History

In a thousand years when we're all dust

Will there be evidence of us specifically?

I want to vanish.

I want to be a mystery.

I want to be a whisper, maybe a photo, definitely a faded painting.

I want to be a lyric in a B-side.

I want to have the end of my life be undiscoverable.

No dates.

Just a number of fascinating moments that were vaguely recorded somewhere,

With no one around to confirm their accuracy.

I want to be smiles and tears and forgotten first names.
I want to be initials and keepsakes and glamourized adventures.

I want to be a sneeze in a hot shower that makes the skin tighten and bump up.

I want to be created later; fictionalized for finality's sake because in order to have a finish I have to be written.

And I want you to be in love with what I maybe might have been.

All of that endless possibility.

Kinda Right There, Huh?

I'm trying to watch The Black Donnellys and it's fantastic but I'm having a hard time because

his face
kind of

looks like

yours.

Closer to Closure/Farther from the Middle

Here it is, slowly getting better.

Where intention bumps into accident and the bits just work out.

Every decision puts me closer to closure and farther from the middle, but I'm pouting, arms crossed, on a moving platform, away from the train.

I stomp and want to wait here until it comes back, but I know I can't.

So I'll still be stagnant, and fighting against the change in the other direction, casually content with it happening around me, less me happening around it.

And there was a choice that was made that now only needs to be spoken to be true, but what will I do about the hurt feelings? I'm okay with the loss of the person himself, but there's a certain guilt to being the bearer of unhappy news. Which, ironically, will make me very happy to deliver. Or at least to have the guts to deliver. Maybe it's just that this will no longer be resting heavily on my mind and shoulders. I have enough guilt as it is, what's a little bit more for the release of another kind?

Perhaps it can be considered a personal growth? Or is it that the fact that it's something that's holding me back that makes it a personal failure? I have enough of those too.

I've learned now. I've done. I've decided. Now, it's about the delivery....

Small Reminders

It started out innocently, I swear.

All I did was flip through an album in which I was tagged.

And there you were.

Over and over again, in a t-shirt I've never seen before which of course makes me obsess about when you were there last and I checked the date but it's only the date the photo was added not the date it was taken and my heart beats so hard and I want to cry.

Because the panic I feel when I am confronted with your face has still not gone away. I keep thinking I'm over it and then boom I'm NOT.

I really want to be, but still: thinking of our friendship and how I don't have it anymore and how you seem to be totally fine with it kills me. It stands on my lungs and presses the air I've built there back out where I can't reach it. It pulls my hair until my scalp itches and there's pressure under the skin because my brow is knitted and I'm uncomfortable.

Because we were happy for a bit there and THOSE are the parts I remember now and though I vaguely recall the catalyst for the end it's only that: VAGUE. And I don't have anyone that has taken your place. And I don't have anyone that even comes close. And since you've set the bar where it still sits I don't know that anyone is capable of getting up there, and I haven't let anyone get close enough to try.

A piece of me broke off when I told you we couldn't be friends anymore. And then that piece got lost in the move. And I jangled around and now everything's a mess in there and I can't remember exactly what the piece looked like so I can't even get myself another one. I just want to throw the whole thing out and say, "Meh; it wasn't that great anyway."

It just hurts and I really want it not to.

Set Up/Take Down

I am having such anxiety.

He likes me more than I like him.

Aaah, nervesnervesnerves.

Please run away from me. Please save me the trouble.

Lockdown

So there once was this time when I fell completely in love with my best friend and stayed that way for 3 years. Then I told him and everything fell very quickly (6 months) and painfully apart. And it hurt and I cried and it added to the pile of reasons I have limitless barriers between everyone I know and the actual me.

I never provide anyone with anything with which they may hurt me, including my heart.

I am, in short, terrified of intimacy. The thought of having sex terrifies me. I haven't done it in so long (7 years) that I'm afraid/pretty sure I'm going to be bad at it. Add to that the whole, "I hate my fat and embarrassing body" thing and I'm completely crippled.

When a guy asks me out (occasionally) and I agree (rarely) and things go well (if at all; I get blown off a LOT), the only thing I can think of is: Oh my god, he's going to want to have sex with me, how do I tell him I don't have sex? EVER?

I say semi-truthfully that I don't want to have casual sex, that I want there to be some emotion behind the act, but if no one is ever allowed to get close enough to me in order to experience any emotion then I'm only holding myself back.

How the hell am I supposed to know whether I actually feel any emotion for someone when I the only "love" I thought I was experiencing was quasi-toxic and ultimately unrequited? Was I really in love with him?

WHAT THE FUCK DO I KNOW ABOUT LOVE?

