March 2, 2016 § 2 Comments
I have been writing a decent amount lately. Somewhat proud of myself, however, it is because I’ve been feeling like shit. I usually write when I feel terrible. I’ve mostly been catching up, reading up too much on the news on topics that are important and I feel it is imperative for myself and everyone to read, despite really fucking kicking the shit out of me emotionally. The Jian trial really affected me of course, but then the Kesha trial, now I’m just rewatching Lady Gaga’s Oscar performance and bawling my eyes out.
Obviously this is my stage of nice crying. I’m not going to sugarcoat that. I’m not at any state to actually show my disgusting bleeding eyeball snot dripping drooling cry face as of yet, sorry. I also rarely post pictures of myself, or anything actually, on here. I am trying to start getting more active via social media though since apparently there are going to be murals of me around the city…and world (although the first one is just going to be the back of me), I have to start thickening my skin to deal with people who will be talking about how hideous and worthless I am so might as well start as soon as possible.
That is all somewhat related to the original topic. I know I veer around and ramble, part of my charm HA just kidding. So rape in general is fucking horrific, but I still think it’s a much bigger issue (which also leads into violent rapes that make it into the news) of people thinking if they just keep trying, that it will happen. Or that whoops, it just slipped in. And I, myself, have become desensitized far too much to this. I only recently learned that certain events throughout my life were wrong. I’ve outlined them somewhat in previous posts, but there are so many more that I’ve experienced, and that I know many others have experienced where it’s made into an “accident”, “You were just so hot”, “I was so attracted to you”, etc. And then you decide ehh, I’ll just let it happen because it kind of already has. I have a list written of my partners and I started redoing it with markings of the people who have basically done it without my consent. Who kept trying, who I really liked but still made boundaries about certain things, but was too insecure to be forceful, thinking that if I said no they’d stop talking to me completely, hurt me, etc. All of that usually happened anyway, but it’s a weird cycle and it starts to web itself into the corners of your brain.
I just got a call from the place I was supposed to be starting work. I thought the guy I interviewed with really liked me. I mean, he did I suppose, but I was starting to get worried because I was supposed to hear about when I’d have my first trial shift this week on Saturday night and hadn’t heard until just a few minutes ago. I had texted yesterday morning about it and was losing hope completely to be honest, and usually in this line of business, people just ghost you. YEAH like asshole dates. But, he did get back to me just now. I was really excited about this place, it seemed like such a good fit for me, I seemed to like everyone I met and talked to, I’d started memorizing (was almost done) the menu, but then when the manager did get back to me…he told me since the other girls were so strong, one or both would probably work out. And besides that, he liked me a lot but I’d told him about the sexual harassment and whatnot at my last job (obv not just that, because I hate myself so much in various ways and for various reasons), but that he got a vibe that I seemed very fragile and going through some personal things that he hoped I could get under control and wanted me to try back in a couple months if I got that under control. HA.I just…I think about things I’ve said before about how pain and sadness just comes out of you. You can try to hide it, cover it up, but people can just feel it, they just know. And I want to feel better about myself but…how do I do that? I hate therapists and the entire mental health system, talking about things. And I’m too socially conscious to actually be honest anyway. I honestly wonder at times like these if I should be in the hospital. I actually go tomorrow for something unrelated. Who knows, maybe I have some insane disease anyway that would keep me from working anyway. Dude I’ve been fucking and close to living with the past couple months (not in a romantic way, just a friendly ‘I understand your roommates disgusting’ kind of way) had strep anyway, so I was worried I’d get it right when I started work. But, despite that…should I see if they can help me with my depression and related shit? I hate getting help as well…I just want to do it myself.
My parents are calling hopefully tonight. I told them there were some urgent things to discuss…but…I don’t even know what to say now. I have to email some people and I have an interview Friday too…and the place down the street wants me to come in again. The girl they just hired might not work out…But then I think, do they just see me as a depressed, weak and sad little girl as well? Is this all a self fulfilling prophecy potentially…?
This is why I hate my mind so much. It thinks too much. And the majority is negative. I can’t decide, can’t focus, can’t logically hone in on one opinion. I’m just a worthless piece of shit that is supposed to exist to be used by everyone else. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I want to be. That’s the consensus of all the threads in my mind.
