.

Fuck boys. 

I'm going to go become an atheist lesbian nun.

I'll write a book about it or something.

Meh.

Sorry I haven't been posting.

Not that anybody cares, but neither do I, so it's whatever.

I've been insanely busy with homework and health and whatnot, it's got me completely exhausted. Blogging just takes too much energy sometimes; energy I don't have.

In psychology we're doing psychological disorders.

Problematic?

Most definitely.

Especially with her in the room.

It just brings everything back.

Sometimes I wish people knew what she did to me.

Sometimes I think it's better for their sakes that don't.

I don't think a lot of people could handle that...people want to be happy. I don't want to make them unhappy.

My biggest fear about trying so hard not to tell people about what happened is that if people don't know, then she may very well blindsight them all and do something terrible again. That's just how sociopaths are. I don't know if I could live with the knowledge that I maybe could have prevented somebody getting seriously hurt, emotionally or physically.

Oh lordy lord. I go into entries not intending to be all dark and moody and whatnot, and then it just comes out. Whatever.

In English class we're reading Brave New World. I'm just on the ninth chapter, but I absolutely love it, it's fascinating. Hopefully my interest in the book will help me to bring up my English grade...

Ciao, bellas!

<3

It's demanding to defeat those evil machines.

Hello crunchy children. 

Yesterday I went to the cardiologist. They did an EKG(what else is new), but this time they also did an ultrasound of my heart. It was so weird actually seeing my heart on the screen. There it was, just pumping away in its full black and white glory right before my eyes. The ultrasound technician showed me the chambers of my heart and all. It wasn't really what I expected a heart to look like, it was nothing like the pictures I've seen. 

After wiping all the ultrasound stuff off of my chest, I was set up with a little heart monitor or whatever. The monitor itself was clipped to the waist of my pants, and there were I think five wires coming from it. Each wire had an electrode with gauze at its end and each end was securely taped to my skin somewhere around my chest. Whenever I had an attack or a spell or whatever, I was supposed to press the purple button on the monitor, and then write down the time it happened, the symptoms, and what I had been doing on this chart thing. I couldn't take the little fucker off for 24 hours. So yeah, I had to sleep with this rectangular plastic tumor on my hip and wires across my torso and liberally applied tape irritating my skin. My doctor said that some people have to wear them for thirty days, only taking them off to shower. That would really, really suck. It's impossible to be comfortable wearing it, I can't even imagine wearing it for a month. 

My mom sent my teachers an email about my health. She thought they should probably know why I'm absent so much. I guess they should, but I just don't want to look like some kind of pathetic pansy who can't handle a little pain. I certainly feel pathetic. There are so many people out there who have it so, so much worse than I do. Stupidly enough, I hope my teachers don't look at me differently or strangely on monday. 

I have electrode pictures, maybe I'll post them tomorrow. Maybe not, if I'm too lazy.

peace.

Chanel Spring 2009

Chanel's spring 2009 collection is immaculate. I did like their previous tweed faze, but this...this is the Chanel I love to see. It's all black and white(at least in the show), and everything has these beautiful clean, geometric lines, consistent with the perfectly tailored cuts that Chanel pulls off so well. There are a couple pieces that I'm a little iffy about, but only two or three that have this shinier black almost plastic looking material featured in the outfits. The collection was riddled with cropped jackets, round collars, defined shoulders, simply tiered layers, round mod buttons, tulle and beaded subtle little flowers and frills, lace contrasted with more modern materials, and utter fabulousness. The clothing was drenched in Chanel's classic class, but updated and innovated in ways that I have never seen Lagerfeld work before. Overall, it was clean, fresh, light; everything spring should be.

Today sucked, but I'm home now, so it's whatever.

I'm really excited to get my Delia's order. Ah, the joys of online shopping. New clothing is so exciting...even just one new article of clothing can create like, a gazillion(just an approximation) new outfits. If only I wasn't so awful at sewing my own stuff. Oh well. I'm especially excited about getting this dress and these shoes.

