Monday, December 20, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
this song - i wish i had come across it earlier in the summer when everything was all sticky wet and sexual. its so sleezy and its the perfect song to fuck someone to. its like what jimmy edgar does but with less r&b and more electro - so that means i like it a lot more.
listen to it here.
such a disappointment
as a daughter -
that i suffer from
pain in multiples -
that i need pills
just like my god-forsaken father
& that no matter how great
i am doing you will
never forgive me my faults
my past mistakes
are as real to you
i will always be a drugged out
girl who deserved to be raped
who only wanted attention
who craved attention
cries too much
who can't be strong enough
who puts her family
pops more pills so she
can't feel anymore
who has wasted
any talent she had
who is nearly 30
and still living at your house
& now has her
piece of shit friend
"eating you out of
house and home &
drinking all your pop
smoking all your cigarettes
& come to think of it
he never even does the dishes
like he is supposed to."
which just further proves
how lousy your daughter is
at making decisions -
i am sorry i am such an
that i am not like
who has his own car
who has his own house
who works for the university of michigan
who has always done well in school
who has never disappointed you
who never shows emotions
but when, whose heart does get broken
well - then we call out all the stops
i am sorry
i am not what you wanted me to be
i am sorry i am flawed
full of contradictions
that i was old enough to know
how epically FUCKED my childhood really was
i am sorry that the things that interest me
and matter to me
you could give a shit about
but it doesnt mean
you can yell at me
and tell me
that i am
than a pill addicted
piece of shit.
because it couldn't be
further from the truth
and i really
really resent you for that.
how dare you come into my room
and try to have small talk
after you tell me i am
(and people wonder why i
have such huge complexes)
that i felt the urge to
into the fetal
and slice the bits of skin
that cover me with a razor
while smiling with
as the blood rushed out
knowing that i was a living
fully aware that i was
the one who was
never feeling more alive
than in that moment
when the metal
& it scares me
that i am loosing
all sense of normality
all sense of who i am
that my depression
is sinking me into
this disgusting thing
who wants to hurt herself
so she can feel something
other than ugly, awful, mundane,
plain, unwanted, sad, horrible,
pathetic, rebounded, dumb, stuck,
surrounded by sycophants, nasty,
unloved, unforgivable, hypocritical,
hated, her own worst enemy,
never going to make it anyway,
a fucking joke, who will never find
a person who will love her warts & all,
always trying to please people who are
so not worth pleasing and
did i mention stuck? - miserable,
for-ever-questioning what the hell
the point even is in breathing -
yet- not able to give up just yet -
and so instead
i day dreamed of the days
when i -
put metal to skin
the satisfying rush of blood
how the line doesn't rush right away
but shows up like invisible ink
the anger the hate the self hate
clarity came that i don't hate myself
and that's the difference
which is why i didn't even bother
i went outside to clean
the elderly neighbor's
mailbox which got covered
in garlic couscous
and more garlic
(they must have wanted to
keep the glittering twilight vampires away?)
by the concurring teenage football team
and i had to laugh at the irony of it all
these teenagers -
enacting random acts of completely
stupid vandalism upon strangers -
and i -
as a teen
sat in my room
vandalizing my wrists,
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
on the upside, i have reached a point where i no longer end up having panic attacks when i know he is with jeanne having some wonderful quasi romantic outing - they deserve that and each other and if thats what they want, then great - i am respecting it - i only ask that jeanne respects me enough to get him out of my fucking house. because if they love one another that much, enough to destroy their friendships with me - they can at least remove me from the picture instead of keeping me stuck in it and feeling awkward and often still reminded of the rejection that took place. i understand that this is, of course, asking too much. but i knew he would go see her today, i knew it like i knew the sun would rise. and sure enough he is with her. i just don't understand why they try to act differently. i don't understand why he tries to pretend like he doesn't talk about me to her, when i know he does. i don't understand why he thinks he deserves to have my trust. what trust? he broke it so many times, and like jeanne - this was the last fucking straw.
