SB08. I did nothing, I breathed in short breaths and sputter-stumbled dizzily with faces spinning on my skull like pearls in oysters. I took in enough to leave me wrecked like boats in choppy opaque seawater. I am consumed by stars and moons, left to my own wrenching by the guts of distrust, the impulsive taste of decisions. Tongue the tips and pits of suns and planets, forelocks and forearms are full of chalky blood, convulsing arteries left with the compulsions of treaties.

I have vicodin and xanax and tylenol, just enough to make me feel full again. I've not been b/p-ing technically, at least I don't consider it so. I've been saying 'cunt' far more than I probably should, but I'm not sure what to think technically. There are so many terms that I don't quite know the origin of.

I swear that this is all first block is good for. I still can't believe I've been actually trying to focus. This is more than I can stand. Moremoremoremoremore. I'm trying not to die right now. Poor babygirl didn't sleep well at all last night, she kept waking me up and grinding her teeth in her sleep. I felt so bad for her, and I guess I still do, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. It's way too early for me to feel this hopeless in school. Fuck school, I can't believe I'm going to be a teacher. At least I sound finite, in that way that I do. This is making me want to crawl into a ball and die. I'm not quite sure what to do. Only a few more minutes.


Dammit, my school system is trying to cancel out being able to access blogger at school, which is a huge bitch in the system. I just want to be able to blog, fuck all.

I've shoplifted: a bracelet, two books, a ring, a dress. I might try for more, but I'm not sure how I'm going to explain all of this stuff.

I've gone to Jan's House almost every day of spring break. I keep getting called sweetheart. Moriah and I just do nothing but nibblenibblenibble. Which is better than--nevermind! What I'm trying to say is that I'm making the best of this rough situation. I feel absolutely terrible for my babygirl for the wrath that that bitch Tally chose to instill.

I am really struggling with my eating disorders right now.

No meat, smoking, purging, or cutting. More healthy foods, gum, coffee, hanging out with friends, and writing.

QDAY 2: staying strong.

I've been quite the thief in the past two days. I could live off of semidecent music.


Haha, how's your semidemihemiquaver?





You've got my black heart in your crooked hands.

I smoked my last cigarette yesterday. It's worth it if I can help Alex even a little, because I know she can do it if she wants to.

I've been pulling the scabs off of my forearm today, and it feels good even though it stings. I know I should just leave the scabs alone, but they're so dry and obnoxious. Plus, the new skin looks so babyish. I'm still amazed by how deep some of them are. I really went to town, no lie no lie. I was never that bad before, but that's how dedicated I feel to getting attention from my chosen people. Alex confronted me the night before about throwing up at school that day, and I think it made me realize just how much my negative habits affect the lives of others. I never want to hurt Alex, and if that means that what I need to do is get a better grasp on controlling myself, then I can do that. I don't want to hurt anyone. My baby-girls and -boys need me and I need them more than attention from all of the unobtainable bastards I'm attracted to. These affinities are nothing in comparison to the love I have for my friends. I am a brute force, and if I have to use that for the happiness of myself and others, than so be it.

Writing on the wall
says you will never know
just how much it took
to say goodbye to possibility
and greetings to our reality

I'm listening to Babylon Circus and Gogol Bordello, which you should join me in doing. They're the soundtrack of some piece of my mind. The Wanderer, as many of my ladyloves might put it.

I'm going to work my ass of for the benefit of my grades and my health. Yesterday, the last cigarette. Today, dietary adjustments. I asked my aunt not to buy me anymore dairy products, certainly no more meat. I'll get ridiculous amounts of protein as usual, but I'll also have to make sure that I get enough calcium and iron. This is the thrill I both love and hate, that feeling of control. I know I'm not eating meat either for or against animals, but because I don't believe I should. I don't think it's good for me. I'm still just so confused as to what I should or shouldn't do. Maybe I should stop my caffeine intake as well... I don't know, don'tdon'tdon't. It's killing me.

This would be a great time for someone to swoop in and rescue me.

Yesterday I: didn't shower.

I'm just sitting in 1st block, writing in this blog. I fucking love how easy it is to get away with things in this class. It's amazing as well as slightly disheartening.

Hahaha, Dr. Harris gave me "FREEDOM GUM," with which I will endure the pain of non-smoking. He also said "foist," which is amazing.

