I remember...

the first time I used reverse psychology without even realizing it. Or maybe that isn't the correct term. Maybe it was clever distraction. I am unsure.

I was a child. Young. Probably around five or six years old. My mother (who wasn't a good mother and that's being polite) was angry at me for some reason as she usually was. I was out to eat at Friendly's I believe with her, my Dad, and I think Mamu (my grandmother on my Mom's side). I was acting like a normal five or six year old child acts. I wasn't going crazy or anything but I did something that my mom did not like. She promised me that when we got home, she would hit me. I say hit, even though she probably used to word "spank" because her "spanks" weren't so spank-like.

So we get home. She sits down on the living room couch. I know what's going to happen. She calls me over to her. She tells me to lie down across her lap, buttocks facing her. I don't understand why being me is so wrong. I climb up her wide leg to her lap and start laughing in her face. Just laughing. Hysterically, for no reason. I went overboard because I realized, she started to crack a smile. Eventually she started to laugh and I think she forgot why she even wanted to hit me in the first place. She asked me what I was laughing about. I kept laughing. She told me to get down. So I did and I avoided one night of being hit.

Why would you not discipline a child in other manners? I understand some kids need a good spanking but to plan it out? She set up the fear in me. I thought about it while eating out and on the way home. I'd hope she forgot about it because really, I don't know what I did. I WAS A CHILD! As if I have all this adult kind of control over my thoughts and actions. Please. Needless to say, she didn't forget about it. Why didn't she just wait until we got home and then startle me with a spanking? I will tell you why. Because she is a sick person.

One of the many memories of my mother's awful way of treating me as a child. A conversation with a friend sprung this up in me. I probably should write about my experiences more often because I think they fuck me up on a daily level as an adult.

Thanks "Mom".

Oh and perhaps to those who may read this and think something along the lines of "that's not so bad" or "I had it worse", I can assure you that this was one of the less fucked up experiences as a child. It still hurts today though and it pales in comparison to most of the other shit she did to me.

... breathe ...

$163.52

That's how much more I make a month now. That's still not saying a lot and if you know me, then you understand.

*shrug*

Via Shannon:

Your result for Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test...

Spatial

"This area has to do with vision and spatial judgment. People with strong visual-spatial intelligence are typically very good at visualizing and mentally manipulating objects. They have a strong visual memory and are often artistically inclined. Those with visual-spatial intelligence also generally have a very good sense of direction and may also have very good hand-eye coordination, although this is normally seen as a characteristic of the bodily-kinesthetic intelligence.

Careers which suit those with this intelligence include artists, engineers, and architects." (Wikipedia)

Take Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test at HelloQuizzy

Throughout the day...

and as I said...

Nine Forty Eight
Time to be fake and
I wonder what I am truly doing
with days that show new ways
to new wrinkles

But on my way here
I moved one of my fingers across the wheel
and I decided I wanted to write
about how I love sunlight going through my digits
turning my skin reddish-pink
then I realized I think that was the first time
such a thing happened
because before this,
I only had used artificial light during darkness
to create such an experience

My nails are painted black
for this time of year
Silly of me because I love them this way
I should do this more often
I should remain in denial
I should be true to myself
All of this at once
Why am I here?

I feel like an abandoned children's classroom
Or maybe I feel like a child abandoned in a class room
Watching all the special little projects falling off the walls

I don't belong here.
I feel like a Radiohead song (for the record I LOVE Radiohead).

I feel like nothing can or will ever help.

I never will have the "balls" to end it.
I cannot pray for death during sleep because I never pray so why would anyone/thing hear me now?
I will end up binging on misery for the rest of my days and never purging.
It's like I'm a puppet.
I'm not holding the strings that guide me/this.
I DON'T WANT TO BINGE ON MISERY.

"Why don't you get help?"
*smiles*
Help? No, no. You don't understand.
There is no help for something like this.
There is no help for someone like me.

Just distractions.
Just ...

I'm tired of not being believed about my Fibro.
I'm tired of ALL my physical problems that I have no complete control over.
I'm tired of people not understanding the mental hole I am.
I'm tired of people and tired of myself and I don't even know if I am a person to be included in this bunch.

