything, I can only imagine the shameful things I may have said and how you probably told everyone you know. Just for the attention? Oh, so you're a whining whore? I guess so. If I weren't the last person you kissed before her (just guessing - I mean, c'mon.) then I would have to say I bet the two of you have herpes. Maybe you didn't catch it from other people, your bodies just recognized how fucking awful the two of you are and had to formulate some awful sexually transmitted disease to describe the horrors of your fornication. Disgusting. So fucking disgusting. STD X they'll call it. Just wait. You grow uni-brows and turn into whiny, obsessive bitches. Don't you worry, I've indoctrinated the masses. Everyone knows your secrets just like you can't keep anyone else's. Not even hers, not even his. Everyone knows how awful you can be, I bet some random kids tell you -"I heard this girl talking shit about you..." You would never be surprised. When it's me at that point, it's clear that you did something wrong. I'm relatively certain I know how to be a friend, but you get what you give. So, sorry you couldn't be a better friend, sorry you found each other because if I'm being honest (and what else would I be - see above) you were better off alone. God does exist, asshole, and you know what, he rues the day the two of you met. (Comment on this)
Friday, December 7th, 2007
1:50 pm	six months He'll drive. And take the wheel, and take the keys for that ever-famous backseat, With the lust and the memories, tainted one more day. Speed demon, he's chasing all the wrong things. He rolls up the windows and fills his lungs with tar, steaming them up with his own lust for himself. He better be trembling, I'm taking all he's got. He'll give her all he's got. Rev the engine, there's a race to be won. He'll push the accelerator so far his feet are scraping the pavement. It must feel so good. Think about the smoke and fire and heat of a fever, burning up those lungs. He'll stay locked in that car forever. She's that smoke surrounding him and kisses his cheek so he won't ever forget. The ashes burn out and ignite someone else's flame. Hers. And the drugs make them numb, time keeps them from forgetting. She breathes in smoke, someones rage. The fire in someone else's eyes. The stones from someone else's ring. He paces within himself. Frozen but burning up. I'm sorry you blew it, sorry you're depressed, sorry you have nothing. Skeletons scrape at the lining of his trunk, It's suddenly filled with mistakes. It's hard to cry, but suddenly so simple with those tear ducts. She's cut within like a diamond, not footprints in the sand, but footprints that glisten with the reds from the sunset. There's a misplaced body and they'll find it on him. Within him, a way out, those keys to the ignition, They've found their way within him. On a darkened street corner, he'll gut himself out. I sort of hope he does, just for vindication, just so she'll always be okay. Find a way out with those keys deep within. Gutted like an animal, he'll go down his own throat just to apologize. And he'll never get out, she'll forever be safe. The angels reach out, brush her hair to the side of her face. He'll shiver in the coveted shotgun, chain-smoking to suicide. I tell her she'll be fine, that I love her. She's missing too much, and what she shouldn't be missing. She leaves him shivering, I leave her everything. She'll have it all and they have to know. I hope he remembers because he's so intact. I hope he knows. I'm taking it back. I'm taking it all. And he'll only begin to tremble. (Comment on this)
Thursday, October 25th, 2007
4:45 pm	Daisies "This is it." She whispers to herself. Just one step. Stumble once. If she falters, she thinks, it's a long way down. Only the girl on the ledge, it isn't her. This is no one she's ever met, the place she's put herself in. Shuffle, shuffle, her feet. Tragic lady, death may be your angel tonight. Pull, pull that trigger, unsure soul, and ask for nothing in return. "Do them all a favor," seething with malice, contempt, walk a mile in his shoes, who's there with outstretched arms as she stumbles, right out of unsteady shoes, unsteady footing. No one is there to catch her, broken arms and spirits; Atrophied muscles in every imaginable crevice; arms lay limp, torso and legs follow, prisoners of existence. Don't scream, don't cry. Certainly don't breathe, everything boiling down to one moment. With a red like sanguine and breathes that look like panting, not to inconvenience anyone, she hopes. Creative like a storm, swallow, swallow. Fail at failing; nothing is ever good enough, quiet enough, enough, enough. Choke and sputter all the might left in her soul, it's not enough for salvation. Cough, cough, her bleeding heart quietly, simply weeps. Such a sorry tale, she is. Razor, Razor, playing hide and seek? Nothing fits to finish and the mess is just too.. Too something. Head in her hands, cry, cry, tortured child, with so much left to grow. "It's never simply a trade-off," her own vernacular, "Life." He'll tell her. Step, step, to the edge. Pray you do, pray you don't. Wish on courage and cowardice all at once, all she needs is everything. Stumble little girl; it's only fitting, as always a martyr. "this is it," and give in. Heave and purge, to take things slow, because those were the exact words. Take things slow. And every moment flashes, passes, snap shots floating by. Snapshots from eon's past. Choke. And cough, and gasp for air. All she ever wanted, all she ever hoped for. Hand in hand, and soul in tact. Take a look, tomorrow, and forever, "I love you." (Comment on this)
