shaper shaped

2009-09-26T20:30:00.001-07:00

the city is blushed tonight with clouds pink and yellow as tea roses, full of smog and mist that smothers the sidewalks in thickly impenetrable layers. i am crossed as a pretzel on the wicker bench with a brown glass bottle of hard cider clenched lightly in my fingers, and i am already sunk. it's chilly and i am wrapped in plaid cotton, fringed suede, and thin denim. these are the layers of me, swathed in warm breath as i pull my knees against my chest and breath against them. on this porch, i am the king of beasts, growling at passersby and their dragging feet against cement. tonight is colder than i am willing to admit, and i can feel my collarbone, my clavicle, my ribs as i bend in two against my legs. spindly, alien fingers seem distant as i pull the bottle to my lips and take another swallow. it doesn't burn to slide down my throat, only settles heavy in my gut. alice in wonderland misplaced in the rundown historic district of a college city. begging, "eat me, drink me," but i am a different sort of fool. better to be stuck in the puzzle than to discover a displeasing answer.

this is how i've spent my nights, but soon...

laughing, the tug of joy at my vocal chakra. the speaker, the speaker, the woman who loves with her words, presses her mouth to your core and says "i love you" as you die. and that is the ultimate high.

2009-09-23T17:55:00.000-07:00

yes yes yes.

i got the job!

and heather said yes!!!

i can't wait for therapy. :/

2009-09-21T13:51:00.000-07:00

My eating disorder of choice is looking very, very tempting right now. Actually scratch that, because it's all I want. I'm going to do it, I know I am. I've been teetering on the edge, but this is where I take the plunge. Cue perfection, cue purity, cue solidity. I know how the transition works, I've taken it before. I'm just going to start purging all of the impure foods until I'm golden. Everyone already knows I'm bulimic, that I've been anorexic, so orthorexia will just look like recovery to everyone except my mother. I tried calling my nutritionist again, but she didn't answer, which seems to mean that I'm on my own. I told my substance abuse therapist today that there is really no point in me going if I'm not going to even try to change my behavior. As long as I'm not snorting pills and coke or taking painkillers... I'm fine. I really am. I can handle drinking. Hell, with orthorexia by my side, I'll probably quit drinking, maybe even quit smoking. I won't use sweeteners, I'll go back to my rule about sugars, and I will go back to my meal plan. The work outs will get better. No more of this weakness. No more of this frailty. I know better. Purity calls my name incessantly. I will lose weight. I will stop this bullshit. I will become bone and muscle once more. I will be strong and fierce and brutal.

I'm going to plan this perfectly. Properly. Efficiently.

(why me?)

2009-09-20T18:29:00.000-07:00

beautiful world.

such dreams.

2009-09-16T06:08:00.000-07:00

i made a mistake. i am an alcoholic and alcohol is my gateway drug. i drank a forty last night, which was fine except for the fact that i was drinking to escape the situation with heather. i wasn't super drunk and i was going to spend the night at a friend's house, but as i was about to fall asleep i saw a bottle of pills. a bottle of dexedrine, and i was foolish enough to take two. i stole two of the pills, snorting half of one and ingesting the rest. i couldn't fall asleep, and so i started to drive home. as i was about to hit the interstate i realized that i had just fucked my ability to test clean on a drug screening, which is necessary for the job i may be getting. i just checked a few web sites and it could test positive up to five days afterward, which probably won't apply in my case because this is the first time i've done a stimulant in ages, but still. that's five days of unrest in case i get called for another interview, and i'm hoping i do. the only thing i can do now is drink lots of water and coffee to keep the cycle going, eat plenty of fiber, and do lots of cardio. i am so disappointed in myself.

but, there's a bright side. when i got back to winston around six, i drove around while listening to music (the indigo girls) and it occurred to me that the aa meeting at unity started soon. i went, and the topic was "doing the next right thing," with a side of discussion of financial troubles. perfect. i listened intently (still a little wired, but also interested) and spoke up very last. i admitted that while i had picked up a white chip last night, i would need to do so again this morning. i told them the truth--the truth that matters and not the easy truth like i'm prone to tell. i told them that i can't afford to run the risk of relapse anymore. i haven't hit bottom lately, but i've hit something and i'm glad i hit it running with enough force to bounce back. i'm relieved almost to know that i'm an alcoholic/addict now. i don't have to worry about all the what if's and other possibilities. i don't have to flip between being ok or not with drinking. i have a problem. drinking is not a viable option for me. i'm bipolar so it fucks with my moods. i'm eating disordered so it fucks with my eating. i'm underage so it's illegal. i'm an addict so it's a stepping stone. it might be ok for my friends, but i have to accept the fact that while we are all god's children, we are not created to be exactly the same. equal, yes, but not identical. i have a problem with drinking and drugs whereas other people might have a problem with... i dunno... other things. it happens.

i took a white chip when the chips were awarded and got three numbers after the meeting, one of which is MY NEW SPONSOR. we talked for thirty minutes. after i told her that i have other issues with "y'know eating and stuff" and asked if i could call her when i'm feeling tempted to act out on those behaviors, she told me she was also anorexic/bulimic and in recovery. she struggled with coke, and even got in a car wreck while on xanax like i did. she actually hit another car, but still. and she's bipolar! i think i might be her first sponsee, but we agreed that it was really uncanny and god's work that we met, etc. she doesn't have an intimidating amount of sobriety, so this is a good fit. she told me to try to eat something, drink some water, and try getting some rest. i'm going to meet her at another aa group tonight after treatment. even though i fucked up, i feel really good about the future, even though i know i have to deal with consequences of my actions. i can just move through them and past them, learn from them but don't repeat them. i can let go without losing control.

there's always a chance to do the next right thing.

2009-09-15T12:37:00.000-07:00

I'm not surprised anymore. I'm not an alcoholic, I'm barely an addict. I just have problems. I'm just nineteen and learning my limits. No one should do coke. No one should abuse pills. It happens, but it shouldn't. Big fucking deal.

I slept in today. It was really, really nice. I might get the server position at the retirement home. The interview went well. I wasn't even that nervous. I've been doing fine, fine, fine... so why am I upset? I feel brainwashed, drained of energy, I need to work out again. So what? I'm fine.

I went grocery shopping earlier. It wasn't that bad. I just get nervous about money. I basically bought salad gear, which is cool, but I also bought quinoa and dry beans. I'm going to have a staple diet soon, so boring but whatever. At least I'm cheap, cheap, cheap. I am economically sound, save for cigarettes, coffee, and shopping at thrift stores. I am fine.

It's true. I'm fine. I promise.

2009-09-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

meh meh meh.

i have a grocery list but no money.
i have a grocery list but no plans.

FML!

basically, i want debra.

2009-09-10T22:07:00.001-07:00

new plan. fall in line, bitch.

2009-09-09T20:55:00.000-07:00

what i have to look forward to:

-friends
-family
-pets
-a fresh life in an old city
-returning to school
-turning twenty
-getting my writing published
-finding a career that fits me
-developing
-being stable
-being clean & sober
-finding new ways to have fun
-pride in myself
-a content life
-thrift shopping
-learning how to use my camera
-catnaps with the curtains drawn
-layering for fall and winter
-new tattoos and piercings
-being someone's role model
-setting a good example
-motherhood?
-finding a life partner
-knowing that I am just enough
-feeling worthy of the world
-driving with the windows down
-driving with the bass cranked
-grabbing coffee
-looking cute

I am fierce. I am a complex beast. I'm feral, wonky, silly, beautiful, extreme, contradictory, gentle, surrealist, comical, absurd, intelligent, vulgar, crude, intellectual, eloquent, elegant, edgy, dark, brooding, sarcastic, irritable, bright, cheery, and so much more. God, the list lasts forever, and I will spend my lifetime discovering new sides of myself. Could I ask for anything more interesting? Even if I only make tiny discoveries every day, that is a task I would like to set myself to. I will learn to love what I find in myself each and every day.

I thank God for the person I am today and tomorrow.

After all: create, change, destroy. Perhaps we become existence as we know it when time fades. All we have is slipping away. Cherish the non-belongings. Love what is within and surrounding, because it too will disappear one day. I've lost no less and no more in the end. I've lost myself, and I will find myself someday. It is as it is to be.

EDIT: i want so much out of life, but nothing more than i know it has to offer. here i am, having used up the last of the painkillers given to me in the ER, talking about potential... but no matter how hypocritical this seems, it's true. tomorrow is a new day. i don't know how many times i've told myself that. innumerable times. but, the hope is still there, and i have what i need to move forward. tomorrow morning i will go to AA, or NA, and i will begin again. there are so many beginnings that i've missed out on. why not start saving myself? surrender these pains to God, and allow myself to be filled with blessings, of which i know many. i have hope. beyond that, i have love. to me, the meaning of life is love. love for that which is within and around you... maybe somewhere further and in between. love likes to hide beyond the curtain of stars and in the crawlspace of abandoned houses. this is where i find joy, and in joy there is love as well. i imagine what i cannot see. the constellations and satellites, the edgy world that exists just close enough to raise the hair on my arms. God... you've given me what i need, and it is my choice to use these tools for better instead of worse.

tomorrow will be composed of AA/NA, treatment, healthy meals/snacks, making soup and seitan for group, journaling, and hanging out with Heather. maybe even talking to her about going out sometime for coffee, etc. mostly, tomorrow will be composed of honesty.

2009-09-08T17:22:00.001-07:00

i have crawled
hands and knees
to worship at your feet
beneath your altar
your throne

but i have reached you
crept up thine legs
a parasite set into flesh
sucking every drop
dry
where once was none but
wet wet wet

and i choke down
manna
hel's blood
icy waters so bitter
searing like fire
filling me
my lungs
my everything

you are all i need
everything that hurts me

2009-09-06T20:22:00.001-07:00

ok, so far the diagnosis is: yeast infection, urinary tract infection, and colonitis.

I'd say I'm doing pretty awesome. /sarcasm

I spent six hours in the ER today. Basically I have a nasty vag and they gave me percocet for the stomach pains, which are probably related to the above diagnoses. I was crying and doubling over and shaking from the pain. It was awful, but now that I'm doped up on percocet, the pain is gone and I'm just sleepy. This is okay compared to the severe and excruciating pain. Even if a male doctor shoved a diaphragm in my vag... s'cool. All is well that ends well.

I have the ideas for my next two tattoos in line. They'll be my lionheaded girl and my favorite Voltaire quote. I miiight get the lionheaded girl from my mother for christmas. I can also ask Debra (my old nutritionist) if she'll see me for half the normal rate, like she used to. Because it's true, I need to see a nutritionist if I'm going to be vegan, bodybuilding, etc. God, I feel so stoned. No wonder these are level whatever restricted drugs. Guhhh.

I might see Kelly soon. I mean, I love Ginny to death, but KELLY!!!! Ohmygosh, it would be so cool and nice to have at least one session with her again. To be able to see Debra and have a couple of sessions with Kelly would be so great. I don't think I'll leave Ginny for awhile, or until I feel comfortable with my clean/sober life.

2009-09-05T17:23:00.000-07:00

ouuccchhh. a UTI plus overactive stomach acid equals paaaiiin.

i got an invitation for a BYOB/BEYK party, which is bound to be fucking awesome, but but but... i'm sober. :/

i could always bring tall heather and some other kids and let them go crazy.

p.s. i truly adore tall heather.

2009-09-05T00:29:00.000-07:00

i might have an ulcer, but i also haven't passed gas in quite awhile. fuuuck. achiest tummy everrr.

i love my kelsey and my heathers.

2009-09-03T12:15:00.000-07:00

my tummy hurts so bad. i think it's either excess air or i drank to much coffee or just a stomachache or cramps. i dunno. those are a bunch of explanations, actually. i went to another aa meeting today. i got like three numbers just after the meeting.

now i've changed outfits for the bazillionth time today. it's currently dark skinny jeans, black ruffly heels, and a pink cropped jacket with black trim. i think i look pretty cute. i've done my makeup, a.k.a. put on mascara, foundation, and lipgloss. i'm wearing my new contacts. my hair is growing back quite rapidly. i dunno. just... feeling good, other than the tummy ache. mehhhh. it feels a little better now that i've had more than just breakfast and coffee. i only had half a serving of tempeh and a small apple, but that is better than nothing and i'm glad as hell. my binging has been halfhearted as of late, which is a neutral sign of a)eating better, and b)my emotional turmoil. ewww. i can see my pulse in my stomach right now. grossy gross. only a little less than an hour before I head over to treatment... Woo.

I'm so bored lately. Bored bored bored. It's all I can do not to lose my mind and go party party party in Greensboro. I'm worried that I'll never get over substance abuse. I just... I want to be magically cured of addictive defects so that i may use my substances freely and without consequence.

GAHHHHH. so much free time. D:

EDIT:
i want to be numb. numb and pure, free from emotions and feelings.... just clean and strong. short, brutal words for complex people. i am a feral beast with no emotions, only instincts, and my survival is my only concern. fuck everything. fuck me and fuck you. this isn't anger; this is rage. my fire burns holes in my mind. no fear, no regrets.

