Lacrimosa.

Frustrated? Yes. Why? Because it is impossible for me to be God- or the universal man and woman- or anything much. I am what I feel and think and do. I want to express my being as fully as I can because I somewhere picked up the idea that I could justify myself being alive that way. But if I am to express what I am, I must have a standard of life, a jumping off place, a technique- to make arbitrary and temporary organization of my own personal and pathetic little chaos. I am just beginning to realize how false and provincial the standard must be. That is what is so hard for me to face.

Murder Tramp.

All of this may just be a subtle way of egotistically separating myself from the common herd, but take it for what it's worth. As for free will, there is such a narrow crack of it for man to move in, crushed as he is from birth by environment, heredity, time and event and local convention. If I had been born anywhere else, I wouldn't be I. But I am I now; and so many others are irretrievably their own special variety of 'I' that I can hardly bear to think of it. I: How firm a letter; how reassuring the three strokes; one vertical, proud and assertive, and then the two short horizontal lines in quick, smug succession. The pen scratches on the paper...I...I...I...I.

Murder Boy.

I realize now that I am just a fool. The things that had been said and done meant nothing. I put weight behind these things, cherished them in a way. I let myself believe in them for the sake of finding something worth holding onto. In the end, I realize I am a fool. My intensity is a quality that ruins me. I feel, while you remain numb to my existence.

She's a fucking individualist.

Analysis of myself:

Self-aware, introspective, engaged in a 'search for self', aware of feelings and inner impulses. Sensitive and intuitive both to self and others, Gentle, tactful, compassionate. Highly personal, individualistic, true to my feelings. Self-revealing, emotionally honest, humane. Ironic view of self and life. Can be serious and funny, vulnerable and emotionally strong. At my best I am profoundly creative, expressing the personal and the universal. Inspired, self-renewing and regenerating. Able to transform all my experiences into something valuable. Redemptive and self-creative.

I take and artistic, romantic orientation to life, creating a beautiful, aesthetic environment to cultivate and prolong personal feelings. I heighten reality through fantasy, passionate feelings, and the imagination.

To stay in touch with feelings, I interiorize and personalize things, becoming self-absorbed, hypersensitive, shy, and self-conscious. Temperamental and moody, I will play "hard to get", but still feel like an outsider. I feel that I am different from others, and am therefore exempt from living as everyone else does until my emotional needs are met.

I can be a melancholy dreamer, disdainful, decadent, and sensual, living in a fantasy world. Self-pity and envy leads me to self-indulgence. I can become increasingly impractical, unproductive, and pretentious- yet awaiting my rescuer.

When my dreams fail, I become self-inhibiting and angry at myself, depressed and alienated from myself and others, blocked and emotionally paralyzed. Ashamed of myself, fatigued and unable to function, I will stay withdrawn to protect my self image, and to buy time to sort out feelings. Tormented by delusional self-contempt, self-reproaches, self-hatred, and morbid thoughts, everything about me becomes a source of torment. I will blame others and drive anyone away who tries to help me. Despairing, I feel hopeless and become self-destructive. In my extremes, emotional breakdowns and suicide attempts have been likely.

I'm a life ruiner; but the only life I'm ruining is my own.

Automysopobia

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

What fascinates us about Satan is the way he expresses qualities that go beyond what we ordinarily recognize as human. Satan evokes more than the greed, envy, lust and anger we identify with our own worst impulses, and more than what we call brutality, which imputes to human beings a resemblance to animals. Evil, then, at its worst, seems to involve the supernatural- what we recognize with a shudder, as the diabolic inverse of God as "wholly other".

The construction of the "social" other as cannibal- savage, sorcerer, vampire, demon, or an amalgam of them all, draw upon a consistent repertoire of symbols of inversion. The stories we tell about people out on the periphery play with their savagery, libertine customs, and monstrosity. At the same time, the combined horror and pleasure we derive from contemplating this otherness- sentiments that influenced the brutality of colonists, missionaries and armies entering the lands of those others- certainly affect us at the level of individual fantasy, as well.

The power elite is composed of men whose positions enable them to transcend the ordinary environments of ordinary men and women; they are in positions to make such decisions having major consequences. Whether they do or do not make such decisions is less important than the fact that they do occupy such pivotal positions. Their failure to act, their failure to make decisions, is itself an act that is often of greater significance than the decisions they do make. For they are in command of the major hierarchies and organizations of modern society. They rule the big corporations. They run the machinery of state and claim its prerogatives. They direct the military establishment. They occupy strategic command posts of the social structure, in which are centered the effective means of power and the wealth and celebrity which they enjoy.

It is when power is wedded to chronic fear that it becomes formidable.

Netsah

I am a paraplegic Peter Pan puttering along, sputtering my preamble to the post hypnotic suggestion that the way I say the words will matter in some way. Sense is made by the sensors feeding the flow to the mental flux capacitor flywheel fulmination in a feed back loop to the fruit clan Toucan Sam had a nose that always knows.

I've diarrhea of the mouth like the north met the south in order to expose the eccentricities of my many manifesting ego idiom in superlative subjugation.

Hokhmah

Always is always, always and that's forever in all ways. Whenever I think of what you think you are, and are not- I could never say more, because you already know why, and never less because you're on that side of the top, under and around the all of all ways and forever even when I don't spell it or tell it- it's in my own words.

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Everything is the way is is, because that is the way it is. There is a sort of perfection in the way life exists, in the acceptance of the things that can't be changed. We should appreciate the power of a simple shift in perception, realize that if only people could see things from a slightly different angle, many dilemas would cease to exist. We should assess problems without naming them as such, because in naming someting a problem, you give it power. Acceptance is the most difficult thing to achieve.

Wub Wub Wub Wub!

So I've deleted this blog about five times, and for some reason I always come back and reactivate. Something about interjecting my rambles into the internet makes me feel justified, somehow. I wouldn't even consider this a blog; it's more like a collection of random complaints. People seem to be put of by cynicism, but the way I see it, I can put these negative thoughts here to prevent them from spilling over into my daily life and ruining interactions with others. I am perfectly comfortable with letting strangers across the plasma think that I'm a whining bitch. Who am I kidding, anyways? No one even reads this stupid thing.

Wicked Tight

Thinking anagrams are wicked tight doesn't necessarily mean I want to be wicked tight; one is a descriptor indicating a positive perception of a certain object or concept. In this case, the descriptor, "wicked tight", is used in a postmodern, ironic manner: "wicked" is used because of its seeming obsolescence and unfashionability in the jargon of modern youth culture; "tight" is used ironically because of its seeming relevance and/or fashionability: in juxtaposing the two, I am making a sarcastic statement regarding my enthusiasm for the eddies and currents of popular culture and my perception of the lasting value thereof. But all that is kind of beside the point. Even if I was using "wicked tight" in a straightforward, unironical manner, it wouldn't imply that "wicked tight" was something I wanted to be, only that I found anagrams so. The application of the descriptor "wicked tight" to something as unfashionable as anagrams further heightens the irony.

Hot and Cold.

Today I'm wondering what makes people play hot and cold. One minute someone is all over you, wanting to spend time together or texting all the time, and suddenly you realize that you haven't seen them in ages, haven't even spoken more than a few words to them in weeks. Cosmo always says that when a person pulls back from you, you should pull back as well, and once they're comfortable again, they will return. I believe they call it the 'Rubber Band Effect'.

I actually had a nightmare about this last night. A friend of mine, who has referred to herself as my best friend in the past, has recently disappeared from my life. I honestly can't figure out why. It went from talking on a regular basis and hanging out when we had the time to not speaking at all. I don't know what I did, and I feel like if I ask what the problem is, she's just going to blame the whole situation either on me and some bullshit analysis of my behavior, or she'll give me the same reason she always does when these things happen- Her boyfriend and his sister hate me, even though they've never tried to take the time to get to know me, and they're more important than I am, so she respects their unjustified hatred of me, and refuses to see me out of respect for them. The first sign she's not a good friend lies within- she won't stand up for me at all.

Maybe it's just me, but if my boyfriend told me he hated one of my friends, especially one he hadn't taken the time to get to know, I'd understand that it was his opinion, but that wouldn't stop me from seeing that friend. Especially if the friend didn't ever try to cause problems between us. If I say I'm your friend, then I am your fucking friend. I am fierce when it comes to people I care about. I also believe in balance. Just because you have a boyfriend or girlfriend doesn't mean that you suddenly sacrifice every other relationship you have to stick your head up your significant others' ass.

But back to the nightmare I mentioned earlier: Basically in the dream, this friend ended up coming clean about seeing other friends from our past (which I have been slightly paranoid about at random moments), and it was like my past repeating itself in a most horrible way.

It just sucks when you devote time and energy to building a relationship with another and it gets wasted. And the fact that I find human behavior a most difficult subject to understand makes it all the more unsettling. And the only thing in my life that changed that I could see having an effect on this relationship is a new person in my life I've been spending time with. Of course I've talked to her about this new person on occasion, and she seemed fine with it. But once I mentioned her meeting them is when she got weird. And to me it's irrational, because I'm fairly certain she's never met this person, and therefore should have no reason to dislike or be cautious of them.