I keep getting such positive attention, I feel like I really can do this. Write/teach, teach/write. I had a very nice chat with Mrs. Holmes today, during which we discussed whether or not my negative behaviors are worth it, and we both agreed that it's not. I have too much to live for to throw my life away and risk the decay of indulgence. It's my decision, I can be whatever I want to be and do whatever I want to do, but do I need to? No, absolutely not. I want to be happy, not so hollow and empty. Being numb is comfortable, but not worth it. I want to be able to nurture myself and others, not suck the life out of everyone including myself. I even told Mrs. Holmes about the crush I have on her, which is craziness, but realistic and expected considering my pattern of seeking out nurturing figures in my life who will support me and pay attention to me when I feel too vulnerable to sit with myself. I really need to begin to sort through my emotions. I'm afraid of facing reality, of locking myself in with commitment. I'm just like every other teenager with my fears, but I'm like a select few with the vast assortment of avoidance that I employ. I wonder if I should just start confessing to all of my issues with the people that I seek out. I feel like such a predator in the way that I search for people who will satisfy my needs. It almost sounds dirty, doesn't it? Reasonable, but dirty. I am not a monster, but I am a beast.

I'm going to stop smoking, or at least really cut back. I feel like I owe it to Alex and Dr. Harris since I promised them, which I shouldn't have done unless I was prepared to quit, and I feel like I am. Hopefully I won't gain weight, which would blow. I don't need to lose that much more weight, though. I'm absolutely, positively not fat. I'm not even chubby. I'm just not skinny. I don't know what I am, probably just slim and curvy. I want to gain more muscle back, I miss being such a solid beast. I don't want to go back to being muscle and bone, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with more muscle mass. I'm just not satisfied with being feminine, which is ridiculous and something I need to work on. I want to be strongstrongstrong, fierce and capable. I don't need to run again, because I just abuse that, but I can go back to at least thirty minutes on the elliptical and at least thirty minutes of weight training. I don't know what I'm planning on or working towards, but I think it might be just me seeking satisfaction in myself. I really can't believe I still fit into Kelsey's holey pants. That's either a good or a bad thing, and I can't really decide. Maybe I can be thin and still be healthy. Kelly said that with my body type I might be able to pull it off. Arghhh, I don't know what I want, but I know what I should want. SHOULD is such a disgusting word.

I've actually been writing at every opportunity today. I spent like thirty minutes writing in my journal in the media center while I was avoiding class, then talked to Dr. Harris for like five or ten minutes, then came to class and started writing this. How amazing of me. I just feel so inspired! It's awesome.

I am a shallow thrill crawling up your spine
the white hot pain ripping through your throat
the amazement flowing through your veins
and excitement pooled in the small of yor back



why do I feel this way?

I wrote this in that last 15 minutes of speech and debate:

I am choking on this fresh air
freely flowing into my lungs
out again into the wasteland
I miss the cozy chains of solitude
when I was contented to waste away

now I am failing in my happiness
hideously well and able-bodied
full of fullness and never empty

spun sugar clouds and moth-dust
shoved down my convulsing throat
while I drown in my own freedom

Mrs. Patty told me that I have no right to whine because I have the easiest schedule ever. I was whining about something completely different, but she's right, I have absolutely no right to whine. I am just a greedy lazy disgusting ugly gluttonous selfish ungrateful bratty little bitch. I am none of those horrible things that I just wrote. Even if I were, I'm not like that all the time. I'm a genuinely good person and I have the conscience of a five-yearold, which is kind of funny and kind of tragic. I don't know what to do with myself, honestly.

I need to stop seeking attention by negative means and start letting people show me genuine affection. This cutting and throwing up has gotten out of control. Getting attention positively doesn't quite feel the same, but I need to have a talk with a few people to clear up what I do and don't need. For example, I do need attention but I do not need to be babied. I can smell faking from over a polluted ocean. Still, it's going to be hard coming clean, but I've done it before and I can do it again. I'm freaking out, but I can do it. I should really take Kelly's advice more often. I mean, my mother pays her to give me advice and generally help me out, but I barely try to overcome the challenges she lays to face me. What's the point of a therapist if you don't listen to them in return? I might as well talk to a brick wall--which would be hilarious and I would pay to see myself have brickwalltherapy sessions every week. Speaking of therapy, tomorrow! AND, I'm going to drink before 3rd block again, because I'm a fucking idiot. Woooo being a moron for attention-getting purposes. For real. Goodness, I am far too honest in this blog.

