One day I am going to remember exactly who I am.

I feel as though I have lost my sense of self but no one else sees that. I look at things I've written in the past and I feel as though I am intruding on someone else's thoughts. It's terrifying, to say the least. I understand things change, people especially, but to see such a drastic change in one's own mind is difficult to just accept. 

What happened to the girl with a social life?

Or the optimism?

Or the ambition?

Most importantly though, what happened to the facade she put up so well?

I want it back. I'm sick of being this. If this is what being real is like then I want to be imaginary and make believe again. I can't even fake anything as well as I used to be able to. That bothers me so much too because in all honesty, lying to people about your mental state and what you really think isn't that hard once you've mastered the skill. In fact it's always been very easy for me to get people to think what I want them to think. I'm sure this makes me sound really bad but I don't mind at the moment. Believe me, any negative feelings you could possibly have about me mean nothing to me; I suppose I'm self-centered and more concerned with having to deal with myself than other people.

Color me vindictive.

Color me manipulative.

Color me whatever way you want because you're still going to end up a victim to whatever I decide to do anyways.

A Quick Note:

Don't hold me to any of this. And if it changes the way you think about me, just know I'm laughing in your face right now. If you can't acknowledge your own nature, because you know you have your own flaws and less than socially acceptable tendencies, then you're doomed to lying to yourself. And at the moment lying to yourself is worse than lying to other people to me, but that probably has a lot to do with my current indifference toward everything and lack of happiness with just about every person I know. The indifference and unhappiness will recede eventually, but I'm stuck living in the mood swing and this is the result.

I'm done rambling now.

Radioactive.

Somewhere deep inside my bones,
where it’s hollow and cold as snow,
the consequences of my tragic flaw,
create an unsightly electric glow.
Once your eyes have seen it,
it’s impossible to ignore;
It’s an unrelenting neon sign
outside a lovely liquor store.
But as enticing as it appears to be,
you can’t let its glow deceive you.
It’s radioactive and once you’ve touched it,
the glow will never leave you.
‘Cos I’m poisonous and unhealthy;
a desolate, hazardous wasteland.
I’m intoxicating and diseased-
absolutely impossible to withstand.
As an unpredictable creature,
with an inclination to cause harm,
I’m warning you to keep your distance,
and resist my fatal charm.

 

I wish I wrote for something worthwhile.

This no-name blog that just about no one reads is looking pretty pathetic from where I'm sitting.

But then again I've become increasingly familiar with "pathetic" over the past couple of weeks.

Anyway, there is too much in my head to write about right now. Needless to say it's all shit that no one really follows or pays any real attention to, so it really is better left unsaid.

Word to the wise, before I decide to publish this piece of shit post- fractured collar bones and working are not friends. Neither are fractured collar bones and seat belts or fractured collar bones and sleep.

Moral of the story: Don't get hit by a fucking car and fracture your collar bone.

Go ahead and see it all.

I'm really sick of being so ashamed of myself.

I really want to let people in.

Take a look. Go ahead and wince; I'm expecting it.

Today was rough, and I mean really rough. I woke up in pain, but what else does one expect after being hit by a car. To go along with that though I was in one of my moods.

Ohhh, the perks of having borderline personality disorder.


So to put it in a nutshell, I was nothing short of unhappy. I was mad at myself, mad at the world, mad at fact that I was mad. I tried to just brush it off and pretend everything was okay, but I couldn't.


And then I came home. Fuck me if it wasn't one of the worse days I've had in a long time (and it was so you can go enjoy your hand now). I ended up having a complete mental breakdown. It started out as horrible panic attack (today of all days when I had no xanax too) and then it progressed into something more like a fit. I was just a crying mess; self-loathing and a strong desire to hurt myself and all. My mother ended up coming into my room to see what was wrong and that sent me on an entirely different rant! She tried making me feel better: she told me I was everything she ever wanted. Of course, being the insensitive little bitch I am I replied with, "Oh, so you wanted a closed off, mentally unstable, anorexic, self-loathing daughter with a brain disorder?" Needless to say, I made her cry. She said we could "fix" certain things and learn to deal with the rest. But I'm not okay with any of that.


1. I don't want "certain things" fixed. At least not yet.
2. I'm so sick of being "dealt with".


I hate feeling like people feel like they are obligated to help me, or obligated to do something about the way I feel. I'm trying to make people see that there is very little control anyone has over the way I feel, especially when it comes to the way I feel about myself. And to feel as though everyone else feels "obligated" only makes me feel like an even bigger piece of worthless shit. People don't deal with things they're happy to have or want to be around; they deal with things that they feel they can do nothing else with. It's like they're stuck with something, nowhere to go, so they suck it up and deal with it. Just think of how horrible it is to actually feel this way. To keep it simple, when I think of people "dealing with" me I feel so terribly unwanted. The unwanted feelings and hate toward myself are reinforced- I don't like myself and clearly no one else does. It's extremely difficult to fathom and even harder to actually sit through without giving up entirely.