Barnacles. I just have to shake my head and make my 'polite face', as my step-sister calls it. Humans are hard creatures to understand. And most of the time, the problem with understanding does not stem from a person's complexity, but from lack of it. People who view the world as a shadowbox are endlessly baffling. To shut off one's mind and live as if you're in 2D sounds fundamentally terrifying. People look at things so simply, when nothing is simple. I'm not suggesting that everyone live in a state of constant analysis and dissection, but that people wake up and take the initiative to understand that most things are not what they seem. To understand that we should stop denying ourselves, especially based on the wishes of others.

Psycho babble, straight from the mind of a raging lunatic.

Bitch, bitch, bitch, all I fucking do is bitch. But quite honestly I just need to get this shit out of my head and no one really wants to hear it so it just gets put here, because no one reads this fucking blog anyways. So in essence when I say "people" and "you", I'm just talking to myself. Nice.

Since a particular person can never quite help themselves and keeps asking, "What is your problem?!", since I don't smile constantly, I thought I would just list what's wrong here. At least then I will have something to reference the next time I piss you off for being REALISTIC.

So, "What's wrong?", you ask....

I'm homeless. Luckily I recently found a job, but pretty soon I'll be living in my car in the parking lot. I have become nomadic, wandering aimlessly as I struggle to find a steady place to stop and regain form. The people I wish I could spend time with live far away from where I am trapped; and the people I could be spending time with now are treating me like a dog who pissed on their carpet. I don't know what I did, but fuck you for always doing the same shit to me. And fuck me for always letting it happen.

I am trying pretty diligently to find a place to live at the moment, and have come up with nothing. Can't tell if I'm supposed to be doing this or not. It seems like what I thought was happening isn't going to, because maybe this is one of those fucked up things where you try to help someone in some way, and you do, but end up getting left behind in the process. Thought maybe it was a we thing, and I think it is. I'm just not included in the we, I don't think. None of this makes any fucking sense. I'm on the verge of imploding because I'm tossing these ideas around back and forth over and again trying to decide if I'm supposed to say something about it or just sit here like the fucking fool I obviously am and just let my life continue to slip further into nothing until someone else finally comes clean and tells me it's off and I'm a fucking idiot. I'm waiting for all of this to happen, and at the same time trying to smile and pretend it isn't happening and lying to myself and saying things are something else entirely so that perhaps the law of attraction will work in my favor for once and what I fucking want may actually come.

I'm trying hard every day to appreciate what I do have, which at this point is a trash bag full of clothes and my car. You can't be happy unless you appreciate what you already have! Yeah, I do appreciate it. Because I'm lucky to have a floor to sleep on at night and someones house to shower at occasionally. And you know what bugs me the most about it isn't my actual situation...it's more the fact that certain people who I wish would care and maybe even understand some of the things I'm going through right now DON'T. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me; pity is unnecessary. I just thought it would be nice for one person to see it and just want to listen and nod their head, and maybe give me a hug.

I'm far behind where I should be. And you know if I find out I really am being used, I will have to fucking laugh before I can cry, because I have nothing to give, and someone is still finding life to suck out of me. Fuck everything sometimes. Can't you just say something real to me? Can you explain anything? Maybe even read my mind so I don't have to bring it up...If I implode I'll just drive away and never look back. I'll just turn into someone else and live a lie until I die.

Someone told me recently that my numerology chart was inaccurate because it indicated that I should be bubbly and optimistic. I was actually quite ashamed of myself when they said that. I feel guilty every time I have these moments and write these things. But at the moment almost everything is overly complicated and ugly, and it's hard to find a safe place to just exist and feel okay. I don't want to seem like this sullen girl, who's been broken down and can't regain her happiness. I am very optimistic on the inside. I hold onto hope like a buoy in a raging sea. But I'm so tired of sharing my hopes or accomplishments with people and having them mocked, or having it thrown at me like rotting shit when it doesn't work out that I've started internalizing them all. And although I secretly devote the bulk of my energy to these optimistic wishes, my pessimism exposes itself as I expect the worst possible scenarios to play out. I'm a walking paradox, but I think we all are to some extent. It just seems to me that I keep encountering emotionally crippling situations one after another, and they occur so closely together that I'm being cut again before I've even fully healed from the previous wounds. I'm just waiting for something, someone. I don't even know. Sometimes I think it's a lost cause to expect another being to understand my experience and know some way to help me save myself. I know most people just tell me to get over it, because it's over and no good comes from dwelling. But with the way my mind works, I honestly at times cannot help but allow these events to remain omnipresent. It's more of a reflection, honestly. I don't sit and purposely think of these things and slowly rip my sutures out; I just find myself reflecting on my past, trying to figure out where I messed up so I can prevent my own history from repeating itself.

I don't want to be this way. I don't want people to see me as a depressive psychotic. Very few people truly know me, and I wish I knew how to show the ones who don't who I really am.

She's a life ruiner...

I`m not lonely, I just feel alone. I can`t find the proper words to explain myself. I`m feeling stagnated. There is someone there, but I don`t know how to let them in. It feels like it isn`t real. Like maybe this is temporary, so close to ending before it really begins. There are moments that feel right, but once I`m alone I feel completely surrounded. There is a hole in me; all I need is to find something to fill it. I feel like my chest is imploding; my heart another palpitation away from giving up on me. I feel deadened when I should be feeling slightly alive. I can`t understand why people always expect another to change. One of the worst things a person can say, I feel, is that your problems are on you, and they can`t help or even care to understand you. That you must change to gain their respect, admiration, and love. Can anyone see our flaws and accept them? I don`t think we`re flawed; perhaps misunderstood, even possibly envied in some way. Flaws don`t seem to exist here.

It`s all a silk road to ruin, reduced to fragmented decay left to rot in the sun. Vultures circle and scavenge my remains slowly, until there is nothing left apart from these scattered words and a mummified heart, reduced to dust. I'm a life ruiner, but the only life I'm ruining is my own.

Saudade

Vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist ... a turning towards the past or towards the future.

No New Tale To Tell

No matter what they tell me, I never will be clean again. I just have to lie to you, and tell you that there is no emotion in anything I have given away. As I smile, it hurts you so. I took just one small shard of my disgrace, and cut the rest to Hell. You think I'm criminal; delectable. When will you notice that I am nothing?

I wasn't worth the truth, not even worth a cliche. I could describe how it feels to die alone...I've died so many times. It's been Russian Roulette ever since I can recall. There must come at least one spin of the barrel that doesn't end in another gaping wound in my soul. These marks can't define me. Somebody, please hear me and come quick. I'm sick.

My father taught me to give up and run away. I wish I could drain out his ounce of blood in me, but I'd still see his face in reflection, and quickly curse every mirror I come in contact with. Please help... I've inherited this from a stranger I can't help but miss. I've ruined myself, just trying to prove that I'm somebody I could never be.

I would trade away all the words in my heart that have been left unspoken, just dwelling in me until I feel them burn and swell. I'd offer them to you in explanation, for absolution. I feel myself flowing away in all direction. It's a resolution of happiness; things have been dark for too long. Don't change for you...don't change a thing for me.

Just promise me you won't change, because I think it's perfect the way it is.

I want to buy you a lot of pretty things and shyly offer them to you one at a time.

In the words of Manson...

"Anyone with half a soul will hear this and they'll never leave me. Leaving me alone to die was worse than having the guts to kill me. If you don't know what forever feels like, I'll show you what it feels like without it. This time I won't hesitate to kill to protect what I believe in."

You may think you know me, but I can assure you...you have no idea.

I don't want to be your slogan; I'm too busy being poetry.

I know...I know....

I can't fucking help it. Don't judge me. I forgot this song even existed until a random moment earlier today. And yes, I looked it up on YouTube and cried over my stupid father once again. More tears for a man who doesn't deserve them. The scene in the video where her parents are fighting...fuck those memories. Everyone always says "Just stay away from him. Don't bother talking to him anymore." I wish it were that easy. It's like no matter how much I want to hate him, I can't. I'm like a foolish dog who gets beaten, but still craves affection so much that I will continue to get the shit kicked out of me just for one glimmer of hope that one day, he might love me back. It's sickening. But I can't make it stop.

“So, you believe that a cosmic zombie (who was his own father), born from a 'virgin', can make you live forever if you symbolically eat his flesh and telepathically tell him you accept him as your master, so he can remove an evil force from your soul that is present in all humans because a rib-woman was convinced by a talking snake to eat from a magical tree and thereby pissing off an invisible wizard who lives in the sky (who couldn't find the only 2 humans on Earth)? Yeah....makes perfect sense. "

Today is a Jesus Fuck day.

Sometimes I can look at myself and say, "Yeah. It's not too bad." And then there are the more frequent days of, "Jesus fuck."

I just want a Pebble. Maybe.

