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Ello my name is alyssa ppl call my liss or lissa.Yes im a lil short for my age but i cant help that(hehe).Umm just add me and get to know me i love making new friends!! ADD ME ON MYSPACE!!!(www.myspace.com/rubberducky95)

***!if u got txtin hit me up n txt meh..Now you gotta ask for my number though!(haha)

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May 28

Isn't It Funny?

Emo's of the world.. Isnt it funny that when you go to the shops with your friends, you look down at the girl with black jeans and studs, but smile at the girl wearing a mini with a t-shirt that barely covers anything? Isnt it funny you can change your music taste to impress a guy, but when it comes to a girl who likes her own music and her own style, you give her a mouthful? ISNT IT FUNNY that a guy can get away with being a gangsta, but the emo gets a mouthful from everyone? are you laughing? Isnt it funny a emo can be quiet all through the week but gets more baloney from everyone than the girl who sleeps around and sells her virginity? ISNT IT FUNNY that you dont mind your friends drinking or smoking, but the minute someone mentions emo music you can give them a lecture on melodramatic teenage outcasts? im not laughing. IT'S SO FUNNY that you and your friends can make a girls life hell and not know anything about the silent battle she might be fighting. ISNT IT FUNNY that you can call emos, punks, and goths the retards, but still manage to get through your day without an inch of guilt in your heart. HOW YOU CAN CALL A GIRL A POSER, HOW CAN YOU SAY "YOUR NOT EMO" OR "ATTENTION SEEKER" WITHOUT SPENDING A SECOND TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHY THERE ARE CUTS ON HER WRISTS AND WHY SHE SPENDS HER LUNCHTIMES CRYING INSTEAD OF LAUGHING WITH HER FRIENDS? KEEP ON LAUGHING! isnt it funny you can say and do all this without any idea of what is going on in this persons life without knowing her situation with her friends or her family or her life? BRAVE ISNT GOING UP ON STAGE AND STRIPPING. BRAVE IS NOT SAYING A SPEECH OR DUMPING YOUR BOYFRIEND. BRAVE IS GOING TO SCHOOL ON MUFTI DAY AND NOT FOR A SECOND CARE WHAT THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU ARE SAYING ABOUT YOUR CLOTHES. ITS LISTENING TO YOUR OWN MUSIC AND BEING PROUD OF IT. ITS GOING THROUGH EVERY DAY WITH THE THINGS PEOPLE SAY TO YOUR FACE AND BEHIND YOUR BACK AND YOU STILL KEEP QUIET ITS KNOWING WHAT YOUR "FRIENDS" ARE SAYING ABOUT YOU AND STILL CALLING THEM YOUR FRIENDS. BRAVE IS KNOWING THAT TOMOROW ISNT A BRIGHT AND HAPPY FUTURE, ITS ANOTHER DAY OF BITCHING AND DODGING RUMORS. KEEP ON LAUGHING. if you agree put this in ur blog. i read this and started crying. I've been that kid who is laughed at because of her music..clothes..friends..thoughts..words..feelings.. no one should do this.. stop it..if you see it.

R.I.P. James =[

It all happend at 12A.M. on a new day of January 26th 2009.It was a Wednsday.A school day for me and my bestest friend ever.We were hoping for that day to turn out great in the end, but no it was terriable.It wasn't terriable at the end of the day either it turned out are days started of horriable right from the break of dawn.He had killed himself over a fight him and a friend had.He had died by *sighs*...hanging himself.His parents had called at midnight telling her and her parents the news of what just happend to there son.As soon as she found out she was crying her eyes out till 3A.M. until she had no more tears left.When she sadly had came to school all depressed and down with not even a little smile or laugh coming out of her that's when she told me. "Alyssa?" "Yes,what is it are you ok?" "No." "Well then whats wring you can tell me,you can tell me anything and you even know that." "Ummm it's about James." "Is it good or bad?" "It's pretty bad." "How bad?" "Pretty damn bad to make me cry till 3A.M. this morning." "OMG what happned to James.Did he die?!" "*tears* Yes." "No.are you serious?" Yes no lie his parents called telling me after we got in a fight that night." Thats what put me in total shock the rest of the day.My mouth had droped open when she said he had died.I was supposed to meet this guy but i never got a chance.The way she always described him to me: dreamy,amazing,sweet,caring,cute,adoriable,the best guy you could ever meet.That there told me they were made for eachother.I knew the way that she told me about him though that he would never want to hurt her in any way ever.He had loved her dearly with all his heart.Even though hes not with us anymore i know he still loves her and always will.He had gave her something to remember him by a while before he had died.He gave her a ring.He proposed to her.She said yes.From this day on she will be wearing that ring on her marriage finger untill the day she dies.She will even wear it in her grave when thet burry her below the ground right next to her beloved James forever eternity.You will be dearly missed james 1-26-09 <333

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January 3

To Write Love On Her Arms(TWLOHA)

Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars." would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her. Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her. She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm. The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her c hurch, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms. She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her. I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes more Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show. She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies. On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope. Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired. After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff. She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life. As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope." I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly. We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true. We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home. I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember. Go To This website below.You could help those who are in depression and need your help.You could save a life. http://www.socialvibe.com/towriteloveonherarms?r=477881&rs=spread_4

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