2009-09-02T10:28:00.000-07:00

I'm happy today. I've already been to one AA meeting, and I'll go back for another at 5:30. I had breakfast just a few minutes ago, so I waited too long, but at least I ate. I've realized that while I eat regularly, take my meds, and maintain a decent sleep schedule... I am waaay less likely to act out and engage in symptoms. I thank goodness for that. Yeah, I'm eating mechanically, but at least I'm eating and not engaging my eating disorder, substance abuse, etc.

B:
-oatmeal
-blueberries
-toast
-peanut butter
-skim milk

I already rode the stationary bike downstairs for a little bit (I'm going very light on cardio because I'm not comfortable with doing a "cutting" phase yet for fear of going batshit insane with it), but I discovered that I can do a clean and jerk 10x45lb. I'm so fucking proud of myself. This is a new thing for me. I used to do obnoxious amounts of cardio and isolated strengthening exercises for hours on end at tiny weights and resistance, but this is just amazing. I mean, I CAN DO A 45lb BACK SQUAT. I am a pretty strong motherfucker. Eventually I'll be able to bench press my full body weight and more since I actually have no clue what I weigh, but um, I'll just keep adding the weights. I know I need someone to spot me, so I really need to get that gym membership.

Jesus! What am I going to do with myself for an entire semester before I go back to school? What. The. Butt. I'm going to turn in some crazy gymrat.

EDIT:
getting a sponsor is waaay too fucking complicated. god fucking damn. :/

EDIT:
I GOT A TEMPORARY SPONSOR. She is awesome. She is just absolutely awesome. I'm just afraid I look a complete fool every time I open my mouth. I know looks can be deceiving, so I'm used to this. I have facial piercings and a shaved head and I wear stupid outfits, but the moment I open my mouth, I just get foolish. We're talking high-pitched and baby-voiced stupidity. I just get so nervous! I'm surprised she actually said yes. I don't really need a sponsor except to work steps. I don't get real temptations to use... I just, I don't know... I want to? I kind of crave it.

2009-09-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

I'm a little surprised at how hard this is becoming. I always go in at a 10 and end up around a 6, which is enough to keep going but makes commitment a little more difficult. I'm struggling... I really am. I need some help. I want some love. I'm falling apart but I have to keep the mask on, have to keep faking until surreality become reality. I want a sponsor, to go to meetings, to go to treatment and therapy... just 24/7. I want to be occupied and never have to be alone ever again. I need constant external stimulation or I lose my mind. I'm going to sleep.

2009-08-31T06:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll go back to Unity for AA again today at 10:30, then I go to another one at 5:30, and therapy is around 1 or 2. That's pretty good. Apparently I can just go to Unity everyday except Saturday, but that's when there's the Young People's Group, Early Bird, and Ten-Thirty Group so that's cool I guess. I'm supposed to go to just three a week, so maybe I can stock up and just not go later? Is that bad? Hahaha... do I care?

I'm actually pretty excited. This is like a whole new world, a new place and time for my life to begin anew, and that's pretty cool with me. I wonder if Niki (the lady from the meeting yesterday who gave me her number) will be there today. Gahhh, why am I awake already? At least I can tell Ginny I've gone to meetings. She'll probably be proud of me, or call me out and say I should have been doing to begin with. My mother and I have come to the agreement that she is a total sweetheart. OH MAN, I can tell her I got a dog, but it's turning out really well and not how she expected! Fuck yeah, man. I just want everyone to be proud of me--myself included.

EDIT:
I went to another AA meeting. Okay, therapy in little over an hour at 2. I hate waiting, but at least my dog (am I ever going to quit gushing?) is keeping me company. Ugh, tonight's dinner is going to be awful. It's all foods I would normally binge on, so I might just cook for myself. I won't get out of treatment until 8:30 anyways. I should probably eat now, but... Guhguhguh, I've had too much coffee and therefore feel like food is not even close to my top priority. So, I've been thinking that maybe I should go back to school next semester. Maybe by then I'll have another little place of my own and just go to GTCC and keep a part-time job, etc. I liked living on my own as long as I was taking my meds and, y'know, just taking care of myself. I really want that new tattoo. I'm so glad I shaved my head. It does look really, really good on me... even if it will not help me while getting a job. Surely SOMEONE will just be like, "OMG YOU'RE GORGEOUS AND AWESOME, and BTW YOUR HAIR (OR LACK THEREOF HAHAHAHAHAHA) IS BEAUTIFUL!!! WORK FOR ME. :D" I think I think I'm hilarious but I'm really just lame.

EDIT:
Back from therapy! I am so digging Ginny today, or rather, now that I'm back on my meds and cooperative again. GUHHH. I just ate this piece of cherry candy. I don't know why I picked cherry since there were lemon and peppermints candies too. It tasted like cough syrup and had a nasty syrupy center. I ate a slice of cornbread and some pintos. I'd already had a ton of lentils and rice and a grapefruit. I'm saying that counts as lunch, regardless of the lack of real vegetables. Guhhh... I have had sooooo much coffee. My stomach hates me is basically what I'm saying. I'm still amazed that I can do 45lb back squat 5x. It's... so bad ass. UGHHH. I go to another AA meeting at 5:30, which ends at 6:30, at which point I have the treatment meeting. Dean is even out of town, so Terry is subbing, which basically means I hate her lectures and leadership and I don't want to go. She's not a horrible person; she is just really boring, which is totally okay. To add insult to insult, tonight is a FAMILY MEETING, so my mom is coming while my grandparents go to an al-anon meeting. This is so ridiculous. It's one thing to be supportive and go to therapy with me every once in awhile, but jesusjoseph&mary, this is insane! It's actually kind of embarrassing. Gah! I only have thirty more minutes of freedom. My mom is in therapy right now with the therapist my old therapist recommended. Apparently her therapist is suuuper touchy-feely, which makes me feel a hell of a lot better about the fact that Ginny seems to feel compelled to pat me on the back or hug me after every session. I just don't like trite displays of affection. I MEAN, FOR REAL. Oh, I almost forgot to say that I saw Dave at the AA meeting earlier and he asked me what I would have said if I'd spoken about the topic of vigilance. I didn't really know what to say, but I knew what I wanted to say, so I rambled a bit. I said something about how I have to set boundaries and lay down the law, plus some other stuff. I forgot to say that I have to constantly be honest and call myself out while allowing others to do the same. I'm pretty sure my poor dog has fleas. Blah blah blah. This is my version of journaling, and that is so, so sad.

2009-08-30T19:30:00.000-07:00

Hero, Keep Hope

Somewhere,
maybe in a place beyond my seeing,
the sun is rising
and turning the morning sky
from midnight to blushing.
Russet boughs
curve to hold
the pale limbs of my being
and I feel
weightless.
Someone,
maybe with a voice I’ve forgotten,
once suggested
lovers are born to suffer.
But while the sun’s breath
reaches down to caress
the sweep of my brow,
I cannot believe
that life is suffering,
but that life is
beauty as we know it.
Because of the neutral,
the gentle going
and the youthful changelings,
I do not long for perfection.
I want nothing more
than what should be,
no matter what it may bring to me.

2009-08-30T05:08:00.000-07:00

why am I awake? it's so fucking early. it's like eight in the morning and i don't think i fell asleep until around four. what the butt.

i had the weeeiiiirdest dreams. i broke into my old apartment and got busted, but the lady was really nice, even though i think she called the cops. and i saw my highschool and some teachers i don't know. some of them were just frew crew girls, and one of them looked like my favorite waitress from the diner i used to be a waitress at. i saw my college roommate and her friend, the guy i slept with for awhile. my favorite part was probably how fucking haggard my principal looked. seriously hilarious. i have such dramatic/funny dreams! i'm just going to blame sobriety and medications.

i think my dog woke me up by making noises in her sleep. i took her outside and she just ate grass. goddammit.

I NEED TO GO TO AA MEETINGS. guhguhguh.

EDIT:
i went to an aa meeting! at nine in the morning! woo fuckin' hoo! i even spoke up and talked a bit. i got a nice lady's number and she said to call her before i drink... as in, i can still drink, but call her first, which obviously means i won't drink afterward because i would feel horrible. everyone seemed so sweet and a bunch of people talked to me after the meeting was over. i really, really want to get a hold on myself. this war is everlasting, but i can win the battles day by day. admitting to a group of strangers that i'm a bipolar eating disordered addict always brightens my mood. ...ha.

EDIT:
I went to Salem Lake with my dog. She just kind of sniffed around. I don't know if she likes water. It certainly would make baths simpler. On a bright note, I can do a 45lb back squat. Basically, I can squat the weight of a (very) small child. How awesome, am I right? I'm pretty sure I need coffee and chocolate right now, but I don't really do chocolate, so maybe a mocha? 24oz soy mocha sans whip? Sounds sooo good. It's so fucking hot here and I still have cold hands and feet. At least I had an excuse when I was anorexic. But... fuck this. I can't believe how silly all of this is. I FEEL LIKE SUCH A LOSER. I'm looking at old photos and it's like watching a train wreck.

2009-08-29T19:19:00.001-07:00

I'm so emotional and periodic. My dog was tragically happy to see me when I got back from getting coffee. It makes me so sad. We're going to be the most codependent couple ever. I have to type without moving my arm because she is lying on it.

I'm so exhausted. I might be anemic. I don't know.

I ate pretty well today, I guess. I JUST WANT TO BE MS. OLYMPIA. Didn't y'all get that memo? Mia for Ms. Olympia!

2009-08-29T10:35:00.000-07:00

I can do a 45lb clean and jerk 3x (10x at 30lb) and a 30lb back squat around 10x. I've gotta say that even though I'm just beginning, I feel pretty good. I'm trying valiantly not to hurt myself accidentally. I don't know... Is this healthy? I need to ask Ginny. I wish I was still seeing Debra, but we didn't actually talk about nutrition and fitness that often. It's kind of the general consensus that I know my shit and just have to choose to help myself, which is kind of true and kind of complicated, e.g. my declination of keeping hydrated despite my knowledge of its benefits. Sometimes I wish I could feign ignorance, that blissful state of illogical whimsy. But I can't. Still, at least my grammar needs a good brushing up. That's something.

EDIT:
Let me just say that I am proud of my body. It has done more than I deserve. It has treated me well, and I believe it will treat me even better when I learn to give it what it needs. So far, so good.

from the depth
of bone deep churning
crawls the cadaver
distant
mourning
she keeps her head
held high in awe
of the beautiful world
she bid farewell
best wishes
and peace elapsing
beneath her
feet
of the ram
the rhyme
space and time
she snaps
collapsing

2009-08-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

my baby is home!

I'm watching Scrubs and she's lying on my bed. She is being suuuper calm about all of this and just trots after me everywhere I go. I am definitely head over heels for this dog. I've got to be strong so I can stay here and take care of her. I can't go inpatient. I need to be here for her. I've got to make the rest of her days happy and peaceful and fun. I have to make sure I'm taking care of myself. She is another reason why I need to recover and be healthy. This is a great example of taking care of myself for others. Because even when you live for others, it's better than not living at all.

2009-08-26T00:03:00.000-07:00

oh god. tonight is the end.

tonight i take my meds.

tomorrow?
-pills
-coffee
-meal plan
-work out
-meeting(s)

my grandmother bought me brown rice, grapefruits, and lentils.

they gave me a nicely sized puke bucket for my room.

this is so ridiculous. I HAVE A PUKE BUCKET?!

2009-08-24T23:11:00.000-07:00

... so, i'm in love with this girl.

2009-08-20T19:12:00.000-07:00

Tonight was the my second night of treatment. The director, whom I believe is a very caring and gentle person, asked me to speak about what he and I had spoken about after yesterday's meeting. We had spoken about my fear of recovering from substance abuse because focusing on it may cause my eating disorder to slip out of therapeutic focus and therefore out of control. I actually spoke my mind. And the world didn't fall apart AND/OR explode. Everyone was actually really, really nice and open and awesome. They were even encouraging and supportive... maybe even a wee bit helpful.

I'm going to keep going to IOP. I'm going to go to NA and AA meetings. I'm going to keep seeing a therapist, whether it be Ginny or Kelly once Kelly comes back. And if all of this isn't enough, I'll find an IP program that fits me... and I'll go inpatient. Because I can do this, and I believe in myself, I will do this. If I can, I deserve to give myself a chance.

I have a problem and I will find the solution.

...Even if the solution might not involve becoming a vegan bodybuilder. I'll give it a go.

