Sunday, December 4, 2011

shut the door

I'd like to hang Christmas ornaments from my rib cage, put a collar with a golden bell around my throat so everybody would know that I was coming; give them all a chance to make a clean get away. I'm tangled in mixed views and I really don't know which way is up anymore. I'm pressing my vertebrae up against the rear view mirror of the sky, and it was just yesterday that I learned what it felt like to be trapped. Highways all seem to lead in the same direction, back to the same address, but I'm trying to avoid you now for unknown reasons. I think it's because you're always calling my bluff. I'm stuffing November in boxes, getting rid of wounded bellies and dry mouth wit. Cats with crooked jaws dance with bare feet, and I shut the door on what you and I might have been.

Sunday, November 27, 2011


"It’s bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They’re not. They’re just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close."

--Rachel Cohn

Saturday, November 5, 2011

I wish that I knew what I know now

I started writing all of this in a comment on my mother's recent post, but when I realized how much I had begun typing and how much more I wanted to explore this line of thought, I decided to make it its own post.

I think it's important to know which makes you happier - the person, or the place? What is the bigger sacrifice? Of course, for me, it's the flip side of that. I have to ask myself what makes me more miserable - being away from the person (Jacob), or being in the shitty place (Texas)?
I like to say that I'd rather grow old alone than go back to Texas, and most of the time I believe that. But most of the time I'm not thinking about the person, just the place.
Would I really rather grow old without Jacob than go back to Texas? No. He made me happy when I was in Texas. We were happy together in Texas. He made that place bearable, livable even. I can say with confidence that I love him more than I hate Texas.
But it's not just hatred for the place, it's not just the fact that there are more desirable places to live. It's everything that ever happened in Texas, it's the ghosts that make my skin crawl, make me (literally) sick to my stomach and mind and soul that reside in Texas. I just cannot go back there permanently.
I don't honestly know which would be (or will be, I guess) more insufferable: being alone or being there. I tell myself that being there would ruin me and therefore end up ruining us, so "us" being over now is okay because in the process I'm saving myself. But I don't really know that. I don't know for sure, anyway. I know that being there would ruin me, but I don't know if being there with him would ruin me. What if I could live in that hell without going to pieces because I'd be with him? I don't know if loving him more than I hate Texas is the same thing as the power of our love being stronger than the destructive power of my past. I just don't know, I just don't know.
I do know that I'm acting like a fucking high schooler by saying that I WILL be alone forever if I'm not with him. But at 22-years-wise, that's how it feels.
I'd be willing to test all of this, find out of I'd break by giving up my preferred location, find out if our relationship is stronger than my ghosts, but I don't want to be the only one. Not only do I not want to be the only one willing to sacrifice because that's just not fair, but I don't want to be the only one willing to sacrifice because it's more than a preferred location that I'd be sacrificing - I'd potentially be giving up my sanity and my entire self.
I feel childish again for being so life or death, black or white. I know that it is possible to hold onto at least part of my sense of self and sanity in Texas, and I know that it is possible to lose myself and my mind and be utterly miserable outside of Texas.
But I know that if I were to go back for a person, for THE person, and it didn't work out for whatever reason, I would lose everything. I would lose the person, the place, and any semblance of peace of mind.
Right now I've lost him, but I still have myself. There's no guarantee that I could go there and get him back. And if I were able to get him back by going back there, then there's no guarantee that I'd be able to stay healthy. There's actually an extremely slim chance that I'd be able to stay healthy, especially considering the fact that it wasn't until I got out of Texas that I even got healthy.

I guess I've answered my own initial question...
I guess [right now] being alone is better.
No, it's just easier.
Fuck both of those words - it's not better, it's not necessarily easier, but it's safer.
That sucks.

I really thought that by getting the hell out of Texas I'd have a better chance of finding myself and growing up and getting a grip on/embracing health. I thought that by getting out of there and bettering myself, I'd be able to be a better partner to Jacob. I thought that my leaving would give each of us time to grow and come back together as stronger individuals and thus a rock solid couple.
I don't know if he's grown up any; I actually have no idea how he's doing. But I know that I am so much better than I was in Texas, so much healthier, so much more optimistic. I actually believe that the future is possible. I haven't really found myself or grown up, but I no longer rule those things out as impossibilities, and I believe I am finding myself.

I wish this growth could be beneficial to him.
It's hard to believe that we are really only possible at the cost of me.
How does that work? Is it really a "we" if there's only a part of me that exists? And is it really the case that "we" are only possible when I'm weak and lost? Could I keep what progress I've made if I went back for him? Is it a sign of strength and stability on my part to be willing to find out? Or is it a sign of weakness and fear? Is my willingness a healthy confidence in myself or a fear of the strength and power that I have the potential to possess?
Considering my tendency to self sabotage, I know that I cannot go back.