I'm seriously considering the fact that I may be an alien.

Why when so many things seem okay, they really aren't?
I SHOULD BE HAPPY. LA LA LA BULLSHIT FUCKERY HAPPY. LA LA LA.

I wrote some miserable and some not so miserable shit on a text document at home over my couple days off last week but have not posted it due to the fact that I don't have internet hooked up yet there. I almost don't ever want it at home anymore. I just don't care. You know what I care about? Sleep. I just want to sleep. I want a giant rewind button even though I firmly believe that regret is a pointless emotion.

I have a hard time lately seeing pictures of myself. Alone or with people. Is that really me? How do others see me? Why is anyone chosen what they are chosen from skin to experiences?

I have only had one cup of coffee today. No food. If I do eat while I am here at work, it will be candy. Even though I have a lunch. I like to torture myself.

I want a cigarette but I won't bother. A) I am almost broke still, until the end of the month and B) It's been almost five weeks. WHY DO I EVEN CARE THOUGH?!

Piece of candy #1 consumed.

I need to sing.

Piece of candy #2 consumed.

I should be going to the bank for my bosses. I am procrastinating. I would walk on a day like today because the weather says so, but I am so drained.

I went to the bank.

I just want to be happy. Are my standards to high? How can such a low life have such high standards?

Swirls and spots on my skin
These patterns are mine
Damaged or not

Yep. Nope.

Simply put: I am not well. Yet I am able to talk to and help so many damn friends and other people. I cannot help myself and nobody can help me. I'm afraid to take medications because THEY NEVER WORK. I feel so trapped. I feel so fucking trapped. All this isn't a cry for help. It's just a cry. Like any other day. Tears fall from my face or I cry on the inside.

Things are supposed to be better now. I don't get it. I am disease.

Nine Forty Eight.

Time To Be Fake.

Hopefully I won't have to make another one of these one day.

Today is better than yesterday

Whatever that means.

Here is why three weeks with no cigarette really doesn't matter. Alternately: Temporary Atheism? Second alternate: Simply severe depression?

Words cannot express the anguish my "soul" experiences. Yet, I still write. Why? Will it serve as some magic cathartic vessel? No. It's just the slight and pathetic hope it will help. I suppose it's a distraction. Passing each dying minute of this body's "existence". Making this temporary stint on Earth seem meaningful. I find this life to be pretty cheap. Here, listen to some wonderful music. Watch the ocean crash onto land. Bake some delicious fucking cookies... Whoops! Sorry! All these things must cease for you since now you must cease. Right. Well, if you believe in an afterlife, then that's just dandy. Hey, do you think there is a 'beforelife'? Fuck. There is now. We choose what we choose to make it seem worth something. To distract from the inevitable. Hobbies, "God", work, sex, shitty writing - whatever. Pain. No pain. Old. Young. We all just go. It doesn't matter if anyone even reads this.

I am an alien.

Now it's October.

I don't know where the month of September went, but it went fast. It was August until my Grandmother died. September began and Jason's Grandmother died on the first day of it. Since then, everything has been a blur of somehow driving to and from Kentucky, packing, preparing, unpacking, cleaning, physical pain and of course the depression. My BPD (Borderline) has definitely clenched me in it's fists a lot lately as well. So much so and so hard that it's pouring out of the almost completely closed spaces between it's fingers like meat being pressed into a meat grinder and squeezing through holes.

I was going to say more but I am leaving work early.

I have 'Mr. Self Destruct' in my head and I haven't heard it in forever.

No, I will never "grow out of" NIN. You have to be out of your mind. In a completely different manner than the way I am.

I have not made attempts to get help in the past week. I don't know if it's because I'm so preoccupied with the move or if it's because I'm always awful at making that 'first step'. Or both. All I know is, I'm fucked up. Terribly so. In so many ways.

I need a tattoo or a piercing or SOMETHING soon even though I cannot afford it. I cannot cut myself anymore because it doesn't solve anything and I will lose someone because of it. It's a hard craving to push away, but I have been. Just like cigarettes (almost two weeks without any).