2009-08-13T20:00:00.000-07:00

i just woke up. i mean that literally, of course.

i think what really bothered me was that my therapist didn't seem to understand that i am so, so heavy with guilt and shame. it's not even my trauma in a way. i was just the one that let it happen, or at least i feel that way, and now i live with that. every day, or every day that i think about it, i just feel weak and stupid. it doesn't matter that i was only a little kid. i knew better, and i should have handled it better.

i should have been able to save her, but i couldn't, so i force myself to pay the price tenfold. even i can tell you that. i just care so deeply that it really does hurt. my entire body hurt earlier, tiny spasms tightening my muscles until i was wound so tight i thought i would just snap in two.

it's not like i can even tell her, "i'm sorry. we were just kids."

it's just not one of those things.

so i'm here, reaching a final stage as a catalyst, becoming the warrior, the archangel, the protector, the savior. i am no survivor, but you can bet your life that i will be here to help the survivors through. i will sacrifice everything and give my all in penance for my weakness.

...i'm sorry. i was weak, but now i'm strong. i couldn't help you end it, but i'll help you finish it. i'll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again.

now i can help. please, let me make it better.

2009-08-13T13:05:00.001-07:00

i just told my therapist one of my worst worst worst secrets.

...after the session ended, and she told me to wait two years.

fuck traumas. fuck crying.

fuck bodies and the corporeal reality that binds them!

CREATE. CHANGE. DESTROY.

RINSE & REPEAT.

2009-08-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

dear body and particularly muscles,

today, for breakfast i had:

1 cup oatmeal made with 1 cup soymilk + 1 scoop soy protein powder + 1 tbsp honey... and some other stuff, most of which involved soy.

next time you think of crapping out on me, think about what i went through for you this morning. no, i haven't slept since yesterday, but for the love of god, that oatmeal was atrocious.

considering the things i go through for you, and the things you go through for me... we make a pretty decent combo. with my whatever and your stuff, it's a pretty good deal we've got going.

right? right.

xoxo
Mia

p.s. thanks and everything, i guess. just watch yourself. :D

2009-08-13T00:20:00.000-07:00

oh. god.

someone remind me why i bother trying to communicate to people in the body-building community?

because they are such, such dicks.

really, if i want to be talked down to like i'm a frigging piece of shit under your shoe, i'll talk to my parents.

thanks.

2009-08-12T15:25:00.000-07:00

"So we're ok, we're fine
Baby I'm here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed"
-Emily Saliers, Power of Two

I called the guy for the IOP program. I think it's four days a week, three hours monday and two hours the rest of the time. Hopefully even I can focus that long. Hopefully even I won't need a cigarette during that time. I'm super proud of myself for handling the intake on this one. We scheduled a meeting on Tuesday at 10 a.m. and I really hope I can wake up in time.

I have the family session tomorrow, rescheduled to 2 p.m. so my grandmother can finish feeding hungry people in time. I really do love how my grandfather still works full-time and my grandmother is still a busy-bee at her church and volunteering for all of these things. Sometimes it bugs me, like when I wake up and I wonder where the fuck everyone is, but then I remember that they are off saving the world and I just make a pot of coffee for myself and call my mother. She is inevitably battling the dogs and almost dying of heat-stroke doing something productive, like working in the yard or around the house or whatever.

Me? I just hang out and write, get/drink coffee, work out and sleep. And cruise around listening to music.

I'm really starting to appreciate my body. Like, holy shit. I'm actually bulking up quite quickly. It would be scary if it weren't just so damn nifty. Within a week or two, my arms and shoulders have gone insane. My legs are getting there, but it's going to take awhile for me to actually support making my legs more muscular. They're naturally that way for the most part, just a little too tiny/lanky to be connected to the rest of my body. So, while it makes sense to bulk them up like my arms, I just can't get that idea to click. I should be biking more, but but but... I don't want my butt to get any more boyish. Seriously, this is the weirdest struggle ever.

Bulimia is still kicking my ass, but I'm hanging in there. I'm hoping going to this IOP program will give me the boost I need in all venues of my recovery.

I'm glad I can still wear a AA sports bra when I'm actually somewhere around a C. It makes me laugh.

I'm also glad that all of my quotes are from the Indigo Girls.

2009-08-10T10:30:00.000-07:00

Sooo... I made the call to the guy that handles admissions into the substance abuse IOP program. Ginny kind of "nudged" me into doing it. She just walked out and told me to call him. I kind of realized I could fake-call him, but I didn't really want to. I hate calling people I don't know (and some that I even do), so she let me write a sort of script. I went into pleasant social-worker mode and just kind of knocked it out, but it was really uncomfortable.

I'm starting to really like Ginny. She's assertive and honest, like telling me how she could relate to me as an only child that was brought-up to think that she should rely mostly, if not only, on herself. She's had her own struggles with substance abuse. I just wish she acted more like she understood how fucking much I struggle with my eating disorders. I mean, seriously, they were my life for a long period of time. I know she's concerned, but I was used to Kelly, who was awesome awesome awesome with keying into what was underneath all of the crazy cycles I went through. With Ginny, it's more goal orientated. Like, I'm expected to take responsibility and GET SHIT DONE. For real real. She is also very forthright in telling me when she is in the right of sharing her own truths and when I am overstepping my boundaries. Like today when she said something about my laugh that involved an adjective I find particularly uncomfortable, regardless of it being positive. She told me I can be uncomfortable, but she was speaking from her own truth. I, of course, made nice and apologized, etc., but it actually made sense. She doesn't tiptoe or walk on eggshells around me. She gives me a lot of credit, maybe more than I think I deserve. She actually said she was proud of me. She actually teared up a little bit... which, of course, made me cry. I explained so much to her, like how I was raised to be a feminist and a fierce little monster with no weakness, but how in reality I am just so fucking complex with so many different facets, that even I find my self confusing.

We have a session with my grandparents and my mother on Thursday. And, I'd just like to take this time and space to give that a big GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. I even explained to her how I have to maintain a certain front and balance of certain energies and play a certain part to cooperate in a family session, or I shut down. I just... Shut. Down. Kind of like the stereotypical humanoid robot shutting down. I just collapse and crumple and become so indifferent and numb.

In conclusion, I like Ginny.

And I don't think mirror pics are that bad if you're taking them with a Canon Rebel.
I feel like the Canon Rebel cancels out the shitty idea of mirror pics. AND LOOK HOW CUTE I AM. How can you hate on me when I'm just so damn adorable?

p.s. Ginny asked me "por que" today and I had to do my little "SCORE!!!" hand-motion it was beautiful, trust me.

2009-08-10T08:15:00.000-07:00

no matter what, i will not miss looking like an awkwardly lanky horse.

therapy soon soon at twelve. need to get coffee first.

i went to the club last night with my ex guy-thing, a girl i've slept with, her boyfriend whom i've made out with, and our mutual and adorable friend. he was the cuuutest thing up on the platforms. me and the girl were up there for awhile. i lost track of my ex. he was an awkward dancer.

2009-08-08T18:28:00.000-07:00

sometimes i think eating disorders are religious cults.

like tonight, where i just ate a caesar salad, pita with hummus, boca chik'n patty, and glass of sweet tea. it was one of the most moving feelings i've had in quite awhile.

it's like some bizarrely devout form of edible catholicism.

...i think i'm falling back in love with my once-beloved camera, the rebel rebel.

2009-08-08T16:32:00.000-07:00

"and i get down on my knees
and i pray the same as you"
-Amy Ray, Let it Ring

sometimes i feel beautiful. i look in the mirror and i think that this is really what all the fuss is about, because it's true--i'm beautiful. i have such dramatic features, such a fierce and delicate composure of plush lips and sharp teeth. i look in the mirror and i flex and i turn to the side and i turn around to look at my butt and i stretch my legs out and i flex some more. i turn my face in every direction, and i really do think i'm beautiful. i make faces at myself, and even the snarls are beautiful. even the imperfections are endearing, and i think that seeking mates must be more than just seeking symmetry. sometimes, these things are what keep me going. other times, it's the desire to see these things, to know that i am strong and perfect and the best i can be, but when i can just look at myself, just run my hands over my body and feel my skin, those are the times when i am happy. sometimes i am just happy to be in my body, to be my self. i am not a brain, and i am not a body, and i am not my mind. i am a composition of all of these things mixed together, feeling and chemistry mixed together in a way that makes me tick tick tick through life. sometimes i accept life for what it throws my way, and for being beautiful despite (or because of) the fact that it can be so gruesome. it is intense. but, i have the chance to love myself, and i promise for my own sake that i will grasp that love in my hands as tightly as possible. i will squeeze every drop of love from life, and i will go past the present and into the future, knowing that i have done the best that i know.

voltaire spoke truly when he said,
"we're neither pure; nor wise; nor good;
we do the best we know."

i have chosen recovery, as voluntarily as i can choose to sacrifice such a leeching part of myself. i have chosen hope and happiness and health. i have chosen to love myself, to support myself and accept the support of others. i have chosen strength and pride.

i know i can do this because i believe in myself. i am dedicating myself, i am devoted to myself, and i am doing the best i know.

2009-08-07T19:52:00.000-07:00

I have the idea for my new tattoo almost ready, hence the sketch above. It will be a muscular female body with a (male) lion's head. She will be in a stance almost as if braced for impact and battle, so feet apart, etc. She will be the symbol for my becoming/being a lion-hearted girl. It will be a gift to myself for battling through recovery and general life struggles, a symbol of all I overcame in the past and all I'll overcome in the future. I just need to get an artist to come up with a plausible rendition, get it priced, get the moneys, and get it done! Hell yes!

so, today I've quite randomly had in this order: a chik'n patty (protein), oatmeal (starch and protein) with skim milk (dairy protein) and soy protein powder (obvious protein), a tuna salad sandwich (starch, fat, protein), and a slice of bread (starch) with peanut butter (fat, protein). I'm back in protein-loading mode, apparently... which I guess is okay. The only parts I'm missing (and I mean missing as in, damn, I wish I had these) are fruits and veggies. Because of my grandparent's bizarre grocery lists, I have managed to get nothing but small amounts of bananas, strawberries, and blueberries in my system for the entire time I've been back. The only vegetables are nasty, nasty salad mixes or unfrozen stir-fry. I told my grandmother today that I need some fucking grapefruits and blackberries... like, ASAP. She said something about how she'll pick me up some blackberries and a few grapefruits next time she goes shopping. What. The. Butt. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? There are probably some old canned peaches or pears hidden in the cabinet, and I know there are some applesauce-like substances in the fridge, but I NEED FRESH PRODUCE. It's a source of hydration and natural sugars for me, which is good because I rarely use actual sugar, and I have a seemingly moral opposition to drinking water. Haha, this is the dumbest little rant in history. Waaaah, I want fruit. I'm such a little bitch. And on the subject of vegetables, it's weird that I even want vegetables. I kind of dislike most of them, except for: carrots, broccoli, water chestnuts, cauliflower, spinach, and romaine lettuce. All other vegetables (except for delicious ones that I've forgotten) can burn in hell.

On a more normal note, I'm so proud of myself. I'm eating better (even if in a weird, weird way) and working out. Actually, I'm improving greatly with each day as far as working out goes. I just feel like I need to up the endurance aspect to a more marathon style, but I dislike the idea greatly.

This is where the rest of that paragraph would go if I hadn't deleted it after I typed it... because it was silly. It was about strength vs. endurance and all that shit. I just don't care enough. Maybe that's the problem. I lack motivation? I sure don't feel that way. It's probably my need for immediate gratification.

Blah blah blah. I see Ginny on Monday. I get to tell her about my accepting the need for treatment. And the tattoo idea. And my missing Kelly. And my working out. AND ALL OF THIS RANDOM-ASS POSITIVITY.

...where the fuck are these moods coming from?

I <3 BEING BIPOLAR.

2009-08-07T00:42:00.000-07:00

i must become
a lion-hearted girl
ready for a fight
before i make
the final sacrifice

new tattoo, anyone?

2009-08-06T18:41:00.000-07:00

It's official: I have a problem. I have a drug-related problem, and I'm going to change that. I'm going back into treatment, probably a local OP program and insurance will apparently cover it.

On a brighter note, I discovered one of the best mixes I've ever heard, which I will share. The sixth song ("Rabbit Heart"/"Raise It Up") is one of my all-time favorites now. It's... stunning. I hear the video rocks, too.

I'm scared, but now is the time to become stronger. I'm working out again... mostly weight training, but that's what I need right now. I'll run when I give a shit. I want my muscles back. I need that protection, that cover, that defense. I need my security and safety. I need my own armor and I will have it.

I'm not eating as much, but I'm eating strangely.

I don't know. This is a lot of uncharted territory as far as I'm concerned.

2009-08-03T09:24:00.001-07:00

okay, so even though I fucking hate being stuck in Winston, it's not like I was even hanging out with my friends that much before I came back... it's not like anyone really noticed my sudden shift of geographical location.

I went to the club with Heather the other night. She got us free tickets to a strip club, a fact I find quite hilarious. I've never actually been to a strip club. I'm expecting a drunken night of grit and grime to ensue, honestly.

