9/11 . . . here we go again

i dread 9/11 each year and all the outpouring of manufactured grief (from the media, corporations, etc), all focused in on one event in the grand scheme of horrible things. it all comes down to such a narrow focus- no consideration of how these events affected people globally.
i remember where i was on 9/11/01, as so many facebook posts have implored me to do. that morning i was woke up by a friend in my pennsylvania dorm room, banging on my door. i was dead asleep and my roommate was at class. he told me that the buildings were being evacuated because of a terrorist attack. a plane had crashed in shanksville, PA. i didn't know where that was.
i remember throwing on some clothes and forgetting to put a bra on. i eventually found my friends and we sat on the grass. everyone was outside . .. i remember thinking, weren't we all sitting ducks exposed like this? i called my boyfriend a bunch of times, wanting to hear him. . . i tried calling ali and another friend i had in ny but couldn't get through to any ny people (from what i recall). i felt strangely peaceful despite all the chaos, people crying, holding hands, praying. my atheism felt stronger than ever at that moment- i told the group i was sitting with, "Just because we might die today doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to find God." I still stand by that statement. I got some dirty looks for that one.
At that point in my life, i cared very little for myself- death didn't seem frightening to me. i had spent the majority of my 19 year old life wishing i was dead, so it wasn't that overwhelming to me on that level. i had believed in a anarchy since i was a young teen, believing in revolution on a political and societal level. riot grrls. punk rock. that was my life. i spent the next years wholeheartedly supporting the many musicians and writers who critically examined this event. i was at huge anti-war protests, with a black bandanna around my face, marching with the anarchists. i had my "fuck racial profiling" sign. i had such passion for change, and it wore me down when i saw no results. it hurt me to know the suffering that still continued in the world. i lost hope in anything getting better for a couple of years. my personal life didn't help one bit. i was hopeless, in many ways.
10 years later, i still feel that dissent and need for revolution. the difference is that i treasure every day of my life now. i don't hold the same degree of nihilism i once did. i care if i die- and hope i get the chance to be a grumpy old cat lady, scaring the neighbors on halloween. i will always fight for my beliefs, but not just out of anger. i feel some of that hope again after advocating for and truly helping the clients i work for, on a micro and macro level. i've gotten back that genuine desire and belief that things can get better- if we make them better.
9/11 pisses me off for a variety of reasons. i think it was a tragic event, of course- some fashion mag i was reading recently had a whole section of letters from the families of 9/11 victims to their loved one. it brought me to tears.
i get pissed by the naivety of most Americans, who thought we were somehow special and would never have any repercussions for our own aims of world domination/exploitation/destruction. none of those people deserved to die. . .but none of the people who have died everyday for years due to stupid and misguided wars do either. remember the individuals who have been detained and abused for being brown in a fear-fueled country (some of them kids). and of course, remember the many people tortured by American soldiers.
i despise the politicians who have exploited the deaths of Americans and ignored the deaths of thousands of non-Americans to keep or gain political office. See the Family Guy- 9/11 on hulu.
And finally, stores make me sick with their 9/11 merchandise. Remember Veronica Mars? When the kids went off the cliff and Kevin Smith was selling miniature buses and tee shirts commemorating the day in his gas station?
Some critical thinking never hurt anyone. . . there is a lot to "never forget" about today.

ive been thinking. . .