I went to a Project Adventure thingy yesterday that was free. Jill invited me to come along with J. We met her girlfriend, Trey, who seems sweet. Part of the group of challenges involved a gigantic rock climbing wall. I've never done such a thing before. Out of the four of us (friend wise, not group wise) I was the only one who made it up. I don't know how I did it, especially not being in the best shape lately but I did. It was the ONLY thing that made me feel semi-decent in a long time. Other than that, I wish nothing was strapped to me so I could just jump and die. Yes.

There is a lot of human nature I do not understand and find hard to accept. Most people, even my most crazy friends don't understand why I am like this. I try so hard to "give in" and "give up" but I can't. I'm left with seeming delusional to others.

Also, my Mom is being a cunt as always. I'd like to think that one day I would break this cycle and give my future children everything I never had (emotionally speaking and maybe somewhat material speaking). I also think that maybe I should never have children and just hide in a room and starve to death. I don't want to end up like her. I also want to bring lives into this world that are an extension of me and have them live the life I never could and that would make me feel happy in and of itself. If I have to be a vessel, then fine.

I'm out of my mind. I don't want to be sitting here at work and my crack is STILL gone (Scrabulous).

I just want to cry. If there was a "God" I would want Him/Her/It/____ to hug me right now. Tightly. Warmly.

I need... something.

**Edit** The Project Adventure thingy is actually the Alley Pond Park Adventure Course. Jill posted a bunch of pics that are less than flattering on MySpace. I've already ganked them and will put them up there as well for those of you who are on my MySpace to see sooner than later.

*shrug*

So as I was laying in my old and almost empty room last Saturday waiting for J and his brother Phill to arrive with the moving truck I was crisscrossing my presence between a nap and the waking world. Things would pop into my head as soon as I would plunge into a semi-slumber and I would wake up and write those things on a small notepad we had been using for lists regarding our move. This is what came out. It's in order and I just have no clue (especially the last one):

Maybe you can sing your tune in a barren room
and truly hear the echo's soul.

I need an angel's call
to the knotted ball
of tight muscle in my neck.

Hey chowder head,
Your skin is red.
Leave your scabs alone.

Okay.

So lately every little thing has been getting to me. All of the drama that ensued during the last moments of my transition from my last place of residence to the new one due to my filthy ex-roommate, the normal severe depression that kicks on sporadically and is ruthless, the general stress of unpacking, setting things up, lack of money and also figuring out what to go back to college for. I feel so much yet I feel simultaneously detached. It's taking a toll on my relationship and this is not okay. Especially so because we just made this big step together. However, after realizing that he has been feeling this way too, then texting me with something that made me feel again an hour or so later and talking to Jill, I think things may be okay in the long run. Simply put, I need therapy. Badly. J needs to come with. He has agreed in the past but I've never made the steps to get us there and really, it is up to me because honestly, my problems are worse and I'm the source of things fucking up at least 70% of the time. I hate percentages. Hah.

I just want to be "normal". Not happy per se. Just normal. Feeling sad would be blissful because sadness is so many levels higher than what I feel most of the time.

Blah blah blah.

Very, very depressed. Whatever pops into my mind.

Last names are despicable
First names are a nuisance

No two clouds are ever the same
No two waves are ever the same

My feet are roots
My body is a stem
My head is the flower
My hairs are the petals

The intangible tumor in my mind is named Misery.

If I pick the skin around my nails, things will be better. I try to make it all even. No parts sticking up. I don't care if any parts are redder than pink. It's still smooth. Smooth is better. Smooth is better. Smooth is better. Tiny balls of blood will clot and wash away. No worries. No worries.

Cup. A teacup. Soft clank to a saucer.

I'm done with life but apparently it's not done with me.

I love one of my best friends ever, Jill. She is talking to me as all this random shit pops into my mind.

J just texted me and now I want to cry.

Forget whatever flows into my head. None of it matters, really.

From yesterday... Movin' on up... (no more disgust on so many levels).

All I have to say is that after being constantly spoken to like shit, cleaning up after someone else constantly, J coming into the picture and cleaning up constantly, dealing with unwanted drama, condescending tones, hypocritical behavior and STILL trying to appease someone ONLY in order to avoid dealing with a "king shit" attitude and being made to feel awful for no reason, I am glad to have moved into a drama-free, CLEAN place to call home. <3

Oh wait. I guess I have more to say. Hmph...