I worry so much about this that I think I give off a "RUN" vibe and am thus spared the necessity of talking about it to anyone.

The very few people in whom I have confided have only heard half of my story so as not to spread myself too embarrassingly thin, but then there's never a whole answer either and I'm just as bad or worse off than before.

What the fuck am I going to do?

being human

I wish

I were

capable of it

On Equality

I am not really an activist. Not an active activist, anyway. More passive.

But I will not be okay with someone using a perjorative term to express discontent. And I will say something about it.

I was unfriended yesterday by someone I've known for, oh, five (?) years. We have bonded over music; the writing, the performing, the enjoyment thereof.

Then he littered a facebook status (of all things) with the word "fag" accompanied by various suffixes.

An update a moment later corrected one of the MANY misspelled words in the previous status but failed to address the used-three-times slur.

I called him out on it.

He told me to grow up and unfriended me. Which of us is the child?

I am not gay, but I will take this personally.

What I am is a girl with friends who are homosexual; friends for whom I would GO TO THE END OF THE EARTH. Friends for whom I would do whatever it took if it meant they would be forever treated with the respect and love they deserve but are not afforded due to bigotry.

Maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of it than I need to, but maybe it needs to be a bigger deal than it is. All I know is that I would never have expected that from the un-friend in question. I would have defended him had anyone even suggested that he were a homophobe.

Maybe he's not homophobic, just ignorant.

Either way, I think a bullet was dodged. I don't need hate in my life, and I will not associate with childish, pseudo grown-ups.

2010 is the year of the purge. I hope 2011 is the year of equality and tolerance.

s.a.d.

I have Seasonal Affective Disorder.

After suffering through bouts of seriously deep depression and seeming to have overcome them, being faced with something colloquially referred to as "winter blues" is disheartening to say the least. Because, although I am familiar with this feeling of lethargy and utter hopelessness, and I know it will most likely pass, it's still all-consuming.

I was mis-diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and medicated accordingly at the age of 10. I have been quietly trying to kill myself since I was five; sitting in my room, carefully unscrewing the blade from my pencil sharpener, and hacking at my wrist until I saw blood. I had a stash of painkillers in my desk for that day when things just got a little too tough, though I preferred to cut open my wrist instead. Strangely, the only evidence of any of this is a 2.5 inch white scar at the base of my left thumb where I violently slashed myself 15 years ago. Nothing remains of the semi-annual attempts to disappear.

How something so emotionally-charged could leave such a tiny mark, I'll never understand. But there it is.

My point in all of this, I guess, is that I abhor being back in that headspace where I'm desperate to feel something, ANYTHING, that I haven't felt before. Maybe some happiness, if my life would allow it. Because this darkness, these pinching tears while at work, this disgust for humankind, this poisonous anger I feel toward everyone for no particular reason, this grinding of my bones as I pull myself around and go through the motions is enough to make me want to kill myself. I mean, I hate my "friends," I hate my body, I hate my job(s), I hate people I see on the street, I hate the racists and the sexists and the rapists and the parents and the stupid children, and I hate the very fact that someone (mommy and daddy) decided that this planet wanted/needed any of us, let alone me, and that we are worthy of it in any way. I hate people who tell me to smile when I'm not, or who tell me I "look tired/sick/angry/sad."

I hate that I can smell the orange on my desk and it's grossing me out. I hate that I think I've gained a few pounds. I hate that I actually might have. I hate that the new boots I ordered cost me $66.01 for customs and that my calves are too wide for them to fit anyway. I hate that I'm alone. I hate that I want to not be. I hate that people were right about me. I hate that the phone on the neighbouring desk keeps ringing and ringing and ringing and then *bloo-BLEE* goes to voicemail. I hate that I can smell tinned tomatoes everywhere.

ALL OF THIS because the sun's not fucking out.

What a waste.

Into the Wash

The river is high and wide

It makes me want to fill my pockets

With stones

It always starts with a story

I heard one yesterday. About a certain individual, fitting my description, being fired from her lawyer-money part-time job. It was refuted by a trusted someone, and to be quite honest, the storyteller is regularly unreliable and is crafty with his words, not to mention I was receiving the information fourth-hand, but there is a nugget of fear in my head.

I've not done anything wrong.

There's no reason for me to be fired.

But if I were to be fired from this place, this is how it would happen; with everyone else knowing before I do.

This is on top of the growing suspicions I've been having that I'm unwanted where I am has put me in a sort of ineloquent spin.

And since Optimism in all its forms is not my forté, I am very wary of actually believing that I am safe.