This is a strange thing. I know I should be happy and proud of myself, but I'm not. I'm sad and I feel disgustingly selfish. I think I need to be selfish now, though. Isn't that what I've been saying throughout this entire post? I need to be selfish - this is a healthy kind of selfishness. Right?


Monday, October 17, 2011

this story's old but it goes on and on

Sometimes I find myself thinking that some day you'll just show up where ever I am, tell me I'm the one and you're sorry, we hug and kiss and cry and then we live happily ever after. There are variations, but of course that's what it always comes down to. I think about this and my head hurts, my stomach flips, I think I'm going to vomit and cry. I realize that this is just a fantasy and you're not coming. You'll never come for me.
I feel like a complete idiot.
I'm trying to get to the point where I'm not the way I was when we dated so many years ago - I'm not that lovesick little girl anymore, and I can't keep holding on to these ridiculous romantic notions. For the most part, I don't. I am different. I am understanding of what happened, why it happened, and I know that there is no point in being mad at you or crying about it. I even recognize that getting drunk will not fix my situation. Yet I find myself thinking that we've come together so many times so there MUST be something to it - there must be something to us.
But our luck has run out. We're never going to be together again. There is no "some day." You'll never come here. I'll never be swept off my feet. You're not going to find me alone on the Clemente bridge watching boats go by with wind in my hair and tell me you want to be with me forever. That's some shit from a romantic comedy that probably made me cry when I was PMSing at 14 years old. We verged on a cute little romcom happy-ending love story, but you couldn't handle it, and we're never going to get that back.
This is over.
That makes me sick to my stomach.
I'll probably never see you again.
That scares me and makes me sad and is relieving all at once.
This is over.
This is over.
This is really, really over.

Just.. get the hell out of my head.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Texas, oh Texas.

Tony Norman (editor and columnist for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette) interrupted me in Reporting class on Tuesday after I'd spoken literally five words  to ask me where I'm from. I guess I looked surprised (I was caught off guard), so he added, "You have an interesting accent." Embarrassed that someone had finally picked up on my hickish roots, I told him Austin, Texas. His response: "Really? Wow. You have an amazing accent - it's beautiful! I love it." That was the first, and probably only, time I've ever been proud of my Texas drawl.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

moving on again

In less than 48 hours, I will be moving in to my 4th dorm room at my 3rd college with my 4th new roommate, about to embark on my 3rd college orientation. Am I excited? Yes, yes I am. At the same time, though, there's a part of me that feels unprepared and scared to go back to school, especially a new school. Actually, I think that's the only thing that's making me nervous. I'm a 3rd year, technically a second-semester Sophomore (by Chatham transfer standards), and I don't know my way around campus, don't know any of the teachers, don't have any friends besides my freshman roommate who already has friends attending Chatham, and I feel inadequate & unprepared.
I think it's mostly the not knowing my teachers that gets me. I would be a hell of a lot less intimidated by my course load (Intro to Reporting, World Film History, Intercultural Communications, Elementary Statistics, Step Aerobics, and The Communique - the school newspaper) if I knew that Dr. Duder, Dr. Stayton, and Dr. Teinert were going to be my three main professors, along with Dr. Nick for stats. But they're not, and I don't know these people. What if they're real bastards? What if they don't like me like my previous english professors have, giving me buckets full of adoration and preferential treatment? What if the classes are TOO hard? What if I fall ill, physically and/or emotionally, like I'm prone to do under stress, and need a little help later in the semester but am too shy to ask for it because these new, unfamiliar teachers haven't known me for 2 years nor do they know my back story? What if I need to plop down on a pile of comfy pillows in someone's office and cry for awhile, but Dr. Stayton's comfy pillows instead of chairs aren't there and Dr. Teinert's not there to lower the lights and close the blinds so we can be alone? What if I get fed up with it all and just need to vent and talk about football, but Dr. Nick isn't there to be my psychology teacher and part-time psychologist when I refuse to get up from my seat because I'm about to explode with anger and/or tears after class ends? What if I need extra encouragement to write, but Dr. Duder isn't there to tell me I'm the best writer he's ever encountered at such a young age and to tell me I made him cry with the paper I wrote in less than an hour, boosting my self-esteem and allowing me to power through three more papers in one day? What if I'm having a bad day and just secretly want someone to recognize it, but Dr. Teinert isn't there at 8 pm to find me loitering in the hallway and give me a big hug because I "look really sad"? What if these new professors are hardasses that I can't relate to on any level, that don't see me as anything special, that don't really care?

