Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Progress

Today I went and hung out with Kellyn for three hours instead of writing out my econ exams' study sheets or reading for Classicism. I really don't know if I've stopped my school work mid-week to just have some time with my friend(s) this semester, last semester, or the one before that even. I was saying something at Spiderhouse, and Kellyn said, "Let me just stop you right there, and we're going to have a toast," as she raises her Lone Star, "to Kelsey." I clicked my coffee cup hard against her beer glass & took a huge gulp.
I don't know if it was the fact that I had just swigged a decent amount of hot beverage, but I felt warmth inside. I felt true, unfamilial love and understanding between us, which almost immediately gave way to a calming sensation that can't be matched.
I've rarely felt so refreshed when there's so much school work sitting, unfinished, on my lap.
I need more times like that one.
And, to top off a good day, I'm eating Stouffer's Macaroni & Cheese for the first time since I was probably 8-years-old. I've been so scared of how delicious and rich it is, but tonight, I don't care. Rarely do I not care or dwell upon the fat content I put into my mouth.
I feel... different. It kind of scares me. I kind of really like it.

Monday, November 15, 2010

It's hard to remember to live before you die





I'm unequivocally depressed right now.
Depressed isn't the right word.
I feel ephemeral tonight. Quickly disappearing; transient.
I don't know why.
I felt awkward, for lack of a better word, and entirely alone, so I got some homework together and went to the cafeteria for dinner. But I could barely eat or get any homework done.
I was just.. dazed. In a noisy, crowded place, all I could hear was muffled conversation and laughter; I couldn't make out words even for eavesdropping entertainment.
I felt entirely disconnected -- I was not in that cafeteria with all those people, I was in a cloud.. I was surrounded by fog, blurred, invisible, disconnected.
I left. I've been slow to move ever since.
I've been wanting to -- no, NEEDING to cry, but I'm emotionless. I can feel an internal ache, but my affect is totally flat.. it's just vanished.
I stand in one place, staring, empty-minded, for minutes at a time without realizing it. I snap out of it due to my upstairs neighbors stomping or some cunts being loud in the hall/stairway, and then I'm just confused.. What am I doing? Why am I standing here? What am I supposed to be doing? What was I just thinking?
I would think I'm losing my mind, but I don't feel crazy...

I don't feel anything.



"My hell comes from inside - comes from inside myself.
Why fight this?"




Monday, November 8, 2010

I Miss Your Love

I've always heard that being an only child sucks cock.



It does.



I don't know if my hatred for being an only child is legit, though, because I used to know what it was to not be an only child.
I think that's what makes it so hard. I was not an only child until I was 20-years-old. A year and a half later, I still fucking hate it more than anything.
It's not the being the only child thing I hate, it's the fact that my only sister is dead, and that's the reason I'm an only child. I think if I'd been one all along, I'd have led an entirely different life, and in such a case, I may or may not despise it so much.
But knowing what it is to have a sibling, a single sibling, a sibling of the same sex, a best friend that no one else will ever replace: that's what makes this so unbearable.




I miss my sister.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

So much better than homework


I've been making flyers for Kellyn's band for her. I'm really happy with this one:

hahahahaha

since so many people read this..
HEY EVERYONE!!
Go see my kickass friend & her kickass band play at Spiderhouse every other Sunday from 4 - 6 PM!

Or..

check them (and some sweet clothes) out at Blue Velvet every Sunday at 8 PM!
*Notice: the Fractals are taking a two week break from Blue Velvet shows effective this coming Sunday.. so, don't go for two weeks.





EDIT:
The Fractals are no more.
Don't try and go to their shows.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

One, Two, Three, Four




Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?
Do you realize we're floating in space?
Do you realize that happiness makes you cry?
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes,
let them know
You realize that life goes fast;
It's hard to make the good things last.
You realize the sun don't go down,
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.


Do You Realize??

Do you realize that everyone you know
Someday will die?

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes,
let them know
You realize that life goes fast;
It's hard to make the good things last.

You realize the sun don't go down,
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.

Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?

Do You Realize??

Sunday, October 3, 2010

A Hostage in the Mouth of Myth




"It came to this, then, sister? You deceived me?
The pyre meant this, altars and fires meant this?
What shall I mourn first, being abandoned? Did you
Scorn your sister's company in death?
You should have called me out to the same fate!
The same blade's edge and hurt, at the same hour,
Should have taken us off."