i want to bring this blog back. i am going back to pittsburgh in a few weeks for a visit- i am so excited because i left big pieces of myself there. i think back to how starved i was for the duration of my residency- food starved at some points, love starved for years, just DESPERATE for something. always walking on the razor's edge, falling off occasionally, pulling myself back up. sometimes i felt high without being high- just from the music, and my friends, and the streets that felt like home. life was just SO brightly colored and alive for me there. that's partly due to a lot of pain and suffering (which makes every moment sharp and loaded and humming with fear/adrenaline)but also due to the love i received from my friends. once i left my abusive relationship and was able to ask for help, i would get it. that was a dark time for me, even though i got my freedom back and was having FUN for the first time in years. my heart was so alive with anguish because of my breakup and my new codependent crush on someone that didn't feel the same way about me. oh young love *barf* every phone call, every night, every show was so full of promise, anxiety, craziness, elation. i think back to all the nights i drank myself into oblivion and could have gotten into some gnarly situations- and amazingly, i was mostly safe and whole. i remember all the bands with older people i used to hang with- i must have seemed like some skittish, drunk mess of a lost kid and they were all SO kind to me. i get why people have a hard time doing the normal life thing. i have a tough time with it. no night was normal there. that year after i left my ex was stunning in its complexity and wildness. i also met my now husband that year :)i love my life now and would not trade it for the world, but i would like to move this life back to pittsburgh.
i'm grateful for the friends there that have stood by me. its a beautiful thing to know that i am going home to susan, my true heart friend for the past 11 years. and bryce, my brother/friend that has always looked out for me. punk rock has been a huge part of my life since i was a teen, and i was really able to live it in pittsburgh. i miss it so tremendously. after several years of being isolated in albuquerque, i long for those times. i know they would never be quite the same, because i'm different, but i'm hoping to recapture some of those feelings there. just that feeling when the band starts playing and you feel the music in your stomach- you look next to you and you have a friend just as excited as you are about music. shoving, dancing, singing, just losing your stress and pain for a couple hours to the scene you found a home in. the feeling of talking for hours with someone and never getting bored, or anxious- just feeling whole. that is pittsburgh to me. i want to write about all those memories before time takes them away.
anyway, i leave in a week and a half.
being somewhere you truly love is a priceless gift, and i can't wait.

grieving a house?

i have been crying on and off the past 2 days. so confused.
last week we found our dream house- seriously, a house i would want to spend many years in. we paid our security deposit and were SO happy- i had already started envisioning what different rooms would be for, and where furniture would go. . . then sunday i got an email from the future landlord saying she couldn't rent to us because our references didn't check out. i called her and was like WHAT? the only references were my boss and our landlord. both said they had given us a great reference. well it turns out my landlord was lying. he said we live like pigs, that we are lazy and can't take care of the house, and that we pay the rent late. NONE of which is true- he has never complained about us at all in the 2 years we have lived there. fuck him, hes a two faced piece of shit- but i'm just so deeply sad about losing that house. and i'm afraid whereever we try to go, he will never give us a good reference.
vic and i called him on his shit today. he was super passive aggressive- first tried to deny it all, then flipped out and said that we were asking to have our house robbed and spent so much time whining about it to him- he said some horrible things. basically every time i asked him, why didn't you just say something to us if you had a problem with something? he was silent. he was not apologetic whatsoever and refused to take blame for us losing the new place. he said he would give us a decent reference and that he would let us move by May 1st. i dont know if he really will give us a decent reference. . . i just want to get out of here. vic even asked him, why didnt you bring up any of these issues about our supposed lack of cleanliness when you renewed our lease? why didnt' you just be honest? he was literally silent.
i just feel sick to my stomach. it has been so long since i met someone i think is genuinely a truly awful person at heart- i feel like i was robbed of something i desperately wanted. . .and that is where the suffering comes in, from the attachment to earthly things. i have so much left to learn. i know the answers to some things, but don't know how to live them.
i think another thing that just makes me sick is that 7 or 8 years ago, probably everything he said was true. i lived in terrible places and saw terrible things and probably essentially did "live like a pig." which is a retarded expression. and to know that i have turned my entire life around, and been stable for so many years- to have totally false shit thrown in my face hurts. and to know it cost me a beautiful home that i KNOW we would have been so happy in. .. makes me want to throw him through a window or something.
i hate feeling so angry. . .

4 weeks!

