Leaving UP Mall, walking in the snow, ending up back at the bus and eating at North Dining Hall.
I am so sleepy. I don't know why but I just love sleeping. On weekends, I don't get enough of it, so during the week I crave it. Sleeeep. I'm ruled by my body! I wish I could just be a bald skinny little person who didn't sleep but ate all the time. That'd be cool.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
Dark and Gone
Remember that time I called you at 1 in the morning and told you how much I hated you and how much you didn't care? And then your friend let me come over to hang out, and I wandered around the apartment complex in the cold, smoking my last cigarettes, in my PJs and slippers, until I sat down by the pool and called you? You two came and found me and saved my half smoked cigarette and my world was spinning from the drugs and the pain. I slept in your bed that night, but it was different. That's when things started changing and we were both on a path to get better. Now look at us. Imagine where we're going.
I hope that there's a heaven for the good who suffer, and a hell for the evil that prosper. As for me, I could be a speck of eternal nothingness after death and I would not mind. I deserve nothing special; my circumstances are not yet extreme enough to deserve redemption or damnation. Maybe your Bibles tell you something about me, but I will get what I deserve, even if that is dark and peaceful emptiness.
Once I wrote a suicide note. It was 50 pages long and it took 2 years to write. Eventually I burned it, along with the letters and pictures from the first boy I ever thought I loved. I burned that out in my backyard, in a big pot my dad used to use for making popcorn or soup. I took some matches and watched 2 years of important memories flash away. I used matches from Pappadeux's where I used to celebrate my birthday dinners. When all the papers and photos became black ashes, I poured water in the pot and looked at the filthy, pukish liquid. It stunk and was so vile. I poured it around my yard, buried it under a tree in my backyard. After that, I felt a little meaner. I like to think I'm a somewhat educated lady, but I have my rituals. My humanity remains intact, in all its cowardice and purity.
I've forgotten a lot of the ugly stuff from growing up. Maybe it wasn't even bad; perhaps terribly unremarkable. Sinkholes, red ears, cookie dough. I remember that. Crying at first confession because of my sins. Disrespecting my parents, never loving my brother. Nothing about me is terribly special, but Lord knows I milk my story for all it is worth. I want to make a person be better than me. Pitseleh, if I ever call you pretty, it is not because that's important. It's only important to be intelligent and good. Both, never just one. Just one is lethal. Neither is apathy. Both, please be both. You'll cry about not getting what you want, saying you'll do this or that, and someone bigger than you will have a perpetual frown and always tell you that you're wrong. It's okay if they're stern. Sometimes you listen, and sometimes you know that you're right. So you still listen. But you answer back then, and better. I saw a hideous man make my mother cry for years of pain, senseless and stupid, absolutely unnecessary tears. More tears, more evil. He made her cry for hours, no remorse. He was an ugly man. Right now he's probably in bed sleeping. Does he think about my mom? About that glass room with children and their fathers in grey playing basketball in a small patch of sunlight? About my silent dad, about that eerily still, empty 15-year-old girl whose heart was being drowned in sin right then and there? I fed off of that hate, because I was angry. Hate fueled me for many years. It still does. It is my biggest motivator, to work harder, drive faster, be smarter, but it will never make me better. I was sick inside from a suburban dose of atrocity. While that is nothing, it was still a virus. I'm getting better. I don't want my story to happen. I want the good to be happy. My darkness slips out, but I need strength right now.
I hope that there's a heaven for the good who suffer, and a hell for the evil that prosper. As for me, I could be a speck of eternal nothingness after death and I would not mind. I deserve nothing special; my circumstances are not yet extreme enough to deserve redemption or damnation. Maybe your Bibles tell you something about me, but I will get what I deserve, even if that is dark and peaceful emptiness.