I've been turning these words around inside. They're ripping holes in my brain, and making room for you to crawl within. Your mouth is poison. The only anecdote is another phrase from you; another admission. I think it may be true that none of us truly know what we want until it's standing before us, angrily pointing it's finger to the sky.

The last time we spoke, you said, "I realized once you were gone just how much I loved you. I still do. And I won't ever stop. I'm dying alone unless you love me back."

It just made me think about people and what we feel versus what we say. And it makes me extremely curious as to why we can love someone, or at least think we do, and do something horribly regrettable to them. How do we know what we need? And how do we know what to give? Can't two people just exist beside each other without ruining it?

First there was L, who said I was too weird for him to bring home to meet his mom, so that meant it wasn't going to work.

Then there was M, who loved me just fine until a fateful bus trip to Atlanta, where he met his "true soul mate".

Then we have G, who was mature until he wasn't anymore. If it's either my friends or you, it's going to be friends. Sorrehh.

And then the lovely D. I knew from the start it wasn't meant to be, but it was fun and mutual and ended happily.

Then we have M, who was delightful to say the least, but we both left college and being 900 miles apart wasn't fun after a while.

Now we're at the charming B, who after the first night over at my apt told me I'd make a great wife because I made a great dinner and cleaned everything. He kept grabbing my hips and "inspecting my baby making potential". I knew then that it wouldn't last much longer.

And then we have J. It was the perfect mutual agreement until it wasn't anymore. 3 fucking proposals from this one. And no, I never accepted. Only once did I wonder how different things would be if I'd accepted. But I think that would have been much worse.

All in all I guess my history is just scattered and confusing at best. Are we supposed to be looking for a mate or a buddy or a friend who you happen to sleep with sometimes i mean what the fucking fuck. This is one of those books with way too many chapters and pages within those chapters and everyone is on opposite ends of the novel. It's like humans have a mix of all the instincts of the entire animal kingdom, so you end up with a penguin trying to snag a leopard. Leopards wanna fuck and then go their own way, and penguins want to bring you the most beautiful pebble on the beach to profess their love so you can be life-long mates. And when the penguin brings the leopard a pebble, she will smack it from his little webbed foot and then eat him. Sounds a lot like humans to me.

Corrupt.

We are not artists, but works of art. It's a small quivering inside; it gains and swells, shaking my frame. I'll become nothing but bones, angrily pointing towards the sky from a dusty grave. I am protective of words; all binge and no purge. My thoughts are worthless as they escape my mouth, blowing away to nothing. All we are is what we leave behind; a jaded legacy of prose and a trail of broken promises and broken hearts. Our world of glass reflects everything back to us as inaccurate portrayals of reality. We are formless creatures in a world of structure we have created out of foolishness. All is full of love, but we're not receiving.

In a flash of inspiration, I will create wonder that flows from my fingertips. This can envelope you in awe, and leave you trembling for the sound. Are you listening?

You gave me a name today. This proclamation, a simple gesture. Just for someone to admit my existence to a world of others suddenly made me feel real. This name, a piece of my reality, suddenly becomes sacred. What does it even mean to me? Another string of words in their worthlessness, precipitously gaining worth.

50 Random Things.

1. I carry my passport with me always, just in case I decide to leave one day.
2. I used to be a girl scout.
3. I seriously want to get struck by lightning one day. (In fact I think it would be one of the best ways to die)
4. I love to create things, but am horribly embarrassed to show my creations to anyone. If I ever do show you anything I've done, it means I trust you.
5. For example, when I was a freshman in high school my English teacher submitted a poem I wrote to a writing contest without telling me. When I won, I turned down the offer of having it published and let the runner-up have the glory...all because the thought of anyone else seeing what I wrote was so humiliating I couldn't possibly allow it.
6. While most females want to lay in the sunlight and get a tan, I want to lay in the moonlight and glow in the dark.
7. I am prone to random moments of obscure genius that usually turn out to be sheer stupidity.
8. A publisher offered me 15k to finish writing a book I'd started. I declined, because I knew I wouldn't be proud of the book I was writing.
9. Sometimes when I'm bored, I make up interpretive dances to songs inside my head.
10. I humiliate myself on a daily basis just by being alive- everything I do is embarrassing and awkward.
11. The only way I know I'm sane is that I still have the ability to question my sanity.
12. I will have something I want to say to someone, usually something good, and will never say it because I can't decide if I'm allowed to say it or not.
13. When given any sort of compliment, I never say thank you. A long time ago I read about how in Japan, when someone compliments you, saying thank you is a show of arrogance and superiority, and ever since then I try to never say thank you. I just smile and usually say 'that's quite a compliment'. Of course this isn't Japan, but it made sense to me.
14. My favorite snack EVER is bananas and strawberries with honey. Second place is celery with kool aid. Something about the celery with the kool aid is just bomb.
15. I have my own tattoo gun. I made it at home one day out of some VCR parts, a mechanical pencil, an old phone charger, a button, gardening wires, and tape. It actually works quite well, but I discovered it's kinda hard to ink yourself when you've never inked anything before.
16. I'm a slut for glitter.
17. Yes, I am 23. And yes, I still wear bows and things in my hair. Nope. I don't really care. Cause I like it.
18. I seem to attract all oddities of humanity. It's usually horny old men, one time it was a homeless man who called me a goddess, some people sniff me... I'm just a magnet for it, I guess. But it makes life a lot more interesting (and sometimes a lot more frightening).
19. I have created my own religion, and it works for me amazingly well.
20. I also invented my own language, with a complete alphabet and dictionary.
21. I developed a mathematical equation once to predict a future event, but it only worked once, and was terminally flawed. It was awesome for about 10 minutes though.
22. If there are pillows and blankets, I will automatically snuggle.
23. I have slowly turned into one of those pathetic people who cringe to live without their cell phone and iPod.
24. I really don't understand what other people see in me.
25. I tend to stay awake for 2 or 3 days until I become insanely delirious, and the best part of it is laughing hysterically at practically nothing.
26. I'm only on number 26?! Fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.
27. Sometimes when people say things to me, I answer them in my head, but forget to say it out loud.
28. I am not afraid to die.
29. My natural hair color is platinum blond...
30. I often post things to Facebook or my blog, and then immediately delete them.
31. My words are often jumbled, because there is so much to say, I know nothing need be said.
32. I usually don't make any sense.
33. I have a $10 bill in a picture frame from when I was a kid. My grandpa sent it to me in a card, and he wrote something on it, and I couldn't bring myself to spend it.
34. I've never broken a bone or been seriously ill.
35. I never learned how to ride a bike.
36. Sometimes I worry about what my punishment will be for the wrongs I've done.
37. I miss my father immensely, even though he doesn't really deserve or want it.
38. The smell of newly trimmed grass mixed with the smell of spring rain equals omfg.
39. I didn't realize that pickles were pickled cucumbers until about 3 years ago. It just never occurred to me in my first 20 years of life.
40. I can listen to the same song on repeat for hours. (not any song, mind you. but certain ones.)
41. I wear 6 weaved bracelets every day. Each one is from a certain time, and they remind me of things I need not forget.
42. People always ask me if my snake bites were painful, and I lie and say no. When in fact, they hurt like hell because I did them myself, hanging over my bathroom sink, ripping my flesh apart with a dull sewing needle cause that's all I had, and I wanted them right that minute. But it was worth it. I wouldn't have my mouth any other way.
43. I got my tongue pierced when I was 16, and I still have it. I have no idea why I even got it done, but I still don't want to let it heal.
44. It doesn't take much for me to become uncalm. I don't like flip out or anything, I just mean I become nervous and scream on the inside like "OMFG", and it doesn't take a lot for it to happen.
45. Once I make a commitment, it's for life... or until some unforeseen calamity ruins it.
46. I want to quit smoking, but every time I start to quit something happens that makes me want to smoke really, really bad.
47. If you hurt one of my very dear friends, I will offer to kill you.
48. I despise the sound of my voice.
49. I hate having my picture taken or being video taped, cause I always look retarded.
50. This is the worst list of 50 random things anyone has ever compiled.

Crrrsh

I plugged into myself to listen to my own static. And I heard one tiny voice, screaming from somewhere far away. It said, "You're smothering me."

I can't keep creating just for it to be destroyed.

Mamihlapinatapai:

A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to initiate.

You and I are roses that haven't bloomed, and the sun has become disgusted with waiting.

This makes me smile a sad smile.

This makes me smile.

Everything is eventual.

I don't believe in coincidence. Energy aligns for a reason. Every good and bad thing each person endures are happening with purpose, and it is our responsibility to look beyond our emotion and walk away with some sense of understanding. Here's a mind fuck for you- and this is the way I try to see everything-

Imagine that you die. You walk away from your shell, and are greeted by a being. This being explains that they are not God, because you are God. You have lived a million incarnations on the plane of earth, and will continue to live millions more until you have learned all you need to know. You are every single being on the plane of earth. You are who you knew yourself to be, the spirit you identified as, and you are your mother, your father, your wife, your children, your fucking dry cleaner. You were Hitler, Jesus, Gandhi, every child who died from malnutrition and every soldier who was blown to shit for some religious doctrine. You are God, and you continue to live every incarnation through all of time until you have learned everything there is to learn. This being you have met upon your death created you, because he is also God. He created everything on the plane of earth for your enlightenment, and he does the same thing for many other Gods on many different planes.

