Deerboy,
have me on my hands and knees.
Please,
make me feel these crazy needs.

O LAWD, I think I had forgotten, or rather pushed to the back of my mind, just how "caring" I get when I'm drunk. And goddamned honest, too.

HOW DID FIVE SHOTS DO THIS TO ME? HOW HOW HOW HOW HOW?!

So, I've a new resolution: quit smoking, sprint more, then drink less more often. Sounds like a solid plan to me, am I right?

I just need to avoid mixing most pills and liquor. The side-effects can be numbing at best, when even then I don't get the good-drunk feelings, and I have to come down later. Fuck that.

LIQUOR-LUST FOREVER.

Tonight/Yesterday I had:
-1 starbucks vanilla doubleshot espresso energy drink
-5 shots of sour apple vodka mixed with sprite zero
-1 very drawn-out lustful interaction with a pretty boy

Tomorrow/Today?:
-wake up in 3-4 hours
-do hair and makeup
-eat breakfast
-study for exam
-take exam
-clean room
-pack
-catch a ride with my roommate and her emotionally stunted guy friends and go home

Weekend:
-hookah?
-new tattoo?
-birthday party?
-MAKEUP WORK D:

I am beautiful, and not just because of my appearance. I'm a mixture of so many intense traits, it's really no wonder that some people just can't handle me. That's what I feel like believing right now, because it feels true. I would rather live by that right now: feelings and beliefs, rather than thoughts and facts. I feel grey.


I am always moving forward, although the lines I cross on each side cause some to believe that I am moving backwards. I promise there is no reverting back for me. I am pretty, even if in an outlandish way. I am highly intelligent, intellectually and creatively. I am so compassionate, to the point of a fault. I'm cute, smart, caring... funny, loyal, devoted, entertaining, open, etc. I will listen to your words for hours, even if I get nothing in return. I will defend you to the death, even when you betray me. I will love you with all of my heart and more, even if you break mine. I will do so many things to just make sure you are happy.

More than anything, I am strong. I am a struggler, a survivor, and there is absolutely no taking me down. You may watch me stumble, but even when I fall, I will get back up.

"I've gotten so much braver, can you tell?"

How could I allow myself to let people with so little value in my own life make me feel worthless? I don't know them, and therefore their presence in my life is minimal and insubstantial. These connections I feel are probably a mixture of pheromones and a desperation to repair my own loneliness. A need to be fulfilled by others who seem so carefree, and yet so inexplicably incomplete. As if I could even begin to complete them. I feel this need to satisfy others, and when I cannot or they are not interested in allowing me to complement them, then I feel completely and utterly inadequate. I feel that the parts of my whole will never sum up to be good enough. I feel like I am not beautiful, smart, mature, funny, and et cetera enough. But, I care. I really truly do, and I'm afraid that this is going to keep happening. I don't like to think that my life is going to be led along by me trying to devote myself solely to other people. I want to be comfortable enough with my own identity that I don't compromise my own expression. It would be entirely pointless to expect someone to enjoy me for who I am when I am unable to convey myself.

As it is, I wrote today for the first time in quite a while. I also drank fifteen shots of straight vodka, which apparently just doesn't hit me like it used to, considering that I also took a xanax. I cried for quite a while about things that really won't matter in the long run, such as guys. After all, why should I waste my energy wanting what I can't have when it's really their loss to begin with?

I don't want to start drinking beer again and doing all of the stupid things I was doing before. I'm probably going to buy 750mL of Ketel One and that should tie me over for a bit. But holy shit, if I keep drinking this much vodka as often as I am now, plus the price of cigarettes (even in a carton), that is over fifty dollars for about two weeks. I can't do that, right? That's like two-hundred dollars a month, plus all of my other expenses. So, I either need to smoke or drink less. I think I could honestly do both. I don't know how I manage to smoke a pack a day. That doesn't even compute with me. I need to work out a game-plan for cutting that number in half. I want to be able to drink just a few shots a day and smoke just a few cigarettes. I just feel like I need to set up rules.

ideas for cutting back on smoking:
-first cigarette after breakfast
-one cigarette after each meal
-one cigarette to and from class
-one cigarette break per hour

I'm really hoping a smoother vodka will allow me to stay inebriated longer because I won't have to chase it. Doubtful, but hopeful.

back to my roots. it's true--that's exactly where I'm going.

