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.

"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?'

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.