Once I wrote a suicide note. It was 50 pages long and it took 2 years to write. Eventually I burned it, along with the letters and pictures from the first boy I ever thought I loved. I burned that out in my backyard, in a big pot my dad used to use for making popcorn or soup. I took some matches and watched 2 years of important memories flash away. I used matches from Pappadeux's where I used to celebrate my birthday dinners. When all the papers and photos became black ashes, I poured water in the pot and looked at the filthy, pukish liquid. It stunk and was so vile. I poured it around my yard, buried it under a tree in my backyard. After that, I felt a little meaner. I like to think I'm a somewhat educated lady, but I have my rituals. My humanity remains intact, in all its cowardice and purity.
I've forgotten a lot of the ugly stuff from growing up. Maybe it wasn't even bad; perhaps terribly unremarkable. Sinkholes, red ears, cookie dough. I remember that. Crying at first confession because of my sins. Disrespecting my parents, never loving my brother. Nothing about me is terribly special, but Lord knows I milk my story for all it is worth. I want to make a person be better than me. Pitseleh, if I ever call you pretty, it is not because that's important. It's only important to be intelligent and good. Both, never just one. Just one is lethal. Neither is apathy. Both, please be both. You'll cry about not getting what you want, saying you'll do this or that, and someone bigger than you will have a perpetual frown and always tell you that you're wrong. It's okay if they're stern. Sometimes you listen, and sometimes you know that you're right. So you still listen. But you answer back then, and better. I saw a hideous man make my mother cry for years of pain, senseless and stupid, absolutely unnecessary tears. More tears, more evil. He made her cry for hours, no remorse. He was an ugly man. Right now he's probably in bed sleeping. Does he think about my mom? About that glass room with children and their fathers in grey playing basketball in a small patch of sunlight? About my silent dad, about that eerily still, empty 15-year-old girl whose heart was being drowned in sin right then and there? I fed off of that hate, because I was angry. Hate fueled me for many years. It still does. It is my biggest motivator, to work harder, drive faster, be smarter, but it will never make me better. I was sick inside from a suburban dose of atrocity. While that is nothing, it was still a virus. I'm getting better. I don't want my story to happen. I want the good to be happy. My darkness slips out, but I need strength right now.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Call Me Catholic, But
Remember when you were recovering from molly and we spent a day in bed and I said, "Listening to this song is like taking a sleeping pill"? I miss that day... and night.
Porn doesn't do much for me. It really doesn't turn me on. What's hot about a dick getting shoved into a butthole or whatever? Sorry but no. What does turn me on is romance and nice guys haha. If a guy is respectful and treats me nicely I'm like "FUCK ME DOWN DA STAIRS!!!! NOW!!!" or if he's wearing a button-down shirt and looks casually nice OR if he's got a guitar or something or if he's intelligent and can keep up a good conversation. Omg makin me wet thinkin' about it. Obviously I'm exaggerating, but seriously. Hot guys are okay, but if a guy is caring, smart, mature, and just a good person, I will seriously consider opening my legs. If not, bye bye. Okay done ranting about sex and other stuff seriously time to sleep.
Porn doesn't do much for me. It really doesn't turn me on. What's hot about a dick getting shoved into a butthole or whatever? Sorry but no. What does turn me on is romance and nice guys haha. If a guy is respectful and treats me nicely I'm like "FUCK ME DOWN DA STAIRS!!!! NOW!!!" or if he's wearing a button-down shirt and looks casually nice OR if he's got a guitar or something or if he's intelligent and can keep up a good conversation. Omg makin me wet thinkin' about it. Obviously I'm exaggerating, but seriously. Hot guys are okay, but if a guy is caring, smart, mature, and just a good person, I will seriously consider opening my legs. If not, bye bye. Okay done ranting about sex and other stuff seriously time to sleep.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
It Was Nearly Midnight in Honolulu
Get the fuck away from me.
Why don't you ever shut up?