Alex and I went to visit Kelsey again today and just sat on her back porch and smoked until I had to eat my apple. I miss my bbygrl a lot. I miss "-zorzz" and I miss Harry Potter movie marathons. I miss wandering downtown and daydreaming about vagabonding. I miss playing madcrazy videogames together and me getting drunk, etc. I miss a lot of things that we don't do anymore, but we need to. BabyGirl, if you're reading this, get over SUPERMONO so we can talk about how crazy amazing life can be and hang out at Jan's House. If I even thought you could afford the absences, I would say let's skip class and chill and drink coffee, but my beloved Brady already spared your balls once and I doubt she would do it again. I lovezorzz you anyways.

I talked to basically all of my teachers today about whether or not they thought I could make it as an English Teacher. Note the badass use of caps despite my faulty sense of propriety. I want to teach so bad right now, maybe after I go for my degree in creative writing. I want to be like all of my favorite teachers mixed together. I want to inspire and save lives, I want to lecture and bitch because I care, I want to help those who need it, I want to nurture those who let me, I want to be no-nonsense and still be able to laugh about life, I want to have heartfelt discussions about how life is really going or what's happening in other classes, and more than anything I just want to be a hero to those who need one. I've been rescued so many times by teachers who cared enough to just listen or hug, encourage or scold, really agree or disagree. People who generally took an interest in my well-being and treated me like an adopted daughter. I think writing and teaching could very well be my main passions in life.

Sidenote: I want to be vegan again, but I get the feeling that it would just turn out very badbadbad.

Powdery wings gathered furiously in my pit
where they flutter anxiously and full of nerve-endings
scraped raw and dissident and plump with misgivings
choking on the fine dust that is venomous
pinpointed on a dirty-veined map and swallowed whole

There are so many things that I wish would change for you. I agree that your life has been filled with too much shit, and because of that, wouldn't you rather wait? This is me, on my hands and my knees, pleading with you to keep trying until something goes right. You're beautiful, a fucking genius, and kinder than most. You're one of the few friends who I would fight for. I would fight for you to live happily just one day, so you could know what it feels like.

On that depressed note, I'm done with my senior project. Now I'm just freaking out in anticipation of my grade. Arghhh, will it never be finished?

I think I've lost weight. I feel so torn. Excitement and despair, a couple and a pair.

Playing dress-up may very well be what gets me by in life, because I don't give a damn about my education.

Note to self: stop saying good, don't take ritalin so late at night, get a girlfriend, write more, download fagatron, work on senior project, stop fucking yourself over.

I want to sleep and never wake up. That's a badbadbad plan on my part.

I'm completely out of it. I'm so fucking worried about everything.


There are vines where angel fruit grow
and rupture red pulp flesh
like leeches they destruct
not of the self but of the noise

there is no silence here
strewn nowhere between before and
after the storms came

lavender powder coating eyelids
and lips like so many wings

Today was exhausting. I wasn't quite as tired a I thought, but I am now.

I am now.

Barbie/Ken

Poem: "Barbie And Ken 101"
Poet: Rafael Casal

sometimes I feel like I'm sittin' in the back row of Barbie and Ken 101
a class we are all in, but never seem to learn from
Some general ed requirement for
Students of American culture
A GE that convinces even the brightest
of young women that sex is survival of the thinnest
and I'm sick of this education that doesn't serve our best interests
my teacher has no face
she is every Revelon model women have ever chased
her lectures come through magazines in beauty shops & add campaigns,
shit
just turn on your tv
this just in, a skewed perspective for todays youth y'al ladies aint thin enough, fellas aint trim
enough, wanna be sexy?
Y'al don't go to the gym enough, cut to commercial, common just come tune
in to our maintenance team, convince you're ugly then tell you how to fix it with maybeline
Perpetually started by these dolls marketed in the late 50's named
Barbie and Ken
hence the
class I'm in
Are you following?
Shit didn't end
They keep moldin' Barbie to fit new trends
next maybe they'll have club hoppin' Barbie
With thongs as accessories
video hoe Barbie
abusive boyfriend sold separately
underaged Barbie
Cobey Bryant included
or 9/11 victim Barbie
and Ken is proud to get recruited
problem is all these teachings are womans decay
and I'm startin' to worry cuz my girl is up front and she's getting an A
this is where I start getting pissed off ok
when the fuck did it become all about
tuckin' in the gutt I gotta get the bigger breast
shit I wanna fit a little better in a dress
so let me get a little skinny gotta fit into an itty bitty
size slimmer so I livin up the chest
please
teacher teacher I wanna give my oral presentation
cuz I have a problem with the class, and matter of fact, I have, a fat ass grudge with the
whole administration
you're the reason my girl won't eat in front of me in restaurants

the reason that she thinks she's overweight in over ten spots
less gut less pudge less lunch less real, more looks more love more Barbie
appeal?
fuck Barbie and Ken
My future daughter will never play with them
you're the reason bleedin' 15 year old girls arms are slit
You made 12 year olds think skinny was a compliment
And now it's too late
I can't write my way through this bathroom door
So I raise my hand in class cuz I can't stand it any more
Teacher teacher your lectures all backwards
You got mothers and daughters forgetting what matters
Cuz above tits, ass, lips, legs, and ugs
The most attractive women are the ones who don't give a fuck
So screw your teachings your lessons and plans
You skewed sick distant relative of the man
Your plan for brainwashin' my baby I reject
I'm walkin' out of this class, and I will proudly take, my F