I am listening to the music of yesteryear, and it's the same with my hair, etc. Bringing everything back around... it's what I'm good at.

Last night I took a little time to pick out what I was going to wear today. It includes: a neon green Volcom tank, Kelsey's torn grey skinny jeans, my grandmother's black ankle boots, and a black belt with three rows of silver studs. Because it's cold, I'm also wearing Kelsey's plaid jacket. I darkened the makeup around my eyes and darkened the color of my lips. I styled my hair a little differently. I felt good about how I looked in my clothes again--or rather about how I look in general. I didn't think that my hips are too narrow and my shoulders are too broad, my lips are too big and my nose is too small, my belly is too big and my calves are too thin. I felt strong again. I felt positively about myself.

My class discussed gender and sexuality in H&W today. Gender stereotypes, different genders, gender identity, gender expression, different sexualities, harassment and bias, heterosexism, breaking gender stereotypes, and the changing tides of gender and sexuality in the modern world. I absolutely love talking about those things. I am always so outspoken when it comes to those topics, and a guy even talked to me after class about what I identify as and what some of my theories are. It was very engaging. I think that if I didn't go into teaching English and CW as a career, I would be a gender and sexual rights political activist. I feel so strongly about equal rights for everyone that I honestly can't label myself as a feminist. Feminism has served and still serves a purpose, but gender rights is the way of the future. So I'm pansexual and I express myself differently from day to day. My gender is primarily feminine and matches my body quite well, and I like to switch between femme and androgynous in my appearance. In the end, I don't usually even both to label myself. I often will say I'm a "dyke", but I just feel that word fits me for some reason. It's not a huge deal to me because I have always been surrounded by people who are supportive of me. My mother told me when I was younger that she would support me in loving anyone, and my grandparents tell me all the time that they just wish me the best (whatever that may be for me) and happiness. My father may never understand, but he does whatever he can to make me feel comfortable with who I am. I also know that my friends love me for who I am, not what I am. I can and will accept everything that comes with being myself.

Who is my idol, my ideal? Brody Dalle of the Distillers.



She's my hero. She has battled a lot of the same shit as me, and now she is a totally amazing badass. Her voice expresses all of the things my voice is too soft to say and let's me know that one day I will say them. I think she's drop-dead gorgeous and people who know of her say we look a lot alike. It helps--it really does. When I found out how much she weighed, it helped me learn that I don't have to be thin to be beautiful. I look at her body and think: she has a belly, she has hips, she has thighs... why shouldn't I? But, if you will also notice, she is quite muscular. She's a strong woman in every sense of the word. That is what I would like to be: strong. She is filled with so much power, and her aura exudes an intensity that can hardly be described. She isn't the modern beauty, nor is she the classic version. She's a mixture of the two, kind of like me, and that gives me hope. If I could just tell her one thing, it would be this: your words are real to me.

Beating the odds: How often do I manage to do just that? I've overcome so much, despite and perhaps inspired by the obstacles in my way. My past does not claim who I will be tomorrow, or even the next day. These are the hands of creator, these are the hands of difference. I am not who I used to be, and I will never need to be that person again. There are similarities, of course, but when you look in my eyes... don't just observe the broken soul for its surface, because that's not who I am. Hairline cracks may run through my body, through my mind even, but I am still together as a whole. Fissures have yet to split me entirely in twain, and I doubt they ever will. Please, don't tell me that I can't achieve my dreams, because I know that's a lie. I make my own future possible and, God bless me, I will have what I want.

I'm about to do homework and write some poetry. Go me!

I feel something different today. Perhaps not "beautiful," but something so akin to that word that it is uncanny, and even more so unlikely. It's surprising how much better I feel about life in general when I take care of my appearance and get things done. I just take a shower, put on fun clothes, wear a little bit of makeup, straighten and fuck-up my hair, pick out cute shoes, and smoke an accomplished cigarette after I eat. I go to class and do the work the best I can and explain my situation to my professors, and they actually care. Life can be fantastic in those little moments. Just really amazing.

Hallo, loves.

Today I cried in front of my new therapist and roommate for the first time. It felt okay, almost good, just knowing that I am surrounded by people who can't completely empathize but still care enough not to judge me. I am very, very happy with my new roommate. She's quite awesome, and not nearly as judgmental as my last one. Today when she was upset, we talked. When I was upset, we talked.