There are a few bright sides. I'm getting back into weight training. I really could give less of shit about cardio right now. I want to quit smoking before I start sprinting again, just because I hate that winded, "coughing up shit from the last five years" feeling. I think I'm coming to terms with the fact that I will never be pretty-tiny. When I was at my lowest weight, I looked weird--just straight-up freakish. I would much rather be solid and strong anyways. That's what really makes me jealous... Like my aunt that can bike 300 miles a week and looks like she's only in her mid-thirties max. I just want to be... toned? Defined? I don't know if that's a healthy mindset or not. Part of me really doesn't give a shit as long as I'm not binging/purging, etc.

I go to therapy soon. I'm seeing Ginny twice a week for two half-sessions instead of once a week. She wants to check in on me more often to make sure I'm safe, etc. I'm supposed to start going to NA soon or something. I'm not actively seeking stimulants or anything else anymore. That coke ordeal was pretty intense and I really would rather not have to get involved with that. The only thing I'm taking right now is my meds and my vitamins. I kind of hate the fact that I've started taking "diet pills." It seems like such an easy way out, especially after doing things the hard way the first time around. I really, really don't want to admit that I'm in over my head with this. It's really like I just can't quit swapping one addiction for the next. I honestly think that my problem with substance abuse is more about availability. Like, I will not turn down most drugs if they're offered to me... and that's bad, I know. I still feel a little amazed that I snorted coke. Seriously. I kind of never thought I would snort anything, but apparently I ignore that rule for the rush of stimulants.

GAHHHH. all i want is to live in a gym. or have a gym in this house where i live.

time for therapy.

2009-07-24T22:19:00.000-07:00

I am so sick of this--
strike that, I am so sick. Period.

Tonight is being used to shift the direction of change.

I have been stuck in a really, really bad binge/purge cycle... again. I don't think anyone really understands what bulimia is like for me. It's devastating. I don't know if I want to be able to explain it. I am ashamed of so much in my life, but this is close to the worst of it. For around a week past, I have basically been locked in my apartment. There have been few breaks. If I had lost any weight in the weeks before, I am sure I have gained it back and then some. It scares me how completely I lose control. My apartment is absolutely disgusting. There are ants in my bed. I have slept on the floor for the past few nights just because my bed is filled with trash, etc. It seems too overwhelming to clean. I haven't let anyone into my apartment in awhile now. I exist on shame. I wallow in my own filth. I would make a great beast.

But!!! I went to therapy today. It wasn't a particularly spectacular session, but Ginny said she isn't going to stop seeing me. She isn't going to abandon me. She doesn't think I'm hopeless.

So, tonight, I've taken my pills, but with the intent of breaking the cycle and getting started on some cleaning.

I'm going to direct the changes this time.

I can do this.

AT LEAST TWO HOURS LATER:
Okay, so I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed, and taking 2 1/2 Provigil was not the brightest idea when I have absolutely no one to talk with at this time. I drove around quite aimlessly for over an hour. At least I'm not binging?

I said something to Ginny about how when I take pills it's better than coke, and she definitely called me on bullshit. I'll take any drug I can get as long as the result is the same.

I need something to look forward to in my life. Not just... mediocre bullshit. So, here's the plan:

...PATHETIC. I just tried to write some goals and the only things that really looked appealing were getting a puppy or kitten and going back to school. I don't even know what I want to do after school. The great mystery of what the fuck I'm going to do with my life still remains unsolved.

I can't decide if I should try cleaning, go to sleep, try cleaning and then go to sleep, or take more pills and try cleaning then go to sleep eventually.

I really am pathetic.

2009-07-22T12:01:00.000-07:00

I'm never going to escape. I am too fucked-up. No amount of medication and therapy will fix me or even mend me to the point of functionality. I am impractical. I am not meant to thrive. I am not meant to live this life.

I am too much of this and not enough of that. I need to be stronger but all I am is a beast. I'm inhuman. I'm a monster but with no secrets to share.

I am too much gut and not enough brawn.

In the mirror, I am sagging with this disgusting weight. I am weak and oozing with this fetid filling, this overstuffed rot.

All I want is to be solid. Unyielding, unwavering, devout.

Everyone says I could model.
It's not that I don't want to.
I'd just rather be the kind of model that walks around in a sports bra and gets paid to flex.

Nobody gets it.
I want to be a bodybuilder.

2009-07-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

Will everyone love me from a distance? I feel like they have only loved me from afar, when I am beautiful and without the imperfections that are so readily sighted when you really look me in the eyes. That's the problem: When you really look me in the eyes, I break down into tiny pieces, tiny bits of flawed matter that really adds up to nothing except a distant beauty. I do not blend as well as I should, like fine china with so many fissures running through it, fragile and delicate and bound to shatter. I feel my heart beating and you can read between the lines, the cracks that let you see beneath my armor, and you can see the fine lines that hold me together--the nerves that cause my thick limbs to quiver with such fear. Because of when you held my heart in your crooked hands, I place trust in the wrong places. I imagine to see love in the eyes of leeches, where there is nothing in reality. There is no love lost in my life because there was none to be had in the beginning. I love and that is all that means anything. I love God. I love my family. I love my friends. I love everything and everyone, but I am losing trust. I do not expect to lose faith, but my trust wavers as the branches of a willow sway sadly in the wind. I am different every day. I am changing. I am breaking off in pieces so that I may acquire the new, the growth of time passing over my body. I imagine the air against my skin. I imagine it flowing through me, into me, off of me... and I think of you, and I brush you off, because when I used to think of distrust, I brushed it off. I have learned more by the crooked hands of man than by any leap of faith. It's what happens when you fall and expect to be caught: It's a rude awakening. I imagine it's like being ripped from purgatory with the expectation of manna, only to have your empty lungs filled with ice so cold it burns it's way through your body. I have been changed and I will grow from it and I will not let myself be hurt so easily ever again. I have avoided hurting others, but I will not allow myself to be wounded so greatly for their sake.

This is the end of my devotion, which once was boundless. I will not hurt others but I will not protect them, because I cannot expect the same in return. Life is an ebb and flow of energies, but these lies have not been.

I AM NOT A RENEWABLE RESOURCE. Once I break, there's no repairing me.

2009-06-27T22:54:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-25T03:05:00.000-07:00

fuuuuck this.

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

this suuuuuucks.

2009-06-16T19:55:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-06-12T16:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-11T12:36:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-08T19:44:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-05-26T00:41:00.000-07:00

I've missed you, baby. All the crackles of static magic snapping, popping in the air around us, lifting the hair from your skin. Unrest flutters at your throat in place of beats erratic.

I don't care enough to keep you. I don't know enough to leave you.

2009-03-31T07:08:00.001-07:00

way to go, scab-stache.

2009-03-29T03:59:00.000-07:00

"Please."

2009-03-26T23:49:00.001-07:00

I left feeling anything but happy, anything but cheery and smiley. I left feeling alone and scared of that truth--born alone, die alone. I imagined that life was going to be beautiful with beaded doorways and tapestried windows. I imagined that I would love to be alone. After all of it, finally alone. But, I am scared because at the end of it all, I am the only one I can rely on, and there is no one in the world that I trust less. I wonder sometimes if I love people because I cannot love myself, or if I cannot love myself because I love people. One can only be devoted in so many ways, to so many people, to so many lengths. I can only be stretched so far with nothing but two arms. I like to believe that I am happier... and maybe I am. I don't scream at myself, I don't burst into tears, I don't hurt like I used to. I just feel uneasy. Maybe that's an understatement, but I want to feel as if everything is right in the world and my many-faced God will carry me through. I know doubtlessly and I love endlessly, but everything comes in degrees. So many directions with immeasurable potential floating somewhere in undiscovered planes. Only a God with many fingers could point us in the right direction, knowing that whatever road you take is the one you should take. Still I feel that "should" is a dirty word. Everything is as it's meant to be. Created to be perfect with flaws that are not flaws. I wanted to cry, wanted to scream. I wanted to hurt again like I've been hurt, but it's worthless. I am so much better than I used to be.

2009-03-26T09:44:00.000-07:00

I have not always loved you as sweetly, kindly, and doubtlessly as I do now. I have no remorse for the years of which there are so many, those years in which I did not know you as I now do. But, I have taken words from your mouth and whispers from your skin. I have taken soft horse-hair brushes and painted the flush on your cheek with pale tea roses, softer than any silk. I have wrapped your neck in foxes, like a halo of renewal, like a crown of destruction. You have been my bride and I have felt for you.

2009-03-23T23:13:00.000-07:00

no one is awake but us.

2009-03-22T21:24:00.000-07:00

It's been three days and I've made over a hundred and forty dollars in tips alone. I don't even know what to do with myself. I could work just two and a half weeks and pay rent at this rate. It's absolute madness to actually be making good money. I guess it's pretty stereotypical that I've dropped out of college and become a waitress. I secretly always wanted to try being a waitress, but everyone told me it wasn't the job for me. Somebody has to be wrong, and I hope to high heaven it's not me because I actually like this job. It feels rewarding, even if some of the people I deal with are bitches and sons of bitches. Seriously, I want to smack some of these people, but I don't because I really do love just about everyone. I wouldn't be so spineless if I didn't enjoy bending over backwards to please everyone.

I need to start keeping track of the moneys I am making. I mainly spend money on gas, tobacco, and espresso these days. That's around two dollars for espresso daily, a little over three for tobacco every four or five days, and ten on gas every two or three days. Sometimes I will pay for food at Jan's, but mostly just gas, tobacco, and espresso. I am the most strangely high-maintenance person I know.

I need to decide how the hell I want to keep my hair, as in how long I want it to grow before I hack it off again. I don't know if I'm prepared for the massive mess of curls that my hair always becomes.

Today a regular customer pinched my arm and I just did what I always do: smile and laugh.

2009-03-21T22:12:00.001-07:00

I don't have the urge to escape like I used to. I still want to see foreign places, but for now I am working towards a place of my own and that is enough. I am not as stray anymore, not as nomadic. My travels have ceased to be about experience and have taken an edge of urgency. I have to get from here to there, from one place to the next. I have goals and I don't know how I feel about giving up a life without points. Just in these past few days and weeks, I have come to measure my life by monetary means. I know that I earned close to one-hundred dollars in just these past two days and I know that leaves a two-hundred and seventy-five dollar gap between my present and my potential. I want that apartment so bad. I can feel it, spreading under my skin like the smooth bark on a dogwood.

I will hang mirrored tapestries from the walls and beads from the doors. I will layer the floor in cushions and rugs. I will cover the tables in ashtrays and potted plants. I will grow flowers in the windows. I will make it a home.

I need a home.

2009-03-21T21:43:00.001-07:00

sometimes i dream i am not alone.

other times i dream i live by myself.

most times i can't tell the difference.

2009-03-20T21:45:00.000-07:00

bahahahahahaha. I made over fifty-five dollars in tips alone. what the butt.

at this rate, I will actually be able to afford an apartment. gahhh.

this mix of reality and things working out is just too much to handle!

2009-03-19T11:05:00.001-07:00

not only do i start on a friday, but i start on THIS FRIDAY. we're talking tomorrow. what the butt. that was only three motherfucking days of training. gahhhhhh. i better be ready for this shit. at least i get to keep all of my own tips.

2009-03-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

I think it just hit me that I work from three to eleven. Yeah, forty hours a week, which means that my hours more than doubled as soon as I took this job. Ridiculous, but I do love it. Apparently the owner even likes me. Fresh meat, I guess.

I think my first day is a fucking friday. WHAT THE BUTT. WHAT THE BUTT. That, or a Wednesday, which seems just as rushy after today. Being in the restaurant business should tell me that I WILL NOT BE OKAY TO WAITRESS BY MYSELF FOR THE FIRST TIME ON A MOTHERFUCKING FRIDAY.

dear sir,
what the butt.
sincerely,
mia

2009-03-16T21:09:00.001-07:00

done deal, bitches. motherfucking done deal.

I was informed that I had gotten the job at Jan's House after a brief conversation around noon with the owner. I was also informed that I would start today and work an eight hour shift from three until eleven. The waitress that helped to train me today was a total sweetheart. I apparently looked a little lost throughout my shift, but my cashier skills did come in handy. I made a decent amount of money, but not enough to cover rent. Apparently the average is fifty dollars in undeclared tips alone, plus the 3-whatever I will hopefully be making after my training is over, and that will definitely cover rent for the apartment I'm looking at. I am going to be a fish out of water for a while... or a chicken running around with its head cut off... but, I can do this. It will be so worth it. I actually felt good about all the work I was doing and not like it was useless. I even got a few compliments on my personality, and I did my damnedest to make sure I did my best. I know I'm "different," and I have a "different" personality, but I'm genuinely nice and I like to see people satisfied, maybe even happy. I don't like letting people down, but I know everyone makes mistakes and the best time to make them is now when I can learn from them. I've asked a lot of questions and I asked how I was doing, and everyone said I was doing pretty well. I mean, considering that I've never been a waitress, I feel pretty satisfied with how I did. There's always room for improvement, but it's always one step at a time.