its been 4 weeks since my surgery. it has definitely been rough. this is a major surgery that is taking a long time to recover from- i dont think i quite realized what it would be like afterwards. some days i think that i am back to normal, so i push myself to do my normal level of activity- and then i pay for it later with swelling and soreness.
the first week was an emotional roller coaster, coming off the general anesthesia and just being totally taxed by the painkillers/antibiotics. 2nd week i went back to work part time. it was really draining. week 3 was pretty good- i am back at work almost full time, and feeling much sharper. so we will see how this week goes!
week 1 was incredibly stressful for a couple of reasons. our landlord is a dick and never responds to anything, so our heater had been out for like 3 days, no response. he kept putting it off, putting it off, and it was wednesday of week 1 with no heat. so i pretty much flipped out and cried hysterically, and straight away developed a fever. that was a good indication to me to chill the fuck out. 2 days later, i found out that my former co worker/current classmate had told other classmates about the nature of this surgery. ok . . . i had no interest in my classmates knowing ANYTHING about this. the majority of my classmates are a bunch of weirdos who make me fear for the social work profession- with the exception a few really cool women. but anyway, i was furious at her lack of common sense and basic ridiculousness. i dont think most people can understand what a life changing experience this is, and while i am happy to talk about it, its also very private- and i dont want OTHER people sharing my personal business. this person is not even my friend. . .ugh. so i called her on her shit in an email and she pretty much wiled out on me. she told me that i had "violated" her by telling her how it is. . . my fever shot up again that day.
another thing that was difficult was the lack of support i got from my friends. anna texted every day and my coworkers made me care package- kwals even sent cookies. my sister brought me magazines and treats and spent a day with me. but the majority of people who i think are my friends didn't call, text, or email at all that first week. after a surgery, the patient feels SO vulnerable and out of sorts. if someone you know has a surgery, contact them right away!! sent a text or a card. . .just so they know you care. your body has been literally opened up and put back together, you are emotionally a mess- all you crave is comfort.
luckily enough, i have SUCH an amazing husband. this experience has brought us even closer together- he has taken such amazing care of me, and met my every need. i genuinely feel the partnership of marriage- it is a beautiful thing. and its a really wonderful experience to be married to your best friend. so despite any loneliness or hurt i felt, i am not alone. . .
now im gonna watch some lifetime movies and chill!

nervous.

i am having my breast reduction in exactly 2 weeks!! i am really freakin excited, but nervous as hell. i have a horrible fear of general anesthesia and just never waking up. im not that worried about the actual recovery, though it will suck. . i am just going to be so relieved!! i feel like i am making huge steps to having a less pain-filled existence. i have been having prolotherapy shots done in my back for the past couple of months which has greatly decreased my chronic back pain. and im hoping chopping the boobies off will continue to decrease the pain. i already feel a difference in my capabilities, just from having less pain. tomorrow i have my preop visit!!

tired.

stress definitely exacerbates my MH symptomsl, and my ability to cope. i am just aching all over and incredibly uncomfortable in my skin right now. school is SO hard, work is so tiring- i love this field but not sure if its the right one for me. or rather, how long will i survive this field?? im looking forward to valentines weekend with my husband, who puts up with my endless agonies and laments, and loves me nonetheless. when i think of that i feel profound love but also a great deal of regret for what he has to deal with. i will NEVER EVER pass this shit on to a child!!! hell fucking no. ive been dealing witht this now for 15 years and im so sick of it. meds, therapy, they all help- but i just want to be better. so badly.

PTSD. punk rock remembrances

You and me

“Now here I go,
Hope I don't break down,
I won't take anything, I don't need anything,
Don't want to exist, I can't persist,
Please stop before I do it again,
Just talk about nothing, let's talk about nothing,
Let's talk about no one, please talk about no one, someone, anyone

You and me have a disease,
You affect me, you infect me,
I'm afflicted, you're addicted,
You and me, you and me

I'm on the edge,
Get against the wall,
I'm so distracted,
I love to strike you,
Here's my confession,
You learned your lesson,
Stop me before I do it again

You're clear - as a heavy lead curtain want to drill you - like an ocean,
We can work it out, I've been running out, now I'm running out

Don't be mad about it baby,
You and me, you and me,
I want to tie you, crucify you,
Kneel before you, revile your body,
You and me, we're made in heaven,
I want to take you, I want to break you,
Supplicate you, with thorny roses,
I want to bathe you in holy water I want to kill you,
Upon the altar, you and me, you and me”
- bad religion

DC and I live in a dollhouse framed by a garden of beer cans and weeds. We’ve lived here for almost a year. The last place we lived in was so infested . . .

Roaches used to crawl over me at night in my bed, so I didn’t sleep much. I couldn’t take it anymore. We found our dollhouse, and made plans to leave.

That last night, we came home and flicked the kitchen light on. roaches fucking POURED out of the outlets and cracks. I stood frozen, watching them as my heart pounded so loudly. We hurriedly finished packing, and left at midnight with our shit and our dogs.