I'm really trying hard to work up the motivation to do well. I understand that I can, but shouldn't, go back to my symptoms. They're just not worth it, considering how shitty my life used to be. I mean, I'm not perfectly happy and symptom-free, but I'm doing so much better. I wouldn't wish my old ways on my worst enemy.

For the time being, I've emailed and discussed and scheduled with my professors concerning my attendance and make-up assignments. I can do this. I just need to go to class, make up my work, and do the work I owe them. Not a huge deal, just a lot of effort on my part, especially since I've never been good at either of those things. Somehow I just usually get out of them. Ehhh, it was bound to happened eventually. Just like getting busted in highschool. Fuck that, man.

I'm going to write more poetry, etc. soon, I promise. For now, I have to write a poem in iambic pentameter. Bleh.

p.s. I'm taking such better care of myself. I'll be fine. I know I will. I have to be!

"if you cannot be a poet, be the poem." 

-David Carradine

Can you even imagine what this means to me? I can barely put into words just what those words make me feel. I knew immediately after reading it that those three words would belong to me for the rest of my life. They will be a part of me forever, and therefore I will have them tattooed onto me. I'm not quite sure where yet. Perhaps in the space where my rib meets, that peculiar conjunction of bones and organs. Perhaps beneath my collar bones, where I will wear it as proudly as the heart on my sleeves. Perhaps on the delicately soft flesh of my inner arm, and I will know that there is a purpose to construction. Perhaps in the small of my back, where I know it is and few others see it--unless my pants slide down or my shirt rides up or something.

so. buttons.

yeaaah.

I was recently prescribed ritalin by my physician. That is supposedly a Good Thing, considering my history and current predicament with severe ADD. Of course, my mind being the wonderful machine that it is, the first thing I thought about was the fact that it may help me lose weight, especially if I'm still taking provigil. What. The. Fuck. Have I not tortured myself enough, punished myself enough? I mean, c'mon. So I'm at a high weight. That should be a big "whatever"--but it's not. As I lose control of my studies and have fallen into depression, the conflicting desires to lose weight and overeat take control of my mind. What am I to do? My new therapist has set new goals for me: take my meds, go to classes, work out non-compulsively, read to relax, get out my Renfrew notebook and start doing exchanges again. I would give that entire idea a mainly apathetic "mehhh."

I can be healthy again, right? I can be strong again. More muscle. I mean, I don't hate my body right now. I would like to have wider hips and a smaller waist and narrower shoulders, but hey, nobody is perfect. It's just that I really miss my muscles. Fuck being skin and bones--seriously, FUCK THAT. I'm sick of that shit. It's neither cute, nor hot, nor pretty... it's gross when you look sick. It's one thing to be naturally thin, but really, to starve or work yourself to death is just uncool. I want to start walking more, and swimming, and lifting weights. I know I shouldn't run, since that has never been healthy for me, and definitely not while I'm still smoking. For that matter, I should cut back on smoking. Maybe get my aunt's bike like I said I would.

I feel terribly guilty about wanting to lose weight. Everyone does everything they can to convince me that it's a horrid idea. I want to believe them when they tell me I still look good. One of my old teachers looked me up and down before saying with a hint of relief, "You look better." Another teacher said after I got out of Renfrew, "This is the best I've ever seen you." I know better than to take that at anything other than face value. There's no point in reading between the lines. People that I trust for the most part tell me that I'm beautiful. I want to believe them, but I can't see it. I hate these diseases for what they've turned me into. I look around, and all I can see is beautiful people. They surround me, and I feel like I don't belong. One of my friends pointed out a long time ago that I only associate with beautiful people. Why is that? I don't know. Another one of my friends tried to convince me that I'm not ugly by saying that she would never be friends with an ugly person, just in case she ends up sleeping with them and has to wake up and look at them. Comforting, right?

I just look at all of the old pictures, and while they are scary, I miss looking like that. I fit better. I was less of a burden. Actually, no, I was a pain to be around. I couldn't hold conversations or just chill and hang out without being incredibly anxious. Everyone walked on eggshells around me. They treated me differently. If anything, I was more of a burden, because they worried about me. I even made people cry for me. But they loved me differently then.

I went back to Greensboro for fall break. It broke my heart. I can't stand knowing that I can't help anymore. There's nothing that I can do. I have to acknowledge that it's out of my control; they're out of my control. I just want to fix everyone's life so that they'll never be hurt again, but I can't. I just... can't.

I miss Bekah. She would be kicking my ass right now.