I am the little mermaid that couldn’t kill the person she loved, I’ll turn it into her not being able to decide to live and exert herself, and instead became seafoam on the water. I am no one. I am the foam over the water, evaporating into the air, you will breathe me in and the traces of who I was will still linger in your lungs.
I’m sorry that this got so much darker than I meant. Circumstances I guess changed my outlook…or exacerbated it I suppose…I apologize.
March 1, 2016 § Leave a comment
My eyes don’t focus. I am a shell. My head collapses into my body, the dark and rotting flesh inside of me. It’s a slow and painful process, this process of dying. I see it inside my body, working its way outward. One day it will show on my face and I will envelop myself in snow until I freeze. Will it work?
I am cellophane. Fake and manufactured and easily manipulated. Mrs. Cellophane. I remember in school when I was maybe 11, I was obsessed with Chicago. I went to see the play when it was showing in Toronto after seeing the film having come out and my parents, avid musical lovers, had bought the soundtrack, which I played daily for…I have no idea.
I want to have a defined role. I want to be something. I can’t say I’m the bitch or the outcast or the villain, but I know I veer too close on numerous occasions.
On the floor, listening to Dire Straits. I want to crawl under my bed, but I’m supposed to be a human, awake and conscious and productive. All I want, all in my mind that I could want is lying down on the hard marble floor, dark and hidden from everything. I want to cry onto the floor, without the clean up, pill and drink myself to oblivion until I’m gone.
What happened? I had a change of mind a few days ago where I wanted to start becoming a living person. Fully present, listening, not suicidal when my brain starts to go into overdrive as it is wont to do when I’m sober and clean, telling me all of the horrible parts of myself.
I am a creature. An X. I am not a human. I don’t know if I want to be. Any of the improvements I should see in my life, last for far too short a time to make an impact in my brain. My brain is broken. I am broken. What is the solution?
I am in a coat, with the biggest bottle of Canadian Club. I am already wasted and no one is or will be at the house. I can’t feel my skin. I am numb in skin and mind and I am falling into the browning, dead garden. Remove my coat, continue to drink until my brain shuts down. Did I write a note? I would like to think that I am small and beautiful when I’d go, but why would I go unless I’m a disgusting wreck? I imagine though, that it will all work, that I won’t be revived with terrible consequences to live with. Just gone. Frozen in the snow, holding my licquor across my chest like a rose in a coffin.
February 28, 2016 § Leave a comment
You know how they say any addict (of any sort), before they enter into a relationship should first try a year having a plant? If the plant survives, they get a pet for a year. If he/she survives, then you can try a relationship with a person. OOPS.
Although I’ve had my bamboo for years and years, through my food issues, substance issues, sex issues, etc. etc. SO. It’s okay. I’ll rehabilitate it. Ironic, no? Harr harr.
February 28, 2016 § 1 Comment
I don’t know how this post is going to go. It’s going to just be me, stream of consciousness I guess because I’ve been scattered all over, chips of my brain and my body, all over the city, I haven’t been planning or completing my to-dos. I’ve ignored a lot, just completely unhinged myself from practicality in my life. This has been the past couple of months.
My apartment and my roommate have been killing me. I can’t deal with it and I’m moving this week, although there are some issues with that because I didn’t give thirty days notice and I am actually going to see the tenant and landlord board if I can’t see any other way. I am going to talk to my parents to see what they think when they get back on the 1st from Cuba (even thought it’s at midnight or some bullshit), but at least when they get in at the airport, I will have left them an urgent message to call me. Shit will hopefully work out.
Because of that, I’ve been living elsewhere for the most part. I joke that I’m a paratrooper but I’ve mostly just been at one person’s house, as a live-in fuck buddy maybe, even though it’s not necessarily like that. Been drunk to the nth degree way too much. Interesting because he reads this and is fine with it. Well, not fine, which I know makes me outside of the realm of possibility as any kind of serious partner (which is the same as with anyone at all anyway), but I have started trying to be better. The difference here however, is I’m not really worried so much about feeling shitty and fucking up and talking about it, listening about similar things, etc. etc. in the same way I have been many a time in the past.
