What a horrible thing it is to think that a person is ever more than just a person. The world is full of people who are constantly imagining and constantly being misimagined.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Gut Wrenching

Something came over me last night as I sat writing, like I always do, and maybe it was my fault for writing about it anyway but in my fictional world there is a girl, Analee, and a boy, Dustin. Analee is a bulimic, haunted by her dead best friend, Cameron. Dustin is a boy, just a boy. He's so kind, loving, funny, carefree and completely intact, unlike Ana. Ana fears her love is doomed because history repeats itself and it doesn't help that Dustin's insane skinny body drives her crazy. Ana is a long-time cutter, but even that doesn't seem to help. . now, back to reality. Dustin is my AMAZING boyfriend, Darrin and Analee (his ex's name is Anna) is maybe a fragment of the deepest part of my soul. This being said, I haven't held down a meal for 3 days. And to let you know, I'm fully aware of my problem. Don't try and change it.  Did you know that Creative Writers and ten times more likely to suffer from manaic depression? Now, don't get me wrong. Darrin is the best thing that has ever happened and he makes me SO happy. For the first time I feel lost for words, you cannot describe Darrin. The problem is that I can't bring myself to keep my food, I can't. And I've promise myself that at 125 it will stop, but I know thats not true. Spiral.
 Now I know Cameron would never betray me like that, make me this wrong. In life he would comfort me, let me cry, tell me everything is alreight, kiss my forehead and send me off with a nudge and make all my fears go away. My efforts leave me grasping thin air, begging for it to help me. And still nothing. Sometimes I wonder if someone handed me a knife and said "here you go, make it clean," if I could refuse the offer to join Cameron, and then I remember that I can't leave Darrin, not like that. And he thinks. . well, I don't know what his preference on my looks is. . Oh Shucks. I guess it wouldn't matter anyway. I'm on double relapse, nothing can stop me now. Cutting and Bulimia. Here We Go Again.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Cameron, Love

have never been so angry in my life, honestly. Or more depressed. I have these flickers; ten minutes of perfect serenity, and then I’ll punch a hole in the wall. And then, after staring at it for a few moments, contemplating why I just hit a wall, I’ll start crying about it. And this all started because of Cameron. Great, I said, I even promised, I’d never let someone control my emotions and then my best friend goes and dies. .Hmmm? Yes, well. You know, I doubt I’d be feeling this way if I hadn’t let him go off and overdose without so much as a word. The last thing I ever said to him was icy, brutal. . hateful. And then he died.
And, Charlie St. Cloud, guess what? Real people can’t see dead people, no matter how much they wish they could.
For the past. . 4 months? I’ve been a wreck, an utter and complete bubble of ruin. Not to mention Randy. Great guy, very charming. But a loser. No plans, no drive, nothing. So I go and break it off, my feelings of self doubt consuming me until even the people around me know. And then he gets kidney failure. Great, am I going to lose him too?
I’m not sure what God has going on up there, what he’s playing at, but unless somethings done soon. . I even took Tarot Cards. I don’t put a lot of value in those sort of things but today, with Chelsea, I did. And what did I get? The Tower, which may I add, stands for “false concepts and institutions that we take for real.” When the reader gets this card, they can expect to be shaken up, to be blinded by a shocking revelation. My revelation; God is Impossible.
But that’s not all, oh no. Go Moon! With Pisces as its ruling sign, the Moon is visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry.. it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. So, who’s going to take me down this time?
And, shall I continue? The Hermit..the card that says I should have ‘a desire for peace and solitude’. Yeah well, news flash. I do.
So, whats left for me to say? What’s left for me to do? Jump off a cliff? Maybe make some more pretty little scars? Yes, like I need that. You recover from one thing and get another. But yet, the vice is always the same. Damn it.

Randy, Love

You insensitive piece of a human being. You disappoint me more than anyone could ever imagine, and not to mention you just casually forget to tell me? Well, good, I’m glad because now I realize the real you. The real you who thinks I’m so unsuspecting, so ‘average’. Well, if I’m so average how come you even used me, wouldn’t someone like you want to have a ‘trophy girl’ on your arm?
I guess not.
But that’s all useless to you isn’t it? It doesn’t matter what I say or what I feel because all in all, it’s down to you. So, trust me, it’s okay. I’ll recover, I’m not that wounded. I just would have thought for once my stone wall would have been broken down with purpose.
If you don’t want someone in your business then why would you say something about it in the first place. It’s fairly obvious when you say ‘We decided on a name without fighting. . Liam Preston Billings’ that it is obviously a child and it is obviously. . not mine.
So, looking back on it, I can’t see why I got so angry over you. Over something worthless. And yet again, I put my faith in the dead. It’s not creepy, it’s not demented, it’s coping. So, I turn to Cameron and ask, what would you do?
My answer: silence. Okay, I get it. You’re gone, you can’t come back, I can’t see you, you can’t see me. I can’t hear you, you can’t hear me. Settled? Hardly.
I decided maybe I would get more clarity at his grave. I wrote down all my thoughts into a letter and took off, speeding, to his grave. The headstone reads ‘Never Give Up What You Want Most For What You Want Right Now’ You’d be surprised how badly I needed to hear that. I sat down to the side and spilled out my memories, my thoughts, my feelings.
You see, even though you can’t talk back, Cam. I still get the feeling that you’re prepared to watch over me. Which is good, I need that. It makes me realize that, in fact, if I was gone, I might be missed. Whether here or somewhere else. Delving deep inside myself I realized I wouldn’t want to die anyway; I’m afraid of where I’ll end up.
Even Tarot Cards Can’t Tell You That… (:
Once done I felt better. I didn’t feel so average. And then there is Randy. He went in for surgery, not a replacement unfortunately. A bypass surgery. Are you kidding me? Bypass? And I don’t know until your sister calls and tells me what room you’ll be in. Listen, I don’t have time to go around visiting two graves all right?
And as I sat there and watched him. . loser or not: Drive or no drive; I felt an inexplicable pull towards him. I pulled out my sketch book (nice waste of time) and drew a picture with such likeness that even I was shocked. I left it on your lap and left. Cut your losses.
And as I drive back to the place I wish I could call home I look down at the nice little ring on my thumb and send an uncontrollable flow of tears down my cheeks. I’m sick of crying, I’m sick of nearly killing myself because I just can’t handle being this way (whether or not I want to doesn’t mean I won’t think of it). So, I do the one thing I actually don’t regret. I pull it off, kiss it once, and throw it out my window, hearing it clatter onto the pavement and I know, that that ring, that little white gold ring with the trinity diamonds is never going to be truly lost or truly broken and I find solace in that because even though it’s a little ring it sort of reminds me. . of my spirit.
No matter how battered, no matter how worn, no matter how pounded and ran over, and no matter how far away it seems to run too; it will never be truly lost or truly broken.