The logic and validity of everything I just said is bound to be challenged. I would prefer that people who think otherwise would consider where I am coming from. I know people like/love/value me, but I can't see why. I don't expect people to be consistent with that either. You like/love/value what you think I am; if you knew the real me you would hate me.

bad luck is an understatement.

Today I was hit by a car. I don't mean that I was in my car and another vehicle hit mine. I mean that I was crossing the street after class, a woman on her cell phone didn't stop at her stop sign and turned right into me.

I didn't get her information. I didn't even check to see what kind of car it was. After being hit I went straight into a panic attack and walked to my car as fast as I could. I didn't go to the hospital because I'm stubborn (and quite frankly, an idiot). 

Now, seven hours later, my body is in the most pain it's been in all day. I can't move. Everything is popping and aching and not moving like it should. 

On top of all that, I'm ridiculously hungry. Of course there is no food in the house and I can't drive myself to get food. So I'm left here on the couch to be hungry and hurting. I can't even lie down to go to sleep because it hurts that bad. I have no pain medicine. I have no food. I'm extremely unhappy at the moment.

Crying is getting annoying, as is going into shock every ten minutes.

bitch.

Cherry - Ratatat

I'm really sick of coughing.

I've eaten too much for the past few days.

My parents no longer have me on their insurance.

My lips are chapped.

None of my clothes fit anymore.

My room is a huge mess.

I'm thirsty.

My body hurts.

My chest pains are getting worse.

I think we all need to take a moment or two out of our day to sit down and bitch, bitch, bitch. Pure bitching for the sake of bitching. It works better when you know someone is listening (or reading in this case.) So, do me a favor and leave me a comment answering a simple question: "What the fuck is wrong with you right now?"

From the heart.

I can't articulate what's wrong with me right now.

I can't explain what's wrong with me right now.

I can't control what's wrong with me right now.

All I can say is something is wrong with me right now.

I can say over and over again that I feel as though dying right now is the only thing that will make any of it go away. I know that come tomorrow morning it won't make any difference that I feel this way right now, or at least I can hope so. I've been laying in my bed for over an hour, unable to do anything but entertain the alluring idea of not existing. In my head, that's the only thing that will fix this, whatever this is. Words escape me. I can't look anyone in the eye. I want to tell people what's wrong, but I don't know how. I feel alone. I feel empty. I feel hopeless. I feel expendable. I feel, but I don't really feel. I'm trying to think of everything that makes me happy; of everything that makes me want to be alive. People, places, ideas- they're all sitting right here in my mind but for some reason it's not working. I'm still laying in this god forsaken bed thinking of how much I want to die. I know that I have plenty to live for. Believe me, I know that and I would hate for anyone reading this to think that I'm going to kill myself. I'm not. At least not any time soon. But this feeling, or lack there of, is overwhelming. Not in sense of making me cry. Not in the sense of stressing me out. It's overwhelming in an indescribable way. Half of me wants to sit here, alone, and just be without having to be. The other half of me wants someone to sit here with me and just be.

I keep closing my eyes, thinking maybe if I focus on my breathing all of this will ease up just enough to make it bearable. It's not working. Every time I close my eyes I see things I don't want to see. I try to listen to my breathing and realize I'm either holding my breath or breathing extremely unevenly. I want to tell someone this, but I don't because I don't want to worry anyone. I don't want to risk people seeing me differently. I don't want to let myself be vulnerable only to have whoever decides to listen think I'm overreacting or sounding stupid or making no sense or crazy. Definitely not crazy. I'm so sick of being crazy. I'm so sick of being ambivalent and hard to reach. I'm so sick of feeling like I have nothing to say. I'm so sick of having so much to say, and saying nothing. I'm just really sick of myself, whatever that even means.

Right now, I have no sense of self. I'm empty and sad but in such a way I feel neither empty or sad. I have no desire to put up with myself and I can't imagine anyone who should have to put up with me if I don't want to do the same. There is an urge, or maybe it's a thought, to just give up. To just stop. To lay in this bed and remain ineffectual to the world around me. Everything has been spinning just fine this entire time I've been laying here.
Why wouldn't it continue to do the same if I decided to do this forever?