This week has been Eating Disorders Awareness Week. I’m disgusting right now. I honestly don’t want to be seen in public most of the time because I’m so fat right now. I guess some of it’s been attributed to having surgery (oh yeah, breast reduction HA) and being just comatose on pain killers then having to be fairly immobile for a bit. Then I was crushed again because my job decided to not include me on the schedule any longer because of it, despite telling me that I’d definitely be coming back. I had been looking for other jobs anyway, even advised by the kitchen manager, who loved me and was the only one present during the shifts with me to see that I’m actually a good worker and intelligent, however, also informing me of all of the problems there. Least of which involved the owner, who is the most disgusting, sexist person I’ve ever worked for, which I inevitably discovered first hand as my time there progressed. That’s coming from someone with years of experience in the hospitality industry, which is plagued with sexual harassment and certain other types of abuse. I visited there today actually and heard he called a new female employee a ‘truck’ and didn’t want a truck working there, referring to her body shape.
I kind of wanted to cry. I’ve been crying a lot about, well stupid bullshit, but also some serious things, especially because of this week. I’ve been applying for jobs and any somewhat nice events or places I’ve had to go to I’ve been wearing basically the same dress because it’s baggy, but okay, and I don’t know, is the only one I’m comfortable with if I have to be out of sweats. And that makes me such an idiot and disgusting, although I guess that is an expression of how I feel about myself and look without clothes right now as well.
I should probably try to be uplifting a bit, or talk about how everyone’s beautiful on the inside, your body doesn’t make you, you don’t have to be conventionally attractive, etc. But I can’t. I honestly feel hideous. I am trying to forget but it’s in my brain all the time. I fight it every day. I want to be someone else. Actually, no. Just a better me. A better version of myself.
I’ve regained my hope a bit in my life because of something very surreal and amazing that just came up out of the blue. I’m very excited about it despite having a few setbacks in my mood for a few reasons. I’ll write about it in detail after I’ve gotten my feet a bit wetter than I have with this whole project I’ve been chosen for. For now though, I’m going to talk about it in the vaguest of terms. The most relevant part of it is that it’s brought back a lot of yes, feelings of hope, that I want to be a person, I want to live. I don’t want to just live like a zombie, in a haze, not really letting myself feel and think, instead of just being drunk or drugged because I feel useless and a failure as a human. Unfortunately…the flip side of that becomes….if I’m going to be a relevant person and achieve things (especially in the context of the projects that I’m entering into where I’ll potentially become somewhat of a public figure) I want to be…need to be skinny and attractive. I’ll potentially be scrutinized and analyzed, most specifically regarding my appearance. I’ve still been drinking the last little while, even though it’s changed a lot in my head of how I want to do it and wanting to abstain actually, but I haven’t been eating hardly at all. And I want to keep cutting back. On food mainly, but licquor as well. Need to. I will. I know I’m not supposed to…I don’t want to start purging again…although I kind of do.
My best friend and I saw each other and she has a purging history as well, albeit not as extreme as mine has been, but we both openly discuss it. We’re both abstinent from it, I actually haven’t in maybe four months which is insane, and before that, it was still somewhat rare. I’ve been outside of the clinical diagnosis of bulimia for at least a year, anorexia even longer now. But….
Our discussion consisted of blow jobs. We both agreed that we pride ourselves, or did anyway, with how good we were at them. We’d talked about this entire subject before, and I wanted to bring it up because suddenly I find myself inept. I actually attribute it to not being an active bulimic anymore. It makes a lot of sense. And it brings up the entire association with sex and body image as well. How I think I’ve felt for too long that I’m not good for anything except for sex or being used or whatever that way. It’s interesting and brings up so many other things I can say about a relationship between sex and eating disorders/body image but I’ll maybe save that….I’ve gotten myself a bit more upset than I liked with this post, I guess for good reason. Sometimes you just have to go into the pain, but I think I’ll end this post shortly anyway. I really will try to write about the sex/body thing in more depth, my thoughts on it, about assault again too what with the fucking Jian Ghomeshi trial (which I meant to write a post about earlier but just….ugh). Please try to be stronger than I am right now everyone, everyone who is struggling with all of this. I wish the best of luck to you all, and I’m sorry if I triggered, I didn’t mean to, but I have to be honest.
