"If my memory served me correctly I made it a point to avoid and forget some things" ~Sage Francis
^That, and remembering how things were with Chris in the beginning.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Post Four
So I've been feeling rather sick lately, hence my lack of updating. I also forgot I had a blog, lol....
The past few days I spent throwing up and really ruing my existence.
I've started a series on YT where I catch sickos who are trying to get with underage girls. I've been warned to be careful, but I'd like to see one of those pedobears try and hurt me.
These people need to be exposed.
What else, hm...
I have been kind of down in the dumps lately, about everything. I'm glad that noone follows this blog. If people really wanted to, they could find it, but I haven't been active in telling anyone about it.
I wrote up a Joanna Newsom review but it appears that the site I thought I was a writer for isn't interested in having me write for them. I've attempted contacting one of the site admin's, and she has just dodged my inquiries on Skype, ignoring me completely. So fuck it, I'll do my own damn thing. Why should I contribute my valuable writing skills, unpaid, to a web site that doesn't even recognize me? I know that I'm a good writer. My review style might not be hip with the way everyone else writes reviews, but why should I be like everyone else? I think I really just need to get my own web site. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what I'm going to do. I think it could be a rather fun project. I could have different sections on it, like a section for this blog, a section for music reviews, a forum perhaps. Maybe one day if I get big enough I can even sell tee shirts. Who the hell knows. I'm just playing, I don't think I would want to sell t-shirts. Ever.
It looks like a pretty crappy day outside. All wet and grey. One more month, and I'll be at camp. I am terrified of the prospect.
I'm sleepy. This entry sucks. Oh well.
The past few days I spent throwing up and really ruing my existence.
I've started a series on YT where I catch sickos who are trying to get with underage girls. I've been warned to be careful, but I'd like to see one of those pedobears try and hurt me.
These people need to be exposed.
What else, hm...
I have been kind of down in the dumps lately, about everything. I'm glad that noone follows this blog. If people really wanted to, they could find it, but I haven't been active in telling anyone about it.
I wrote up a Joanna Newsom review but it appears that the site I thought I was a writer for isn't interested in having me write for them. I've attempted contacting one of the site admin's, and she has just dodged my inquiries on Skype, ignoring me completely. So fuck it, I'll do my own damn thing. Why should I contribute my valuable writing skills, unpaid, to a web site that doesn't even recognize me? I know that I'm a good writer. My review style might not be hip with the way everyone else writes reviews, but why should I be like everyone else? I think I really just need to get my own web site. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what I'm going to do. I think it could be a rather fun project. I could have different sections on it, like a section for this blog, a section for music reviews, a forum perhaps. Maybe one day if I get big enough I can even sell tee shirts. Who the hell knows. I'm just playing, I don't think I would want to sell t-shirts. Ever.
It looks like a pretty crappy day outside. All wet and grey. One more month, and I'll be at camp. I am terrified of the prospect.
I'm sleepy. This entry sucks. Oh well.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Entry Three
Okay, I actually returned to this thingamajig. I think I might make a Youtube video about bucket lists, and I will probably share my own. So it is 434 am and I am wide awake. Why, you ask? Well, I managed to mess my entire sleep schedule up because I slept about 22 hours, almost consecutively. There was a break in there where I awakened, responded to some Youtube mail, and then fell back asleep. I honestly don't know what the hell is wrong with me. A long time ago I had mono, and I know it's possible to have a resurgence since it lies dormant within the body, so maybe that's it? My friend Joe is oddly experiencing the same thing, and my boyfriend said that it is probably because of allergies and/or stress. I also haven't eaten anything, save a brownie. I drank a Strawberry Banana Naked Juice so that I am at least getting vitamins, and that helped to wake me up. I had a conversation with Joe on Skype, which was really nice because I haven't chilled with him in a really long while even though he goes to the same college as me. It's nice to see an old friend's face. (Well we don't go THAT far back, lol). Andy was over yesterday and we were on the radio for our last show until September. Our time slot is 3-6 am Fridays (well, it WAS), but Angelo who is in charge of that stuff said he will try and get us a better time, which would be so amazing. I returned from the show in a daze of sorts, and made the following video blog:
In it, I talk about wanting to come off medication and such. I can't believe I have over a thousand subscribers (that's just wild to me). Some people have already told me I've made an impact in their lives. That just makes me feel so good, and I got so many emails yesterday after I posted that video reassuring me and people sharing their own experiences with medication and stuff. That means so much, because right now the video only has a little over a hundred views, but of those few, so many people care enough to message me (I disabled comments out of embarrassment) and express concern or love.
I also got accepted as a WRITER (nonpaid of course) for this indie rock blog. It hasn't launched yet, but let me just say I am SO excited that I have this opportunity. That means that I will really have to make a commitment to write quality blog posts, but I am SO willing. Even though my radio show is on a hiatus, I still have things to look forward to (vlogging and blogging, and once finals are over, practicing guitar!)