Keys had died a few days before of an overdose, and after his funeral DC got jumped by drug dealers he owed money to. I screamed as they put a hole in his face and stared at his blood on the Burger King sidewalk.

The only problems we have at this place are of our own invention.

Our house is filled with piss and shit, and memories of wounded dogs slinking along the bloodstained walls. Broken glass lies on the dirty carpet like snowflakes. Music is always blaring, and it sounds so far away to me. It means nothing to me. DC’s band practices here sometimes and he screams along with the three chord guitar mess. I imagine him becoming the next henry Rollins. My pit bull lays next to the amp and taps her tail. DC’s dog lives in the basement, where she cries until he decides to give her some semblance of care.

I cried every day the first 6 months here. Now I just go blank.

We have left our damaged imprint here.

We only have 1 neighbor, Mr. R. I barely ever see him, but I hear him welding things in his workshop every day. I wish he would talk to me.

I wonder if he ever hears me screaming.

I know he heard us once. That morning I ran out the door in my pajamas, clutching a handful of meds. DC chased me and threw me on the ground. I stumbled and hit my head on the front stoop as I fell. My fist opened and the little blue pills spilled out, mixing with dirt and gravel. i could feel every tiny pebble under my pajamas. DC yelled at me to get up and get in the house. I started to go blank. But I looked up, and everything was blue.

It had been so long since I had simply looked up.

It was painful to see what I had been missing.

I glimpsed Mr. R watching us, just for second. Then he left me, again.

I should have shoved the pills in my mouth like salvation.

*

DC has been locked in the bathroom for the past hour. He went in with a piece of broken mirror and his needle, and hasn’t made a sound for a while. I pound on the door and beg him to let me in. my heart is thumping in my chest, and I don’t know what to do. I feel this way most of the time, that ache in my throat and the sinking in my stomach. Sometimes in passing I contemplate if I have an ulcer.

I pick up my phone and tentatively dial 911. I know he’ll kill me if I hit dial. I press the phone to my stomach and will an imaginary person on the other end of the line to save him, to save me. I haven’t gone blank yet.

The door flies open and DC storms out, pushing me out of the way. he screams at me to fuck off. I follow him like a beaten down dog, and tell him I’m sorry. He shoves me into a wall. He tells me

“you are the reason I want to die.”

He holds his arms out to me, as if he wants to hold me, and starts laughing.

He has carved “HATE” into his arms, the jagged letters still bleeding. I taste puke in my mouth. He stares at me until I look down, shamefully. He’s still laughing as he turns and walks back into the bathroom. blood drips into the sink as he starts to brush his teeth.

I sit on the couch and shake. I could leave right now. I could run out the door to the welders workshop, and ask Mr.R to help me. He might wrap me in a blanket and carry me to his car. He might take me to the hospital, where I can sleep. They will station a police man outside my door, and I will never see DC again.

I could run out the door to the welders workshop, and Mr. R might take my crooked spine and weld it to his front gate as a warning, or a prize.

I know there is no one that hears me; I go blank.

*

I remember the shards of glass in the corner from last week when DC threw a picture frame at me, and missed. I’ve left them in the corner, carefully covered with a torn sheet. The frame used to hold a picture of my sister and me. He set it on fire in the trash can. The dogs and I cried together for a few minutes, and then I went blank. I go blank every time he fucks me. Some people might call it rape. I probably would too, if it wasn’t me.

I take a piece of glass and cut my thighs, two times on each.

The last time I cut was my first year of college, in the bedroom of the boy I was in love with. He and his friends had just snorted lines of oxycontin off his math book. I lounged in his bed and watched adoringly. He talked to me for hours, his words rambling and beautiful. I told him how I used to cut myself so deeply that I would bleed for hours. I told him how in the Georgia summers I was the only girl wearing a long sleeved shirt. I had to, to hide my cuts. i would feel the fabric rubbing against the raised lines etched in my skin, itchy and raw. It hurt so much.

He asked me if I still was a cutter. I told him no. but I had to show off and I grabbed the razor off his desk. I made 2 small cuts on my wrist and looked at him for approval, or love, or something. He smirked at me and rolled over to sleep. I could see the boredom etched in his skin, in the lovely curve of his back.