Triumphant arch of neck
trumpet of hooves in earth
air filled with panting and
air filled with sweating

majesty is a brute beast.



I really need to start looking outside my cubicle, where all the other little army ants are fuming about their own little issues. Just because I'm constantly shitstained doesn't mean that I deserve more anything. Hypomania is a bitch, but I'm not, and I'm more than just hypomanic.

Vulnerability is both thrilling and terrifying. Rejection is vicious... but acceptance is the greatest rush I've felt, so gracious and kind despite everything else in the world.

I am incredibly fortunate. God has filled my life with great tragedy and triumph. I will try to be as nonchalant as possible about this.

I discovered my grandparents as my mother fell into postpartum depression and then divorced my father. I found Debell, Walker, Erskine, Wright. They were there through divorce, moving, depression. I loved dearly Kimberly, to whom I also owe my life for saving me from my own suicide... or rather, being there when I saved myself after a long string of desparate cries through self-mutilation. Now, my life is filled with caring from both my peers and parentals. I've balanced out being beaten and molested with being showered with affection. My constant craving for nurturance has led me down the road of starving for salvation, and I am constantly lifted up again.

I will never be good enough. NEVERnevernever. I always need to hurt myself, make myself more worthy of what I want. This is terrible, but I just want to be loved, and until I find myself deserving, I will keep on hurting myself. The emotionial and physical abuse I have suffered at the hands of myself and others is staggering at best. I have not been taught to do things half-assedly. That's bullshit and I know it.

SAVE ME.

the weekend is a beastly thing with tentacles.

This is me, past the point of deconstruction and closer to edge of desolation. I am lying through my teeth again, grasping desperately at the straws to make myself an okay person... but it's hard to forget how I lie. I lielielie like a dirty fleabitten dog.

My depression felt neverending. I was lashing out at others and at myself, practically begging to be saved, but no one ever saved me. I fell and fell until the world tilted on it's axis and I fell up. Closer to normalcy than I had been in a long time. That may have been the beginning of my bipolar disorder.

Today I cried in Speech and Debate, because I was scared and having flashback&forths, as I affectionately call them. One of the loves of my life said I kept fucking up because I was passionate. That was earlier this morning. I starved my emotions for two years, and still do, off and on. I feel broken now that I have my feelings back. Here's why I need to quit lying: I've been hurt and hurt myself innumerous times. I'll go into detail and specifics later.

To the ones I Love and Hate,

I won't be joining you today, no, not in an attempt at normalcy. I was stumble-stuttering at school yesterday, and it was better than normalcy. Today I won't scotch-tape life back together, but I will caffeinate and be better than I am now.

Forbidden is the look that I'm obtaining.

I am not quite sure if I'm ready, but I am going for it.
I have to make everyone proud. Havetohavetohavetohavetohaveto!

Dear Everyone Who Loves Me,
Thanks a bunch!

warningwarningwarning&alarm

look away if you're frightened of skeletons!


LOOK AWAY.


























I wish I could express how much these photos make me want to cry, but I can barely believe. If you never noticed, I have to ask you... how could you? I blame myself, always and forever... but how?

I just wanted to escape, but Lord, I locked myself in such a cage. I could barely breathe within those confinements. I need air in which to stretch my wings, my massive wings composed of flesh and feathers.