Said the gypsy to the girl with no face, "Ooh girl, you're nothing but a walking disaster."

Tell me something I don't know.

Your imagination- I'm willing to bet money you love it. You love to close your eyes and pretend and imagine and wish and wonder and let it take you away, don't you? I bet your imagine is your refuge: during boring lectures, when you're dozing off at night, when you're planning your wedding to that person you've never even talked to. Yeah. You love your imagination and wouldn't get rid of it for anything, would you?

Well let me tell you something: I would.

Contrary to popular belief, imaginations aren't all chocolate and rose petals. I blame mine for dreams, for my worry, for my exhausting tendency to over-think, over-analyze, and over-look things in my life. Imaginations are the source of difference. They remind us of things we wish we had and worry the hell out of us about things that terrify us. Anything you can think of comes straight from that wonderful fucking imagination of yours and you've never thought twice about the downside of your imagination. 

Don't tell me I can use my imagination to see things in a positive or negative light. 

Don't tell me I'm being irrational and pessimistic.

Don't tell me anything.

Just take it for what it is and imagine a life without imagination, no matter how uninviting and boring you might think it is.

I hate coincidence.

I don't care to elaborate, so I won't. Just know that I hate coincidence but definitely prefer it over the idea that everything happens for a reason.

Accidents are accidents are accidents.

The internal monologue that is my thought process is not happy with me.

The difference between what I want to think and what I really think are having quite the war right now. What I want to think is the North Pole and what I really think is the South pole. Now that they've met in the middle, instead of compromise you get the center of the earth: a solid, hot, uncompromising core. There is nowhere to move from here so nothing is getting anything done. Plates are shifting from within and the rest of me is at risk for uncontrollable earthquakes and tsunamis. 

I told you I'm a natural disaster. 

I have what most would call an "issue" with being passive-aggressive. I keep all this stuff to myself instead of asking questions or saying what I'm thinking and then I get to this point where I can feel every little thing inside my head take over my body. I get tense and angry and stressed plus a whole mess of even more emotions but no matter how uncomfortable everything is, I keep my mouth shut. Most of the time I don't say anything because 1. I don't want to overreact over trivial things 2. a lot of what I keep to myself would destroy any sort of image anyone might have of me and 3. I know that the chances of me saying what's in my head in a polite and understandable manner are very slim.

Keeping everything to myself is the smart thing to do. It's safer for everyone else and it's safer for me. Still, sometimes I wish I would just speak. I don't know why I find it so difficult. Actually, I'm pretty sure I do know why I find it difficult but I'm not going to get into that.

The point here is I've got a lot going on in my head right now. More than I let on and more than I want to admit, but it's there. It sounds stupid to say I'm fragile to be around right now, but it's as close to the truth as I can get.

I'm much like a volcano. 

I have all this hot lava coursing through my veins, waiting for a chance to just explode and burn the masses.

I'm going to have to tip-toe carefully for the next few days to prevent a natural disaster.

When I think about it, it gets harder to breathe.

>insert sigh here<

If you were told to read a book about about a person who was allegedly like you in every way, would you read the book?

Would you know exactly what to expect to be reading?

Would it effect you in any way at all?

I know it's all hypothetical, but it's something I would love people to consider. How do you see yourself? Do you think its any different from the way other people see you? Does the possibility of that bother you at all? My answer is, plain and simply, yes. Thinking about personality characteristics and the way a person represents their self through language and actions, it is not surprising or hard to believe that different people would interpret a person differently. But you would think something as familiar and personal and tangible as a person's body would be something you could count on as being consistently seen. Unfortunately, I have learned that it is impossible to rely on physical perceptions, especially of one's one self. I could sit here and type a lengthy list about schema's and identity and the construct of reality leaving you with some psychobabble to chew on and spit out, but I don't want to do that.

Instead I would just like you to make yourself aware of the differences in how you see yourself and how others see you. If you must, ask people what they see. Do it shamelessly because, in my own personal experience, it makes the entire task much more bearable. Take into consideration the fact that people see you for more than you see yourself. Let yourself embrace and embody that possibility. 

We are more than what we think we are, but less all at the same time.

In relation to the rest of the world, we are all insanely insignificant. As disheartening as this can be though we have to keep in mind that we are still connected to everything and everyone around us. 

I think I'm starting to spiral down a new tangent about the importance of being..."humble" isn't the word, but it's something close to it.

I'm going to stop now, but I leave you with this to digest:

"Does the rose have to do something? No, the purpose of a rose is to be a rose. Your purpose is to be yourself. You don't have to run anywhere to become someone else. You are wonderful just the way you are."