I try to live my life based on this principle. Sort of like "treat others the way you want to be treated." I see every being on earth as a version of myself, and I treat them with love and kindness to the best of my ability, and learn anything I can from them. If we could all live our lives in this way, maybe we could find some sort of peace. I don't intend to imply that I consider myself God. I have no God-like traits, and I don't see myself as above anyone or anything. No one is above anyone else, and yet this is what society has taught us. If you want to matter, you must be plastic, you must be superior to the rest of the human race. It doesn't even matter if you are smart or loving; as long as you're a sex symbol with plenty of cash and kiss the right ass, you matter.

Don't the sheeple realize that if they woke up and stopped giving a fuck about these idiotic superficialities that the superficialities would begin to cease to exist? Then maybe more people could see what we all should be seeing but can't.

"Today, I am dirty, but I want to be pretty. Tomorrow I know I'll just be dirt."

Projects 101

I am famous for coming up with random ideas and working on them for about 5 seconds and then forgetting it ever happened. But THIS time, it will be different. I've been spending most of my time working on something, since I have nothing else to do. It's been good, because I am seriously on the verge of a psychotic break in which my brain finally shuts off and says "Fuck you and your sad life...I have shit to do elsewhere."

So, I've been making these little cards that say random things, and once I have enough I plan on just handing them all out to random people in public. I was thinking I could put my website or something on the back of the card, and once I am in a better place in which creation can flow more naturally, I can begin to create art once more, and post it on the website. And then when I hand out these little random cards, maybe someone will go to the website and actually see some shred of merit in what I have created and pay me money to be this fucking weird. Run-on sentences!! Woo!

"All my life I've been good, but now, I'm thinking "What the hell?!" Yeah basically I feel like I've been avoiding facing my own self for the past 23 years. I have these little moments when I find honesty in the mirror, but mostly I try to pretend to be anything else. So fuck it. I have to work with what I have. I don't have much, but maybe it's enough. If nothing else, it will be glorious to feel a paintbrush in my hand and have paint splatters on my arms and face again. I even miss ruining good clothes because I felt inspired and just dived right in without fear of destruction. It's just another part of me I locked up and forgot about.

Speaking of which, music is the other thing I used to be inspired by. I discovered earlier tonight that I've still got it. I composed a song in about 15 minutes. It's not the greatest, but it was fun, and it woke up that creative sparkle that used to gleam in my eyes. So here's to creation.

On the surface; simplicity.

Is this a 'we' thing?

"Throw me against the wall."

"Now bite my lip and pull my hair, please."

Implode:

to collapse inwardly with force as a result of the external pressure being greater than the internal pressure.

Avoiding this would be a prudent approach to existence.

Kill;

slay, murder, slaughter, execute, destroy, exterminate, eradicate, put down, put to sleep, assassinate, massacre, dispatch.

GTFO

On the surface; simplicity. A prosthetic heart, still beating through its bruises. You dug yourself from your shallow grave, tearing the roots apart in your departure. Nothing can ever be as it seems, and no one will disappoint you so much as I. So apologetic. I can't help my laughter as you cry. Omnipotence, nurturing malevolence.

My Own Codes of Conduct

1. Everyone is a hypocrite. Even me and you.
2. Never stop thinking. It is the mentality that someone 'thinks too much' that breeds stupidity and sheeple. Your mind is the most important tool you have; if you stop using it, it will atrophy. Question everything.
3. Everything will be okay. If you worry about acne you'll get a fucking pimple.
4. We should not be afraid to talk about anything. We shouldn't fear reality.
5. Doing pointless things will prevent you from actively restraining or hiding yourself from the redundant.
6. Stop rushing. Shut up and embrace the sound of silence.
7. Religion shouldn't be taught, it should be found. No one should tell you what to believe except you. And on that subject...
8. Don't be restrained by one religion. People change every moment of every day. Minds grow and evolve. Religion has no law, so feel free to mix and match. Make your own.
9. Time does not exist. The sun never sets or rises. There are no days or years. There is only your life. Earlier today you were born, and death is predicted later in the evening.
10. We will always be in a transitional phase. Look outside and know that everything will be replaced at some point. This existence is temporary.
11. Every now and then, it is beneficial to take something that you see every day and try to see it in a new light. Renew its existence.
12. Be happy, but never force it.
13. Words will always just be words. Love is just another four letter word; only the feeling is real.
14. Prove you're alive. Do anything to remind the world that you are still here.

"A multitude of words is no proof of a prudent mind."

People will say things, and then later on it becomes apparent that they didn't mean what they said. Or, more accurately, perhaps they simply said those words or made an agreement and then they don't know what to do about it. I don't really know. I have a very limited understanding of social etiquette. I have questions, and refuse to ask them, because I honestly don't know if my questions are bothersome or even completely unwarranted.

It has become clear to me that whatever issues I have been trying to work out will have to be made clear to a professional. Although I know what my three biggest obstacles are, and I know the main one is untreatable, there has to be something I can do to make this all easier. I can't keep over thinking scenarios, and drawing conclusions that aren't built on solid evidence. I can't yo-yo between yes and no anymore. It's either yes, this is the way it is, or no, I am mistaken. And with the way my mind weaves elaborate tapestries to outline everything, it is impossible for me to stop and simply exist.

Everyone knows that the world is confusing and paradoxical, and that some things will never be made clear. But most people can know this, accept it to some extent, and move on. I, on the other hand, cannot stop my mind from constantly thinking and dissecting these things  on a quest for truth and understanding. I need a happy medium, for I am not a philosopher, and I am not beyond hope.

What the hell has allowed me to start thinking that I am somehow burdened more than anyone else in this dilemma of existence? We're all on the same path, enduring the same inane actions and processes. So thankfully, I think I've reached the point that I can willingly stop.

http://www.writesomething.net/

this is great for writing something down that's embarrassing, cause no one will know you wrote it!

Oh, Clarinet, Where have you gone?

Yeah, this is a B flat Clarinet.

And could you believe I can rock the shit out of that^ on a b flat clarinet?!?!...oh yeah baby. I'm a total band geek...

This makes me smile.

Falling Water

I just had a flashback of visiting Falling Water. I had forgotten this place for years, and I don't see how, because it was completely amazing.

Things that should fill you with awe...

• The unimaginable vastness of the universe.
• That the properties of the universe are conducive (perhaps even almost optimally conducive) to life.
• That the apparently mindless process of evolution can, and even tends to, result in forms of increasing complexity, beauty, and value.
• That there is something rather than nothing.
• That qualia exist.
• That some form of freedom invades our deterministic world.
• The unreasonable tenacity of life.
• That our universe seems to be a computation.
• That we can understand our universe and that such understanding enables control.
• That the future is boundless.
• That our existence required miracles so unimaginably unlikely as to boggle the mind.
  
  
  

Violence

I have this recurring moment. It seems unwarranted. Sometimes I know it's about to happen but not always. I will be doing anything at all, e.g., reading, drawing, making dinner, shaving my legs, doesn't matter....and slowly I stop, because I feel something inside me push my heart into my throat. As I look up, I realize I've not been breathing for several minutes, and my lungs pull in air and it feels like I'm exploding. And as I calm myself, I know it's only just begun. After the exploding comes the shifting. I look straight ahead, and the entire world moves 90 degrees on the horizontal plane. Once everything has shifted, I step to the next platform. I then watch as everything drips away like hot wax. Everything melts into itself and becomes what I know it truly is, forming the world I know to be real. And once I blink, reclaiming my eyes, everything implodes. And then I'm standing in the kitchen, realizing someone is yelling at me because I've been standing at the sink letting the water overflow. But I am overflowing, and it seems so insignificant that I can't force myself to care...to even pretend to care to satisfy you.

This is always where I start to ruin everything. I can't make myself care about these insignificant issues that seem to plague your daily life. Empathy is lost at times. It isn't that I don't care for the individual, it's that I don't see why they turn tiny fractures into shattered bones. I know I'm always bleeding, but I bleed for so many reasons that no one will understand. It becomes mutual in this way. I bleed for the universe, for the whole of evil that slowly eats away at all of humanity. And I can't spare the empathetic courtesies to understand how you can still bleed for something as small as a broken nail, just as you can't see why I don't.

I don't do any of this on purpose. I don't want to seem so morose, because I am still filled with love and hope and happiness. Repeating these phrases can't make them any more genuine. Revealing my authenticity to you doesn't mean you will understand it. I want myself to be more than another fingerprint. More than a girl who is crawling out of her skin. A girl, hung in her room, cooling from within. Something more than this girl, who is perceived as crazy and quirky, with no compassion for anything but the deadness in the world. And this girl, who could change your life, who could open your eyes to something different, but who can't, because she fears that you are afraid to see it. This fucking girl, so surrounded, yet so completely alone, who can't shut her fucking mouth. And this girl, who sees you, and you alone, after being blind all these years, but doesn't have the courage to open her mouth, after being forced to shut it.