I was SPECIAL at Concordia - I was a star student, and I truly believe a lot of that had to do with the fact that I was one of maybe 6 English majors in the entire undergrad population, so of course I SEEMED like a great writer and like I "got" everything on a deeper level than any of my classmates. But my classmates were athletes and business majors who couldn't give two shits about literary structure, symbolism, and the power of alliteration, nor could they appreciate Greek Drama for the foundation and backbone of literature that it is, even if they wanted to. I know, I'm a fucking snob, sue me. I earned my right to be a snob at Concordia. Now.. now I'm just another average undergrad with a Peterpan complex who doesn't want to grow up so is settling on the dream of being a writer because it doesn't require a career path.
I finally got comfortable at Concordia - I dug my heels in and made myself a cozy little home among professors that I loved and that loved me equally, then throw in a handful of peers I found myself in a lot of classes with that became familiar, almost friendly faces. I knew I was going to uproot myself from that place, that it was only temporary, but I found a similar comfort there to what I had at Huntington-Surrey, and now I'm afraid Chatham will become to Concordia what Warren Wilson became to Huntington: not good enough, not home enough, the crazy and the asylum. I'm scared.
It's just school. It's actually a rather easy course load, save reporting and stats (Reporting is really hard and I'm not good at it. For someone who voluntarily became a Communications: Journalism major, I am unbelievably uncomfortable and bad at reporting. And I'm not anticipating stats to be very easy, but according to my World Film History teacher, who is also my advisor, the professor is REALLY cool and REALLY understanding of us english majors and our lack of mathematical understanding), but it's intimidating nonetheless. I know it's going to be a lot of work, and I'm lazy. When it all comes right down to it, it's just that: I'm lazy. I could get away with doing a half-assed job at Huntington because half-assed was good enough and because I was a favorite. Same story at Concordia. Now I actually have to work, and I have to work hard. And I'm just not used to it. And it scares me.

Going to shut up now and find something relatively productive to do.

My tooth hurts.

The end.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I'm Sorry

Why do we feel the need to apologize when something bad happens? I mean something bad that isn't our fault, that isn't anyone's fault.
Dr. Spencer's dead and I'm apologizing to my nutritionist, to my cousin, to Jacob for random shit that's completely unrelated to Dr. Spencer just because I feel like I've done something horribly wrong. Why? What have I done wrong in this situation? Nothing. I'm reaching out to three people that I trust to help me deal. But I feel like a burden for doing it, I guess? Maybe I want them all to tell me it's okay, that it's going to be okay? Maybe I really want to apologize to Dr. Spencer? I felt the need to apologize to Kelsey for Dr. Spencer's death (and I did so, out loud in the basement). Try and figure that one out.
My head is pounding, I'm sick to my stomach, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. Probably lack of food but I feel like I need to throw up so eating is not something I feel I can do right now. I want to go to sleep. I want to be forgiven by whatever god or greater entity that I've pissed off so badly they find it necessary to punish me by letting everything and everyone around me die. I think I can do sleep.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

out of my head

I'm about to go to Accepted Student Day at Chatham. I don't know why I'm nervous about it. I'm nervous about attending that school more so than I have been about any school for a myriad of reasons (don't know anyone, all girls, etc.), but non-mandatory treat-you-like-a-baby wander-around-campus-with-a-name-tag-and-your-parents day? Lame. I do feel kind of silly knowing now that I will be attached to my mother's hip and I'm 22-fucking-years-old, but who cares my mom's my BFF and I don't look 22 for sure if I was embarrassed about being glued to my parents. I've got acne to boot and my body image is god awful, so that's not helping anything. I'm wearing a dress which ultimately makes me feel goofy, over-dressed like I'm trying to impress someone, but, again, who cares it's comfy & makes me feel okay in my own skin. I kind of almost hope my new roommate isn't there.. I don't really want to meet her yet. I'm nervous about her, she's SO pretty, talented (I assume.. she went to a fancy high school here in town, and she's for sure talented with a camera), probably has friends who are attending the school, has potential to be a giant snob (so does everyone, I just assume the worst because I AM a giant snob) or the biggest sweetheart ever (which makes me feel like an even bigger snob/bitch), etc., so delaying meeting her makes me more comfortable haha Stupid, I know. Of course, all of these things could/would be good for me: accept natural beauty, be around talent and brilliance, be humbled or be made a better person, etc. so meeting her is actually my only way of getting comfortable with my soon-to-be living situation. Whatever. I could go on and on, about the things that are probably making me nervous & why they shouldn't rationally, but it's time to go.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

I've boycotted facebook for a little while.
So I've landed here.
Wow. That's kind of pathetic.
Maybe I'll finally do my placement tests.
Maybe I'll call and harass the fuckers in health services at Chatham for ignoring my emails.
I probably won't do the second one, but it sounds nice.
My eczema's back with a vengeance. I guess it's better than the ulcer. Still don't know what's causing me enough stress to warrant bodily reaction, but apparently something.
I've got nothing else to write.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home?
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
Sometimes I'm up, and sometimes I'm down,
(Coming for to carry me home)
But still my soul feels heavenly bound.
(Coming for to carry me home)
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
The brightest day that I can say,
(Coming for to carry me home)
When Jesus washed my sins away.
(Coming for to carry me home)
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
If I get there before you do,
(Coming for to carry me home)
I'll cut a hole and pull you through.
(Coming for to carry me home)
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
If you get there before I do,
(Coming for to carry me home)
Tell all my friends I'm coming, too.
(Coming for to carry me home)
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

I thought he was a man, but he was just a little boy.