-Anna to Dido
Book IV of Virgil's The Aeneid




Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it & you'll ask yourself, "Where is My Mind?"



"These images, and many more, haunt me now, pecking away at my protective shell of denial until I stand defenseless in their wake. I now understand the meaning of the expression grief stricken; it accurately captures the punch-in-the-stomach reality I'm experiencing.
The grief is bigger than me now; it lingers around every corner, like a bully, waiting to pounce. I feel trapped, confused, and afraid. I keep expecting someone to come to the rescue, to drop from the sky in a red cape and scare off the bully, but no one seems to notice my trembling.
So I run. Instinct leads me to seek refuge in a safe place where I can begin to make sense of my loss. . .
The solitude brings relief; it becomes my shield, my healing remedy against the noise and the mindless chatter of the day that pierce my soul like a thousand tiny needles. . .
I climb into the car and sit for a moment in the darkness. I have an uneasy feeling, almost as if I've forgotten something. 'What is it?' I ask myself. 'What is it?'
And then, all at once, a memory flashes. . .
I hear [her] voice, clear and strong, always with a note of reassurance. I can feel what it's like to be with [her] -- that same easy, familiar presence I've known all my life.
And then, in an instant, it's gone. The memory vanishes as quickly as it came, slipping beneath the dark waters with the late afternoon sun.
I sit very still for several minutes, a flutter of grief rising in my chest. 'How can life go on without you?' I whisper as I start the engine and head for home.

. . . The shock and disbelief have given way to a sort of pining, a longing to see my [sister] just one more time. I find myself making a special effort to remember the little things. . .

Reorientation -- the period in which we begin to learn how to adjust to life without our brother or sister.
But how can I learn to live in a world that doesn't include my [sister]? All my life, I've always been my [sister's] sister; it's part of my identity, part of who I am. My [sister] is part of my past; we share a common history. And we had plans for the future. I must, therefore, shift my perspective and change many goals in order to assimilate [her] loss into my life. Needless to say, this is an emotionally painful process because it feels as if I'm weeding [her] out of my life, which only compounds my grief.
Reorientation is also taking place within my family of origin. Established roles begin to shift, and no one quite knows their place anymore. We try on our new roles, but they don't quite fit; we shuck them off uncomfortably, like old coats. . . [My sister's] many roles lie in a heap on the floor alongside a mound of unfulfilled dreams. . ."



Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Succotash My Balzak, Dipshiitake




"[Kelsey] and I kept each other awake very late. We laughed. Young sisters in a bed under the roof of their childhood home. Wind on the window.
How could anything less deserve to be destroyed?
I thought we would be awake all night. Awake the rest of our lives.
The space between our worlds grew.
It became difficult to tell when we were talking and when we were silent.
The hairs of our arms touched.
It was late, and we were tired.
We assumed there would be other nights.
[Kelsey]'s breathing started to slow, but I still wanted to talk.
She rolled onto her side.
I said, I want to tell you something.
She said, You can tell me tomorrow.
I had never told her how much I loved her.
She was my sister.
We slept in the same bed.
There was never a right time to say it.
It was always unnecessary.
The books in my father's shed were sighing.
The sheets were rising and falling around me with [Kelsey]'s breathing.
I thought about waking her.
But it was unnecessary.
There would be other nights.
And how can you say I love you to someone you love?
I rolled onto my side and fell asleep next to her.
Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you . . .
It's always necessary.
I love you . . ."




Friday, June 25, 2010

don't close your eyes; you might fall to pieces.


Today I'm wearing the same dress I wore on June 25th, 2009.
I've only worn it once in between, and it was for the AFED art auction.
Of course, I'm 10 pounds bigger than the first time I wore it, so I think I fill it out more now.

For some reason, yesterday and today have been a lot harder than Sunday was.


Sunday, June 20, 2010

"Daddy, our baby's gone."










'You're allowed to be sad, but you aren't allowed to be too sad.
If you're always sad when you think about me, then how can you remember me?'