Disconnected from reality,

Struggling to breathe through tears.

Stuck in another endless hour,

Laying victim to my fears.

Their venom tongues touch my ears,

planting their poisoned seed.

They're using my secrets against me,

while violently I plead,

"You're killing me too slowly,

can you please just do this faster?

Please put me out of my misery;

I'm nothing but disaster."

Still, they like to tease and torture,

and leave me on the edge of gone.

While I cry and beg for a light,

the hour just drags on and on.

My tell tale heart.

I've had heart attacks on my mind lately. I suppose it makes sense when you consider the amount of chest pain I tend to endure on a day to day basis. I can't say I'm too terribly afraid of having a heart attack though. I mean, that's not to say I want to have one, I'm just saying there is really nothing I could do if I were to have one. And I think I would be much more pissed off if I had a heart attack and didn't live through it than if I lived to tell the tale. Well, the idea of dying from a heart attack pisses me off more than having one and surviving because if I did die from one I really wouldn't know the difference. Either way, I really hope my heart doesn't fail. It's amazing the amount of strength and compassion that surrounds an organ that attacks itself. The more I think about it, the more poetic I find the entire thing. The heart is, in a sense, the essence of life. It keeps people alive, but still suffers from the stresses and hardships of the rest of the mind and body. And when left to it's own devices, it attacks itself.

I am a heart; trapped in a cage while I beat beat beat and wait to fail fail fail.

Everything feels better against bare skin.

Have you ever paid attention to the way things really feel? I don’t mean the way blankets feel soft or the way fire feels hot. I mean the way they really, really feel. As a very ticklish person, I’ve always been hyperaware of what it feels like to be touched. For a long time I didn’t like to be touched for just that reason. It drove me insane to think of things touching me without knowing how they really feel, but I’ve gotten much more comfortable with being touched. I’ve learned to love to feel. I’ve grown to love the way cold concrete makes my bare foot arch. I can stand on the beach and feel every grain of sand shift beneath my toes when the waves roll in and out. I love the way my hair dances against my cheek when the wind blows. I look forward to sinking into my pillow and letting it form a soft castle around my head right before I fall asleep. My favourite feeling though, and I mean absolute favourite, is the way skin feels against skin. Whether it’s a hand touching a hand, a cheek touching a shoulder, or lips touching lips, the feeling is one of the best in the world. It makes me sad to think that people usually take the way these things feel for granted too. There’s something exciting about that invisible line between two things that is broken right before they touch. I can’t even articulate the feeling of skin on skin, that’s how wonderful it is. Think about it; what does skin on skin feel like? The only answer that comes to mind is, of course, “skin”. I don’t think that’s an acceptable answer. It’s so much more than just skin touching skin.

But anyway, I had an urge to write about the way things feel because I was playing with a lighter and my mother told me to stop because I was going to burn myself. I saw it differently though. Sure every time I stuck my finger in the flame, it felt hot but the flame seemed to do more than just burn me. It engulfed my finger. It danced around my finger. It touched my finger. Then I got to thinking about how everything seems to feel better against bare skin and this was what I ended up with.

The next time something touches you, feel it.

"The idea that I can't share my problems with other people makes me not give a shit about their problems."

Oh, it's definitely been one of those days. The whole "I fucking hate myself and want to die" theme song resonating in my head is getting old. It's impossible for one to hate themselves so much in one day and keep from doing anything stupid and irrational, but somehow I've managed because the day is almost over and I'm still functioning. 

So, aside from all that self-loathing bullshit, I went and saw Seven Pounds. I would hate to spoil the movie on here, so all I have to say about it is "wow". Despite figuring out what was going on about 15 minutes into the movie, it was still really good and had I any ounce of emotion in my body today I would have cried. I recommend it.

There was something else I had to say, but of course I can't remember what it was. Oh wait! Yes I can!

You see, all day in my annoying mood, I had this strange urge to have my face covered. I buried my face in shoulders, couches, jackets, blankets and I even covered my face with a hat too. It was weird and something tells me I'll be sleeping completely under my blankets tonight because the idea of having my face covered still sounds really really nice. 

I suppose I could also talk about New Years on here too. I went to Disneyland New Year's Eve. HOT DAMN there were a lot of people there. I'm proud to say I didn't have a panic attack in the huge crowd of people before the countdown. But I did ride Tower of Terror, the one ride I said I would never, ever ride again. That made my heart hurt like a mother fucker, but I got over it. So, all in all, I had a very, very nice time. I did think it was extremely funny though that it got so foggy it was impossible to see the fireworks go off at midnight! I laughed. A lot. 

Okay. I think I'm done now.