In other news, I've had terrible writer's block ever since we started fiction in WtL. I don't know how I'm going to crank out a couple pages by monday...I don't even have an idea to work off of yet. On the overall creative front, however, I do have a photography project planned, and I'll probably start working on it this weekend. I don't really know how to explain it, and if I try, it will just sound stupid, so I won't...but I still can't wait to do it. :)

See you kids on the flip side.

<3

Shangri-la

All I want to do right now

is go to Shangri-la

in Yanceyville

and lie on my back in the grass between the white quartz buildings

in the darkness of early nighttime

and feel the rain on my face.

Then the pouring rain

will turn the ground to soft mud

and I will sink into it

inside the earth,

forever a part of a miniature world

that means peace

and simplicity

in a world of highways.

The stone that has sat at the foot of the sign

in the front of the little village

for over thirty years

says "Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man."

That stone

will be my tombstone

because when I am dead

I want to live in a house

by the side of the road

and be a friend to man.

I don't know, that's just how I'm feeling right now.

Neurotic Bugs

I did not sleep at all last night.

I am somewhat doubtful that I will be able to tonight.

The bugs won't stop crawling.

At least it gives me something to write my awful poetry about.

If you can even call it that.

I just want some Vallium or something.

Anything to stop my current period of neurotic mania.

I just want to be able to lie down and sleep without these little hallucination bugs crawling all over me.

In other news, we're doing fiction in Writing through Lit, and it is brutally kicking my ass. I seriously sound like a middle schooler when I write short stories. I am NOT looking forward to having to share with the class. 

On a lighter note, here's Adam in a dress (September 2004).

Kinky Boots

I'm watching the movie Kinky Boots.

Obviously, that made me think of drag queens.

Then thinking about drag queens made me think of a fucking awesome job...

Professionally dragging people out.

Oh my God, that would be SO fucking fun.

I <3>

If I were a guy, I would probably be one...I'm not so huge on female drag, but drag queens, I love.

Ru Paul is FIERCE.

Always There

He is always there, in the back of my mind and my heart, on the soles of my feet, the back of my neck, my ribcage, my hipbone.

I have been doing better lately, I have not been thinking about him nearly as much. I still think about him every day, but it isn't every half hour.

I had the dream again last night. I was so hoping I would not have it this month, but I guess it was inevitable, especially with Valentine's Day just around the bend. I cannot remember how long it has been since I have gone a month without having the dream. Jesus, could it be a year now? I guess so...damn. Wow.

I hate it when we talk about repressed/suppressed memories in psychology. I hate how the people in the textbook or on the videos, or even Mr. Magrinat, say that memory repression hardly ever exists, and it's kind of a myth, a psychological misconception born from Freud. They haven't experienced it. They don't know what it's like to suddenly one day remember the death of the person you loved, to remember that that person even existed, after years of repression. So fuck you, people who say that stuff. It's not really your fault, but it still hurts.

I hate when people make fun of suicide and SI. I hate that sometimes I do, too. Maybe I am just trying to play it all off. I don't know. All I know is that they are all afraid. So, so afraid. That's why they joke. They're afraid, but they don't even realize it. God, if they had seen what I saw, they would realize their fear. His gun, his blood, his pills, the note he left behind for me...but I would never wish that upon anybody. I would never wish for anybody to see that every day in their mind, to dream about that blood every fucking month.

No, that's not true.

I would wish it upon his parents, in a heartbeat.

Where do you draw the line between suicide and murder?

Jesus Christos, that was a fucking annoyingly angsty post. If anybody for some strange reason read any of this, sorry to waste your time. I have not left my house in days due to sickness, and I'm getting a little stir-crazy. >_<

Hasta la vista, bitches.

:)

Conflicted, Afflicted

I am conflicted.

It is about a boy. 

What else is new?

I feel that I may be in grave danger of once again repeating the same mistakes I always make. I may be in danger of settling for someone, and not even knowing it.

I feel so strongly for Mika, and I want him so badly. I cannot help it, truly. My heart cannot be stopped by the fact that he is so dreadfully out of my reach.