I'm this girl, dead on the surface, awaiting resuscitation. The shell of something better, hidden beneath this ugly girl.

Disclaimer

Most of what I write really isn't about anyone in particular. I just have strings of words floating through my head that need to be released, and they end up here for your scrutiny. What is truly interesting though, is that if you read something and think I wrote it for you, then you just learned something about yourself.

From me, an introverted excavator who one day awoke to find herself an innovator.

Counting on me may prove you to be innumerate.

The slow disappearance of meaning and truth; a mass of confusion and regret; lost youth. What have I done? You seem to move uneasy. You won't like to see my eyes, because they will never look the same now. Words can't explain the peace that surrounds me when in communion with minds of the same thoughts. Watching stars without you, I believe my soul may actually cry. I know you've suffered but you shouldn't hide. You can't fool me, and you make it painfully obvious that you cannot fool yourself. So stop.

Existential Ego

Today has been one of those unfortunate types of day where existential depression seeps in, and I feel utterly alone and unsure. I look at everything and wonder what its purpose is. I wonder what my purpose is. If our freedom is nothing more than structure that we ourselves create, and no matter how close I may become to another person there is always a remaining gap, meaning I am nonetheless alone, meaninglessness stems outward and squashes me. If I must die, after constructing my own world only to remain alone, then what point is there for living?

I strain to no avail to grasp some sort of anchor point in all of this. In the end, I only become more painfully aware that my life is finite, and that I must live it alone. There is also frightening freedom regarding how I could choose to live my life. Am I choosing wrong? I am one small organism in an absurd, arbitrary and capricious world where my life has no meaning. Is this all there is for me?

The Alarming Sound of a Still Small Voice by Saosin

I stumbled onto this song, and was like "whoa!", because it pretty much sums up what my mind keeps thinking...with 100% accuracy.

Smashhh (I feel sorry for anyone who reads this whole thing. Kudos if you do.)

I can't say why, but I've decided to compose a short life history of sorts. I'm just alone and bored on a Friday night, and instead of sitting here, sad and pathetic, I will sit here and be productive...to some extent.

So...I was born (well, technically removed...like a tumor. I was a c-section baby.) on December 15th. My parents were young and broke, and we lived in a crappy apartment in Blacksburg, Va. We ended up moving to Staunton when I was about 3, I think, because my dad was offered a job that would pay a substantially larger amount of money. I was raised to believe in God, accepted Jesus Christ as my savior when I was 4, and went undiagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome (which is considered a higher functioning form of autism) until about 2 days ago.

In first grade, my very best friend was a girl named Crystal. We were like soul mates. We both loved animals and Lisa Frank, and spent every recess sitting in the cement tunnel theorizing about life (well, as much as any 6 year old could theorize). She lived with her dad and grandma just down the road from me, and her dad walked her to our townhouse almost every day so we could play. My parents and I ended up moving a few neighborhoods away into an actual house, but I still saw Crystal all the time.

So I got on the bus one morning, gripping my newest Lisa Frank tin tightly in my hands, bursting at the seams awaiting the moment I could show Crystal. She wasn't on the bus that day, and I didn't see her at school. I arrived home, eyes downcast, hoping she would feel better and be in school the next day. As I walked into the living room, I realized both of my parents were sitting in silence, just staring at me. I immediately assumed I was in trouble and tried to remember if I'd done anything horrible in the past few days. My dad asked me to sit down, and my mom started to cry.

They then explained that a kerosene fire had burned Crystal and her family alive, and completely destroyed their home. I never understood death until I saw her tiny coffin lowered into the ground a few days later. I stood in complete bewilderment as I watched them cover her with dirt, knowing I would never see my best friend again.

By the time I reached 5th grade, I didn't have a single friend. I was also failing in class, because I already knew all the material and became bored(they discovered this by testing my knowledge and I was pretty smart for a little kid). I'm not absolutely sure why I didn't have any friends. I do remember one day when a new student came to our class. She was from the south, and had an accent, and for some reason everyone decided to make fun of her. I was the only kid in class who realized how idiotic this was and befriended the new girl. Then two weeks later everyone else decided they liked her, and she stopped being my friend to be friends with everyone else. This is the first moment I lost faith in humanity.

By the time 6th grade began, my relationship with both of my parents had deteriorated. My mom was suffering from undiagnosed bipolar disorder and depression, and my father was spending all of his time with his mistress and her son. My mom was usually in the den with the door shut, making it clear she wanted to be left alone. With dad gone all the time, I usually sat alone in the living room watching television. On occasion, mom would be on the other end of the spectrum and we would watch television or movies together. But I reached a point that I was deathly afraid of both of my parents, and often considered running away. My first suicidal thoughts began occurring around this time. I was about 12 years old.

My dad began taking me on dates with his mistress and her son, but he lied about their names. He told me I wasn't allowed to tell my mom what we were doing, because she would blame me, and we would both get in trouble. He said that if this happened, neither my mom or him would love me anymore. I kept his secrets out of fear; never out of respect or love, or even with a sense of protection. I began to hate both of them for the things they did, and the only release I could find was in writing, music, and various forms of visual art.

One not so special day, I awoke to the sounds of my grandparents' voices downstairs. Excited, I jumped out of bed and made my way to the living room. Usually when I saw my grandparents it was nothing but hugs and kisses and unnecessary showerings of gifts. This day, everyone seemed angry, and no one even noticed I was there. I sat in the corner, watching everyone argue. As the events of the day unfolded, I discovered that my dad had called all my grandparents and told them that my mom had gone completely insane. He said she was promiscuous, engaging in sexual acts with a large number of men, and that she had forced me to participate. This was all completely untrue.

Just a few months before this day, my mom had seen a doctor and had finally been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. After taking medication for the last 15 weeks, she had become the mom she always was when she'd been on the good side of her disorder. Even as young as I was, I understood that she had a chemical imbalance, and that it was being medically treated. I could then see the reason behind her actions and learn to forgive them.

Back to that day....My dad was standing before my family, spreading a horrendous pack of lies with no hint of remorse in his voice. My mom of course became outraged and attempted to defend herself before the jury. The yelling and pushing and throwing scared the shit out of me. I didn't understand this behavior. I ran, practically hyperventilating, into the bathroom and shut the door. I sat on the closed toilet, rocking back and forth, tears streaming freely down my face. I heard a few more shouts, a door slamming, and then silence. A few moments later, my dad came into the bathroom with his mother. They both knelt in front of me on the floor, took my hands, and began to pray. That was the moment I stopped believing in God.

In the trunk of my dad's car, my mom found journals full of prose my dad had written. He wrote in great detail about how he despised my mother for the way she looked and the things she said and did. He also wrote about how amazing his mistress was, and how lost in love he was with her. He detailed his plan of how to rid his life of my mom by having her committed to a psychiatric hospital in North Carolina (where her parents lived), and how he and I would live with his mistress and her son and become one big happy family.

Now, I look exactly like my mother. I have a few minuscule physical traits of my father's, but I could be my mother's twin. After hearing the explanation of how he perceived her physical traits, about how hideous she was to him, I suddenly felt ill. This was the moment I started believing I was ugly. And it doesn't make much sense, because I've always seen how beautiful my mother is. And if I really do look like her, I should be beautiful as well. But after hearing those words from my own father, I knew I was hideous. This is a fact I still believe, wholeheartedly.

At the end of the day, my parents had agreed to work it out. They were going to go to marriage counseling and try to salvage what was left of their relationship. My mother secretly had no intention of doing this. Her plan was to save as much money as possible without my dad knowing so that her and I could get the hell out of there. Little did she know, my dad had an even more sinister plan under his belt.

Exactly one month later, on my parents' 13th wedding anniversary, my dad woke me early in the morning. He claimed to have errands to run, and that he wanted to get something special for mom for their anniversary. Of course I went with him. We ended up driving across town to a rural neighborhood across from my future high school. We pulled into a driveway, and I realized I had no clue where we were. When I questioned my dad he said, verbatim, "I'm leaving your mother. This is our new home."

I sat in confusion, unsure of what the proper response would be. My first instinct was to run, so that's exactly what I did. I jumped from the car and began running up the street. Of course my legs didn't carry me fast enough, and my dad grabbed me and dragged me unwillingly into 'our new home'. Once inside I was greeted by his parents, brother, sister-in-law, and aunt. I couldn't think of a single thing to say or do, so I began unpacking dishes and placing them on shelves while I tried to devise an escape plan in my head. Just as I saw an opening to make a run for it, my grandmother grabbed me by the arms and started dragging me to her car. I struggled; kicking, screaming, crying out for anyone to fucking help me. She shoved me into the backseat, and my dad stood guard at the car doors while she climbed in the front seat and started the car. I tried to escape at a stop light, but the child proof locks were on, and my attempts to roll down the windows and even break the glass were in vain. I had been kidnapped.