I gave reasons as to why last minute things couldn't be done. There was nothing else I could say or do. I was sincere and apologetic. Maybe I was a bit assertive for ONCE because I knew I was fleeing the dungeon, finally. I hate conflict where I live. Oh yeah, and J also TOLD HIM to his face at LEAST three times (literally) before we moved and during our move, that he would come over after we moved our stuff, to help him. Obviously, this wasn't enough and he needed to start some drama at the last minute, even though we tried to leave on peaceful terms.

Some people are just so miserable that instead of expressing how they truly feel (which is sad or annoyed), they will call your phone and leave a long message wishing you a horrible and short life among other vulgar, rude and hypocritical things. Very mature. The result of that message? Laughter. Lots of it. =D

As a side note, due to this drama I felt it took a toll on myself and the upstairs neighbors rapport. Honestly, I don't want to have them involved in any of this at all because they are good people and have never wronged me. It's sad because I want to keep contact with them but I am worried what they may feel due to the fact that they've only heard a one-sided story for the last year plus.

Anyway, we are so happy to be in our new apartment. It's beautiful, CLEAN and we don't have to worry about anymore drama that we grew out of when we left high school. It's coming along great. We have so much sunlight, nice wood floors and a great kitchen! I'm loving the ceiling fans in our bedroom and living room. Also, Harley isn't as itchy anymore it seems. Another BIG plus.

No more boogers, cum, and orange shampoo residue on the bathroom walls. No more empty cans, pizza boxes, chip bags, candy wrappers, rotting food in the fridge AND freezer. No more ridiculous requests. No more hearing about plans to sabotage peoples romantic relationships. No more not being able to have my BEST FRIEND over more because Bob forbid the halting of pot consumption would have to ensue because she has a three year old daughter.

PS: We wash our hands after we shit. We also actually open and USE our mouthwash. LOL

PPS: For the record. These are my feelings and I purposely left names out because I'm not an immature fuck. We don't care what is said about us. We know the truth and are comfortable in life because of this.

Things are good. =)

*scream*

Work is dead. The Scrabulous website is down. I need my crack. I'm going to rip faces if I don't get my crack!

Borderline Personality Disorder (unedited conglomerate).

Right now. My brain and heart twists into each other. Painful tangles of what I know is rational along with my instinct and heart . No cognition. Marijuana. Distract. Not really, no. Cold water. Drink it. Distraction. Promise ring, promise ring, promise ring. Look at it. LOOK at it! Not enough. Nothing is enough. Nothing is ever enough. I will keep my mouth shut. Something about aging helps me with this, but inside I am screaming. I will be abandoned. I am a horrible person. What is there about me that makes it worth it? Stop looking at the time. I already know what tonight was supposed to entail. That doesn't help me. Look at the phone again. No, nobody has called. Play more Scrabble online. I love him so damn much. Love is the only thing keeping me from not lashing out on him for no reason. Controlling this feels like I'm fighting against something that is killing me but giving up the fight. I do not like the feeling! I am not one to lose a fight! I have to surrender. Surrendering feels like suffocating. I feel like I'm not being MYSELF. Self control, self control, self control. Take another hit. Holding it as I type this sentence. Now I am coughing. Check my phone. Nothing. STOP IT. I am pathetic. Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight. Clonazepam and Marijuana takes the edge off. I want to cut the tip of my tongue off. Literally. Not the expression but I picture doing this at least a couple times a month. Same for pulling my earrings through the piercings in my ears, or pulling the bar through my tongue piercing to the tip of my tongue. I have stopped cutting. It has been months. I am on day two without a cigarette and I am craving one so badly I could rip faces. If I think about having one for long enough, eventually this calms down. And now? Now I'm back to where I began. Why can I not be okay? What did you do to me, Nature? Check my phone again. YOU FUCKING MORON. Not for nothing my sound is off. I almost don't want the phone to ring. If I talk to him, I don't trust myself to not say something stupid and uncalled for. I am trying to control myself. Check my phone again. He called! I missed it and now my stomach is burning. I feel good that he called but now I feel guilty for not answering. However as I just mentioned, I don't want to put him through Hell for my own issues. The fucking TV. I look up and why oh why must the Burger King guy be on? I fucking loathe him. I also loathe the surinam toad. If you don't know what that is, look it up. Disgust. Patterns. Certain patterns make me anxious. Patterns made from HOLES. LOOK IT UP, I tell you. He called me again. Am I an asshole?