I hear him coming out of the bathroom and I pull my tee shirt down to my knees. He looks at me. and he knows. He asks if I cut myself. I tell him no and pray he believes me. He shakes his head in disbelief. Then a smile crosses over his face, a genuine one. “I’m sorry. Let’s get some lunch. You want to get some pizza baby?” I nod carefully. I’m hungry, I know we have a few dollars, I know my forgiveness keeps our spines intertwined.

15 minutes later we are laughing at the pizza joint down the street, eating cheesy sausage slices. We stuff our faces and drink our pop and walk home, holding hands blissfully. We stroll down lorigan street as the sun sets and we disappear into our nothing, the weeds parting to welcome us back to our sanctuary.

This is me, this is my love, this is all I know. We are all we have. We will do anything to get rid of our emptiness. We fill our mouths with poison and spit it at each other. I think I hate him, and I sleep on top of him at night on a twin mattress.

Eat. Sleep. Fight. Fuck.

I live for those brief moments in between the binge eating the nightmarish sleep the endless fighting the cold fucking.

The in between- those moments when I hurt but it’s real, and it’s mine.

Sometimes I even see the sky.

day 6 of cymbalta withdrawal.

im having non stop brain zaps. i am crying all the time. i suddenly thought about the fact that i bought flowers for my friends funeral over a year ago, and that realization made me start crying even more. just called my nurse and told her i was having withdrawal symptoms- and she said i dont know if its withdrawal, but just going back to baseline.
well whatever the fuck you call it, i'm having it! fuck you!

kill me

cymbalta withdrawal

vertigo
dizziness
nausea
diarrhea
emotional wreck
brain zaps
FUCK

days like these

today was one of those days i genuinely wondered if i can handle this field. . .if my own mental health issues are just too crippling to work with this population. i was exhausted after 4 hours at the welfare office and i've just felt frayed after the robbery. i come back to work and everyone is totally amped up and crazy working on xmas gifts. . .our secretary is shrieking and i just felt INSANE. then my co worker snaps at me and i am just fuming and furious. i was just so weary and wanted to be home. but then i had my art group, and we had a blast making xmas crafts, and i remembered why i do this in the first place. its not about my co workers- its about my truly wonderful clients.

nervous

im starting to feel overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of things i have to do. . . just want to take off for the weekend and party and escape for a bit.

i have been talking to din and elena online much more now, and i am getting so freakin excited to see them at the wedding. they are sisters who were two of my best friends in high school. i have been listening to the wedding playlist pretty incessantly and it makes me happy/teary/etc.

im just really tired. . . i upped my cymbalta which is making it impossible for me to get a good night's sleep. so my nurse prescribes me trazodone, which turns me into a zombie. no happy medium. . .

im off to watch top chef and maybe do my nalls or something. xox

35 days

till i become a married woman.

i have been working on the wedding playlist, which makes me alternately incredibly happy and kind of wistful/nostalgic.

i look at myself and sometimes don't know how i made it this far. . . i am very, very happy with my place in this world and can't believe how much i have been transformed in the past 9 years.

i still remember everything. . . and i know i have to. we all have our burden to bear, right?? but its not as painful. there are so many good things. my relationship with my sister is so positive right now, and i love her baby more than anything. he will have such a happy, supported life- it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.

i have a job i love- a job that is sometimes too consuming, but something i truly enjoy.

i have alaira and gabe- they make me insane, but they are my best friends and my life.

and then there is vic, that dude i'm going to marry. i am SO lucky. i believe in so MUCH now. . . he has made me a believer. in what? everything.

i am so, so excited to get married!! and to have the biggest party of my life with my friends, my true family.

angry.

ive missed blogging.
i am back, hopefully permanently.
the wedding is less than 4 months away, and it has been occupying much of my time/thoughts.
i have to believe that i am some kind of alien spawn. because it makes me feel like shit to think that my parents are my actual parents.
i just had a long conversation with my mother, where she blamed me for my dad's severe depression. apparently, dad is so depressed because a)i didn't ask him for any help with the wedding (who knows what help means to them) b) we're not getting married in a church, so i'm "embarassing" c)i don't want to invite any of their friends, due to the fact we are paying for the wedding ourselves.
sounds reasonable, huh?
and she expects me to call my dad, begging him for forgiveness, despite the fact he could barely look at me during the 3 weeks they spent in santa fe. at the end of their trip, he offered to shake my hand goodbye.
fuck you, piece of shit.
but in much, much happier news- i have a nephew! mom and baby are doing well- i wish i could spend all my time with them! its amazing to have a new addition to our family, and i know in my heart that he will put an end to a familial legacy of pain and anger. i will do whatever it takes so he does not have a life like i had. and he won't, since he has the best parents in the world.