Strange, The Way We Think

I stare into the perfect porcelain, stained with age and dirt and grime and filth, below me. Jewels of water trickle down into the pool. A door behind me clatters, the footsteps fade away. Nobody left but me
“Go on. Do it. Trust me.” He says. I stop, and turn my head.
“I can’t.” I whisper. However loud I say it, I know he hears. He hears everything.
We hear everything.
“You can. Be strong.” I can. I will be strong.
“I shouldn’t.” Still I protest. I stare, listlessly at the shapeless wall beside me.
“You have before.” Triumph ripples in his voice. I hang my head in shame.
“I know, but—”
“But nothing. Coward.”
There is silence. Not outside, not behind me. Someone else is here now. Water gushes from taps, wind roars from machines, steps echo on the cold, hard tiles. The steps move past my cubicle. A mutter to themselves, perhaps, a whistle through their most-likely perfect lips. I barely notice. My world is silent.
“Not while someone’s here.” I finally reply.
“Of course. A Coward like you would hate to get caught. They won’t even care.”
“They will.” I find myself replying.
“You hope they will. Trust me. They won’t.” His words shatter the silence. Of course I trust him. I always have.
Why would they care? They’re perfect. To them, I barely exist.
The finger pulls towards my mouth. I barely resist.
I turn. I drop to my knees before the pristine white bowl.
“That’s it.” He coaxes. I hesitate.
And then, the door slams. The fingers push. My mouth contorts, muffled cries of pain escape as tears well behind my eyes.
“Keep doing it. Almost there. Trust me.” The encouragement works. I hear myself screaming.
“You’re worthless.”
“I shouldn’t.” The tears begin to fall.
“But—“ I can feel it.
“Worth. Less.”
And then it comes.
The choking, killing, tide of relief and guilt and sin and hatred and ugly and everything, every, little thing I hate, comes pouring out. My head spins, the tears fall lower, they drip onto the fractured bowl and merge into tide. I cough, splutter, gasp for breath, gasp for anything but the plague inside my mouth. And all the time, he’s there. Talking to me.
“Well done. Don’t you feel better now?”
“No.” I think, pulling myself up to stand on unstable legs.
“There’s more left, isn’t there?”
I nod, silently to the wall as I reach for the handle.
“We’re still ugly, aren’t we?” I nod.
“We’re still stupid, aren’t we?” I nod.
“We’re still worthless. Aren’t we?” His voice thunders in my head
“Still worthless.” I mouth, splashing water at my face, feeling it trickle over every inch of imperfection, inside and out.
“Well then. We know what we have to do about that, don’t we?”
I step out, into the corridors once more. Hundreds of faces pass me by as I pick up my bags and walk to class. Hundreds of people judge me. Hundreds of people judge me, and see nothing wrong.
None of them judge me like I judge me.
I shall do it again.
And again.
Until I am as perfect as the perfect porcelain.

Ginger Snap

Out Here It’s Like I’m Someone Else,  In Here I Suppose I Should Say Because A Blog Isn’t Very Out. .But The Point Is It’s Different. I Don’t Know Exactly How I Ever Feel And Maybe This Could Somehow Show Me, Feelings To Paper Is Always A Good Start. I Am In Love, I’ll Give It That. But I’ve Been In “Love” A Lot. I Fell In Love With A Boy Going Off To The Army, I Fell In Love With A Boy Who Had To Be Rushed Into The ER For A Kidney Transplant. . I Fell In Love With A Kid Who Broke My Heart In Half And Crushed It With An Anvil All Because Of A Moment Of Passion, Or So He Says. And Then All At Once You Have To Say Goodbye, No More Wondering If They Could Stay Because You Know, God You Know, That Wishing . .Wishing Only Makes It Worse.  But It’s Okay Because Life Goes On, Really It Does. And Climbing Up The Scale Wall To Get There Is Tough But In The End It Makes You That Much Stronger. Without Mistakes We Couldn’t Progress, Progressing Is The Process Of Tearing Yourself Apart And Somehow Coming Out On Top, Shedding The Version Of Our Old Selves  And Saying Yes. . I CAN Change. Saying I Don’t Have To Be This Way Forever Makes All The Difference. But It Takes A Lot Of Work, So Bear With Me. But Hey, I Love You Kid. We’ve Already Established This. So, When You Know And I Know And That Little Something Else Knows. .It’ll Break History. .It’ll Make Progress.