I don't know how waitresses cope with the insecurity of fluid income. That is the one bit that worries me. I will work five days a week at Jan's, so even if I just work two days for TJ's, it should help a lot. That would mean working fifty-two hours a week, which is crazy, but I can handle it. I know I can. First, I'll get my schedule worked out at Jan's and get into the swing of things, and then I'll see about some extra hours at TJ's. After all, I got a raise to seven-fifty an hour and work six hour shifts most of the time, so that could really help. Either way it's better than nothing and it's better to have a job in Greensboro than not at all when I'm trying to move there.

GAHHH. I am still so excited, but I know that if the pay isn't enough than I can't keep it. Or, I'll have to get another job... or still work at TJ's, but I think I know a thrift shop that may hire me because I'm "adorable" and I know cool/weird clothes when I see them. Hell yes.

2009-03-14T22:18:00.000-07:00

I think you're so, so beautiful.

2009-03-14T16:28:00.000-07:00

classifieds make me nauseous, but commitment makes me sicker.

I want a studio apartment, and there might be an available one less than twenty minutes away from Jan's House, which is where I am currently trying my damnedest to get a job. I might actually get a place of my own. I might actually get a real job. I might actually have a place where I can do everything without feeling judged and nagged and pestered. Hell, I might hate it, but I think it could be really, really worth it. I am ill with this false sense of propriety. Yes, the world has been kind, but no, the sun doesn't give the moon its rays while expecting the payment to be tenfold. These are my pounds of flesh and I'm keeping them.

these days have been good.
-smoking my first rolled cigarette in ages while listening to Gogol Bordello
-knowing that my fur coat is indeed going with me on whatever trip I make
-packing all of my necessities and necessary luxuries into the back of my station wagon
-driving up and down the streets I know like the back of my hand and the veins of my eyelids
-seeing over ten cop cars in less than forty minutes
-understanding that sometimes it is more than a desire that drives me to be wild

2009-03-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

some wounds heal differently. existence fades from scene to scene before a camera with many lenses.

2009-03-09T13:01:00.000-07:00

yes yes yes yes yes.

...!

2009-03-09T08:43:00.000-07:00

gahhhhhhh. still no real clue as to what the fuck i want my tattoo to look like and where i want it to be. damn. still going to at least get a touch-up on the wisteria, but i really wanted that tattoo today. my mother even said she would front me the money if it ended up costing over sixty! what the butt. i am pretty sure she also paid for my rook or my septum. one of those, because i am still not quite sure when i got the rook. must look that up.

2009-03-09T00:42:00.000-07:00

in just about ten hours I will be getting a new tattoo, but I don't know where and how, just that it will involve "be the poem." somehow. maybe it will involve uv ink. yeahuh.

2009-03-05T21:19:00.000-08:00

I love my family. Tonight I mainly mean my grandparents, mainly my grandpa and grandma here in Winston. They are so beautiful to me. In my eyes, they are perfect even though I know they've done imperfectly. They have always been there for me and have supported my every step in the right direction.

I am almost crying right now because visiting them after getting off work at ten tonight, seeing their smiles and frowns, hearing their stories, reading them some of my writing and really feeling their encouragement... all of it just makes me realize how very good they are.

I'm terrified of losing them. I don't know what I'll do when I lose someone close to me, but tonight I mean them. I don't know how I will go on.

Tonight I will get down on my knees and pray for my family, but mostly in the name of my grandma and grandpa. For them to be treated with as much care as they've given me, and I will thank God for all of xer beauty in life, death, and between.

I have loved them as they've loved me: with everything and more.

I wish I had more to remember them and us by. All I have is old/bad photos and formal portraits.

I want them to have the impact on the world that they deserve. They are good people with good intentions and God always sets their path with tender care that takes a careful eye to see.

What can I do besides what they want me to? I need to dedicate my work to everyone I love, but they deserve a special kind of work. I want to tell the stories and share the photos and the interviews. They are so beautiful and good and full of love.

2009-03-05T09:27:00.000-08:00

So, um... here are some photos that I did not take at an angle. I am always afraid that my face is crooked. My eyes, my lips, my eyebrows, etc. But, nobody is perfectly symmetrical, and I guess I'm just afraid that it's more noticeable with me. Like, distractingly noticeable. Anyways, I am even full-on smiling with my teeth showing in one of these, and that has become rare in photos I take of myself. Bless change and happiness and acceptance, because I am as I should be. You know The Weakerthans have that song "Aside?" That is kind of my theme-song on a lot of days. It just feel fitting, am I right?

Aside

Measure me in metered lines
And one decisive stare
The time it takes to get from here to there
My ribs that show through t-shirts
And these shoes I got for free
I'm unconsoled
I'm lonely
I am so much better than I used to be
Terrified of telephones
And shopping malls and knives
Drowning in the pools of other lives
Rely a bit too heavily
On alcohol and irony
Get clobbered on by courtesy
In love with love and lousy poetry
And I'm leaning on this broken fence
Between past and present tense
And I'm losing all those stupid games
That I swore I'd never play
But it almost feels okay
Circumnavigate this body
Of wonder and uncertainty
Armed with every precious failure
And amateur cartography
I'm breathing deep before
I spread those maps out on my bedroom floor
And I'm leaning on this broken fence
Between past and present tense
And I'm losing all those stupid games
That I swore I'd never play
But it feels okay
And I'm leaving with goodbye
And I'm losing but I'll try
With the last ways left
To remember sing
My imperfect offering

p.s. Dear Honeychild,
I am still making you that mix. There might be two, like one that is "us" and one that is "me." The "us" one will probably be quite familiar. The "me" one will probably not be as familiar.

p.p.s. I almost misspelled "familiar."

2009-03-05T03:37:00.000-08:00

why the hell did my body tell me to wake up a few minutes ago if all it wanted to do was toss, turn, and vomit?

i hate this. i am tired.

2009-03-02T18:09:00.000-08:00

I have been pretty successful.

Malaprops:
-"The PowerBook"
-"Transgender Warriors"

Barnes and Noble:
-"Gender Outlaw"

A.C. Moore:
-oil paints
-watercolor paints
-paintbrushes
-sketchbook and colored pencils
-glue dots
-fox beanie baby

GoodWill:
-beige slouch boots with cuffed tops
-navy pinstriped blazer with mahogany suede collar

Random Thrift Store:
-Greek (wolf? rabbit? fake?) fur coat of my dreams
-bright rainbow heart earrings
-red suspenders

Walgreens:
-ridiculous amount of mechanical pencils

I found out how to hack my own computer into letting me transfer music from my ipod onto my external hard-drive without paying a damned cent.

I tried on a giant black victorian wig covered in fake spider-webs, spiders, and blood-spatter.

I made BFFs with a store clerk named Mercedes at Macy's and she is going to try and hook a sister up.

I saw some of my babies.

I started a new writing-only journal called "Nine Foxes," which YOU should friend if you (STILL) have a livejournal.

I have regularly worn makeup.

I have showered daily? Say what?

I have gone to therapy with the therapist I trust more than most, if not all.

I have written bunches and bunches.

But, I haven't really started what I set out to begin. And I still have to complete my routine of going through these bullshit motions, despite the fact that I know more and more each day that I do not belong in this style.

2009-03-02T08:34:00.000-08:00

I am always different and it's hard to think that way. The moment I write it down, I'm already different. I wonder just how many commas I'm using that are unnecessary. Once again, it's hard to think that way.

I have applied at Ed McKay's and filled out the application for Hot Topic. Don't you dare fucking judge me... Hot Topic's piercing and tattoo policies are fucking fantastic. They encourage that shit, plus crazy-ass makeup and clothing. Heaven much? Next I will go to the mall and fill out the one for Macy's (just because the clerk, Mercedes, was such a total sweetheart) and maybe grab one from Pac Sun or the bookstore. I have to fill out the apps for Border's and run by B&N to see if they would prefer a walk-in or an online one. These are all in Winston Salem ad it kind of sucks that I can't work in Greensboro, but I understand why. Until I get a full-time job, I will keep working at TJ's for my grandfather. It's really not such a bad deal, because making 7.00 an hour to be a cashier, etc. is a pretty good deal when I've never had a job other than "working" for Habitat for Humanity. I have learned better customer service skills and how to take orders from my superiors without throwing a defiant hissy fit. I still hate the rush to get out, because it usually involves my grandfather assigning fifty errands I could have done earlier, but I figure he does it to extend my working time so he can pay me more, which is sort of cool with me. Plus, he lets me take breaks to smoke and eat, etc. All I have to do is ask and make sure everything is in order. If nothing else, it's taught me how to be polite (like I normally am with strangers) without causing everyone else any kind of hassle. I haven't become less nervous, because I am constantly afraid of making mistakes and embarrassing myself, etc., but that probably won't fade until I am in a job that I go to routinely instead of just being randomly called in whenever I'm home.

Sometimes I feel like my glory days were too early and short-lived. Those days where it was freedom just to run away from campus and hop a train from one side of the block to the next, and then go antique browsing. Because it really was browsing--we never bought anything. When we didn't have cars and wandering around was the thing to do, when we had to buy cigarettes from one store, when the only drugs that we did were alcohol and pot. I loved so purely when my mind was free from the constant chains of my self-hating thoughts. Life was crazy. I was crazy. But, Greensboro was my turf. I knew my territory like the back of my hand, and the future was hazy. Now I listen to "Left and Leaving" and try not to cry, because I miss it so truly I can feel it in my bones, further still in a place inside me that bears no name. People loved me and not because I am different, but because I'm me, and that entails being different and wild and crazy and self-defined and loving you with all of my heart and more. When I wore pearls and the Queens of the Stone Age shirt my father got from a free concert in New Orleans after Katrina. When I still spoke to my father.

Before I realized that I couldn't let him come visit me in Winston Salem because my mother's girlfriend had done things that were unforgivable in his eyes. I haven't fully forgiven her either. I have never wanted to strike someone more than when she called my father a sperm-donor and then postured herself as if going to hit him or me or both. I wanted to punch her in the fucking throat, but I didn't, and sometimes I still regret that. It was like that time Alex Cowett asked my father if he had a job yet. But I was only 10 then and it would have been okay. Because fighting is forgivable when you're young. Even when seemingly justified, I stop myself these days. I don't want to hurt people because I know how it hurts outside and inside. There's no salve for that kind of hurt. It's why I knew how to cut my mother down time and time again just by telling her all of the mistakes she had made in raising me. It's why she knew how to cut me down by saying I'd end up like my father. But, fuck that. I am not her and I am not my father and I am not anyone but myself. Maybe that scares me, but it's true. Inarguably definite, because I am one of a kind, even if that kind is undefined.

These days, it's like my mind is somewhere in Purgatory (I will always fall back into Catholicism) while my body dances through the proper motions of survival, of coping with my decisions and the directions my life has taken. I've been told it's no one's fault but my own, and I agree completely. I am such an event at all times, there is no question whose fault it is. But, it is not even fault. These are the results of my decisions, not the consequences of my mistakes.

These days, the mirror does not scare me and does not please me. I wonder if this is what it feels like to accept what you see. When people say I'm beautiful, I catch myself saying thank you and smiling and laughing. It's not bragging and it's certainly not vanity. I am not vain. I am not any of those self-righteous things that I've feared being all of my life. I feel as if I have been privileged, but I am not a spoiled brat. No matter how many times I'm told by someone whose opinion I care about that I act as if I'm arrogant or entitled, it isn't true. Sometimes I am just acknowledging how good my life has been and how God really has smiled upon me. I'm so smart, so talented, so... beautiful? I feel unsure typing that last one, but I don't think I would get as many compliments if I wasn't actually what they say I am. I love it when elder men and women give me those double-edged compliments, like "it's a good thing you're so pretty" regarding my shaved head. A few days ago some random guy outside of work was just like, "Hey, sexy." I don't feel like that's misogynistic. I feel like that's a compliment in the given context. Normally, when somebody says that it is accompanied by really obnoxious body language that makes it inappropriate, but he was just smiling and kept walking. Saturday night, some beautiful guy at the gas station was getting into his car and waved at me before saying, "You're really beautiful." I smiled and said thanks. That was the day I got my fur coat, etc. It just made that day a little bit better. I've always gotten compliments, and while they used to make me uncomfortable, now they just reinforce what I'm starting to feel about myself. I just thought about one occasion that was particularly uncomfortable. One of my best friends in tenth grade told me I was "beautiful in a different way." Back then, it hurt. Now I appreciate it because it's true and it was just an awkward phrasing of something she meant to be really heartfelt. In a group therapy session for young adults in Renfrew, one super sweet girl went on for around five minutes about how I was one of the most beautiful people she had ever met. Not even just the outside, but the inside too. Because I am beautiful in myself and to others. She said I had one of the best noses ever. :)

Even with the compliments, I am not defined by other people's perceptions of me. I like seeing myself as I do, as a combination of all these pieces that make me who I am. I don't really know what I look like, but I like what I see these days. Not even just my face, but I like my body, too. I like this combination of soft, solid, curvy, etc. I like my hands and my feet, my long fingers and my long toes. I love that my thighs and butt have finally gotten some of the weight I gained a while back. I love that my hips seem wider, even if my muffin-top is fiercer than ever. I like that my shoulders are broad and that my collarbones are not crazy-obvious. I like that I can have fat and muscle and bone without forcing one to dominate the others. I like my thick lips and my teeth (I have cute teeth, don't lie!). I like my freckles on my shoulders and my face. I like my chipmunk cheeks and my smile lines. I like my nose, even if I have no clue what it really looks like other than small and kind of pointy and with nostrils. I really like my eyes, because they are pointed and bright, like red-veined ivory almonds. Even my eyebrows are winning me over as I look through photos of myself, whether or not they are thin and femme or thick and masculine. Everything just kind of fits into place, if that makes sense. Oh God, I forgot to mention my belly. I know that's usually a sensitive thing for a lot of people, but I really don't mind it anymore. It's wide and plump, but that's better than how it used to be... and I mean way better.