so if sometimes i say - wynn actually genuinely gives a shit about me, he actually wants to know what i am upset about and doesn't use it against me, he actually wants to help me and hold me and fix me - i mean it. he does. i don't believe for a second that zak dean gives a fuck about how i feel or if i am suicidal and unhappy - he doesn't try to help me or even talk to me about it. instead he tends to make the feeling worse by reminding me how i don't have it nearly as rough as he does. and how i am 'all he has.' and i correct him and say 'oh but you have jeanne too and don't forget you like her far more than you like me.' which is true and which shuts him up. he says i am a liar because i said there would be no relationship between us but when he sent me letters they implied more than anything a relationship. that was how i took it. i say he is a liar and hes betrayed me because for the past year now, all i have asked is that he doesn't get with my best friend - that he doesn't mind fuck me that way - because it hurts me in ways i cant even begin to put words to. he promised he wouldn't. and what was the first thing he did? oh, that. and so he tries with his rightious indigation to say i am the one who is wrong - but im not. i brought up the one thing i asked of him, and he said "oh fuck, shit, yeah...god cor, im so sorry."
through tears, i looked at him "sorry? are you? yeah.. right. youre always so fucking sorry, aren't you."
but the truth of the matter is, im no longer angry.
i don't like him like that, and half the time, i really can't even stand him.
he doesn't feel like a friend. he doesn't treat me like a friend, or someone who matters to him.
he treats me like i will always be around, someone to always take care of him
someone for him to always walk all over.
its not going to last much longer.
i had to get on another anti-depressant, and a mood stabilizer
because ive been so depressed and suicidal since he got here.
his energy - its bad energy. i want it away from me.
there isnt anything to work out. sometimes, people are just... horrible.
sometimes they are just black holes.
im looking at finding a job,
finding a place to move away from them and everyone here
a way to start over.
looking at going to school again,
attempting to get rid of the negative aspects of my life
which is going to be a slow process
but none the less
learning to not let things that i know are stupid upset me
when its not me that is upset, rather it is my ego
and really, my ego can take it
i wont always win
and really - was this a battle i wanted to win? seriously?
if i had won this, what would it say about me as a person?
it would say nothing good.
it would say i don't process my feelings, i take a ton of drugs & abuse them, that i act childish, that i haven't worked out my issues or my shit and instead pin it on others, that i refuse to grow up and blame others for my faults - it would say that these past six years - i have learned nothing and grown little if none at all. they say you attract what you are - im definately not him. im so fucking far above him. he hates himself so much that it oozes out of his conversations, in the way he moves, the way he talks and what he even talks about. she hates herself too. its in the way she treats other people, herself, how she looks, how lazy she is, how angry she is. how many benzos she takes to get through the day. anything to avoid feeling.
and me - i don't take drugs unless i have to. unless the pain is too much to bare, unless the panic attack is lurking in my throat. unless i have been throwing up. i analyze my feelings constantly and ask myself why i am doing what i am doing and try to correct my mistakes. i read constantly - about psychology, myth, addiction, co-dependancy, jung. i accept all responsibility for my mistakes. i apologize when i am wrong. i have civil conversations and i try hard to not attack those who have hurt me although sometimes it is really hard. in general, i have relationships with people that are all very stable and not full of drama. the adults around me respect me and feel like i am very much together and very bright. they can't believe what i have been through and how i have gotten to this point. i can say openly that i do not hate who i am. i can also say that lately i have wanted very much to die. its been very stressful, very hard, to do nothing all day, to loose a job i loved - a perfect job for me and then go to working a horrible job where everyone talked shit about how i am a drug addict - when i am not. i never even got a chance. and it really hurt and upset me. especially when everyone who works there is on something, and yet, i had problems? cos... i didn't. so i quit, because it was killing my body and now i am broke with too much time on my hands. i need to go back to school if i can, and i need a better job and i need to figure this shit out this week. i need to quit being so depressed but its hard when everyone in this house is so depressed - hanging by a thread, and the person who shares this room with me - is constantly talking about wanting to die. as if that is my fault.
and wynn, hes very nice, very good to me. i like him but he is now madly in love with me. i dont know what to do. i can say i love him, in ways i do, but hes not perfect for me. hes not smart enough, definately not ambitious enough. he has the ability to go to whatever college he wants to and he would rather work a shit job and drink. hes an alcoholic and... hes not really working on that one. and, i can't be with someone who is that fucked up. who turns me into his new drug, which is what is happening. im going to fail. i wont give him what he needs. which is constant attention. i need space. i need time to figure out who i am and what i want. because i am still really confused and really hurt. and i still interact with a person who is constantly stabbing me with his words.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
It’s ironic, isn’t it that we survived. Both of us, the two girls he thought would die before him. The two girls he thought were more or less worthless but beautiful.