I am in such a better mind frame than I was before.
Life is always beautiful, sometimes I just can't see it as such.
That's a picture my boyfriend took of me when I was annoyed. I look blissful, though!
In it, I talk about wanting to come off medication and such. I can't believe I have over a thousand subscribers (that's just wild to me). Some people have already told me I've made an impact in their lives. That just makes me feel so good, and I got so many emails yesterday after I posted that video reassuring me and people sharing their own experiences with medication and stuff. That means so much, because right now the video only has a little over a hundred views, but of those few, so many people care enough to message me (I disabled comments out of embarrassment) and express concern or love.
I also got accepted as a WRITER (nonpaid of course) for this indie rock blog. It hasn't launched yet, but let me just say I am SO excited that I have this opportunity. That means that I will really have to make a commitment to write quality blog posts, but I am SO willing. Even though my radio show is on a hiatus, I still have things to look forward to (vlogging and blogging, and once finals are over, practicing guitar!)
I am in such a better mind frame than I was before.
Life is always beautiful, sometimes I just can't see it as such.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Entry Two
This is just a couple of minutes after my first entry, of course. Seeing as how I can't sleep, I feel like I should be productive and make a list of things that I want to do or see before I die. This will be my bucket list, yes, and I will not harm myself in a suicidal manner until I have accomplished the following:
1. See the Northern Lights for real
2. Do at least one shoot as a pin up model
3. Flawlessly play a flamenco song on guitar
4. Publish a work of poetry
5. Eat a burrito in California
6. Visit Michelle and Sam in New Mexico
7. Have an orgasm while having sex
8. Spend a year dedicated to trying to make it as an actress
10. Make it as an actress
11. Pick up cello
12. Produce my own record
13. Scream as loud as I can in public
14. Go to Africa, Italy, Brazil
15. Get off medication while in a healthy state of mind
16. Garden
17. Skydive
18. Dance naked in the rain
STOP. I just remembered I have an account at 43things.com
Upon checking my account, I realize that I HAVE completed some things. I AM not idle. Here are the things I have done:
1. Get a passport
2. Learn to play guitar
3. Get 1000 subscribers on Youtube
4. Quit smoking pot
5. Get my lip pierced
6. Create my own web site
7. Fall in love
^^now even though I'm not the BEST at playing guitar, I do play it. I haven't smoked pot in a year. I fell in and out of love, with Christopher. I love my boyfriend, Jake.
I have things to live for.
I'm such a freak sometimes ::facepalm::
I'm not happy, I'm just...amused at myself. But in a smiling, I love myself kinda way.
Entry One
This is the last attempt. I'm serious as sulphur. The last attempt.
Why do I feel like all my blogs start off this way?
Well perhaps I won't tell anyone about this. That way, when I fail, it won't be as pathetic.
Sounds like a plan. Here I go:
The thing is, I can't sleep. I haven't been able to fall into that black bliss for some time. Staying asleep is fine, it's just getting into the knack of it that I struggle with.
I need to wash my hair.
What crosses your mine at desperate hours like these, staring blankly at the stick-on-your-ceiling stars that mildly loom over you with a sardonic, nay, pathetic glow. It's fake looking down at fake, or vice versa. Am I fake? I bend over backwards trying to make myself believe my sincerity. I do good things. I believe these good things should be done. I don't believe in God, I believe in myself (like Lennon, eh?)
And yet.
The hopelessness is slinking back. She saunters slowly, I can see the curve of her breast in the corner of my eye. I don't want to succumb, but she's so profanity-ing hard to resist.
...i really want to get off medication like really like what the fuck i can't stand living like this anymore these synthetic emotions the wide grins and bat my lashes the lucifer be fucked i don't even know why i can't stand it when the sorrow is coming back anyway it's the fucking inevitability of it all that paralyzes me til...
Let's just say I'm this sweet little waif of a thing. 15 years by the looks of it, 22 years in reality. Big bright eyes and a smile ready with your order. Would you like fries with that? Let's say this child-woman is on the brink of some un-nameable thing that she would never do anyway. It's all just theatrics, but the feelings and yearnings for the Un-nameable thing, which you all should know what I'm referring to, it's rather obvious unless you're a total idiot, run on sentence ahoy, anyway, these feelings are real.
I'm real, but am I real enough, do the meds unmake me or is it my desire to come off them the grinning demon of my own undoing. I know it is me who ultimately pulls the thread that holds the cardigan together (cardigans being preferable to sweaters in my indie-chic mind, mind you) and once the meds are out of my system I'm outta there myself, out of myself, wholly myself, the crazy broad with unwashed hair cos what's the point of it all to a deeply depressed highly anxious, unmedicated person.
I need to stay on this medicine. And I've been jonesing for some destruction.