As far as how my physical self fits into gender and sex, I feel like a woman. Maybe a girl. Mostly I feel like a kid, but not like a child. I don't feel like a young woman or a teenaged girl. I feel like a genderqueer female. I don't always express myself that way, but I will probably always define myself that way. It just works. For me, when I feel comfortable with my physical self, I feel better about my mental self and visa versa. Sexual orientation wise, I will call myself a dyke and be pansexual until they come up with a more vague and ambiguous label for me to squeeze myself into. I'm kind of hoping they get rid of all of the terms except queer and dyke anyways, just because queer is functional and dyke is kind of just a nickname, a title of grandeur. I've always been queer and I've always been a dyke. Looking back, there is no question. I've just never known which labels to claim. Tomboy, lesbian, etc. I just don't like those. They feel odd for me.

I still want to be a drag-queen/king just so I can be fucking glamorously fantastic and fabulous, but that's an expression kind of thing for the most part. It has a little to do with identity (my craving for playing dress-up), but I can do without it. I just have those hopes of strutting my stuff in tuxedos and cat-suits and dresses and capes and boleros and platform heels and leather and lace and studs, etc. I want to go all out, balls to the wall with my life. But in the end, I wear creepers and skinny jeans just to run errands. I do my makeup casually even though I want to wear falsies and glitter, etc. I settle for urchin when I want glam. But, I strut all the same.

2009-02-28T17:09:00.000-08:00

Today I bought:
-the (real?) fur coat of my dreams
-rainbow heart earrings
-red suspenders

...for fifty dollars.

SUCCESS!

2009-02-27T10:16:00.000-08:00

I am used to running rampant, wildly thrashing through woods, life, and stars. I am not used to going to bed early, waking up early, and fulfilling obligations that I do not really feel obligated to fulfill. I am used to spending my time in smoky diners and driving aimlessly while listening to music on my busted speakers. I am not used to a short leash and a choke collar, the looming threat of homelessness if I don’t snap out of my shit. But, this is why I loathe and love mania, because it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels dangerous and hopeful. I bask in these euphoric feelings, because at least I’m not numb. No, I’m not numb now and although it hurts so bad to be caged, the reward is there, my freedom is just a wormhole away.

2009-02-21T07:15:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the world of GNPs. Welcome to the world of ambiguous conversation.

I am a mess, but still so lucky. I go to sleep with the taste of illness seeping through my pillow and wake up drenched in blood. God has a strange way of pulling zir children to zir side. I imagine my wings growing beneath my skin, the surface rippling until it tears like paper and they push through, covered in ichor.

Pomegranates are not as delicious as I used to imagine. I thought of Persephone crushing a soft seed between her molars and how the pulp would gush from the ruptured skin in a vibrant rush of juice. In reality, pomegranate juice is kind of brown, especially when bottled and organic. If you shake up a bottle of organic pomegranate juice, the bubbles at the top are rusty brown. It tastes thick and cloys sharply, not like any kind of ripe citrus. I wish Persephone had eaten grapefruit, pealed the thick layers back until she got to the shiny pulp and then plucked up the chunk of fruit flesh with her hands before sucking it into her mouth and bursting it all with a press of her tongue. Maybe then I wouldn’t imagine Persephone as clueless, but still I wonder what would happen if Persephone had gotten sick after swallowing Hades’ seed and vomited. Would she still spend such a long time underground? Would winter be shorter, more bearable? Sometimes I wish Persephone had purged that seed.

2009-02-18T03:29:00.000-08:00

I am a reaction, a combination, and an explosion of so many different components. I imagine I exist as being made up of other existences. It hurts to think this way, but I am still imagining the blurring lines between me and the air, the way I'm constantly growing and decaying, becoming something new before I even know it. Imagine that you feel ever bit of stardust vibrating in your body, the glitter of your words' fiery combustion.

I may withdraw from this semester. I don't know how to function when I am all over the place. I can see so many moments from so many directions through so many eyes. When I am wanting to lash out at every angle, it's difficult to sit still and go into the rigor mortis motions of this daily life I live by choice.

Words are magical in every language. Don't doubt their impact on the vast around you.

How do we feel?

2009-02-16T02:30:00.000-08:00

BABY BUTT.

2009-02-16T00:42:00.000-08:00

What can I tell you when you're away? I've been meaning to say something, something beautiful that would choke your sobbing in sweetly blushing clouds. Maybe I'm not meant to be a creation, but I'm meant to create. Maybe I'm meant to be a good number of things. Maybe that number is nine, or maybe it is seven, or four-hundred and seventy-nine. Maybe it is so many things you and I could never hope to count them, but they would all be beautiful.

What have I learned since you've been away? More than I can remember, but then again, maybe you only learn what you can remember. I remember that love is a concept and not a concrete object. I remember that camp is only a parody, but I would love to live my life as a parody anyways. I remember knocking over the trash can, falling onto a pile of garbage, and thinking it was a decent place to sleep. I remember how blanched the world was after my fourth day without sleep.

I don't think it's a routine unless it comes in threes. I don't think it's love until I'm down on my knees.

p.s. My hair is growing back faster than I had imagined it would. Pictures soon.

2009-01-30T02:40:00.000-08:00

I am really sick of my own paranoia and insecurities. Seriously, it needs to stop.

RIGHT. NOW.

2009-01-25T04:39:00.001-08:00

I realized how vague that was. How about a real update?

I'm a little agitated. I dropped Advanced Poetry Writing after a very rough day--actually, a very rough sequence of days. If you want to know the whole story, you will have to communicate with me outside of this blog, because I don't quite feel comfortable posting it here for a few reasons. Basically, I went to one of my professors and confessed a personal issue, and she said that my course load was probably way too heavy considering the circumstances... even though it was only twelve hours and four classes. I freaked out as a result of many things, but the idea that I had jumped in too deep really scared the shit out of me. It was definitely not what I wanted to hear, and definitely not what I needed to hear at that exact moment. I had been trying to get the work done for the professor's class by a certain time that day, and I was in rough shape to say the least. So I spent a good deal of time crying and I spoke with the secretary of the department and basically told her my whole life story, and she agreed with the professor in that she had also recommended I go to an emergency counseling session. I declined, choosing instead to finish as much of the assignments as I could, saying that it would help to keep me otherwise occupied. I realized after I had the work mostly completed that I was in no state to go to a workshop class, so I told the professor that I would go to the counseling center instead. She said she was glad that I was taking care of myself and wished me luck or something like that. I go to the counseling session with a very nice psychologist and tell her everything that's going on, and she says the same thing as the professor, that my course load was ridiculous. I finally admitted that I had gotten ahead of myself and, after agreeing to set up stable therapy appointments off campus and a follow-up session at the counseling center, rushed to the library so I could use a computer to drop Advanced Poetry Writing, mainly because I hadn't taken a pretty big prerequisite. I added Spanish instead. Later on, I emailed the professor I had talked to earlier and explained my decision before asking if she thought dropping her class as well would be for the best. She did, but said it was because at that point I had missed a class and I was only allowed two absences before spring break, so I was at risk.

Now, I'm a little upset because she told me to go to the emergency counseling session without telling me that she would count it against me (which probably isn't even allowed when considering it was an emergency) and then cited that as her main reason for preferring that I drop her class. Plus, it's past time for drop/add so I will have to withdraw (which means a W on my transcript) and I'm having to weasel my way into classes by emailing and speaking with professors, aided by the metaphorical muscle of allies in high places. This is a shit-ton of hassle.

Keep in mind that this professor has apparently completely screwed people over before, despite the fact that she scares most people into respecting her and most of them keep telling me that you learn to love her. After all, she cries while watching those home makeover shows, therefore she is a completely perfect human being. I'm learning that she is kind of notorious for being a bitch to people because she decides that she dislikes them for no good reason. She has been flat-out rude to me and brushed me off on multiple occasions, despite the fact that I have been nothing if not polite and courteous. The kindest she has been is when I had her sign the withdrawal form, which I have yet to turn in. She smiled nice and big while telling me that she hoped I could take a class of hers in the future. I went to her novel reading last night and spoke with her afterwards just to congratulate and compliment her, after which she replied while looking at my friend instead of me the entire time she spoke. What the butt.

This is really, really not helping my insecurity and social anxiety. This and the fact that I apparently need to apologize to my roommate's friends (ex-fucker included) for insulting them, etc. Oh, I'm sorry, did my entire personality offend your delicate sensibilities? Here, I know, why don't you learn how to TAKE A FUCKING JOKE AND LIGHTEN THE FUCK UP? Goddamn, stop taking yourself so fucking seriously. What, did you expect me to read your fucking minds? How the fuck was I supposed to know that you were too fucking dense to understand that I AM KIDDING, GODDAMMIT. Jesus shit, you're in college. One of you puked in the other's sink after three beers and couldn't even clean it up for yourself so they did it for you. The other one of you thinks that everyone who does drugs is stupid. Woo, you tell 'em! Every great historical figure that has ever done drugs: fuck you!

...Yeah, you keep your high horses where they can't shit on my shoes and we're good.

And you want to know something? I regret fucking you.
I probably should have fucked your little girlfriend!
At least she doesn't smell like nasty/gross/dirty ass
--touching her wouldn't make me feel so very unclean.

...Anyways, back to the social anxiety! I'm really terrified of the way people perceive me lately. I'm worried that everyone thinks I'm fake and/or a pretentious dick and/or really stupid. I am becoming increasingly wary of speaking in class because it just sounds to me like I am rambling and then trailing off or being interrupted by someone who actually knows what the fuck they mean. I apologize a million times for the slightest misstep, even if imagined. I replay awkward exchanges in my head over and over again until I am so ashamed that I want to fade away into oblivion. I sit alone in the cafeteria and try to avoid looking anyone in the eyes, and if I accidentally meet their gaze, I duck my head and look away. I try to be nice, but I feel like everyone just stares at me.

I'm wondering if they look at me and have expectations for who I'm supposed to be. I'm trying to blame it on the mohawk, trying to rationalize it as everyone expecting me to be edgy or unique or cool. But, that feels like an excuse, like I'm persecuted or something. When in reality, I'm more likely to believe that they are just unsure.

They don't know what to make of me, so they're making themselves up. They don't think I'm real, so they're fake.

I've realized that I am really scared of most professors here. I'm afraid that they will look at me and expect something that I am not. Then, I will open my mouth and they will hear me stutter-stumble through my half-thoughts and then label me as just another awkward kid. They stare me down and interrogate me as to what the hell I think I'm doing. I feel like the ones that are nice to me are simply indulging me because they pity me so much. They read my writing because they think no one else will listen. They listen to me ramble because they don't want me to feel alone.

I know I'm not normal. I don't know the polite way to respond to someone who knows my struggles when they just ask me how it's going or how I'm doing. After all, I wouldn't want anyone to lie to me out of nicety. I speak my words as I think them, and I've been trained to be so honest. But, normal people aren't honest like me. They censor themselves, even when they don't want to. They need to be appropriate, because appropriate is accepted. They don't burst into tears in public. They don't tell random (yet relative) stories. They don't hold open doors for however long it takes They don't hold the smoke in when children pass by. They don't want to know.

But I want to know. If everyone could just chill the fuck out and look each other in the eyes without immediately looking away, it would be nice to share stories. People should know about all of the things going on around them, even if they aren't experiencing them, even if they're not in the news or on reality shows. I wouldn't be the only one that prefers an intense and deep conversation to a drunken interaction at a party for getting to know someone. People wouldn't just be identified by looks or relationships or whatever because there would be a whole story to every name.

I like that I am always excited to share my work and read the work of others. I like that I'm so excited I can't really get my thoughts together. I like that I don't set clear expectations for myself but I have high hopes. I like that sometimes I wander off to another thought. I like that I am so very desperate for recognition. I like that I chase after my aspirations. I like that I am passionate about my art. I like that I am wild.

But, who is really going to listen to me? I'm just another misfit.