Two hours later, I'm at my dad's parents' house in the middle of nowhere. Once inside, my grandmother let me go to the bathroom, and then locked me in the back room that had no windows. I sat in the corner under a desk, knees pulled up, rocking back and forth like a cornered animal. It is one of the most pathetic moments of my life. According to the clock in that room, I sat in that corner rocking for 4 hours until my dad showed up. He came into the room and led me out to the phone. Mom was on the line, but my grandmother was in the other room listening in on the call. We didn't say much, but she did tell me I was coming home the next day.

The next day was the fourth of July. I have always had an intense fondness for fireworks, so the fourth of July was something I looked forward to quite eagerly. My dad didn't take me home until late that night on purpose, just to be inconsiderate to my mom. I missed the fireworks.

After all of these events, my mom was awarded custody by the court, and for months afterward my dad only had supervised visits. My grandmother could have been arrested for kidnapping, but my mom decided to be a better person, and agreed not to press charges as long as I was returned safely to her the following day.

About 6 months later, my mom and I lost our house because the mortgage payments were far too much for her to make, and my father had yet to make child support or alimony payments. That house was filled with nothing but bad memories anyways, and we moved into an apartment across town. I barely saw my dad. Maybe once a month I would go stay a night at his house. He moved frequently, and I later found out that every time he moved, it was because his mistress was moving, and he wanted to be closer to her. He hid them from me, assuming I was too stupid to know that they were a larger part of his life than I was.

I came to understand that the only reason my dad ever had me over to his house was because he was still paying child support. I am almost certain that if he hadn't had that last legal obligation to me, I would have never seen him again. Plus, he didn't want God to smite him.

Eventually my dad moved in with his mistress, who is now my stepmother. And she had not just a son, but a daughter as well. On the day of their wedding, both of her children were included in the ceremony. I sat utterly alone in the back of the church. Not even a member of my own family sat with me. I was dressed all in black, mourning the loss of my father. I knew that after he married her, the last shred of hope for him would be completely shattered. I cried on my lonely pew in the back of the church, unable to understand how everything had reached that point. My uncle and grandfather came to me after the service, took my hands, and prayed with me. I still didn't believe in God.

After their marriage, I rarely saw any of them, and it suited me fine in a way. My mom had since married my step-dad, who has always treated me like his own daughter without even being asked to do so. I was content being with my mom and step-dad, because with them I could feel safe and appreciated at times, and I knew I wasn't simply being cast aside.

By this point, my mom's father had died, and left us all destroyed by his loss. My mom's parents were always so good to me that losing him was like losing a piece of my soul. A year after he passed, my grandmother (who I always called granny), became extremely ill, almost dying herself. After she recovered, she moved up to Virginia to live with my mom and step-dad and I, and we moved from our apartment into a house that was big enough for all of us.

*As a side note...when my granny was sick and in the hospital, we were already in North Carolina for Christmas. I had taken my cat, Mischief, with me because he'd been sick and needed medicine every day. We had to board Mischief in the vet in order to drive to Wilmington when they transported my grandmother. When I dropped him off, he put his paw on my cheek and kissed my nose. The next morning, the phone in our hotel room rang. I knew one of them was dead, and I hated myself for being glad that my cat had died the previous night and not my granny. Remembering it now makes me feel so ashamed of myself, I don't even have words.

By this time, I was about to be a junior in high school, and I had just finished moving into a new house with mom, granny, and my step-dad. By this point, I was one of those kids the other parents were afraid to see their children bring over for dinner. I was already tattooed and pierced, I had black and red hair, and wore clothes that not many people would consider stylish. I'm sure on some level I was simply expressing my inward turmoil and confusion in an outward manner. On the inside, I was extremely intelligent. I could sit in class and absorb an entire text book full of information in a matter of days. Then the rest of the semester, I was bored and unfocused, my thoughts wandering to far off places. I also felt that I wasn't supposed to show people that I knew anything. Everyone expected me to be an idiot, and no one liked the smart kids. I knew that I was smarter than most of the smart kids, but I shrank down into myself and shut my mouth.

I was fortunate enough to be accepted into SVGS (Shenandoah Valley Governor's School). I was accepted into both Math and Science and Arts and Humanities, but chose to go into the Arts and Humanities with a discipline in visual art. Somewhere in my twisted mind I thought that I would be among more like-minded individuals in those surroundings. I was totally wrong. I have always seen art as something that should not be censored. It is the utmost expression of life and understanding, of perspective, emotion, and humanity itself. Eighty percent of what I tried to create was censored and trashed before I could even finish it. I wasn't even trying to be purposefully inappropriate or shocking. I was simply taking what was inside my head and projecting it into visual display. That was when I started to question my sanity. If everything I thought was something that needed to be hidden, then maybe I needed to be hidden. And from that point forward, I was hiding.

For the next two years, I traveled quite a lot. I went to New York City three times, Atlanta, GA, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, France, and more locally to D.C. and such for art showings. I remained hidden in my shell, showing not one soul what truly inhabited me. My father continued to ignore me as my stepmother constantly pushed her way into my life, only to tell me what a heathen I was and to continuously try to save my eternally damned soul. I had plenty of friends, but didn't completely connect with any of them. My granny remained sick off and on. My daily schedule for my last two years of high school went like this:

Get up at 4:30am to get ready for school. Make granny breakfast and be to SVGS by 6:45am. Leave SVGS at 11am and drive home. Make sure granny went to the bathroom, had food, etc., and get back to regular high school for afternoon classes by 11:45am. Leave school at 2:45, go back home, make granny lunch, get ready for work. Be at work by 4pm, get off at 11pm. Go home and do humanities essays and concentration portfolio work until 1am. Sleep until 4:30am. Do it all again.

My step-dad worked out of town Sunday through Thursday every week, and mom had a full time job. Mom was usually at work in the mornings and afternoons, and I had to be up early for school anyways, so I just took care of it. I didn't mind caring for her, because I loved her dearly. It did take a toll on my health, and I was sick pretty much 24/7. But illness became second nature, and I could still function at work and school, so I didn't worry about it.

I was accepted into several colleges; SVA and NYAA in New York, Rhode Island School of Design, Parsons, and VCU. In the end, I chose VCU because it was only two hours away from home. My granny had deteriorated to the point that I felt guilty for going away for college in the first place, and didn't want to be too far away. So VCU it was.

I had been at VCU for one and a half semesters. I went to Memphis, TN to see AFI in concert, and when I got back my granny had been admitted into the hospital. She was not doing well, but she looked me in the eye and told me to go back to school. I couldn't ignore her wishes, and went back to school. A week later, mom called telling me she'd died. I still remember sitting in the dormitory hallway and hearing the words. I just froze, and it felt like my soul split again, another piece of me dying with her. I went home and endured the week of funerary plans, because my mom was completely destroyed, and I knew I needed to handle a lot of the strain. After we buried her in NC next to grandpa, I went back to school.

Shortly after granny died, mom had me see a doctor because my behavior was even more abnormal than usual. I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and associated agoraphobia. I was put on medication, and sent back to school again. My mental state became so completely unstable that I decided to just drop out of college and go home. Her death really killed something inside me. She was like a second mother to me, and one of the few people who ever fully understood me. Losing her was like losing a part of myself, and it took me a long time to heal. I still miss her and my grandpa greatly, and I know I always will.

After I went home, I ended up having to stay at my dad's house. My mom and step-dad were moving to West Virginia, and I knew I couldn't go with them. I got a good paying job and began saving money, because I knew being in my dad's house was causing me a slow and painful death. I remember when I was first bringing some of my things into the house, my step-mom offered to carry a couple boxes. Most of what I owned was books, and she happened to see a book entitled "The Goth Bible". This book is basically a dissection of Gothic culture as a whole, covering everything from scattered beliefs and misconceptions to clothing styles and detailed history. It's a very interesting read. She approached me later that night as I was outside smoking a cigarette. She sat beside me, and asked what the book was about. She completely ignored my response, explaining that is was simply an explanation of a culture, and moved onto the subject of religion. Keep in mind my granny had died no more than a month earlier. She said, "Well let me just ask you this: If you don't believe in God, then where do you think your grandmother went when she died?" I was so taken aback by her audacity that I couldn't say much. I know I sputtered something about it being none of her business, and then I went back inside the house.

I stayed there for two or three months, and my days became more troubled and miserable. Every Sunday I was told I was going to Hell because I chose not to attend church with the rest of the family. I was told I was a nuissance, that I just cost everyone money. I tried to explain that the point of me staying there was to save my money so I could get my own place, but of course no one heard me when I spoke. This usually happens to me when I speak.