I owe money. Nothing unmanageable, but I owe nonetheless. And I have been paying down these debts with the money I make at the job I may lose (depending on your perspective). Without this job, I am financially, for lack of a better word, FUCKED. And thus, I am terrified.

I can feel a change bubbling in my life. And I like things the way they are, thankyouverymuch.

Also, I'm longing for things long-let go. Things that are toxic, and still comforting. And yes, it still bothers me that I’m the only one who seems to care about what happened. A friend maintains that not only am I not the only one who cares but that the other who does care, cares as much as I had to start.

I just want to have a good cry and feel the way about things that I felt before everything fell apart and I had to do all that letting go. That happy, buzzing, goodness that meant that I had that thing…that thing that, at this point in my waxing poetic, I miss so much and fear I will not have again for myriad reasons. My looks and body, which have been steadily improving over the last couple of months, number consistently at one and two. For a long time I have prided myself on my lack of monetary desperation. I have promised a friend I would pay to produce his album come September, and that I may not be able to deliver on that promise makes my stomach turn.

Part of me hopes that the earth just quits us and explodes. I am ready to be not here, and I would love to slip into a post-apocalyptic heroine alter-ego. I sometimes fantasize that I am the only one left on a planet its citizens did not deserve and that I will be alone with access to everything and anything I could ever want or need. Sure, it's lacking in originality, but maybe I should write it down....

Unfriended.

After a month of this, I think it’s time to draw a line. I was disappointed that you wouldn’t make it to my early birthday dinner last night, but it was pretty much the best thing you could have done. It showed me that you don’t value our friendship enough to bother fighting for it.

It hurts me that you can only manage an “IF you missed it, THEN I’m sorry” apology after passive-aggressively attacking me at 5:00 in the morning for something I didn’t do and refusing to discuss it further because “it’s water under the bridge at this point”. Especially since what you were angry about is my non-response to a text message you sent apologizing for blowing me off. Again. Considering the number of texts I’ve sent you that have gone unanswered, your hypocrisy is overwhelming. The lack of respect you must have for me to treat me like this is incredible, but fine. I can’t make you care about me and I don’t want to. I did nothing wrong, and I don’t deserve to be treated so poorly and with such disdain just because you’re taking something personally. I do deserve an apology though. An honest-to-goodness “I’m sorry I was mean to you, it was completely uncalled for” apology.

My only regret is wasting my energy being upset about this for so long. I never should have told you I loved you. It was a mistake and I take it back. Someone who would so callously and easily quit doesn’t deserve it.

I feel like I closed a lot of doors over the last few years because I so consistently felt guilty for hurting you; this is a lesson for me, not blame for you. I am sorry, however, that I was a better friend to you than you were to me, and I take comfort in the dissolution of our friendship because I deserve better. I feel like you took advantage of my presence by taking emotional comfort in me without having to reciprocate.

I want to be very clear: I’m less upset about what was said than *how easy it was for you to say it*. You showed me exactly what you think of me in that moment and that was a stinging, painful clarity.

I hope you find what you’re looking for and wish you nothing but the best.

Although my staked claim is implied...

I wish I'd never brought it up

That I'd never felt the need

If everything were the same as it was before the end of that night

Then maybe I wouldn't hate it here so much

And maybe I'd have it in me to say "yes" to someone

But as it stands, all I know is "no"

And all I can do is laugh at any offers

Because, seriously, what's the point?

When all I think of is you

And all I want in my head is you

Even though my head knows it's not good or okay

The part of me that applies pressure on your behalf is choking me into

Deadness

And awkwardness

And ambivalence.

So how many genies will it take to make it all go backward?

Or to stop my heart from growing around you over and over again?

Or to make you less appealing than I find you?

I don't want you, but maybe that's the logic talking and I've tripped up again, letting myself stay in the same room as you for longer than a greeting and a farewell take.

It's like I overstayed my welcome in this room

With you here and all of your secrets.

I know them, by the way.

I hear about your things.

The things you don't tell me to spare my feelings.

But it may make it worse;

I'm not sure yet.

As It Is

It's really too bad I'm in love with you; we could have been great friends.

We used to be....

hello my name is

How long will there be this back and forth? All of my insides are lazily tied into haphazard knots and no one is here to hear me. My discomfort is obvious, but if I were to talk about it, no one would understand. So I guess I'm here on my own until it's all going right again. Probably about 60lbs from now. The desperation has set in, and little shall pass my lips until goals have been reached.

rehashing again again again

I'm terrified I'll never be more than I already am.
I'm crying again.

I am fat and disgusting and no one will ever love me.

Are we here again? Pathetic.