There was a weird bug on my bed. I tried to puff some air on him as a warning to fly away, y'know, because I'm a human and we kill things, but he just kinda curled up more. I tried to scooch him away, but he curled up even tighter. I starting pushing his little body off my bed onto the floor and he didn't fight. So in the end, he was so self-deprecating I just shoved him off to the floor. Fuck the feeble.
I'm very open to cultures. Deaf, African, Mexican, valley girl, stoner, I can join them all and be okay. It's because I don't know what the fuck I am so I have this horrible desire to latch on to everything around me that is artificial. It's all a distraction from the monster in the mirror.
Fuck the feeble.
Fuck depression.
I am finishing what I couldn't earlier. I sat in bed, munchies, dragging my sorry sweaty ass to lecture and naptime. I'm sick of that. The pendulum is ever-swinging, though slowly. Defies the laws of physics, what I learned from a nun a few years ago. As a child, I'm sheltered to believe all will be okay. And maybe it will. But dammit I want to be self-sufficient, enough for there to be risk with no nets. It's hard when you don't know how, but it's getting better. I don't want to sit around and complain how I don't know how to be. Now that I've started taking a minute drop of responsibility, I feel more and more peaceful with everyday. I don't want to chase boys, or stupid distractions. I am my world. So make it a peaceful and prosperous one.
Why don't you ever shut up?
There was a weird bug on my bed. I tried to puff some air on him as a warning to fly away, y'know, because I'm a human and we kill things, but he just kinda curled up more. I tried to scooch him away, but he curled up even tighter. I starting pushing his little body off my bed onto the floor and he didn't fight. So in the end, he was so self-deprecating I just shoved him off to the floor. Fuck the feeble.
I'm very open to cultures. Deaf, African, Mexican, valley girl, stoner, I can join them all and be okay. It's because I don't know what the fuck I am so I have this horrible desire to latch on to everything around me that is artificial. It's all a distraction from the monster in the mirror.
Fuck the feeble.
Fuck depression.
I am finishing what I couldn't earlier. I sat in bed, munchies, dragging my sorry sweaty ass to lecture and naptime. I'm sick of that. The pendulum is ever-swinging, though slowly. Defies the laws of physics, what I learned from a nun a few years ago. As a child, I'm sheltered to believe all will be okay. And maybe it will. But dammit I want to be self-sufficient, enough for there to be risk with no nets. It's hard when you don't know how, but it's getting better. I don't want to sit around and complain how I don't know how to be. Now that I've started taking a minute drop of responsibility, I feel more and more peaceful with everyday. I don't want to chase boys, or stupid distractions. I am my world. So make it a peaceful and prosperous one.
Carissa
Benji.
Tomorrow (today), I want to dress nicely. I want to look nice and like I take myself seriously. I want to go to all my classes and learn some stuff. I want to spend my breaks studying or reading, because, you know, that's what I pay to do. I want to have a good, relaxing day. No anxiety. I want to finish Diary and start Invisible Monsters. I want to read again. I always go back to that, reading. I wish I had a chunk of time to head on down to the Austin History Center this weekend. Maybe I do. So I will do all this. Do my linguistics reading throughout the day, read some Palahnuik, watch medicinal chemistry videos. I realize that I once was pretty bright and ahead of the curve. Not anymore. Now I'm just average at best, and it's starting to get embarrassing, this fall from academic grace. I compete with myself, and I'm losing. So fuck depression and feeling bad about yourself. Fuck that. Just do your fucking work.
Tomorrow (today), I want to dress nicely. I want to look nice and like I take myself seriously. I want to go to all my classes and learn some stuff. I want to spend my breaks studying or reading, because, you know, that's what I pay to do. I want to have a good, relaxing day. No anxiety. I want to finish Diary and start Invisible Monsters. I want to read again. I always go back to that, reading. I wish I had a chunk of time to head on down to the Austin History Center this weekend. Maybe I do. So I will do all this. Do my linguistics reading throughout the day, read some Palahnuik, watch medicinal chemistry videos. I realize that I once was pretty bright and ahead of the curve. Not anymore. Now I'm just average at best, and it's starting to get embarrassing, this fall from academic grace. I compete with myself, and I'm losing. So fuck depression and feeling bad about yourself. Fuck that. Just do your fucking work.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Keep Your Secret Safe
I will speak your language.