This other boy, this new boy, is very different from Mika. For one, he likes me. I do not mean to be vain in saying so, but it is fairly obvious. I am so weak when it comes to flattery;mostly, I suppose, due to the way I was treated and seen, especially physically, for so long. This weakness sometimes tends to make me think that I have feelings for somebody, which gets me into trouble not long after starting something with that person. I lose my attraction to them just as quickly as it was born.

And then I end up hurting people.

We are similar, I suppose. We both do not do any drugs, except for moderately drinking and the occasional cig, if you count that, because we have both learned our lessons. We both love art. We went to school together for a couple years. We both like dorky sci-fi, and he is one of the few people I have met who has watched and loved Firefly and Serenity. Most importantly, we have both known loss. We have both lost friends to tragically premature death. I don't know, it means a lot to me when people know what that is like, because it is truly not the kind of thing you can just understand through any kind of explanation. 

I do not think he is as bad as people seem to think he is.

People say he is trouble.

I was a bit afraid of him at first,

but now I realize;

I am the trouble here.

I am the threat to him.

I do not like being so dangerous.

I probably seem so ridiculous and annoying and disgustingly self-important and conceited when I tell people what I am. I must seem like an open book who thinks other people care about my stupid personal shit or whatever, because I am so forthcoming with the facts that I am bipolar, and that I have experienced a lot of crazy, terrible things. I suppose they do not realize that I am trying to warn them;I am trying to protect both them and myself. A lot of people are afraid of people like me, with problems like I have. I do not want anybody to grow close to me and then find out the truth, and go running. I do not want anybody to go into a relationship (whether it be friendship or something "more"), without the knowledge of what they are getting themselves into. The pain will be worse for us all if we do not see it coming. If we, or they, rather, do not see it coming, it cannot, will not, be prevented, and everybody will hurt.

Agh.

Maybe when I go to college, I will pretend I do not have these problems.

Who knows?

Megan

She is not strong

Because of the sarcastic wit

with which she speaks.

She is not strong

because of the sea foam eyes

that are a magnet to those around her.

She is not strong because she's...

Queen bee

Singing with a power in her voice.

Contrary to popular belief,

she is not strong because

she laughs off things that remind her

of the abandonment of a father who left,

or because when she coughs into a paper towel,

Then checking it for blood,

She jokes about the fact 

that with a simple case of mono,

she may literally cough up her lungs. 

No...

She is strong

Because

When we are alone

in our dorm at night

She cries,

for fear

That she is not.

My tenth or eleventh poem so far for my long-term Writing through Literature project. I'm writing a series of portrait poems. This one's about my best friend, Megan. God, I miss that bitch.

<3

ill

I am deathly ill.

Agh, I hate being sick.

Too bad i get sick like every week.

My throat and lungs are on fire, my spine is shooting pain through my entire body, and my chest and abs are ridiculously sore from all this coughing.

I probably won't be able to go to school tomorrow.

What else is new?

All I can say now is...thank God for Halls cough drops. 

Seriously.

Poetry Drains and Fills

I wrote a lot of poetry today. I've been trying to face the parts of my past that I don't tell people about, using poetry. Today I actually made some progress. It was draining though. I talked about him for pretty much the first time ever. Yeah, I've mentioned him before. I have told my therapist just briefly, once, a couple years ago what happened. Even then, I almost vomited just saying the words. I've mentioned it to Megan. I don't think there was anybody else. Maybe. Either way, I have never once told anybody the details, the story, the things that make it disgusting and horrifying. In my poetry, I always hide the truth behind metaphors and obscurity. I have to stop, I have to try to tap into the truth I've been hiding. God, but it leaves me so dead and tired...worth it? Yes. All of it.

Found

OH DEAR LORD, I FOUND MY NOTEBOOK.

I'm so, so happy.

I finished the poem I thought I'd lost to the abyss that is my bedroom.

It was so hard not to let it go on forever.

I cut it off at almost two pages.

There's just so much to say about him.

It's one of my portrait poems, for my series.

You can't put every detail in a portrait.

You have to try to show them through a selection.