Friday, June 11, 2010

If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere


In New York City, mother and I went to the Tick Tock Diner for dinner Saturday May 29th, the day after what would have been Kelsey's 24th birthday. I promised her prior to the trip that I'd tell her what had been on my mind..
I left on dad's birthday and stayed at Jacob's because the parents were fighting, and since they've always been great parents when it comes to keeping their disagreements/arguments/fights behind closed doors and never in front of their children (they're definitely great parents in more ways than this, but this is the aspect that matters to this situation), I didn't know what was going on; I only felt the unexplainably heavy blanket of tension that lay over the household. The following morning, I apologized to mom for leaving & told her that I just couldn't bear the tension on top of so much other stuff being on my mind at the time.
And thus I told her all that had been on my mind that night, May 29th, at the diner.
I told her how I'd spent weeks fixating on all of the guilt I felt and subsequent blame I placed on myself for Kelsey's death. I explained in further detail, which I will not do now, and went on to explain how this constant beating my mind and conscious was giving me for almost a month had completely worn me down, how my skin was so thin, and that the night of dad's birthday consequently made me scared.. I knew and know my parents will never split. They love each other. Couples fight. People fight. It's human, it's natural, it's healthy. But it's so rare to sense anger and pain that intense between my parents that my mind immediately began to wonder what would happen if they did? What the hell would I do? I'd be completely & utterly alone. Those two, my mother & my father: they ARE my only family now, and with those thoughts on top of the Kelsey-killer thoughts, I broke. I told mother all of this and more. We talked. It was a sad, down kind of evening... Saturday night in NYC, eating dinner at a little diner then going back to our hotel to watch TV and sleep.
When we left, we walked down the street some ways, and near one of the block corners was a man with a handful of flyers waiting for passerby's such as ourselves. He readied himself as we approached. "Hey!" as he starts to hold out a flyer, "Comedy show - Aw, why you ladies look so sad? C'mon," beginning his attempt to hand us a flyer, "you could bring your sister..."
I must've changed from a sad look to one of fury as I firmly walked past the man to the street corner, waiting for mother and to cross.
"Oh, she is NOT happy I said that!"
Mother politely smiled, although my back was to the both of them now I could hear the smile in her tone, told the man calmly, "No, she is not. Her sister.. passed away last year."
Again, I couldn't see his face but I could hear the bugged eyes and dropped jaw of that horrible oh-shit moment everyone has at some point as he said less enthusiastically, "Oh.. my god. I am SO sorry."
I clenched my teeth as my eyes welled, blood boiled, and the urge to turn and beat the innocent man's face into his skull pulsed.
In her polite voice, "yeah, we're actually here because it was.. would have been her birthday yesterday. So.."
Desperately trying to recover the fumble that lost him the game, "I - I'm so, so sorry. Look, you ladies have a good night and a nice stay. Again, I am truly, so sorry."
I think mom said thank you a time or two, but if so that's not what I was listening to. As we walked on and I had sucked back those welling tears and barely loosened my jaw, mother asked if I was okay. "Yep. Just fine." Typical me.

I wrote down this exchange in my journal as soon as we got back to the hotel. I still haven't written in my journal since.. I think it's because of something else I said to mother that night.. how I don't deal with things. I haven't been avidly writing because that requires me to face everything going on in the present, definitely the past, and sometimes the future. If I don't write, I can remain ignorant.
But anyway..


I have to leave now. Psychiatrist appointment (how appropriate) then going to Jacob's grandparents for a short visit.


Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix


I fall asleep with that picture paused on my digital picture frame almost every night.
Kelsey actually looks happy even though I know she was faking it, and grandma looks like she is thinking about smiling, a rarity on her part.
I hope they're both happy, wherever they are.
I hope they're peaceful.
I hope they still remember me & will continue to take care of me like they always have my entire life.
By the way, Kelsey, I read a page in your journal this weekend, the things that keep you awake at night.. You were NEVER a bad sister, EVER. I'm sorry you thought you were, and I'm sorry it kept you awake at night. But I need you to know, you were always the very best sister, the only sister I had and the only one I wanted. I love you.


My, oh, my.

What a crazy, crazy year it has been.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