I just want to tell everyone what happened. I was born unto an unprepared mother and an detached father. I was both a blessing and a burden. I was used for their comfort. I was told to be thankful even for things that I thought I deserved. Postpartum depression hit my mother hard and she went away, though I wasn't consciously aware of it. My dad stayed up late and played video-games, a crippled product of insomnia and ADHD. They were unhappy with me and with each other, so they divorced. My parents' parents were the only ones who came close to knowing how to look after me, and they tried their best to do so. Eventually my mother remarried to a parental figure of her own, and my father was often my playmate. I grew up being told I was spoiled and then contradicted by being showered with material possessions. My mother was undiagnosed, having bipolar disorder and often going into manic periods of making unaffordable purchases. My father's ADHD kept him playing the role of companion rather than parent as he never grew into the role of exhibiting signs of responsibility or adulthood. I was often told and shown two different examples to live by. Hugs were as common as arguments, if not less so. I never worried about my looks, though I remember adults' comments about my appearance contrasting the comments of my peers. It still didn't bother me. I grew up wild and free, without boundaries. I was a tooth-gnashing, snarly-haired little beast covered in dirt and grass stains. I wasn't told 'No' often enough, though at the time I loved it. At the age of 10, my mother started seeing other women. That was when I began to have the growing suspicion that she loved me less than before. When I turned 11, my mother and stepfather separated and my mother moved the two of us into her friends' house briefly before we moved in with her new girlfriend. I hated leaving this city. Her girlfriend blamed me for a lot of their problems, and often said I was manipulating my own mother. We didn't get along. One night at the girlfriend's family's house, a guy who was at least five times older than me touched me inappropriately. I have just recently been able to tell people this, and I still catch myself placing the blame squarely on my own shoulders. When I was 13 we moved out, back to the city I loved. She got a new girlfriend soon enough, another one who was emotionally manipulative and blamed me for their issues. I was honest and said I didn't like her, and I was punished. My mother told me that we couldn't afford for her to be single. That was when I definitely began to feel that I was no longer a blessing, but a great burden to be carried halfheartedly. We moved out of the shitty apartment where we had been living and into a house near my best friend and my school. My mother and I got into physical fights and violent arguments as I went through my manic period. The girlfriend was sympathetic but completely unhelpful and said nothing about the physical violence against me. I was 15 when we got into the worst of it, and I left the fight with bruises after she pushed me to the ground. Eventually she broke up with that girlfriend, and I stopped taking the medication that made me so aggressive. At 16 I had gained weight and my mother negatively reinforced it, so much that I was ashamed of my body. She started seeing a new girlfriend, and we competed for my mother's attention. Once again, I felt that she was choosing her girlfriend over me. I started starving and purging after binges. I lost weight. I fought with my mother and with her girlfriend, and they chose each other over me every single time. Lost more. We moved in with her girlfriend. Lost more. Rules. Lost more. Restrictions. Lost more. Fights and arguments. Lost more. She kicked me out. Lost more. I stayed at my grandparents'. Lost more. I stopped seeing my friends. Lost more. They kicked me out. Lost more. Went back to live with my mother and her girlfriend. Lost more. I started over-exercising. Lost more. Got kicked out after only a few weeks. Lost more. Went back. Lost more. Went vegan. Lost more. School ended. Lost more. I turned 17. Lost more. Quit every other addiction. Lost more. School started up again. Lost more and more and more. I couldn't stay awake in school or focus enough to do even one assignment. I couldn't wear my old clothes. I couldn't hang out with friends. I couldn't look in a mirror. I couldn't eat, couldn't not eat. It became too much, and I knew I had to go away. I couldn't cope with the outside world. Before even agreeing, my mother said it wasn't bad enough at that point. My therapist, nutritionist, psychiatrist, and physician all recommended that I go somewhere and get help, but she said it wasn't bad enough. At my height and build, I was so underweight that I bruised where my bones rubbed against my yellowing skin. My hair fell out. My eyesight went bad fast. My nails split. My teeth chipped. I could barely walk and always felt tired, I could barely sleep and always felt exhausted. I couldn't think without obsessing over food and exercise and my shape and weight. I couldn't stand without my vision going dark. So I went away for two months. I got out. Now I'm here, walking a very fine line.

If you never wanted to see, I don't blame you. If you never want to see this again, why would you?

Whoa, never knew citing shit could be so tedious. Daaaamn. Now for NOTECARDS, then powerpoint, then product board, then letters and speech and outfit. blahblahblah. I'm going to upload the finished thing soon.

I'm feeling so much better, lovelies. Thank you for being so wonderful, each and every one of you--there's nothing wrong with being selfish every once in a while! It's hard to be out and about, stripped down to the nerves and exposed so raw to be touched by everything that comes your way. It hurts... badly. I don't know how to describe it, but sometimes I get so happy I cry because it is just too much. I have to be handled gently right now, and most people seem to think that I'm right and ready to be jostled around a bit. They're wrong, but they've got the right idea in that I need to build up some tolerance. Maybe then I will be able to experience things head-on and full-force.

Until then, be careful, my deers. Just know that I'm in my tiny lavender pupae, wrapped up tightly, strengthening my wings as quickly as I can.

I can't wait to be free.