Everyone's least favorite saying:
"It is what it is."

No, it's fucking not. It's not what YOU think it is. And I refuse to agree so that you can sleep better tonight.  I hope you toss & turn; I hope the curiosity and the discomfort of not knowing and the uneasiness of our very obviously unstable relationship eats at you. I hope you realize that you did say mean things, that you did hurt me, and I hope you do regret it. When you are able to acknowledge ANY of that, I might say something. But in the meantime...

I am Marissa motherfucking Pearl Veldman.
No environmental change is going to stop that.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Love. Love. Love. Ah! Phish!

My favorite Phish ever.

A classic.

and I'm Sofa King jealous of the bitches who got to witness this live:


Monday, May 23, 2011

Pretty, Pretty Please

If I have one more nightmare, I'm going to shoot myself in the fucking face.
I fell asleep last night crying on Jacob's chest. Literally.
Night before that, I woke myself multiple times crying in my sleep. Pretty sure I woke dad, too.
I hate this shit. I'm so fucking over this town. I want out NOW.

We (Jacob, Ariane, her beau Andrew, and myself) went to get Chinese food last night from Ho-Ho on Parmer & Lamar. I didn't even think about the fact that Lamar is past Metric when driving down Parmer from Jacob's condo. It's very difficult for me to even be on Parmer east of MoPac, and I cannot drive through the Parmer/Metric intersection without having a panic attack. We were stopped at the red light before crossing MoPac & I asked Jacob if we had to cross Metric. He said yes. I crinkled my eyebrows and tried to stifle the oncoming tears, but I couldn't stop them. I took some xanax. As soon as we crossed MoPac, I pulled my knees up to my chest and blocked my eyes until we got to Lamar. When we'd picked up the food, Jacob pulled out of the parking lot and didn't get in the turn lane to go back down Parmer. Ariane & Andrew asked him where he was going; why was he getting on I-35? He answered very nonchalant, "Oh, I was just going to go up to 183." A tear formed and that ball rose in my throat as I choked out a quiet, "Thank you." I grabbed his hand and held it tight with my face resting against it while my tears rolled down and got trapped between our fingers. I looked around at the businesses on the access road of I-35 as we drove and muttered, "Goddamn, I'm so fucking over this town," and put my head back down into my lap, my forehead pressed hard against the back of Jacob's hand that was being held hostage in my grip. I told him again once we were on 183, "Thank you for going to extra-super-long way around so we wouldn't cross Metric again." He smiled at me and kissed my hand.
I don't want to leave this guy. No one will ever treat me better than he does; no one will ever love me more than he does; no one will ever understand (or at least put up with) my neurosis as well as he does. No one will ever love him more than I do. He is the only thing I don't want to leave in Texas.
But like I said last night, I am sofa king over this godforsaken town.
Can we please go now?

Monday, May 16, 2011

for all the cows

Finally went to a doctor about my rotting insides after enduring a bout of uncontrollable vomiting until I thought I was going to suffocate at Kellyn's house about a week and a half ago.
Turns out my irritability has given me an irritable bowel, hence the intense intestinal pains/cramps/rotting feelings, and my irritability has given my tummy an excuse to resurrect my ulcer.

Treatment = control my stress.
So simple, right? No.

Every time I get upset I start puking. It's fucking annoying. So far, there's no blood so at least the damn thing's not bleeding... yet. If I don't get my stress under control & my symptoms don't go away or at least lessen in severity/frequency, I'll have to go to a GI Specialist. Or that's what the doc said; I don't really HAVE to do anything; I could just continue to let my insides rot away and die. I kind of feel like that's going to happen anyway, and besides how bloated/swollen/chubbed up it's making me in the meantime, I don't really care if it does happen.
It's almost like knowing what my stress/anxiety is doing to me physically has made my stress/anxiety worse; I was a total wreck all week: sicker than usual, weepier than usual, more miserable than usual (something I didn't think was possible). I just want to curl up in a ball and cry forever. I feel like this day in & day out. I'm supposed to be happy - I'm done with probation, I'm done with Concordia, I'm done with fucking TEXAS (almost), I'm about to go home to my momy after being away from her for the longest period of time in my entire life, I'm about to go home to my puppies & my kitties & my crazy stoner/white trash/old Catholic neighbors; why am I so miserable?

OH MY GOD I'm about to rip out my intestines.

Friday, May 6, 2011


You've been so long;
your blind eyes are gone,
your old bones are on their own.
So take off your coat,
put a song in your throat,
let the dead-beats pound all around.

We will go
nowhere we know,
we don't have to talk at all.
Hand me downs,
flypaper towns
stuck together
one and all.