So I didn't get to talk about bagels or noodles or the peach and grape flavored bottles of champagne we finished between us

or sharing cups and plates

or rolling around on the carpet laughing

while other party-goers step over us and give us weird looks

or laughing at Chelsea Lately together, 

or him talking to his mother in Portuguese on skype

or a million other lovely things.

I want to take a nap in his redeeming features.

Today in psychology we were talking about sexual orientation. Ms. McDevitt, aka Ms. Canklebitch, mentioned this recent study that suggested that guys can't be bisexual, but girls can be. My heart sank. If that's true, then he's probably gay, and he will never love me. Not like I want him to.

Red lipstick is empowering in a way. I liked wearing it to school today. On days other than those in spirit week, I probably wouldn't dare.

Maybe I should dare more.

Hmm.

Lost Notebook

I lost my physics notebook. I wouldn't normally care much about that, but during physics last week I wrote this poem in it that I've been trying to write for weeks now, and now it's lost, my first at all decent draft of that poem. Agh. 

I went to the doctor today. The doctor had a German accent. Around the end of the appointment, my mom started jabbering away with the doctor in German, so that Alice and I couldn't tell what they were talking about. I know she was talking about my weight. I may not know German, but I could understand parts of it, and it's really annoying that she's always so concerned about my weight. The doctors say my weight is fine. In 2005, I had a BMI of 15.5, weighing in at 92 pounds, placing me in the second percentile for girls my age. I was eating under 500 calories a day, and working out for about two hours a day. I've gained twelve pounds since then, I eat a ton, and I never work out anymore. She needs to get over it, because her obsession with my weight and whatnot just makes it harder for me to not think about it. I've been doing a damn good job of that lately, and I intend to keep it that way.

I spend my minutes

Writing words

About you...

So that I'll have an excuse

to think about you.

There are only so many new thoughts

But if I write them down

They'll take longer to exhaust.

I want to think words

about you

And I wonder

If you ever want to think words

About me, too.

Me, December 2005.

Lies about Chris

Chris did that "25 random things about yourself" thing on facebook. God, some of the shit he says is so annoying. It took so much effort not to be a total bitch and call him out on it in a comment on his note. Who knows why he tagged me in it. I guess he somehow still thinks we're friends. Naive little bitch.

The first one was "I'm obsessive compulsive. And, you'll never know what about." Well, Christopher, I do know what about. You told me. Stop trying to be all mysterious and interesting or whatever, you're not.

"I smoke cigarettes. Lots of them." You didn't used to. You used to be so totally against smoking and drinking, and I actually kind of respected that, despite the fact that I do both. Way to stick to your convictions...

"I'm a freethinker. Trust me." You just want to think you're a freethinker. You're not. You think things because they go against the beat, and that's not free at all, because the beat is still controlling you.

"I used to cry a lot. Sometimes I still do." Used to, as in this summer. God, you cried so many times.

"I'm sexy." You are so not sexy. I may have thought you were cute when we were going out, but sexy? No.

"I have an ego, but for good reason." No, you are an ego, and there is no good reason for that.

"Elisabeth Zeitler is my babygirl. Seriously, I've never fallen so quickly." Oh, that's rich, Chris. You've never fallen so quickly? Do you remember when you started sobbing because you "cared about me so much" the second day we were together? Hmm, yeah, sure. 

"I don't smoke pot." It's only a matter of time, babycakes, at the rate you're going at.

"I dance when I'm drunk; I belligerently beg people to cuddle when I'm wasted." Again with the lost convictions. 

"I hate politics. Politics are void of action." ...I'm not even going to start on this one, because I will most likely explode.

"I say whatever that fuck I want." Okay, first of all, you wrote "that," instead of "the," and it's really annoying, and makes you sound like even more of a pretentious immature little idiot when you say it than already. Secondly, yeah, you generally do, because you have no regard for most other people's feelings. You just want to put off this image of not giving a shit and being all cool and independent and whatever, and it backfires, because really, you just come off looking like a total douche, which you are.

Alright, I just had to get that out.

I can't believe I dated him.

Ugh.