bruises that won't heal

I've a knack for ruining all great things in my life.
Currently, I've pulled my Communications grade up from failing to a 92, and as of tomorrow morning I'll be failing again. I refuse to give a speech because I am really, really, really not okay.
Jacob brought up my not talking to him the other morning. I was on my way to get a 100 on my Communications exam, and he said in response to my not wanting to ever speak of my nightmare (this is all via text), "I understand not wanting to relive bad dreams. Plus, I've gotten used to you not talking to me."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean you need help, but you either don't want help or you don't want my help. You're going downhill, and you don't want me to help you"
"How am I going downhill?"
"You're getting high, cutting yourself, not eating, and you are pushing away the people that have helped you up to this point.."
"I DID get high, I DID cut myself, I am too eating, and who am I pushing away that has helped me? I know you think I am pushing you away, but I don't believe I am."
"I want to be there to help you, but you aren't letting me, babe."
"I don't need help. Or if I do, I don't know how or what with. If/when I do, I'll be sure to let you know."
Then he said something about fixing my vacuum.
I was fine that day, yesterday, but I'm back to wanting to curl up in a ball and sleep but only if I've taken sleeping pills because I'm afraid of my dreams.. which is why I'm not asleep right now. I have to get up real early in order to finish writing a legitimate outline for the speech I'm supposed to give so I can at least get a grade for that since I will not be giving a speech. If I do get up in front of that class, my teacher may very well kick me out of the class for what I'll say. I've been thinking about it, what I'm going to say if I decide to actually stand up under the false impression that I've pulled my shit together & will be giving my real speech, and it won't make anyone happy. Well, it won't make my professor happy, it'll make the class extremely uncomfortable.
I'm very unstable and unwell right now. I hate crying all of the time. It makes my constant headache worse (no shit, I've had a headache since January). It's late. I need to set my alarms and cry in bed as opposed to on the internet.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Not sure what the trouble was that started all of this..

My last nutritionist appointment got cancelled, by my nutritionist, because she was stuck out of town. She said she'd call me when she got back and figure out when we could meet this week. This week's almost over, and I've not heard from her. To be perfectly blunt, I am more than relieved. I love my nutritionist, don't get me wrong there, but I hate that my parents spend so much money on a lost cause. My eating habits are not normal, but when have they ever been, and really will they ever be? I eat. I eat enough. On occasion, more often now than I'd like to admit, I eat more than enough. My weight has stayed within a four pound range for the last eight months, and my caloric intake has increased tenfold. I believe going to a nutritionist for $100 bucks an hour every two weeks is a complete waste of money at this point.
Then there's my counselor. I love my counselor, but I'm tired of going. I need him, now more than I have in the past few months for sure, but that's why I'm tired of going: I'm fucking tired. Always. I'm exhausted. I'm miserable. I hate myself. I have daily panic attacks. I cry for at least an hour every single day, not counting the frequent nights that I cry in my sleep (so I'm told). Something is very not right with me, and it's getting worse. Slowly at first, but now my mental/emotional state is getting worse rather rapidly. Almost by the day, I am getting worse.
According to the Beau, I look like I've lost "at least five pounds," but he always says that, so I ignore it. Kind of like he ignored my immediate confession the other night when I sliced my leg eight times and my arm four.. well, he ignored it after he hung up on me in mid-sentence.
Apparently we're back to the stage we were at five years ago: if you don't talk about it, then it never happened. He's in Colorado skiing for the weekend, so it will never be discussed. I'm fine with not talking about it, I'm just shocked beyond shock that he is fine with it, too. Usually all he wants to do is talk about my fuckups. My "not eating," or my "self destruction," or my "depression," or my (here's my favorite) "not talking."
But he's been quite standoffish when it comes to my blatant mental/emotional deterioration lately. As much as his bitching about my fuckups can get on my nerves horribly & as much as I whine about it, I secretly like it. I like that he worries, because then I know he cares. I know he cares anyways, but I really wish he wanted to talk, because I need to, but when I start talking to him I just feel like a nuisance and stop myself before I say too much then say aloud, "oh nevermind it doesn't matter. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong." while I'm obviously lying, the tears smeared across my cheeks and shirt and blood on my sleeve as evidence.
I don't know why it's become so hard for me to ask for help again. It never was my strong suit, but I was doing well for some time there. Now I feel like the 15-year-old silent girl shooting heroin in her bathroom and starving herself as cries for help. Albeit, I am not doing either of those things, nor do I plan to, but I'm baiting people to ask me what's wrong, to ask me to talk to them, to cradle and coddle me and tell me it's going to be okay while I sob, but it's not working and I'm too much of a pussy and a money-guilt to just fucking say something. Why can't I just fucking SAY SOMETHING?


I have to go to class now.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Our Baby's Gone

This is the definition of being alone in a room full of people.
I always say this: I have NEVER felt more alone than I do right now, in this exact moment, and as I did, in the last six hours.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Rainy morning.


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message [S]he Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

[S]he was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

--W.H. Auden


Wednesday, January 13, 2010

sweet, sweet medicine, save me tonight

I'm tired and I'm sad. I wanted to write, but now I can't think of anything to say. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm sad. That's really all I've got.