The bargains you drive,
buckets and bags,
and all your belongings.
Your train's in the sand;
Ramshackle land.
Let the rats watch the races.

We will go
nowhere we know
til we find our one and all.
Hand me downs,
flypaper towns
stuck together
one and all.

Praises get spent,
your trick face is bent;
pigsties and prizes.
'Cause there's no kind of 'well' -
You're suiting yourself.
You leave yourself behind.

We will go
nowhere we know
til we find our one and all.
Your hand me downs,
flypaper towns
stuck together
one and all.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

who do you think you are collecting your jar of hearts

you know what's really, reeeeaaaaally fucking annoying? when you sit around doing JACK SHIT for an hour because that's how long ago your project partner emailed you saying she was on her way over from her place in Lakeway (essentially the same goddamn place as Concordia) and wasn't sure if she had your number (bullshit. called me multiple times before.) and asked you to call her with your dorm number and you DO call her, she doesn't answer, you leave a message with your dorm room number, your cell phone number, and your two potential whereabouts (your room or Wal Mart), and whadyaknow? Bitch still isn't hereeeeeeeee nor has she called.... nothing. I COULD KILL A LUTHERAN RIGHT NOW.

That's really, REEEEEEEAAAALLLY fucking annoying.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

it only makes it harder to live without it, but let's talk about it

I've been listening to the Beach Boys a lot lately. Thank you, Kellyn, for that. It's nice. Cheery, pop-y, good [vibrations] feeling music. But anyway. That was just to explain the title of my post. "Wouldn't It Be Nice" is constantly stuck in my head.

The semester is over.. technically. There's still 4 days of exams. I have one for Drama at 245 on Tuesday, a 10-page paper for American Lit. due at 6 Tuesday evening, a Short Story Final op-ed paper due by noon Wednesday, and a project presentation for Cognitive Psychology at 1230 on Friday. I'm good with all of it except the project...... my partner is such a fucking flake. I can't really give her too much shit, I haven't done a damn thing either except perpetually try and get her to commit to a time to meet up or at least talk on the phone or SOMETHING.

I forget why I originally started this post.
I wanted to say something. I had something to talk about.
I lost it, though.
I'll come back.

Friday, April 1, 2011

breathe out so I can breathe you in

I hate that 3 out of 4 times I come to Jacob's now he's already in bed when I get here or goes to bed before me. As soon as he's asleep, I'm alone and I feel like sobbing. I don't like being alone in someone else's house. It's not even that, I'm fine with that; I don't like being alone in someone else's house when I'm not the only person in the house. That's why I used to go batshit insane when I tried to spend the night anywhere - the other person(s) would go to sleep, I'd still be up, alone, with nothing to do but think. I hate thinking. I get sad. So now it's automatic to just freak out and go into horrible fits of crying and/or anxiety and/or depression that can sometimes last for days. I don't want to be here awake, alone, watching Foo Fighters ACL footage in HD (I don't mind that part, but I could be doing it at my house with my awake father), because I didn't come here to be alone; I came here to get away from myself - from my loneliness. And now it's being compounded. And I'm talking in circles because it's 10:40 in Pittsburgh so mom's not online and I have no one to talk to because everyone I know has friends and something to do on a Friday night besides talk me out of my neurosis. And even still, if there were someone to call to talk me down from my crazy, it wouldn't work: they're not here. I don't want to feel alone when I'm not alone. I don't want to be alone so I'm here..... alone. FUCK I'm crying. They're playing "Aurora" and it's so beautiful and that's what I wanted to name my daughter and Kelsey really liked the name. Fuck fuck fuck

You believe there's something else
to relieve your emptiness,
and you dream about yourself,
and you bleed and breathe the air,
and it's on and on...
I just kinda died for you.
You just kinda stared at me.
We will always have the chance;
we can do this one more time.

Hell yeah, I remember aurora.
All this time....
Take me now; we can spin the sun around,

and the stars will all come out,
then we'll turn and come back down.

You believe there's somewhere else
where it's easier than this,
and you see outside yourself,
and you buy the hole you'll fill,
and it's on and on,
On and on..

Aurora, wait for everyone;
wait till the last one's done.

Monday, March 28, 2011

10 Reasons I Need To Get The Fuck Out

1.) Every day I want to kill my roommate a little bit more than I did the day before.
2.) I need four real seasons. This past Saturday's weather in Austin = overcast morning, sunny/HOT afternoon, light shower in the early evening giving way to disgusting mugginess, then fucking cold at night. Weekend = mid-90s. Today = mid-50s. I HATE THIS SHITTY, UNPREDICTABLE/NONSENSICAL WEATHER.
3.) I am a criminal, an anorectic, a heroin addict, a high school/college dropout, and/or a bad memory at best in this town. I want to be ME.
4.) I hate everyone here. Period. I'm a snob; over-alls and a full set of teeth do not comprise the height of sophistication for me. Sorry, dooders.
5.) Traffic has pushed me almost to the point of being homicidal.
6.) I've seen all the people and all the crap this shit hole has to offer (and it's not much). Due to this, I constantly think I see people I know (whether it actually is them or not) and every single time it happens, my stomach churns. I almost puked when I saw Erica at ACL. Yeh, time to go!
7.) Leslie Rebecca McJunkin.
8.) My hero a.k.a. Momy.
9.) I fucking deserve it.
10.) I see her everywhere.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

it kills me to tear us apart...