February 12, 2016 § Leave a comment
I’m around the bends. I’m unfortunately coming into a clear head, which I love and hate. It happens but then reminds me of why I fucking hate it so much. I hate my thoughts. Why is my head such a mess, why do I think too much. I want it to go away, leave me alone. Like a separate persona from my actual self. I feel disconnected all the time.
I walk in the freezing cold so I can feel it enter my bones, the pain eats away at the hatred in my brain, for as much time as I can make it last. Whenever I walk I wish I could put my thoughts directly into hard copy. I come up with ideas when I’m alone, when I’m forced to think, but trying hard not to, while I’m out in the goddamn public where I’m too socially anxious to allow myself to cry, self-destruct in my favourite ways. I redirect it into ideas for creative projects, writing and ideas for painting projects. Whoddathunk it?
I’m so disgusted with myself right now. I want to go back to the other side of my coin. I remember the month in England, most of London. I wrote a piece for a class about walking around alone, feeling my footsteps, so much space I take, I can feel my steps on the ground, I should be a rail, a feather. Before it ate away at my bones and my brain. The beginnings. I want it so bad.
I’m broken, fragments of myself chipping off every time I step into the wind, pieces of a person that used to be, torn off every time I try to forget, try to survive where I don’t belong.
Why can’t I just be someone without feelings?
Why can’t I just accept them at the very least?
I want to know someone loves me. There is one person that I truly believe does, what the difference is I’m not sure, but I can actually count on my brother for that. I know that I’m probably wrong, but it doesn’t change the feeling of being isolated in that way. I bear the brunt of the blame for isolating myself in the first place, I’m aware. I’ve cut a lot of people out, sabotaged relationships, kept myself at the distance that feels safest before it starts to involve anything too deep. I only want beginnings.
I’m not sure if it’s still true, but it happened too many times so it’s torn me apart further. I (used to) make good first impressions somehow but once anyone got to know me too well, they realized. And it hurts. There’s something fundamentally wrong with me? I know I shouldn’t think like that. I know that’s part of it. That I end up coming across the way I feel. But how do I change? I can’t help feeling like I’m too far gone.
January 15, 2016 § 1 Comment
I like multi-archs. Apparently. I’ve been cut open, pulled apart, rearranged, put back together. I’ve written before about myself as a doll. I am that much closer. Parts of a girl, taken apart, fixed, cleaned up, put back together in a better configuration.
Of my own volition, no worries. I want to be on the assembly line. I want to be the same as everyone. The best version. The Barbie version. I am strictly speaking looks. I am disgusting, this entire desire inside me is disgusting. I am the human equivalent of ambivalence, the word. In so many contexts. I hate myself for wanting what I do. I want to want things I hate. I am a mess. I really am a girl/woman made piece-meal and wrongly so. Take me apart again please. Fix me right.
January 15, 2016 § 1 Comment
I hate my mind. I should be okay. Tolerant, looking forward right now for various reasons. But all I can think of is how useless I am. All the people who’ve left me. I don’t know if it hurts more or less wondering how well they knew me or not. Either they didn’t get a chance to learn more about me, and maybe decide to like me, was it just superficial? One thing I said? Although, believe me, I go over all of my physical imperfections and every possible stupid inane thing I have ever said at too frequent an occasion anyway.
Did they get to know me well enough and that’s what did it? I think that’s worse. Right? There’s something fundamentally wrong with me. Who I am. It’s fucked because I know these negative self deprecating thoughts themselves weave themselves into who I am…and most likely have to do with why no one stays, why they decide I’m not worth…whatever. I really want to not care. But jesus, it’s hard. I need to vent. And all I want is to like myself, to not wonder and worry about if I’m worth the space I take, if my mind adds anything of value to the world, if I have any talent worth anything. etc. etc. etc.
Please don’t judge me on this post. I’m not editing because I’m not in a very energetic or motivated headspace. I just needed to vent and/or cry or..ugh fuck it.