Monday, October 8th, 2007
7:16 pm	Beaches There's not a door left unopened or a memory left unvisited. Living in the moment, living for the moment, is so much more difficult than staying in the moment, this night. The photographs and spoken words fumble with the truth until all that's left is the past of the decrepit. And we'll go to the beach at night, because everything is more nostalgic in the moonlight. It's easier to remember the dark, somehow. I cross my fingers behind my back when you say your goodbyes because somehow it's going to turn into a lie. I wrote our initials in the sand, so we're a part of everything, and the ocean took what I had to say. This isn't a message in clear, glass bottles. It's the whisper from the waves you can hear in any shell. We've sewn up our scars into hearts on our forearms. It's nothing that you'd wear on your sleeve, all I can hope is we've gotten under your skin. To leave my heart in the whispers you've been hearing, the stitches on your arm. Feet dangling over a bridge, sit and think about how long this can last. And the moment can't be stopped from passing. Ocean currents took what I had to say and scars fade over time, so dip a finger into wet cement. Remind everyone that we existed. Don't tell a soul; this is how we live forever. (Comment on this)
Friday, August 24th, 2007
5:31 pm	2007 I'm afraid this year isn't going to be everything everybody thinks it will be. You've become my best friend for real this summer, I miss you already, and I love you. I'm absolutely terrified to begin this whole college process, we talk about it way too much and I can't imagine saying goodbye. Not ever. Time is just going to go so much quicker than we realize. We've always had a different kind of friendship but I just miss things were, I don't always want him around. I'm nervous that I'm not actually good enough to do what I want to do with my life. I can remember the first time I thought of you really as a friend. Looking how far we've come from that point, I can't believe it's only been a couple years. I couldn't see myself hating you, ever. I love you. I don't always know what to say, but I'll be here for you forever. I've think I've just learned to accept everyone's faults and get past them. Sometimes it feels like you treat me like her just because she's not there. Don't compare me to that. Not ever. I just have nothing left to say about you and I've wasted too much time with everyone else talking about it. Deep down I love you, but right now, I don't care about that. Your apologies just don't mean anything to me. You're an amazing friend, but sometimes your group is just too much to take. Sometimes you are too, but I don't see you everyday anyway. I don't consider you a part of our group anymore even though I do consider you a best friend still. I miss those days when it was the three of us. I'm sure I'm different, but I can't help feeling like the two of you changed even more. I'm scared that if I ever got a boyfriend, I would end up changing somehow, I don't want to be "next" just because I don't know how relationships should function. I'm glad things are okay between us because you have been amazing to be around this summer. I feel like trash for doing what I did with you. I think it has more to do with the fact that it was you and what you said than what I did. I love talking to you because it reminds me of when I was younger. It actually made me upset seeing what I wrote about you and how bad you hurt me. I wasted months wanting to be with you and now I could never see why. I wish I would have spoken up sooner, maybe you wouldn't be who you are now. You're too good for her for this to end. I'm scared of remembering. And I only talk about it because that's how I know how to get over things, I could only understand how everyone else felt when I had to see those pictures. It really said a lot about people I never thought would have really cared. And I hate that even though you hate me, you couldn't even bother to ask. And you are so caught up in your new life that you couldn't even come visit. I miss you, I love you. You saved my life. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 15th, 2007