I had the saddest, most meaningful and helpful and honest conversation with my father tonight.
I cried so much.

I've been at Jacob's for almost two hours and he's been asleep the whole time.
I was sitting up on his bed crying for about 45 minutes.

I miss my sister.

I hate spring time.

New life.
Season of love and procreation and blah blah blah.
Fuck it all. I hate it all.

My dad found me in the kitchen, waiting for my Amy's Brown Rice & Vegetables Bowl dinner to finish heating in the microwave, drinking a Lone Star 16 oz at 11:00-ish the other night and laughed, "Marissa!  Lone Star beer? I didn't know you were drinking..... this." I thought he was going to be mad at me. But he just smiled, laughed, and shook his head slightly.. at my drink of choice, not the fact that I was drinking at all.
I like this honesty we have between us now.

I still don't like this time of year.

How is it that the most comforting thing that's been said to me while I've been sobbing over the last 5.5 hours came via text message from a guy I barely know who I've only hung out with once [outside of class] and is in Padre?
What kind of back-ass-wards nonsense is it that the people who know the least are the best at making me smile in my darkest states?

Jacob just stirred.
I should get in bed.

Friday, March 4, 2011

let her be

I had a minor freak-out last night.
I saw my sister in my mirror.
I still can't look directly into my own eyes in the mirror today, and I couldn't look at the mirror AT ALL for the rest of last night - I shielded the side of my face when I had to pass it to go pee so that I couldn't even see it in my peripheral vision.
I can't explain what happened - I just cannot put it into words. Shitty feeling for a goddamn English major.
Maybe with time.
I've been having mini anxiety/panic attacks for a little over 24 hours.
That was the only full-blown one I within these past a-little-over 24 hours.
I'm shaky.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

between us

my arch-nemesis is creeping its way back into my thoughts; into my life.
what's frightening is that I'm not frightened by it. at all.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

where did you come from and where will you go

I'm experiencing my first heroin craving in over two years.
I'm utterly disgusted with myself.

All I did was take an Aveeno bath with the hopes of relieving some of the insane itching fits I've had at night lately, and mostly just to relax (and a little bit to piss off my roommate by making a mess of the bathtub).
I'm always veiny when I get out of a hot bath. It's fascinating to me; I find the extent to which my veins protrude interesting and I like how when I hold very still, I can see my pulse under my skin. But it never gives me cravings anymore, and if it makes me even think of drugs it's not even for a split second - it's less than a fleeting thought.
But tonight, I was drying off my legs, and I noticed an extremely fat vein around the inside knob of my ankle. EXTREMELY fat. I've never noticed that one before.
I poked it. I felt the pulsing blood for a brief moment. I thought, "I remember always trying to get that vein..." I straightened up quickly when I felt the oncoming rush of thoughts.
But this time, I couldn't stop them. They flooded my brain and I shut my eyes tightly, trying to stop it before it happened because I knew what was coming; even after years, I know the lead up.
It hits so hard and then it's all that occupies my mind; I'm either wrapped up in the actual feeling of craving, or I'm so distraught trying to dispel the horrifying feeling.
Either way, it consumes my mind and I can't make it go away and I'm trying to make it go away and I just want it to go away and I'm grinding my teeth so hard my jaw hurts and I'm about to scream.

I hate the person I've become.

Friday, February 18, 2011

now vicariously I have her in me

Michelle wondered aloud yesterday if I may be depressed citing a handful of typical symptoms/reasons..
my restless nights,
my wanting to sleep all the time,
my best friend (mom) being gone,
my general disinterest in life,
my general sadness,
my disinterest in being around people or even speaking to them,
my anger and irritability,
and (my favorite, since she says this every single time I see her whether I'm "depressed" or not)
my refusal to take care of myself, mostly through my refusal to eat.

I don't know.
Maybe I am "depressed."

Maybe I'm just so stressed my brain has shut off in order to keep me from going into panic attack mode 24/7.
Maybe I'm incapable of getting a good night's sleep because I'm stressed.
Maybe I just really enjoy sleeping and I always have.
Or who knows? Maybe I'm just fucking tired.

Maybe I'm angry because I sleep through class too often.

Maybe I'm sad because my boyfriend ignores me for two days straight then blames it on not being near his phone to hear the beeping or see the little blinking light (fucking bulllllllshit).