Everyone seems to know my name, but they have know idea what I am.

2009-01-25T03:39:00.001-08:00

Everyone else who is not already awake will be awake soon, maybe later.

I'm wrapped in a coat that smells like my blankets,
smells like the uncounted cigarettes I smoked before
the rain
and the snow
and the new year.

I'm fixing what I do because I can never fix myself.

I have so much work, so little focus, and so little time.

I feel like my morality might be the death of me if I don't get it under control.

2009-01-19T12:46:00.000-08:00

Bela Lugosi's dead.

(undead, undead)

Things keep changing, and as I watch the world flow by, I see people drowning as they swim to survive.

2009-01-17T20:33:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure how to feel right now, but that's pretty linear with my current state.

I'm only taking 12 hours, but they're all classes that a freshman would not usually be taking, even in their second semester. The Fiction Workshop professor even spoke with me after class because she was unsure about having me in her class. I told her I had already taken LANG 120 and 260, plus every AP English class offered in high school. She said that would probably make things a little easier, but that most freshmen floundered in that class. It was pretty frightening, because the professor also told the only other freshman in the class that she thought it was a no for her. So I might be the only freshman in that class... but that won't be terribly abnormal this semester, because I'm also the only freshman in Advanced Poetry, and one of few in Poetry Intro. I haven't been to Queer Fiction yet, so I'm not sure how my standing in that class is. I am actually more worried about Advanced Poetry than anything right now, because if I don't do well in that class, I feel like it will hurt me more as a person than as a student. I've started to consider writing as my specialty, so it would be so discouraging if I don't do well. I mean, I know what everyone says. I can't be perfect, and everyone is not going to like your poetry all of the time, or any of the time to be truthful. But, my arts mean a lot to me. I consider them to be a huge strength, so to be told I am weak in one or more than them is terrifying. It makes me think that I'm not good enough. I don't want to be just another artist that quits and works in a dead-end job because other people don't appreciate their work. That would quite possibly crush me.

On a brighter side, I spoke with my Queer Fiction professor regarding the idea of a minor in Gender Studies. She was pleased with the fact that I seemed knowledgeable and interested in the subjects, so we babbled back and forth a while about general gender and sex theories. I admitted that I'm not a feminist or even a strong believer in gender as both are currently defined, and I certainly don't believe in binary sex. I don't consider myself as being a gender radical. I'm a human-rights supporter and activist. I believe that all freedom is deserved as long as it remains neutral, which means it doesn't infringe on the freedom of others. My beliefs, opinions, and standards are too broad/vague to fit under one label, and I don't mind that because I don't think they need to. I shouldn't have to fit to a perfect standard.

Oh man, side-note: I have a mega-ratty mohawk now and I love it. The only problems are that I can't wear it up when I want to wear a hat, I have to constantly keep it maintained (which means I'm even more obsessive about my appearance than usual), I use up a shit-ton of hairspray, I need to buy another mirror, and I have to shower more than I like to. Actually, I have to shower even more than I need to.

It's kind of lonely here. Half of my friends are gone, the other half is busy or not hanging out with me for various reasons, and the new ones are really new. I don't really have that many people to talk to that I'm actually comfortable with. I eat meals by myself a lot of the time.

I miss a lot of people, and I didn't think it would be this difficult. For the most part, I feel like I didn't say my proper farewells.

2009-01-14T03:23:00.003-08:00

I'm in the process of shaving my head, but I need scissors.

I am so pumped! Bring on the death hawk!

2009-01-14T00:24:00.000-08:00

I cared that you were so completely beautiful
nothing but perfect as you sat next to me on your couch
both hands wrapped around your mason jar full of hot tea
that had undoubtedly gone too cold and strong by then
with the teabag still floating somewhere in its opaque midsts

what I mean is that it meant something that you were
so happy to see me and pick up where we had left off

I remembered the first time I spoke with you
and we read poetry to each other by an icy river in the mountains
while the others were off climbing mountains or something
that didn't really interest us

because we were just happy to sit there and ask
does this work?
do you know what I mean?
what am I doing with my life?

questions that could have mean everything at the time
were commonplace in those first moments
when I would try to keep my place in our conversation
when all I wanted was to run my hands through your hair

all I wanted was to tangle myself in you
all I wanted was to let you know

2009-01-13T17:42:00.000-08:00

Here, the snow gathers on the ground and my spit melts a hole in the snow
that has gathered on the ground
and I start to wonder if it may be negative that I think in terms of poetics
and what will work in my life
and if I will work in my life

when I have never worked so hard as when I saved myself
because that's what I did
I saved myself

and I start to wonder how many people can say the same
and I don't know if it's positive that I can say such a thing

but here, the snow is crunched under the shoes I took from my mother
compacted into tiny crescents and perfect replicas of my underfoot

I like to think that taking a drag off my cigarette after a snowflake
landed on the cherry
maybe it is like going outside and spinning with arms outstretched
and mouth agape
maybe it is just a different way of tasting the snow
as a child would

when I know that clearly there is no taste
just smoke and the warm air from my body
clouding my vision

"it's in the white of my eyes"

2009-01-12T00:43:00.000-08:00

Here is to the sunrise, which I swear I've never beheld, like the dying embers of a universe cradled in my palms
crushed like the petals of a flower that has been given no name
incandescent and blue faded to grey

they say she baked herself in an oven, without ginger and turpentine
just a rickety cadaver curled in on itself like feet bound by lace, supine blooms
and weak ankles

is it wrong that my concern is this life, I'm watching wilt as if it were a drowning cactus
not the trillions of others surrounding me, flawed just as much by their existence in singularity
isolation consuming them wholly
swallowed down into the acid rain
gathered in the demon's underbelly

2008-12-29T16:37:00.000-08:00

Becoming what I am not.

2008-12-29T08:43:00.000-08:00

haha... and again:

-pheasant feathered headband
-peacock feathered headband
-plain silver ring
-bajillion sparkly bracelets
-bajillion multicolored bracelets
-shimmery green eyeshadow
-shimmery blue mascara
-glittery gold nailpolish
-black knockoff wayfarer sunglasses!

I woke up at 2-something this morning and never passed back out.

I want to grab a soda out of the kitchen, but I'm hiding and avoiding my SUPER-LOUD aunt from Texas. Imagine my loud mother, plus a Texan accent, and amplify that by like ten.

I'm watching CSI: Miami and wishing I was David Caruso... but handsomer and more effeminate, minus dumping my pregnant girlfriend.

How would you feel if I looked like David Caruso?
How would you feel if I acted like him... every day?

2008-12-27T19:14:00.000-08:00

um... so yeah:

-silver lamé leggings
-black lamé leggings
-gold sequined shirt
-grayish shrug
-purple alligator skin purse
-bright pink ruffled hobo bag
-blush pink heels
-black and fur bomber hat

thanks, Target! You make blowing 150 bucks seem effortless!
... Minus the crazy amount of dressing room scandal.

I was given:

-cherrrrrry red michael jackson bomber jacket
-argyle cardigan
-argyle book tote
-black woven jacket

NOW I NEED:

-vests
-obnoxiously large sunglasses that are not pink (or white) and do not make me look like a baby
-MOCCASIN BOOTS
-an ugly cuff watch
-scarves
-a cloak
-more makeup!!!
-a fur coat
-platform boots
-false eyelashes
-petticoats
-kilt flaps
-a corset
-a denim jacket that I can tear to hell and back
-top hats

...I also want a Victorian collar made of exotic bird feathers, but I can make that myself.

I want to be a rainbow, one of oil-spills and shattered neon lights. Trust me, I can handle this.

2008-12-26T21:27:00.000-08:00

I will wake up soon.

Glitter coats her eyelids like a thin layer of ice,
while her lips are doused in fiery paint,
and she is beauty if I’ve ever known it.

Shadowy irises like a room without windows and lights,
there is no glimmer of hope lying there.

I’ve never tasted the fleetness of her tongue,
the basked-in lightness of her mouth,
but I have seen the gossamer mysteries of her words.

I will never touch the toxic veil of her skin,
and never keep less than one breath of distance,
for she will disappear.

Sweet Nevermore,
what would I do without you as my muse?

Yours is a waltz,
plunging deathly into pits of writhing bodies,
each torn asunder by their own ecstasies.

Yours is no more a swagger than a prance,
something resting between a slink and strut,
with your hips not as much swaying as snapping—
snapping like the branches of a weeping willow.

Her grace resides in the way she smokes her cigarettes,
with her wrist unkempt and crooked,
while she compulsively taps the ashes away.

Hands bejeweled by heavy rings with hollow faces,
she sprinkles a little more glitter on the mirror,
just every once in a while.

Encircled by celluloid footprints of her platform heels,
she fakes sleeping uneasily in a patchwork fur quilt,
sewn together from the body of many beasts.

Her hair is like the lifelong work of a sable silkworm,
woven from the bloody black heart itself.

She moves with energy that cannot be contained,
with the sun’s light and the moon’s reflection,
with her head held high and her hands flexing.

Those fingers belong to an artist,
like a name belongs to whomever it is given,
like a gift from God.

Creations of fur,
silk,
and leather all line her closet as if needed.

Corsets,
bolero jackets,
ankle boots,
cloaks,
petticoats,
top hats,
and anything else she has found.

Dressed-up in her filth,
she is a forgotten doll,
someone else’s plaything.

Underneath the grime,
she is my muse.

With a twist of her heel,
the cigarette is out.

With a curl of her lips,
the audience gasps.

With a twirl of her hands,
she is on top.

With legs stretched as towers wrapped in fishnets,
she curls around the microphone and screams,
her blood flying in tiny droplets onto many faces.

Those faces…
all open and gasping for air,
for an ounce of recognition in her eyes.

She snarls and her teeth are sallow,
biting into the air as she weaves her dreams.

I hold out my hands and she spits in my mouth.

2008-12-26T20:01:00.000-08:00

Oh my goodness. The Killers' new album? Yes yes yes, please! Thanks, Walmart.

I think I really need to acquire all musical pieces containing even a trace of glamour.
Glam-everything makes the days (and nights) a little more bearable.
Haha, this probably makes me incredibly lame. Do you think I give a damn, or a fuck?

I'm really starting to appreciate the glory of soundtracks, especially the supposedly shitty ones. My father is helping me with this by supplying me with an entire terabyte of randomly amazing shit.

Now, let me brag:

Soundtracks, movies, television shows, albums, books, etc. So, um, how about Hedwig and the Angry Inch as well as Rocky Horror Picture Show?! Yes, please. The entire set of Home Movies (my dad doesn't know that in my mind he is Coach McGuirk and that first episode KILLS ME with hilarity) and Harvey Birdman, along with Venture Bros. and a shit-ton of other vague stuff. How about Dogma? C'mon guys... DOGMA. Alan Rickman in eyeliner. How can you not love my dad? Not to mention, I've been trying to find that XTC album, "Skylarking," and voila! Like fucking magic. There's even the Christmas special for Venture Bros. Bahahaha. MY DAD IS AWESOME. Plus tons of Captain Beefheart (sooo like my father). Enough Eno to kill a bitch.

Aphex Twin. Eels. Beck. Smiths. The Cure. Sonic Youth. Roxy Music. Robert Fripp. Elastica. 10 CCs. Honestly, the list goes on for quite a while, but holy shit holy shit holy shit! If you ever wonder where I get my musical tastes, just look at my father and listen to his music. I don't think this is all music he likes as much as it is music he knows I like--which is awesome. GAHGAHGAH.

Now, a side-note: This Killers album is fantastic.

I have to work tomorrow. On the bright side, I will be thirty-five dollars heavier, and listening to all of this crazy shit if at all possible at all times!

2008-12-15T09:31:00.000-08:00

When the hell was that picture taken? WHEN? Was it 10th or 11th grade, goddammit?

Why do I give a shit? Look to the far left, above that chick's shoulder. There I am, with my red-as-fuck hair and in my old QOTSA shirt while carrying my old hobo bag. For the love of all that is good, please please please tell me I don't look like that anymore. I FUCKING THOUGHT I WAS A GUY IN THAT PICTURE. That has to be the beginning of my junior year. It can't be the second half... it just can't be.

Gross.

p.s. There's Nastia in her mauve sweater, and a girl that I think is you in a dress? Same hair at least, and a familiar-ish dress.

p.p.s. I look so so so FAT in this fucking picture.

2008-12-14T21:31:00.001-08:00

I'm so terrified right now. I really let things get out of control. I have so much work to do, and I'm just not sure if it's even possible for me to do it all. At this point, I'm in a corner. A very small and dark corner where no one can reach me, and it's all my fault. I should have known better. "Should" is a horrible word, and I know it doesn't solve anything. Yes, I could have done things differently to avoid being in this predicament, but I can't waste time now by hating myself for it. I just need to do what I can, and I'll be alright. I'll be fine, no matter what happens.