I like playing with my hair too much. My legs are kinda chubby. I'm really awkward. I drop stuff a lot, and imagine that everyone is in love with me, and never talk to anyone, and walk about half with head held high, half with slumped shoulders. I can't decide what I want to do or be. I change my mind pretty much every hour. If anyone in this world can understand me or love me, I give them credit. It's probably not easy. I've got a bit of a wandering eye, a free spirit, all topped with massive anxiety. I have pragmatism, empathy, everything on this planet. I'm not even all that pretty or spectacular or intelligent or significant. But for some reason the universe stuffed these traits into my soul, as if I deserved it. I think I need food. I think I need a nap. Nap? Nap? Or homework?
Tonight, I need to do my Resource Guide Analysis. It just needs to be formulated and typed out. Then I need to ONCE AND FOR ALL finish my thorough reading of Sutton-Spence's article and complete the outline. You can do this! You're intelligent!
I like playing with my hair too much. My legs are kinda chubby. I'm really awkward. I drop stuff a lot, and imagine that everyone is in love with me, and never talk to anyone, and walk about half with head held high, half with slumped shoulders. I can't decide what I want to do or be. I change my mind pretty much every hour. If anyone in this world can understand me or love me, I give them credit. It's probably not easy. I've got a bit of a wandering eye, a free spirit, all topped with massive anxiety. I have pragmatism, empathy, everything on this planet. I'm not even all that pretty or spectacular or intelligent or significant. But for some reason the universe stuffed these traits into my soul, as if I deserved it. I think I need food. I think I need a nap. Nap? Nap? Or homework?
Tonight, I need to do my Resource Guide Analysis. It just needs to be formulated and typed out. Then I need to ONCE AND FOR ALL finish my thorough reading of Sutton-Spence's article and complete the outline. You can do this! You're intelligent!
Monday, March 31, 2014
X
You walked into the light, pulled up your pants to show me your calf, I touched it, then you covered that up and started telling me more silly stuff. You are a brief moment in time, lost if it's not acknowledged or appreciated. You spill your thoughts out when you show me what's in every drawer. The contents of your history, the drugs, the drinking, the pain, the bad decisions and used up moments. You keep talking, talking, against what I say, you are stuck on that train and you don't know how to see yourself how I and your other friends see you. If you start talking about it, you go on and go for a while, the same stream of consciousness every time, and I don't know if you want me to give you an answer or worry for you or just accept you. I just accept you and try to love you best. You are a sweet person when you rest your head against mine, when you offer me food, when you say "okay", when your head is resting on my chest and I can hold it and feel your hair and we can be quiet and okay. I want you to feel love and goodness, and I know that you do. I'm here for you to talk to. I will get annoyed after a bit because I am human, but keep going. You give good comforting advice when you know how. When you don't, you try and say sorry. I like you sober, or tipsy, or drunk. I don't like you high. I also don't like you when I'm high. Your whip is in my drawer and I wanna look hot like Lights, so thanks. You're funny so I don't care if you bite my arm or touch my armpit or flick my butt or give me a butterfly kiss. You're hilarious, so yeah, I'm gonna tickle you and bully you and steal your stuff and put it back and never tell you if I like subtitles and ask for your addies. I'm glad we're friends, and I'll miss you if you move away to college in the fall. But more than missing you, I'll worry about you. I worry about you sometimes, when I'm not there. I was worried when you went away during Christmas; remember when I told you to be safe and not get into too much trouble? I was serious. People like you are hard to find, so keep yourself safe and relatively healthy. We'll find out where you go soon, and life will move on always, but I hope I get to spend a bit more time with you in my life.
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