Maybe I'm irritated because my roommate wakes me up at 5 a.m. with incredibly annoying mid-90s club-techno music that she ironically turns down or completely off when I finally decide to get up at 7, or the fact that she gets goddamn powdered sugar all over my clean dishes and uses the sponge for dishes on the fucking bathtub (which never gets clean anyway).

Maybe I'm sad that my dad thinks smoking a lot of weed (instead of taking his goddamn antidepressants) will make it okay, when really it just makes depression worse.
Maybe it makes me angry that mother & I are constantly stressing the fuck out over money and dad fills prescriptions that he doesn't even take when we don't have health insurance to help pay for unused medications, then spends more money on pot.
Maybe it just irritates me that he tries to hide his smoking.
Maybe I'm sad because my dad is so miserable and I can't help at all (not "fix it" - just help) because he won't talk to me about anything that matters.

Maybe I'm irritable and angry because I can't smoke pot.
And I really liked smoking pot.

Maybe I'm angry that I never got paid by my supposed "job" last semester, and I am probably going to lose so-called "job" because I refused to go to "tutor training" last night.

Maybe I'm sad because I do miss my mother and I know she's sad and lonely and I wish we were together so that neither of us would be sad or lonely, or at least we wouldn't be lonely.

Maybe I'm sad because my sister is dead.

Maybe I'm so incapable of putting on a happy face because I'm never in the here & now, I'm constantly in my head with Kelsey.

Maybe I have a disinterest in seeing people because I have no one I want to see, and maybe I'm uninterested in speaking to people because I'm constantly surrounded by fucking moronic, hypocritical, rich, snobby Christians.

Maybe I get a thrill out of spending hours on my photobucket looking at people I don't know who seem just as frustrated with life as I am.
Maybe I get a thrill out of applying to colleges far, far away from here because it brings me that much closer to freedom.

Maybe I feel guilty that I take so much pleasure in talking about leaving and working on leaving because it upsets the only person I do spend time with (Jacob).
Maybe I'm angry because he makes me feel guilty about feeling excitement, like he makes me feel guilty for wanting to see/seeing the only other person I spend time with here (Kellyn) because she DOESN'T make me feel guilty about wanting to leave; she's excited for me and encourages me and likes me to talk about it.

Maybe I'm irritated by hearing someone tell me that I don't take care of myself and I don't eat because it's total bullshit and if it were true then I WOULDN'T FUCKING BE ALIVE AND HEALTHY.. I'd be sickly and skinny.
...or I'd be the dead one instead of Kelsey.

Maybe I'm irritated because I spend so much goddamn money on "taking care of myself" because my fucking nutritionist gives me a grocery list every time I see her even though I just fucking went to the store AND just bought more school books AND just spent ungodly amounts of money on psychotropics.

Maybe I'm angry because I tell my nutritionist that spending money gives me bad anxiety so she sends me on a shopping trip and tells me to report back to her how anxiety-inducing it was to buy the stuff.

Maybe I feel really guilty because I try so fucking hard to only buy the essentials (food, medicine, school shit, gas when absolutely necessary) and I still spend so much money and only make things worse for my mother who is getting migraines and staying awake at night worrying about money.

Maybe I think too much.

I. Don't. Fucking. Know.

Maybe I am "depressed."

Sunday, February 13, 2011

I'm not there yet, but I'm closer than I was yesterday

I feel so alone. So miserable. So, so, unfuckingbelievably alone. Dad does too, I'm sure, but we don't talk about it... that's not something we've ever been able to talk about, throughout all the progress in communicating we've made.
Jacob doesn't get it... he just doesn't want to hear it. Why should I feel alone? He's always there for me. I've got him, and that's all that matters [t0 him]. But what he doesn't get is that his insistence on always being there is not helpful.. at all. It's conditional, as much as he'd like to pretend otherwise, it is. He is hurt when I say I feel desperately alone and like I have no one to talk to, but when I do tell him everything on my mind, he gets distant and sad and won't talk to me. Not that I need him to say anything -- really, I prefer he not speak, just listen and console me and coddle me. But he gets upset, and that makes me feel guilty, so I recoil and hold it all in, and then he gets mad because I'm not telling him things, and the cycle continues.
I've got Kellyn, my sole confidant in Austin, and I must express my deep appreciation for her friendship; I truly feel less alone when I get to talk to her or spend time with her. Unfortunately, when I leave Kellyn's presence, I feel good for a little while, then I get even more upset than I was before. Because I realize that we have FINALLY reconnected; we have finally gotten our friendship where it should be: healthy. And now I'm about to leave it. And I don't know if I'll find a friend like that ever again.

Still, in spite of Kellyn, in spite of Jacob, I am so alone in this hell.

I miss Kyle G.
I miss the Fariss brothers.
I miss my dogs.
I miss my mother.
I miss my sister.