In precisely 4 hours and 12 minutes from when I type this sentence, I have therapy.
If you're a stranger just reading this now I know you know I need it. And I'm a psych major to boot. Psychology and English, a fatal combination. Once, when I had too much pot and spent the night in a mental facility (yes, POT) I met a woman who was disturbingly a lot like me majoring in my majors and we both agreed enthusiastically that those two majors aren't good for people of our disposition. She was there because of pot too.
I'm reading Infinite Jest, and there's a lot of mention of marijuana, and that is why I bring that up.
If I smoke a joint, I could become psychotic like that time when I ended up in that facility. There's always the chance. But the need to self destruct...
I have borderline personality disorder, and I'm going to inform my therapist slash fellow human being dutifully completing his whatchamacallit to become a real therapist in several hours.
Until tonight, I hadn't mulled over suicide in a damn long while.
Andy was right about the book. It really makes you want to say fuck it life is meaningless.
...I don't think it's normal to be so AFFECTED by a book.
The facts are:
*I don't believe in heaven or hell
*I'm suicidal at the mo'
*Some people love me
I'm only here because of the third fact. I imagine if this feeling continues I will make a swift departure for California, slowly fade out of everyone's memory, and then disappear.
But not really, because I'm a coward.
Besides, I've never tried heroin, skydiving, never seen the Northern Lights...and what the hell is the point of killing yourself when you've never done those things?!
Why do I feel like all my blogs start off this way?
Well perhaps I won't tell anyone about this. That way, when I fail, it won't be as pathetic.
Sounds like a plan. Here I go:
The thing is, I can't sleep. I haven't been able to fall into that black bliss for some time. Staying asleep is fine, it's just getting into the knack of it that I struggle with.
I need to wash my hair.
What crosses your mine at desperate hours like these, staring blankly at the stick-on-your-ceiling stars that mildly loom over you with a sardonic, nay, pathetic glow. It's fake looking down at fake, or vice versa. Am I fake? I bend over backwards trying to make myself believe my sincerity. I do good things. I believe these good things should be done. I don't believe in God, I believe in myself (like Lennon, eh?)
And yet.
The hopelessness is slinking back. She saunters slowly, I can see the curve of her breast in the corner of my eye. I don't want to succumb, but she's so profanity-ing hard to resist.
...i really want to get off medication like really like what the fuck i can't stand living like this anymore these synthetic emotions the wide grins and bat my lashes the lucifer be fucked i don't even know why i can't stand it when the sorrow is coming back anyway it's the fucking inevitability of it all that paralyzes me til...
Let's just say I'm this sweet little waif of a thing. 15 years by the looks of it, 22 years in reality. Big bright eyes and a smile ready with your order. Would you like fries with that? Let's say this child-woman is on the brink of some un-nameable thing that she would never do anyway. It's all just theatrics, but the feelings and yearnings for the Un-nameable thing, which you all should know what I'm referring to, it's rather obvious unless you're a total idiot, run on sentence ahoy, anyway, these feelings are real.
I'm real, but am I real enough, do the meds unmake me or is it my desire to come off them the grinning demon of my own undoing. I know it is me who ultimately pulls the thread that holds the cardigan together (cardigans being preferable to sweaters in my indie-chic mind, mind you) and once the meds are out of my system I'm outta there myself, out of myself, wholly myself, the crazy broad with unwashed hair cos what's the point of it all to a deeply depressed highly anxious, unmedicated person.
I need to stay on this medicine. And I've been jonesing for some destruction.
In precisely 4 hours and 12 minutes from when I type this sentence, I have therapy.
If you're a stranger just reading this now I know you know I need it. And I'm a psych major to boot. Psychology and English, a fatal combination. Once, when I had too much pot and spent the night in a mental facility (yes, POT) I met a woman who was disturbingly a lot like me majoring in my majors and we both agreed enthusiastically that those two majors aren't good for people of our disposition. She was there because of pot too.
I'm reading Infinite Jest, and there's a lot of mention of marijuana, and that is why I bring that up.
If I smoke a joint, I could become psychotic like that time when I ended up in that facility. There's always the chance. But the need to self destruct...
I have borderline personality disorder, and I'm going to inform my therapist slash fellow human being dutifully completing his whatchamacallit to become a real therapist in several hours.
Until tonight, I hadn't mulled over suicide in a damn long while.
Andy was right about the book. It really makes you want to say fuck it life is meaningless.
...I don't think it's normal to be so AFFECTED by a book.
The facts are:
*I don't believe in heaven or hell
*I'm suicidal at the mo'
*Some people love me
I'm only here because of the third fact. I imagine if this feeling continues I will make a swift departure for California, slowly fade out of everyone's memory, and then disappear.
But not really, because I'm a coward.
Besides, I've never tried heroin, skydiving, never seen the Northern Lights...and what the hell is the point of killing yourself when you've never done those things?!
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