So I found a house and some friends and moved to Harrisonburg, since that's where my job had led me anyways. Things seemed to improve slightly. I still hadn't found anyone I could connect with on a deeper level than my copied gestures and behavior. I was at the point that I had adapted to my surroundings so well that I could just mask everything inside and let it slowly boil into madness for the sake of fitting in with someone. I was miserable underneath, but forcing candide gestures on the surface. I met a lot of new people, most of which I choose not to know now.

Then I met 'the cult'. I will refer to them as the cult, because it's easier than spreading their names on plasma. At first I felt accepted. I had been able to disclose certain information about myself, such as certain beliefs and abilities that I possessed and not been told I was certifiable. The sense of belonging I felt overshadowed many warning signs I see now, but didn't then. They wanted nothing more than to exploit my abilities for their own gain. I was slowly starting to see this, and began to sink into myself again.

This is where my story becomes completely unbelievable and pathetic.....

My boyfriend at the time (we'll call him X), was one of those great loves. He was a person whom I met and could see that he knew me for who I really was. He could see what I couldn't show others, and he relished it. I saw many things in him I found to be admirable, and so our relationship spawned into strange fascination. He asked me to marry him three times during our time together, and each time I said no.

Now this man seemed amazing to me. I thought that the myths about 'the one' may not be myth at all. Our time together was always some sort of magical affair. But he was part of the cult, and so chaos ensued when I brought up the idea of stepping away from other members of that group. I have never and will never be the kind of person to tell another who they should spend their time with. I didn't expect either of us to completely ignore these people, but I thought it might be a good idea to create a small distance between us, at least for a short while.

Things started to get weird between us at this point. Not only because I didn't feel comfortable with some of the things the cult had going on, but also because I had turned down the first marriage proposal, and I hadn't given into having sex with him yet. I'm not a prude, I just think sex should come at a certain point. Plus, there is a difference between sex and making love, and I wasn't sure he agreed with me on that point. Anyways...

Weird things started happening. I would have moments when I would suddenly become aware and not remember anything from the past several hours of my life. I'm not really able to become drunk, and I have never taken drugs, other than mary jane. So for this to be happening to me was terrifying. I thought I was really starting to go over the deep end. Things between me and X seemed better though, and we hadn't heard much from the cult. I expressed concern to X about my weird periods of amnesia, and he told me not to worry about it. I was probably getting lost in thought like I always did. Stupidly, I ignored these warnings.

Basically, without disclosing too much horrid detail, it reached the point that I was being drugged unknowingly. I would be aware at times but unable to force myself to move or even speak. I was like a zombie under control of some otherwordly force, unable to call out for help. I was trapped inside myself, watching unspeakable things happen all around me. I was taken advantage of in more ways than one, and have physical and emotional scars to prove it. That is all I will say.

Who knows. Maybe after shooting down the third proposal he decided I was a lost cause, and he would use me for gain in a different arena of his life. Maybe he was just a sadistic prick, and I was a fool for ever believing he loved me. The important part is that I escaped with my life, and left the entire cult behind to await their own inevitable demise.

Two years of my life wasted, I was ruined. I felt my heart implode, and my lungs shrivel and die. My brain shut off completely. I had fled to West Virginia, and I just remember sitting on a mattress on the floor, willing my body to die so that I wouldn't feel the pain any longer. I didn't speak, shower, or eat. I just sat, hoping to slowly decay and eventually expire.

I didn't physically die. I died emotionally. I became a shell that went through my daily routine to satisfy the people around me. I got a job and an apartment, I paid my bills and cleaned up after myself. I lost all faith for a short while. The experience forced me to look at everything I had known through a microscope. I would look in the mirror and break myself apart a piece at a time, wondering what this conspiracy against me was. I knew then that I was paying for something I'd done. Jesus Christ, I must have done something of unspeakable evil.

I decided I would never again feel such hopelessness. I would no longer wish for anything, or want anything I didn't already have. I wouldn't attempt to connect with humanity any longer. I knew then that I was nothing. Just wasted energy on the wrong plane of existence. I had never been so alone in my life. I stayed in isolation for a year and a half.

Eventually I decided that I needed to do something productive with my time. I knew I needed to go back to school, and I couldn't do that in WV. So I decided to go back to VA. I would face my paralyzing fears and return to the place that harbored every evil event that had taken place in my life. I ended up staying at my dad's house, with the intention of saving money to move out. Every time I thought things were looking up, something would happen to make my head fall again.

One fateful night, my stepmom decided to unleash on me. She didn't say much; only that I was a thieving bitch liar who ruined her and my father's life just by existing. I'm not sure why she thought I was a liar. Maybe she knew I lied every time I smiled at her. Calling me a theif was partly justifiable, because I went through a short period where I had to stoop so low as to steal shampoo and other neccessities because I had no money, and knew I had no one to ask. At any rate, the things she said to me that night were pure hate and contempt. My father sat right there as she said it. I asked him if he had anything to say to me, and all he said was, "I don't know what to say right now."

I felt what was left of my heart being ripped from my chest. He made it clear at that moment that he had indeed chosen his new family over his only biological child. I gathered my things and left in the dead of night. I stayed with a cousin for a while, whose husband abused not only drugs, but everyone in the house as well (including me). And after everything escalated in a drug induced stupor one night, I was forced to move on. I am now right back in fucking WV.

I feel so lost that I just keep turning in circles. Nothing ever remains. I'm in another place of loss and confusion, and desperately need to escape. I can't keep doing this. I need something constant, something at least partially stable in my life. Of course stable to me isn't what most would consider stable.

I know I have to get out of here. I know I need someone to understand. I know just those two wishes are a lot to ask for. I also know that I don't deserve it.

This may seem like a long love letter to misery, and maybe that's exactly what it is. I'm only stating the facts. This is what's happened. Maybe I've seen enough ugliness that now I can see something beautiful again. I just need to see the moon rise and cast its preternatural glow to know that I'll be okay. But for once, I think I actually need another human being to tell me everything will be okay and really mean it.

I observed quite a bit today. I witnessed an elderly woman throw a temper tantrum in a chinese restaurant and throw her eggrolls on the floor. She looked like her lips ate Joan Rivers, and should probably refrain from any more cosmetic surgery. I witnessed a man, probably close to his 40s, buying Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 1. This wouldn't have been so odd if he hadn't been balding, holding hands with his mother (he called the woman 'Mom', so she's either his mother or it's one of those weird sexual things), wearing a Harry Potter t-shirt, and if he hadn't pulled out a Pokemon wallet. I mean, Harry Potter and Pokemon are both cool by me. It's just odd, I think, for a 40 year old man to have both, especially considering these circumstances. Or not. Who the fuck am I to judge?

I also managed to befriend a wild turkey who was roaming in the woods. I clucked at her, and she clucked back, seeming to thank me for not murdering and then consuming her. I nodded in understanding, and she wandered away.

All in all I guess it wasn't a bad day.

Ostensible.

If ever you feel disheartened by the color deficiency here, please don't be troubled. It's really exploding from our veins. We may lose control of the moment, but this new trend of indifference won't last forever. The moment I say this I know I'll regret it. This time, I'm going to keep it all to myself. With no hesitation, I can destroy everything I'm building. Like flipping a switch, I can turn myself off and become nothing to you. I can ruin you before you ruin me. Disquieted borderline behavior resonates. This is my only illusion.

In all honesty, I can endure anything. I can forgive so easily as to make it seem there were never a mistake that needed forgiving. We are all broken pieces, simply looking to restore our innocence. I could restore yours quite effortlessly. It's all a plea for purging. In essence, my mind believes that eventually you will come to see what is really underneath, and bemoan the day you chose this.

Is this the truth, or only superficial mendacity? In all truth, I cannot be false. Not to be confused, I am most definitely capable of being wrong; but no, never false. I am regrettably unexplainable. You could stab my heart a million times, and I would still smile and lick up the blood. Yet, I fear causing pain in another so deeply that I refrain from all motion as if one touch will shatter everything.

I'm losing.

two hearts beating...

one beats the other, while the other just looks away.

Your superciliousness is unwarranted. Do something worth speaking about, and then we'll talk. Oh, I'm sorry...is that supercilious of me? haha

Passenger Seat- Death Cab For Cutie

I heard this song today, and couldn't help but cry. It's your fault.

Transatlanticism- Death Cab For Cutie

Imogen Heap- The Moment I Said It

Before I'm dead...

...I want to buy a potted plant and set it free in the woods.

My boy builds coffins...

...and it's only a matter of time before he builds mine.

That Guy With The Giant Peach...Starts With a "J", I'm sure....

You said, "The stars will fall like snow." I knew then that there was poetry in my despair. Darkness is but a mystery of curves and lines. Formed of stillness, you laid in my emptiness and drifted slowly inward. I pressed my mouth on yours, then said, " We can find salvation etched into the earth, like a message." I clung to the idea of a boy hung in my room, burning from within. I didn't know that I was the only display.

The sun blackened as it hung, stagnated somewhere beyond the horizon. We bled into the sea; dark, enchanted. The acrimony in your voice transformed to hedonism at the touch of my hand. I knew then that I had you. The chilling smell of night was on you like a disease. In our affliction of fervor you said, "I will be the death of you." You laughed at my bruises, and intensified the agony with each new incision. I believed at that moment I could perish for you.

