I just downloaded three more songs by David Bowie, because obviously you can never have enough Bowie. I have a feeling these three are rare just because they are extra weird. "Beauty and the Beast" has an especially odd opening.

I'm not doing well, lovelies. I'm pretty mad at some of my friends for lying to me, which sings clearly of underestimation on their part, because I am no fool. In response to the shocking realization of being used by my friends, I am retreating into isolation. I am losing weight, but I don't know how much because I don't weigh myself. I barely count calories. I just look in the mirror and restrict and binge and purge and thoroughly send myself spiraling into the bowels of hell. The sad part is that this time I know is has absolutely nothing to do with how much I weigh. I honestly don't think I'm fat. It's just a coping mechanism. I can tell how much I've slimmed down, even though I wasn't fat before that. I'm just... letting go.

I write really lusty poetry these days. I'm pretty sure I'm gay. I just wish rescue-relationships were readily available.

Fuck all of this.

fuuuuck this.

today I kept down:
soymilk, an apple and a grapefruit, and two slices of bread with peanut butter.

this suuuuuucks.

I don't love you, because if I loved you, I wouldn't be ashamed of it. I don't hate you, because if I hated you, I wouldn't keep it a secret. This is somewhere in between. Like in crawlspace and attics, stuck in fiberglass and old dusty boxes--where it belongs. If I ever loved you, now isn't when. Yesterday, the day before, and that day I almost cried... they weren't the times when I loved you. Looking back at photographs, I don't wonder why my love was nameless. It was amorphous, a feeling to be kept under locks with skeleton keys, and when it escaped... it wasn't spoken with the right language. I couldn't have done the true words justice, because they weren't there. It was never there--my love. It was always just in passing, from glance to glance and note to note, because I never sang you that song. It was just the swansong of my devotion. My heart is crimson, fierce and unkempt, tangled veins and arteries interwoven as a labyrinth. My love is a phoenix and it will crawl from the ground's spindly grasp, out of damp earth and with a mouthful of remembrance. Maybe this time it won't be for you.

You'll always be with me. I will never stop caring, but tonight I feel my blood grow just a little bit colder.

GAHHHHHHHHH. DO WANT! PLEASE FOR TO HAVE KITTY!

I really, really want this kitten. I mean, shit... her name is PANCAKE and she has a huge head. It doesn't get any better than that.

Today I went to my joint therapy session with the current and the new therapist. I'm going to miss my current therapist, but the new one seems pretty bright. I didn't know how to tell her that unless I get a good vibe almost immediately then I probably won't trust her enough to focus on the issues and I'll probably lead her on a verbal wild goose chase every time I'm uncomfortable. I was surprised we didn't just cover my history, but I'm thankful as well. They had the same idea for the most part: I need to chill the fuck out and make a realistic plan that will lead me to my goals. Baby steps and such so I don't get overwhelmed like I normally do. Take my medication as routinely as possible. Journal and write and basically utilize my creativity as an outlet of expression. Maybe try a little meditation. And although that last one sounds horrid, I may try some breathing and mindfulness techniques. Golly gee, I may even go for a walk.

GOALS FOR THIS WEEK:
-clean room and den
-fold some laundry
-relaxation exercises
-journal
-sobriety
-art
-interview (Tuesday @ 8:15)

GOALS FOR WHENEVER:
-buy writing prompt book
-move back into apartment
-get a kitten
-go vegan
-get car

OVERALL GOALS:
-get a job
-keep apartment clean
-take medication
-develop routine



p.s. i feel like i'm being used.

wrapped in pale paisley drapes,
I asked you your name.
"fairweather" isn't the name
of a lover.
it's the name of a confidante
who knows no loyalty.
you painted your lips with
crushed porcelain,
dust drying your mouth and
sticking between your teeth.
standing guard in my bedroom,
you knelt before my vanity and
drove the needle home.