I just spent 2 1/2 hours picking holes into my skin. I fell into the self-harm trance, where nothing really feels like anything and time passes indescribably. I just... panicked, I guess. I've been doing so well considering, so why now? Now that I just can't afford to be wasting my time hurting myself. It's not even a cry for help. It's a punishment, a form of controlling and fixing. It just gave me something to focus on other than the hole I'm in.

I'm just going to do the best that I can. I can only hope for the best.

2008-12-13T00:14:00.000-08:00

I will be ready.

2008-12-10T06:03:00.000-08:00

I have not been awake for over 24 hours... yet. However, I was awake and writing the entire night, which makes me feel just as crazy.

But here I am eighteen fucking pages, a couple of "goddammit I'm crying while typing"-moments, and over twelve hellish hours later. I am actually done in one of my classes. Thank Jayzus!

...even if it is only Creative Writing and I could have just shit on a piece of paper in defense of my "revisions" and turned in my "revised piece."

Now, only two papers for lang 120, six pages for education, and two exams plus a paper for health!

woo. hoo.

Why do I feel like I just wasted over twelve hellish hours, a couple of "goddammit I'm crying while typing"-moments, and eighteen fuckings pages of energy on something that doesn't fucking matter?

Because it's fucking art, and fucking art doesn't FUCKING MATTER.

Gahhhhh. I just want to be a mathemagician, a.k.a. an Americanized English-speaking narwhal dressed in wizard's robes. Remember that, bitches? Yeah well, at this cracked-out point in my mind, I do.

I FUCKING REMEMBER YOU, MATHEMAGICIAN.

NEVER FORGET!

(gahhhhh!)

2008-12-07T00:48:00.000-08:00

I just left dinner, and before that I managed to have a conversation with one of my professors (you may be able to guess which one) which turned into being about my desire to be a dominatrix.

...What? Don't look at me like that. It was all in good fun.

2008-12-05T16:33:00.000-08:00

I have sneezed over sixty times in the past hour, and probably more like over seventy times. I type, I sneeze, I blow my nose, I type, I sneeze, I blow my nose. It just can't be very sanitary, even if I'm not contagious. Then again, think of what weird sneezing-disease I might have suddenly developed. Also, a note to Miss Hannah: if you somehow gave me this weird sneezing-disease and I end up coughing blood or with Mega Mono... I will give it back to you once you are better. That's not a threat, just a promise. :D

I am enjoying writing this final essay so much that I fear I will never leave it be. I'm already around the page requirement and I still have so much to write about, including answering the other half of the questions asked in the assignment. Literally writing literature about literacy isn't literary genius or literate qualification. Seriously, guys, please stop me. I'm losing my mind. I took another ritalin and two more provigil just a little while ago (or what seems like just a little while ago) and I feel like I have to keep writing and writing and writing. I must keep doing something that at least feels productive even if it isn't really. So I'm writing this.

I need to...

(Academic Writing)
-just get this paper over with
-write the next ones
-cite the sources for the first one
-read for FIT responses!
-write the FIT responses!!!
(by the 10th?)

(Health and Wellness Promotion)
-talk with professor on Monday
-do the makeup exam
-write the two-page paper
-study for the final exam
-bullshit a fitness log
(by ???...?)

(Creative Writing)
-write review of Creative Writing
-find out if new story will work
-revise the old story if not
(by the 10th?)

(Education)
-write five-page letter
-write one-page review of semester
(by the 15th!)

I just realized that if you rearrange the first letter of only the first word of my class titles, you can spell ACHE. Isn't that so nifty and slightly ironic? No? Too bad, because it's true, and I am never going to say that something is "true" ever again without thinking of this amazing/awful essay.

Dears, please save me from this hellish week that has managed to sneak up on me. I honestly just want to keep writing, and what I write doesn't matter as long as it's holding my focus. I am NOT going to let things get to this point next semester. I mean, shit, how could I after this? And this is just the beginning!

Woo! Only roughly fifty to seventy more pages to go!

2008-12-04T13:17:00.000-08:00

I didn't really go to my Education class today. By saying "really," I mean I went and stayed for five minutes before I lied by telling my professor that I had a phone session with my old therapist and I didn't want to disrupt the other students' presentations by being in class when she called me, then left. Whatever, I know what I need to do to pass that class anyways. I went to the writing center instead and left the story I wrote yesterday along with a little note explaining to my professor that I'm hoping he will accept it instead of a revision of my workshop piece. For the most part, I just don't think I could get back into the manic mindset to properly revise that piece. It is/was a pretty crazy story. I also emailed the story to my professor.

I'm actually feeling pretty good right now, even though I was feeling pretty groggy and exhausted earlier. I took two ritalin a little while ago, read to a friend the story I wrote yesterday. She said she liked it but wished the main character had done something differently, which is alright because that was kind of the point of the story and it's understandable to wish that when things don't turn out the way you had hoped they would. But, as I was reading the story to her, I realized that there were a few typos concerning tenses, which is a bummer considering that I wrote it as a final draft. Hey, they're typos and I wrote the story in a matter of hours, so no big deal. It's not due until next week or so anyways. My writing may be one of the only things in my life I'm truly proud of, but there's really no need to be a perfectionist.

The main thing I am worried about right now is all of the work I have to do from now until exams in order to pass my classes, especially Language. Other than that, there's the fact that I'm falling back into substance abuse, one of my closest friends (despite the fact that we rarely hang out other than before or after class) may run away with her ex-ex-boyfriend, a lot of my friends have either left or are leaving, I may be on academic probation next semester and unable to take all of the classes I want, I have agreed to work for my grandfather over winter break even though I loathe working there, and I'm not sure what the fuck I'm going to do with my life other than creative writing. What do I want to do? Fix my life so I never have to: do work other than creating my art, take classes that aren't interesting to me, worry about basically everything, hurt myself, and get hurt by those I care about. I know I don't have to do some of those things, but it's fucking hard to cope with reality. No one is perfect.

After I finish writing this, I need to run down to my room and call my mother, then get started on that almost-five page draft on "literacy" that's due tomorrow in Language, then do whatever else I can manage before I have to pop another ritalin. SO MUCH WORK. SOOOOO. MUUUUUUCH. WOOOOOORRRRRK.

I hope I can still eat with all of this shit in my system because I'm not enjoying this feeling of stomach acid eroding my stomach.

Would anyone like for me to post the story I wrote yesterday on this blog or facebook, or upload it to a website so you can download and read it? I don't really need feedback, but I'm always open to it. I think it's actually pretty good (or as good as I can find my own writing), even if it's somewhat different than my regular style. It's mostly an exploration of my idea of "parallel portraits" as well as an exercise in developing this character I've been working on lately. She's basically the new form of Good Ol' Miss Monstrosity. I know some of you might remember her.

I haven't actually written anything (including poetry) in my black journal for a pretty long time. It's been even longer since I actually journaled anywhere other than this blog. My journal lasted about six strong months, I think, and I still have it around. I don't want it to fall by the wayside, but I just don't write as much poetry lately unless it's on my computer or in my notebook, and I mostly journal here because it's so much easier. Plus, I can post pictures here, and who doesn't love seeing my gorgeous face?

Now,
MUST CALL MOTHER. MUST DO WORK.

2008-12-02T08:35:00.000-08:00

Good morning, darlings!

I actually went to every single one of my classes yesterday, and managed to talk to two out of three professors for the day. That means there's one left, because I already know what I can do for creative writing. I just need to... do it... I guess.

What makes courage meaningful to me? What makes me courageous? I am willing to do what it takes to overcome, and I am willing to take chances. What makes anyone courageous? The power to speak up, to disagree, to agree, to leave, to stay... really, the power to thrive and not just survive. It's easy to drift through life, and I understand that it's necessary sometimes in order to keep living, but when the time comes... who is willing to take the chance and overcome? The warriors.

It takes sacrifice, something I know about quite well. It takes commitment, something I've rarely given a second thought.

I'll write more later.

Alright, a few hours later and that piece of writing is done. Thank goodness, because I must have written at least four drafts, each in a completely different ideal. I think it's beautiful, or at least as beautiful as I can find my own writing, and the first stanza begins with "Lovers are born to suffer." Thanks, Depeche Mode!

I didn't go to my education class, but that's mostly because I am so far behind and was afraid that it would be painfully apparent and shameful. On the other hand, I did go talk to the professor, and she was a total sweetheart and said that if I turn in a 5pg letter to the presidential office concerning improving the school system, I would be in the passing range... as long as I also turn in a recounting of my first semester at UNCA. That should be fun. Either way, it is a huge weight that's now been lifted off of my shoulders. I love, love, love when my educators are so fucking understanding and caring.

In other news, I'm considering dropping teaching as a career goal and being a school counselor instead. Eventually, I might be a private counselor, but that's for later. Although, I would love to go into art therapy--visual as well as written and musical. Wouldn't that just be fantastic? For everyone involved, I hope. I just don't know what I would specialize in. As a school counselor, I would definitely want to be working in high schools. As a private counselor, the more obvious choices would be preteens, teens, and young adults with eating disorders, substance abuse issues, or anything that relates to my other diagnoses or interests. The problem? I think I need a masters for school counseling and probably a doctorate for private counseling, and I am so fucking sick of being a student. It is, of course, comforting since I have spent most of my life in the school system, but it is also really tedious when I feel like I have all of this creative and intellectual energy and potential already capable of being released. My dad put it quite nicely, saying that with me being a Gemini (yes, my father halfheartedly follows astrology), it's basically unfair of society to chain me down to such rigid requirements, and that I thrive in a chaotic routine of creation and intellectual stimulation. It actually makes sense to me. I am highly intelligent. My mother told me that before I had even turned 10, I scored with a 130 IQ. The problem with that? I currently only truly apply myself to doing what I want to do, which excludes math and things that I consider busy work and/or bullshit. What do I care about? Vague stuff. Fun stuff. Meaningful stuff. Rarely is any of it practical. I basically have to force myself to find a career that fits me, when I already feel I have a basic knowledge of what I want to really DO with my life. I want to help people, in any way I may. I want to create my art, whatever it may be. I want to share everything I have to offer with others.

A note on the side, I could never be a social worker. I probably couldn't last a single bad case without curling up into a little ball and crying for days and days. I would be completely useless. Too theoretical, too impassioned, too straightforward. I don't want to have to deal with the bureaucratic bullshit and the horrifying situations. Recently, my mother told me about a kid that was so underweight for his age that he didn't even fucking REGISTER on the growth scale. That's fucking terrifying, and I would want to swoop in and rescue him. I couldn't handle the restrictions. At least as a counselor I can call a social worker to help me out. I mean, come on, that's just sick. I don't know how my mother does it and stays halfway sane.

I can't chop my hair off... I have to work for my grandfather over break. FUCK THAT. I want my mohawk now now now!

I love you, babies.

p.s. telling me I can't do or have something just makes me want to so so so much more.

2008-11-29T20:03:00.001-08:00

I SHAVED MY HEAD. :O

JUST KIDDING,

but seriously, yeah, I am definitely considering doing just that. On the other hand, I love just how fucking curly my hair is lately. Fuck feeling obligated to straighten my hair, because my cherubic hair is plain adorable. But, I feel like I need a change, something drastic. But, I want to grow my hair out. But, I want a mohawk. But, I hate the upkeep! I mean, what doesn't require upkeep? Long hair. What don't I have yet? Long hair. What do I love/hate? That quite possibly awkward growing stage. Besides, what if I don't look good with a mohawk anymore, or with a shaved head? What if I grew out of being able to pull off all of that crazy shit? Is that possible? Do I really give a shit? I think that's the misconception concerning mohawks and shaved heads... despite how it seems, you kind of have to give a shit to keep shaving your head and spiking that motherfucker. Gah, and all the fucking product you have to put into your fucking hair is ridiculous! I can't decide if it's worth it or not. Eh, it will work itself out. After all, it's just hair! I've done it before. Short pixie cut? Check. Dykey soccer mom hair? Check. Fascimullet? Check. Relatively long hair? Check. Shaved head? Check. Mohawk? Check. Half-shaved head? Check, but kind of too much. Anyways, I am not going to curl up into a tiny ball and cry if I dislike my haircut. It's just surface bullshit, just another way to express myself.

Last night I got incredibly shit-faced/wasted/plastered/druuunk and spent around an hour (at least) curled up in a friend's bathroom, just fucking puking my poor fucking guts out. I had only had seven shots and one full glass of wine. It was completely ridiculous. At one point, I think I was hunched over the toilet, puking with my undies down because I had just peed, and my babygirl walked in to check on me. I think that's what happened. I don't remember a lot. I know I puked outside and acted like it was no big deal. Later, I went outside with a plastic bowl in case I threw up again, just so I could have another cigarette. God, I haven't been that bad in forever. There was abso-fucking-lutely no way I was driving home, so I had to spend the night, and today my mother freaked out at me because I hadn't even called.

Bright side? Ritalin, bitches! Getting at least a D average! Taking the rest of my meds! Cutting throats and shooting dope!

GAAAAHHHHHH. sorry, crazy, my bad.