i'm gonna make you love me before long

hello!!!
its been two months since my last post. alot has happened.
ok a quick rundown of life thus far:
i am down to 6 clients from my previous 10. wow. i'm sure you can guess what has happened to some of them. its been hard. the wedding planning is going really well! we have our venue, caterer, photographer (the lovely jenni s) and a LOT of ideas! i also am pretty sure i have my dress picked out too. winter in albuquerque has been so fun. we saw the river of lights display and the twinkle light parade. we spent thanksgiving in santa fe. my sister's baby boy is due june 10, and i've accompanied her to several ultrasounds. reena and michael came here for xmas, and i made a big feast. i got some wonderful xmas gifts like my new rat bonzie, who is incredible. i also got myself some nice gifts, like a record player! new years eve was AWESOME. after a half day, a bunch of my co workers came over and we all drank and talked the day away. that night, teresa, paul, anna, zak, vic and i went to atomic and burt's got incredibly crunk and danced!! it was seriously SO fun. i also sported my corpse bride blue wig, which makes me feel beautiful.
things i know about myself: when i am happy, i dress up. i do my makeup. i feel attractive. and much more importantly, i do art. for me, i find that writing comes out of my horrible experiences, and i am kind of paralyzed when it comes to creating art. i have to be in a more high functioning state to produce art. and boy have i been. it is SUCH A GOOD FEELING to feel like i still have some abilities, to feel creative, to have some confidence in myself again.
i am happy. this is partly due to medication, partly due to my sheer luck in life, and to being surrounded by wonderful people.
i finally feel at home in abq.
i watched a movie on lifetime called "7 things to do before i turn 30"and yes it was awful. please keep in mind that it was starring amber benson, who played tara on buffy the vampire slayer. i ADORE her. i will watch anything she is in. so anyway, i forced vic to make a list of things we wanted to do in the next couple of years. it was really fun. here is mine:

10 things to do before i turn 30.

1. camp at the white sands monument
2. go to japan, particularly sanrio land.
3. get married to vic!
4. have an art show
5. get down to a healthy weight
6. do a road trip up the pacific coast highway ending in vancouver.
7. spend a few months in india.
8. become a makeup artist
9. do a falconry weekend in either VT or WV
10. see the pyramids.

WOW do i have a lot of work to do. but it's gonna be fucking fun.

been a long time

been a long time
been a long lonely lonely lonely lonely time. . .


ok anyway. hi!
its been a while.
i'm doing ok.
i started cymbalta. . . the side effects fuckin BLEW the first week. its getting better.
its hard to deal with family who dont get what a mood disorder is, or think my depression is "minor" because i'm able to have a party. . . ok.
moving on.
i'm waiting for vic to get out of the shower so i can get ready and go to work!
i'm sitting by the fire in the living room and its very nice.
kwals is coming into town tomorrow- we have not seen each other in 2 fucking years! awful.
i had a halloween party last weekend. loads of fun!! i will be posting pics to yum yum soon enough.
what else. . . oh fucking yeah
OBAMA!!!
i'm off to pittsburgh next week to find us a place to get hitched in.

last night

i had a marvelous dream about you.
i was wondering when you would come visit me, and it finally happened.
we were staying in some swanky hotel and drinking in the streets, i was running away from the police. i don't remember everything but we were having like, major fun.
when the dream ended we were standing in the entry way of this gold building. everything was gold. the ceilings, the walls, the floors.
i was crying and smiling at the same time, and i said "i miss you so much."
you just had this smile on your face that was both affectionate and goofy and you said, "i miss you too sheila." you walked out the door.
thanks desha.

tomorrow

is desha's funeral. im both distraught and glad that i can't be there.