9:47 pm	what exactly is a witness? All I know, is that I should be writing about the things that I do know. All I want to do is correct the grammar in your apology and throw it in your crinkled nose because I know you couldn't mean a word. Not the way you talk to me, and not the way my ears ring when I know you're telling someone else. I can tell you this, and I know fractures far better than you believe And everything we've ever done, any time I've been on your side Well, to me, to a lot of other people, there are far more fractures between you and I, than there are in my broken mind. From what I've seen, your eyes are blurry from crying and you're the one with perfect vision, but there's something desperately wrong with this scene. You can say "I'm sorry." Tell me until the insides of your cheeks are sore with tiny cuts, until your tongue feels swelled up to the point where you just might swallow it, until you're bruised and broken jaw detaches. And, I'll tell you, I'm anything but inhumane, but you're anything but sorry. Not to me, at the very least. Knowing who you are, you'd play with those cuts until your mouth fell apart, just because you've never known when to stop, but I guess I don't either. And I've just fucked too many guys to have the moral consideration of rescuing you from your tears and sorry lies. I kissed my sense of sympathy away last week, and you're just none the wiser. Like I said, I'd only tell you about the things I already know. That we're easy, and you're skinny, and you're happy but depressed. The things you think you know, and the things that I think, because you're wrong. I could waste my time, talking about the things I know You don't know pain, and you don't know hurt, all you know is perfect, all you think you know is perfect. And there's just so much more to it. (Comment on this)
Saturday, June 9th, 2007
11:40 pm	A couple of months ago I remember how running made me feel "invincible", the same way you couldn't. I wrote about how I run because nothing hurts, even if it will when I stop. With two fractured cheekbones and a skull fracture I know better. I know that running can't make me invincible. I can only pray that it lets me forget. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 21st, 2007
9:17 pm	Hey. One year on Livejournal. Happy spring. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 14th, 2007
10:42 pm	March A traffic light glows amber on a nearly abandoned street corner. He could imagine, with lack of consequence, running the red light, rushing to get to some place he'd think he had to be. As quickly as possible. Just to have another place to hide his dreams for the night. Shaking off the night terror. For tonight, yield to the glow, like there's all the time in the world. These next few moments will last forever. Savor them, as memories are only a watermark of the past. Sitting beside himself, moments in total secrecy, only the whisper of the night stutters softly into his ear. It's dark, but for one last night, everything is completely bright. Colors are saturated against a velvet sky. May everything be lemon yellow, fire-engine red. No matter how dark the sky, something shines over this night. The traffic light drags down it's own wire. Suspended over him, it glows like a spotlight on an empty street. For the effect, he turns off his headlights; something protects him this night. The light flickers an incandescent red. Stopping everything. The engine reduced to a small hum. Time stands still. The crickets alone make their own melody, harmonizing with the notes he's sung out in his mind. The keys still in the ignition, he's learned to trust his instincts. Never let the moment pass. Step (two, three) to his own beat, out of the car, like it's his big dance number. His t-shirt is greasy, his hair is unkempt and there's a dent in the door of his car, but the stage is set perfectly. He was taught: one arm on the small of her back, the other held out, leading into the night. Step, two, three around the hood of the car, the engine still hot to the touch. Open the passenger door and he gracefully takes hold of her hands, closed eyes, with an angelic touch. Step, two, three. The waltz. The light, it turns. Fire red, grass green, lemon yellow. Nature and science are fighting to control his next step. Fighting fate. Fighting destiny. Ignoring the rules, and ignoring the spotlight, he pulls in close, abandoning the classics, and fighting for anything tangible. She's calling all the shots tonight. Fate's leading. Dancing with the angels, the only thing he really owns is the night. His steps. Spontaneity. The rhythm, the one created in the dark, it calls out breathless and airy goodbyes in his ear. Step, two, three. He follows his patterns. The ones he was taught, the ones lain out for him. That which he cannot see. As he turns, the image of the night fades. The lights give their glow to the dawn, dancing left within the moonlight, stoplight. Within the darkness, letting go, and returning to honesty. He switched his headlights back on, returning to the illusion of safety. Still, protected. The sun stares down on him, brutal. This isn't his street anymore. He's finding his way home amongst the commute, wishing for the night, the closeness that belonged, still belongs to him. Still, the angels watch him, step, two, three, under shining stoplights. Alone, he drives. He takes his steps. For the memories... For the night, the velvet sky, she'll dance with him always. (Comment on this)
Monday, February 26th, 2007
4:00 pm	real postsecret. You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? Even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007
9:33 pm	How the hell can you be married. Seriously. (Comment on this)