When I think about him, I don’t think about the bad things, because he is dead. He’s dead & he’s not coming back. I miss him and then if I really think about it, I realize that I don’t know who I miss. Maybe I miss myself before I became all damaged and broken. Maybe it’s not even him at all. And we turned him into some sort of jesus figure – he died so that we could live. But it isn’t even about that – he died because he only cared about himself, and he thought he was immortal, and he was always chasing the next high.
He had us risking our lives to run drugs through borders so that he could make more money that he would never let us touch. I remember how mad he got at me, the first time I did it. I was anxious & started a conversation with a border guard about whether or not I could bring a cat back from mexico, and if I did what would it need to have with it. Apparently they aren’t asked questions like that. The next thing I knew, all of my shit was being searched & I was thinking to myself – “well, they finally got me. There goes my life. Its jail in fucking Arizona for now on.” But, they didn’t catch us. And I remember how I got the worst lecture about how stupid I was, how could I be so fucking stupid? An hour car ride consisting of belittling me because I wasn’t as smart as him. Like I had ever fucking done anything that serious before.
I have always felt guilty for leaving him behind. But I had finally had enough. I had enough of the shit, and I had been writing diary entries about how I wanted to die, about how miserable I was out there & about how horrible he was. I was on the phone every other day to my parents, talking about how I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing there. I may have always used drugs, I may have been an addict, but at that point I was the one who was responsible for everything, I was the one who kept shit together. I wanted him to know that I kept it all together & he should fucking appreciate it. I wanted him to know that I was never so desperate as to stay with someone who treated me like I was beneath him. Now, I realize how much of a front it all was, how much of a joke, but, back then I was 22 and in love and naïve but I wasn’t stupid.
I wanted a pair of 12 dollar shoes. 12 dollar shoes after I had once again risked everything for five grand worth of drugs. I asked him for the 12 dollars. He refused. I called him names. He shoved me into a brick wall right in front of everyone. People stared. I was mortified. A moment later, crying, I went to the pay phone and called my family. Two days later, I was on a plane back to Chicago, with my cat in tow. Fuck it, and fuck him, I was done. Survivalism had finally kicked in. He blamed the drugs. He blamed me. Always with the fucking drugs. How the hell did I live through it? Looking back, I am aware of how lucky I am – to be sitting here in this car right now, breathing, alive, writing these words. I took anethestics because I was in pain, emotional & physical pain. I took them because that was what he did, and I didn’t know any better. I shot those drugs into his body after he made me practice on a goddamn orange for hours. I swam in pools, high & numb, and I didn’t drown but god did I want to. I was drowning in other ways. He wanted a life, he wanted money, he wanted marriage. We had rings and we had fights and they were vicious. He never believed I loved him though, and maybe I didn’t. maybe I did. I was still talking to tom, and, if I had been smart, I would have cut tom out sooner, but he was my best friend. He was my twin before I ever had a twin. He was the air I breathed until he strangled me. I couldn’t be devoted 100% to anyone. I wasn’t even devoted to myself.
And so I left. It was easy. It was scary and wrong how easy it was. I remember sitting next to a girl, this little girl, and how she told me stories on my whole flight home. I took a picture of her smiling face.
I have pictures of us, as a couple. I keep them buried. I have pictures of him with our children, the cats. I wanted a fucking animal so bad, it was so lonely in that cold house. So one day he surprised me & we went and got cats. He named his lestat, and I named mine Sebastian. Except that Sebastian was a girl, so she became ava coco adore. Lestat, god, he was never creative. He got rid of lestat shortly after I left. He called me every day for months begging me to come back ‘home,’ to have a life with him. I refused. I am surprised I was able to hold out. I wonder why I did. I don’t remember. Those memories, like a lot of them, are gone. Erased, after the last car accident.
When I developed the roll of film, I found a picture of myself, asleep, curled up with the kittens in my arms. He had taken it, in some moment of tenderness. That is the picture that makes my heart sink the most. It was an act of love, an act of devotion.
If he were still here, would we even talk? Would we be friends? Would we have become lovers again or would he have married heather or someone else? When I miss him, I think about that the most. And, I am always, always trying to find someone who is the right balance of him, my frist love, and now, ray. I think I loved ray so much because he was so much like him, but not nearly as stupid, not nearly as self destructive, but compelely full of self loathing, and full of horror stories that now make no sense to me. He was an island floating in my bed. But he was brilliant like him, and they would have become best friends – if he were still breathing.
It’s weird being older now. It’s weird having some sort of life – having a desire to accomplish things & realzing that your time can run out at any second & you have to make it count. You have to make it count.
‘But I don’t have the drugs to sort it out….”