this week was packed with a lot of tears panic attacks clients relapsing text messaging henry rollins at the kimo (i love that man, he is exactly what i aspire to be in terms of a grown up punk. hes almost 50 and the most punk person alive other than exene and ian) trader joes wedding dress sketches heroes season 1 trying to catch a mouse project runway making dr appointments

i dont often ask for support, but ill be honest: i really need it right now. i so appreciate those of you who emailed me or called me. it's just lonely being out here when i so badly would like to be in GA or PA. i miss her. i was in a mental mess before this happened and its just getting worse.

it's so fucked up that she's dead. so unfair. i dont believe in praying to a god, myself, but if you do, go for it. pray for her and her family. pray thats she's on a beach somewhere in the clouds getting a tan and having endless margaritas. pray that her family and her friends will get through this, somehow.
when people die i've always understood why the ones left behind cling to a notion of religion or God or heaven- it can provide some solace. and why would i begrude anyone that kind of comfort in a fucking shitty situation like this one. and for some people, that is their truth.
not believing in anything is sometimes more like standing alone observing hell unfold. its not like that 95% of the time, but sometimes it makes me tired. it would be easier for me to believe- but i just don't.
i do consider myself a buddhist at heart, and have been repeating the five remembrances as much as i can. i just can't imagine a day when i will actually get to that point.

i guess being an atheist takes just as much comittment and struggle as believing in god. we're all in this together, huh.

normal?

grief is normal.
how much grief is normal?
how little?
what does that mean

grief is totally abnormal, like a fucking monster chewing on your guts.
but its a familiar feeling, at the same time.
when my friend keys died, i remember i would forget for a few minutes or a few hours and then suddenly i would remember. and my whole body would ache.

my heart feels heavy.
literally.
the human body amazes me and scares me, and makes me want to cling to its form even more because of how absolutely stunning and special it is.

day 2 of knowing.

i'm so confused, thoughts are just racing through my head and i dont know what to do with them, where to put them, how to stop them.

deaths hit me hard. death has been my obsession my whole life. i still think often of almost every person i've ever known who has died. i dream about them. i miss them.

talked to a few high school friends today. broke down a lot. cried and told natalie how much i missed her, because i dont want to miss the opportunity to say that, ever.

grief is confusing.
in some ways i feel like my sadness compares in no way to the pain of her current friends.
in other ways i feel like my sadness is justified, because i grew up with her and spent some of the most formative years of my life with her.

i hated high school. without a doubt.
but i also had the greatest group of friends, ever. friends that were my little family, and still are, to this day. powerful, incredible girls who are now women that i am so grateful to know.
i wish she knew how much she had meant to me and to everyone.

i know people torture themselves with that thought, and what's the point? because she's gone.

memento mori.

trying desperately to remember

everything about her.

homeroom together, every day for four years, where she cracked me up endlessly. we used to braid each other's hair.

going to the mall and buying cigarettes and smoking, blissfully happy.

talking on the phone endlessly, while she told me stories about guys that made me equally excited for/worried about her.

she had a pair of tights she wore almost everyday until they were covered in holes. the guy she carpooled with asked if he could just rip them open, and she let him. she loved that story.

her constantly telling me if she was a guy, she would be in love with me. for an incredibly insecure teenager, this was a huge self esteem boost (and a turn on)

for one out of uniform day, she wore a white sundress with a seashell necklace, and looked so beautiful.

stories about her dad.

her amazing sense of humor/style/love/creativity

our laughter and fucking JOY at high school graduation. we both hated pius and knew we would be moving on to better things.

i am fucking sick to my stomach right now. i regret so deeply that i take the opportunity to be in her life more after we left high school.
i desperately wish i could turn back time and see you again.

in high school for those stupid superlatives, desha and i and one other person that i cant think of, were nominated for "most unique". she won, and i remember feeling a-ok about that. she most certainly deserved it. desha was not of this world, at all.

i dont fucking know what to think. . . . i cant stop thinking. i keep thinking about benito and how he must be feeling. its not fucking fair. . .
i looked at her myspace and saw she signed in on friday. she died friday night. i feel so fucking sick.
what the hell happened? how can we fix this?

i dont even want to get into the other issues, like where the fuck is she now?
i cant deal with this.


all day i've been listening to the theme from "a tale of two sisters", because its beautiful and touching and tragic. it was lending some depth to my day. . . it just seems fitting for this fucked up evening.