Your passion become a conflagration, consuming me in the worst way. My heart, although drained, continued to beat. Your style became merciless; resolutely callow. Each broken piece fell away, making room for undeserved forgiveness. One more venture as each came to an end. "Please excuse my tears," I would say. You could not stand such an infinitesimal flaw. My tears corroded any concern you could have possessed.

My hopelessness turned to shame. The thought of not having you grazed my chest like a blade; yet I could not stand to be near you. Those last days, marked by extraction, remain omnipresent. To breathe for another moment of life is to relive you. I composed a list of you once. I foolishly thought that writing you down and disposing of the evidence could expunge you from my mind forever. But here you are, even now, haunting my present.

I honestly cannot decide how best to end you. To forget is my one diminutive, unadorned wish. I yearn unremittingly for peace; calm; for you to remain forever silenced. Shhh....

"There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills." -Buddha

Well, there you have it.

Girl of Abject Misery

I still can't talk about this. This thing that hangs over me, casting preternatural shadows. It's like a bad habit, always with me. Sometimes it creeps into my day, making me demure. I have feared that the only way to relieve my existence of this persistent abhorrence is death.

Something must die to be reborn as something else. I want this feeling of hopelessness to die, along with he who caused it. And once it is over, my fear, hate, hopelessness, and jaded impurity can die with him. I just need someone to speak the truth where I can hear it.

From now on, I can stop worrying about what people think. Because I just realized that in all actuality, people don't think very often anyways.

I just came to another realization. I have a tendency to become too comfortable with a person at a given moment, and end up saying too much and scaring the hell out of them- I need to work on that.

And another realization has to do with my intense fear of rejection. I have come to understand that although I do fear being rejected, I find more fear in the possibility of acceptance. If someone accepts me exactly as I am, with all my neurotic behaviors and thoughts, then what does that say about me, or them? I see all these things about me as problems needing to be corrected as quickly as possible. But if another person can take it for what it is, then what the fuck does that mean?

Fuck my life, is what it means. Perhaps it means that no matter how much I think I know or understand, it will always be subject to change. All it takes is one outsider perspective to rattle the cage and send everything I've built tumbling back down. But is that really so terrible? I think not. Just more unanswerable questions...go figure.

So I realized that this blog is fucking depressing! I'm not an unhappy person...I actually find much joy in the world, despite random moments of guilelessness. It's just that for me to understand the weirdness that is my mind, I find it helpful to get it out and then look at it and realize, "Wow! That's incredibly dumb!" So in an effort to provide some insight into who I really am, here is a list of 20 random things that make me happy! Most of them are silly, but just go with the flow.

1. Music- Ner..
2. The look people get on their faces when you say what you're really thinking and it's inappropriate.
3. The amazing wonder that is the Earth. I mean fuck, isn't it beautiful?!
4. The word fuck. I believe it to be the most versatile word in the English language. Plus it just rolls off the tongue so nicely, doesn't it?
5. Arizona canned tea. It's only $.99 and it's fucking delicious!!
6. I take great joy in the fact that I am basically a human dictionary/thesaurus. This trait most likely developed while I was in high school, because I literally read the dictionary and actually carried it around in my purse so I could read it at work, appointments, and even red lights.
7. I love making people laugh, but the weird thing about it is that I'm not a very funny person. But somehow people always think I'm hilarious and always laugh when I talk. I just say what I'm thinking...who knows. But laughter is great!
8. Seeing people who aren't afraid to be themselves makes me ecstatic! Humans should rejoice in difference, not beat it down!
9. Animals. I mean come on. I don't see how anyone could see an animal and not feel a little warm fuzzy grow inside their heart.
10. Pillows and blankets. I don't care what time of day or night it is. Curling into a ball with pillows and blankets is one of my greatest joys. Especially if there is someone awesome to curl up with!
11. Finding people in the world who seem to really understand me. It is rare and it is amazing! It takes P.I.C. to a whole other level...
12. Having friends who I can just sit with. We can either be talking each other's heads off or sitting in silence for hours. Doesn't matter. We can just exist, and that's enough.
13. Clouds. I can stare at them floating away all day long.
14. Stars. I can stare at them twinkling all night long.
15. Sketch books! I have way more of these than I should, and they are all filled with crazy pictures and writing that would probably frighten most people.
16. Signs from the universe! This doesn't happen often, but every once in a while the universe will send me a very distinct chain of signs pertaining to a current situation. It makes everything so much easier, for that moment at least.
17. Days when I manage not to look like Wolverine and Blair Witch's love child. Haha I crack myself up. But really, my hair is like a separate entity that just lives on my head and does whatever the hell it wants. So I cherish days when it cooperates.
18. Glitter. I don't know why, but sometimes I just need to have a little sparkle in my life.
19. Travel. Getting away from the broken down routine that is my life and seeing new things...couldn't ask for more.
20. Analogies. Comparing things that shouldn't even go together just to prove a point is amusing. My favorite recent analogy that I shared with someone was, "Why would you go to McDonalds for a salad? That's like going to a strip club just to ask for a hug..."

Okay, well I guess that's it for now.

Imposition!

I just remembered the main issue that kept scraping through my brain last night: Imposition! I have an intense aversion to imposing on anyone to an extent that I appear uninterested.

In fact, I usually feel that my mere existence is imposition enough, and I couldn't possibly bother anyone for anything more than my right to live. This interesting idea renders me unable to initiate any type of conversation, even with people I know. And when I do attempt to initiate I immediately feel guilty for interrupting that persons day, because I feel certain that whatever they were doing before I barged in was much more important and/or interesting. I will rarely ask someone to go do anything with me, and when I do, I say annoying things like, "Only if you really want to. Really, it's up to you. Hey, are we still doing what we talked about? Well just don't do anything you don't want to do." I want to tell myself to shut up, but at the same time I feel like I need to give everyone an escape clause so they won't feel pity for me when they tell me to fuck off.

So I won't initiate hardly anything. I just seem distant and cold, which is far from the truth. It's my fault people see me this way because of my inexcusable behaviors. But no matter how well I understand these things, and no matter how much I analyze and contemplate, it makes no difference. I'm afraid I hinder everyone by wanting to be a part of their lives.

One last thing I noticed this morning; There have been five major times in my life when circumstances have left me in unbearable crippling emotional pain. I know I feel emotion much more intensely than most, probably due to the fact that I am unable to express it in any outward form. During these five events, I remember shutting down. I would eventually start to wake up again, but for the most part i just died a little more each time without ever being fully revived. I feel like I've reached a point where the wounds don't heal anymore. I'm also reaching a point where I want to feel something again, but in order to do so I have to place sutures on the places that make feeling impossible.

For some people these processes come and go as naturally as breathing. Not me, baby. I am endlessly difficult and ridiculous...outlandish even.

Don't bother reading this- it's just the same inane bullshit.

Please don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I am cold or soulless. I am filled with more hope than most. So much, in fact, that it is almost unbearable. I possess a love that is sublime, and it flows from me at every opportunity.

I was driving last night and unfortunately decided to think about things while on the way to my destination. It never takes much for me to become engrossed in thought. I endlessly question the state of everything around me, and this night I had more than enough to ponder. I found myself becoming increasingly perturbed, and could only repeat, “I can’t. I’m ruined. I’m lost.”

I can’t keep doing this to myself. I've been ruined, and now I feel like I ruin everything else. And I’m just…fucking…lost.

I can try to justify the way I feel, but when it’s over I still can’t honestly say that it’s right. I feel that I've been conditioned to expect horrible things to happen. If I anticipate something terrible, I won’t be as crushed once it actually happens. But I realized that what is even more frightening is expecting this monstrous thing that never comes. It becomes yet another breeding ground for anxiety and paranoia. I start to let a few walls down, and then gripping fear strikes and I am scrambling to rebuild before the bad thing comes. Oh, why does everything with me have to be so analytical and complicated?!

My mind is so fucking frustrating. I can’t stand these intermittent moments of uncertainty. It’s normal to worry or to question, but not to this extreme. It doesn't take much to set it off, either. Something simple with a simple explanation occurs and my mind can produce 100 possible outcomes, most of them bad. I just need to calm down, and quickly. This is where I start to ruin everything…

Humanity makes me feel desolate at times. Because I see the way most people think and act, knowing I’m nothing like them, I assume I’m just nothing at all. Sometimes I feel like standing at the top of a mountain and waiting for my home planet to send me a rescue ship. I’m stranded. Lost.

Ha, and what is really amusing about this whole thing, is that even after all the positive reinforcements I receive I can still be back on the negative track in a matter of minutes. I want to believe, and I want to stop being paranoid. I want to stop writing about my damaged brain and my annoyingly cynical thoughts. It’s all the same shit, it just happens on different days. No matter how much I sit here and dissect my own idiocy I still can’t wrap my mind around my own mind. Damn, that’s pathetic.