I just spoke to him.

I cannot wait...

to make a list of all of the things I will NOT miss after I move out of this fucking place.

I can't stop thinking about this today...

Machines. 98 years here. Brown blocks of chronology visible through dried and opened lips. A small bug lands on her mouth. Like the one that bit me last week on my hand. She's not even dead yet. Tiny and frail, she (the machines) gasps for air. A dying, wrinkled flesh robot. My Grandma.

We leave the hospital. Sun showers ensue. A full rainbow comes through the clouds. I have never seen a full one before. Only halves or parts.

Two days later, gone for good. The day after that, burial.











5.23.10 - 8.14.08


*Edit* The pictures are getting cut off but only a little bit and I don't know why. Still not all too used to this site. If you really care, just right click and view image.

.

The only one who would apologize
was someone through a screen

I smell your spit on my face
and my smokes are around the block

My stomach is down to the chair
and my ears itch so deeply - I cannot reach to scratch


... Breakthrough.

Smoke or cut.

Smoke or cut. Smoke or cut. Smoke or cut. Smoke or cut.

Random Ray ramble...

Firstly, Happy Autumnal Equinox to anyone reading this today. =)

Today I am trying to put my end of Summer goal into action. No more cigarettes. At least no more cigarettes daily, no more grubbing (at least for a long while), no more buying packs. I hate this because I love smoking. I love the act. It's definitely more of a psychological addiction than a physical one for me. I know this is true. However, just in case - I have some stupid (insert whatever brand you like here) gum to use that J got for free from some sample website.

Anyway... Only six more days until we move into the new apartment. It's been super stressful and tiring but words cannot express how elated I will be to be out of the fuckery I am in right now. Constantly getting sick due to the environment (basement apartment plus a filthy roommate), the disrespect I (and my friends) have received; The list can go on. However since I am leaving, I will also leave the long list behind as well. Or at least for now. Maybe there will be a retrospect post at some point. Hah.

Baba (John, J's step dad who is actually more like his real dad because his "real" dad isn't the quite the best person in the world) helped us out a great deal yesterday. We went to Home Depot and bought a bunch of wood and built our own platform high bed frame! Now we will have room for storage underneath the bed, plus no more bed squeaking because of a shitty frame or box spring. *wink* This platform is absolutely diesel. He also gave J some money for our U-Haul and other things we will need. A nice wad of cash. We were not expecting that. I feel a little guilty. I'm going to get him a Thank You card. J was almost in tears on the way home last night saying how he doesn't know how he can ever repay John for what he's done for him. I told him, "Just tell him that. That's all you need to do." J is blessed and now, I am extra blessed.

So it turns out I had/have a sinus infection. I'm on day four of antibiotics. Antibiotics; What a wonderful thing.

I just scratched my right eyebrow.

Crisp air and a cricket choir.
Singing their deaths.

It wasn't a mosquito.

I just killed a bug full of my blood. I try not to kill any insects unless they harm me. This was some tiny little thing that has been flying around me on and off here at work today. I had enough once I felt itchiness on my left hand. Fuck guilt. I smashed it with a notebook. The fucker was fast - but I am faster. I hope it enjoyed it's last meal via my body. Now I'm itchy and have a little red dot for proof of death on a file folder. I wonder what kind of bug it was and I wonder if the blood stain will go from red to brown.

I'm leaving work early to go to the doctor. I can't wait this out any longer and I have so many things to do this weekend. The Fibromyalgia is acting up too... but I'm used to that.

Hello, Friday.