I feel trapped, alone, in a dark, dank hole, and I [literally] can't breathe.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

on our way back home

Kind of how I'm feeling nowaday.
Plus newly developed eczema, bloating & cramping, and the occasional puke.
Other than that, I've missed two classes this week, I miss my momy, and this coming ice age shit has left my skin so dry it bleeds when I come back from smoking a cigarette, so all is pretty normal.
I need a break. And things just started.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011


My horoscope for February 1st:

"Your life has been whizzing along like a well-oiled machine lately, but things are probably going to start to throttle down today. So if you feel less inspired to take on new projects (or even maintain current ones), don't be surprised. Your body and mind are moving into self-preservation mode ... whether you want to or not, they're forcing you to slow down and take things more slowly. If friends are concerned about an increase in apathy, assure them that it's just a phase."

I think I'm the one who needs convincing that this is just a phase.
This is just a phase.
This is just a phase.

I'm gonna need you to be patient with me

Considering the cold front that came through early today, walking class has been cancelled for the week. That leaves me with no class until 2:30 PM today or Thursday.
I stayed out til about 10 last night with Kellyn and her beau, Dustin, then went straight to sleep upon returning to my room.. I didn't even brush my teeth.
I had my alarms on my phone set for 9:18, 9:33, and 10, but I woke up on my own in the 8 o'clock hour.
I drifted back to sleep between alarms and Lizi's godforsaken Christian music. Why she wasn't in class, I'm not sure, but I wish she had been.
I obviously didn't need to be in bed or sleeping anymore, but every time I left my eyes open, I'd start crying. So I forced myself to continue drifting until almost 10:30 when Jacob started texting me.
I laid flat, weeping for a little, then I decided that I needed all of the four hours I had until class to get up and ready if I was in such a condition.
I sat up. I cried. I felt like if I moved from my bed, it was going to be the death of me.
I looked around me. A shitty apple from the cafeteria on my dirty window sill, my Steelers lamp still on from last night, a candy wrapper beneath my water bottle. Dust.. so much dust in this room.
I felt disgusting, like I was lying in my filth, but I couldn't get myself out of it, either. This went on for about ten more minutes until I finally stood up and got my medicine from its box, but I immediately felt relief upon sitting back down on my bed.
I didn't know I'd had any anxiety until I felt relief from it. That worried me, and I didn't move again until I needed to pee and nicotine withdrawal was finally getting to me.

I don't know what's up with me today.
I do know that I really don't want to go to a 6 PM class in this weather.
It'd be ballerific if my teacher decided she didn't want to have class at 6 PM in this weather and cancelled this week's meeting.

I've found that lately, my only comfort and escape from anything is food and sleep. I tend to want an escape from food, so sleep has been high on my priority list. Most of the time, though, I can't control it... my body knows I need an escape before my brain does, and I'm just so tired all the time. I've been requiring about 9 hours of sleep a night the last few weeks, and when I can get more, I take it.
I feel like I'm wasting my life.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

you keep hanging around me & I'm not so glad you found me

I had a nightmare last night for the first time in a long time.
I know I've posted before about having "nightmares," but this was different.
It was not just a bad dream that I remember in far too much detail; it was a legitimate, wake up kind of scared/sad/confused, covered in sweat & wanting to vomit, can't really remember anything but a drug-related them & the image of my mother crying, 100% legitimate nightmare.
I'm in a kind of daze now, and my head hurts.
I wasn't planning on getting up until around now (6:30 - 6:45), but I got up at 5:30 anyway.. I really saw no point in going back to sleep.

I'm scared... of a lot of things.. some of which I'm aware of, most of which I can't really explain.
I'm tired. So tired. Not sleepy, just.... exhausted.

My roommate's finally starting to get on my nerves a little. She hasn't done a damn thing wrong or even differently than she ever has before, but I have the urge to punch her & it makes me feel really guilty.

and if I haven't made this clear before, I miss my sister.

I'm so tired.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Sleep. Don’t weep,
my sweet love.
Your face, it's all wet.
And your day was rough.
So do what you must do
to find yourself.
Wear another shoe.
Paint my shelf.
There's times that I was broke
when you stood strong.
I think I’ve found a place
Where I …

Sleep. Don’t weep,
my sweet love.
Your face, it's all wet
'cause our days were rough.
So do what you must do
to fill that hole.
Wear another shoe
to comfort the soul.
There's times that I was broke
when you stood strong.
I think I’ve found a place
where I feel I will…

Sleep. Don’t weep,
my sweet love.
My face, it's all wet
'cause my day was rough.
So do what you must do
to find yourself.
Wear another shoe.
Paint my shelf.
There's times that I was broke
when you stood strong.
I hope I find a place
where I feel I… belong

Sleep. Don’t weep,
My sweet love.
My face it's all wet
'cause my day was rough.

Don't weep, my sweet love.
My face, it's all wet
'cause my days are rough...