So once again here I am. I'm sitting at "work". Listening to 'Bbydhyonchord' by Aphex Twin via my Project Playlist thingy on my MySpace page. It's the first song that came on when I decided to listen to it (it's always on shuffle) and I must say, it's rather appropriate for right now. There is something about his music that melts into the creases of my brain and drips down all the way to my heart. I feel this way about a lot of music (since music is my Love) but his music is different since there are usually no words involved.

Music always intrigued me from every possible viewpoint. For instance, when you hear a song, it becomes it's own identity. I don't know if that makes sense. I guess what I feel is that you almost forget that people are putting together sounds to make one conglomerate section of space, time and sound. Sure you can see sound waves with proper instruments and your ear drum does technically vibrate, but really, listening, is an pseudo-intangible thing. I am insane. I am insane? I wish I could convey what I mean properly.

I think I may post some old and shitty and also some not-so-shitty poetry on here from time to time. I haven't written much lately. I haven't really done anything lately. I feel trapped where I live. Thank BOB that will be changing in a little over a week. Same with cigarettes. *waves goodbye to those on Sunday* I must sing. Some way. Somehow. By the way, does anyone know how to copyright photos and poetry on here? Not that anyone would want to steal my shit, but how do you make it official?

On my way to work this morning I used the heated seats in my car. A sure sign that Autumn is almost here. This pleases me. I love feeling the cool air from outside while my back and bottom is warm. I love wearing comfy clothes, breathing crisp air and the scent of dead and/or burning leaves. I took a different route today because of shitty Long Island traffic. The sunlight hit everything around me so beautifully, it made me want to die. I don't understand why I feel this way! Beautiful? Die? Why put the two together? Maybe I just ache for happiness so when I see something enjoyable it subconsciously reminds me of how crappy my life has been? Oh woe is me, woe is me. "It could always be worse", Jason says. "You could wake up with no arms." This is true. Very true.

My boss just turned on the air conditioning even though it's chilly. I told him I was sick and cold. "It's just a little stuffy in here..." he said. I love the consideration. I shouldn't complain. I've known the way he is for over three years now. It truly is chilly in here. Oh well. Slaves don't get much say, do they?

I think I'm going to call a doctor soon and try to get seen after work. I can't stand this anymore. Day three.

I am thankful...

for my best friends. They know who they are. My longest one in particular, Kristen, just helped me move a bunch of shit into my new place.

My friends (including my future husband who is one of my best friends and has known me for 14 years now, Jason) keep me going. Usually. I only say 'usually' because there are the moments when I want to rip my face off, bleed all over strangers and scream at them in tongues. I'd like to believe most wouldn't deserve such a spectacle, however I'm pretty much a misanthropist. And if some weren't worthy of such a gross display of insanity, at least they could walk away from it with a great story to tell. As well as some bloody garments. They make all kinds of things that take blood out of fabrics now, no?

Hey - you live, you learn. So I'm lucky to have those that understand me.

I'm used to LiveJournal...

but I will post something here anyhow to "start".

I feel empty at this moment. I have a lot to look forward to but I'm cursed with my severe depression, panic disorder and a few other things that I'm sure is the mental disorder du jour for anyone that has had their latte made the wrong way, broke their Blackberry or whatever.

I feel that all the torture I've been through since before I could speak up until now, in various forms has permanently shaped me for life. Many say this isn't so. Many say you can get help. Sure, I believe it - but how much help is there really? No matter how happy I am, there is always a lingering misery. I see misery in the most beautiful things. This isn't a choice. It was a choice when I was a teenager because I felt that was all I could relate to. Sometimes I still choose it because it's practically all I know, and what one knows equals comfort.

I have amazing pipes and have done nothing with this talent. The biggest reason being is because of the external torment I received as a child because I looked different than everyone else. Of course now, people claim I am beautiful and unique. I always liked when people use that word 'unique'. I know what you're really saying.

Well, I'm sitting at my dead end job and leaving soon. I believe I have a sinus/throat/ear infection. Yay for physical pain to add to the mental! Do I want some cheese with this *whine*? Anyone have some stringed instruments and some morose notes to follow? I do love music you know. I also love cheese.

I will end this entry with something I started telling myself years ago but of course haven't put into action (yet?):

Time to change my nature before nature robs my time.