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[22 Nov 2011|12:30am] |
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I'm all sliced up, old friend. I just need to get away. So soon. Perhaps not soon enough.. You've seen me through many things. I've changed in so many ways, however some things stay the same. Well, I no longer have much hair on my head - down to the stubble. I'm falling, you know. Well, not yet. My last couple fingers are slipping, the slow suck of gravity will happen soon. Yeah, I need help. Help help help I whisper under my breath. Well old friend, what do you have to say? Any words of wisdom after all these years of knowing me? Hm, nothing. I see. I understand. I wouldn't know what to say either. Not this time. I don't know love, I only know selfishness.
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[21 Nov 2011|02:47pm] |
Old friend. I am bleeding again. Slice me up I say, I chant. My demons have swallowed me, finally. I slice them up and see my self. My true self. Beneath it all, the lies, the words, the face, the skin. I am dying, every day. The pain I feel burns itself in my nostrils and lets go its vapor in my eyes. I am alone friend, finally. Alone. A part of you is dead, Soul. How do we go on from here? To where do we go? Aimless you have always been, wandering. Now we are alone. I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am, I don't know what I am.
I am 19 years old.
I am in Philadelphia.
I am a liar.
I am a cutter.
I am all good things and bad.
I am human all good things and bad.
I'm flying home to California at the end of December and then flying to Ecuador beginning of February. We don't know what we do, we just wander.
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[31 May 2011|05:45pm] |
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I'm currently living in Philadelphia this summer with the person I've been seeing for six months. I have 10 months to figure out if I want to go back to school. I have a lot of figuring out to do in order to do a lot more.
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[20 Dec 2010|10:41pm] |
The semester is almost over. It's almost time to go home. This time is strange for me because I view it as the intersection of two worlds. Even more interesting to me is the timing. Right as my perspective of the once-new reality is reaching the peak from which I would descend I leave for the home I know that holds so much memory and familiarity in clash with the person that I am now having undergone change. I don't know if that peak would exist independently in and of itself or if it only exists because there is the variable of my leaving that triggers it. I believe that peak would be a point at which my life here at this college would absorb the familiarity similar to life at home, thus "home" would no longer be a singular.
I typed this before I flew home. I'm home now. It wasn't a finished thought process at the time and I'd it still isn't. Just figured I'd post it anyway.
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[27 Sep 2010|10:22pm] |
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Hey livejournal. I don't know why my layout is the way it is. Happened a while back and I haven't bothered to fix it. I just select all/high light everything, teeehe. Hope you are all well!
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[03 Aug 2010|12:00am] |
Feeling makes me tired. When I'm tired I don't do things. When I don't do things I feel worse about everything. That's not exactly where I am right now; however, I am tired but that's from the day's activities and my unhealthy sleeping pattern these past few days.
I'm leaving on the 16th of August. I think that's a Sunday. I'm pretty sure it is. I still haven't begun packing, and I feel that once I get the cardboard packing boxes the processing of reality will make some decent progress. I've already started on a list, but I need to finish it. Make sure I don't miss any details. I've always been about the details.
I think more than half of the time a bout of unsummoned nostalgia induces an entry. This night wasn't different. I embraced the nostalgia. Certain elements - people, things, pictures - bring me back. Some things I like to look at, some things I rather not. I'm going to miss home. So much. I'm going to miss the beach. I'm going to miss the palm trees. The air. The city. I need to let go of my grip a little and make room in my heart to fall in love with all the other beautiful places in the world. What I don't want to do and am afraid of doing is to undermine the process of processing a paramount time of change in my life. I want to fully realize the change. To feel it. In my mind and in my heart. To feel it in my soul, my spirit. I want to feel it in the spring of my walk, and in my legs and arms, flowing through my veins, in the blood that keeps me alive - I want to feel it. I want to feel it be a part of me. Perhaps my fear is in vain, because what I just described I think is the nature of change, simply with time. That really, it's impatience that I should fear of ruining anything. Well, that's what I want. I am so ready; I just need to make that final let go.
I think that we have both become estranged from one another and I feel estranged from her. I speak concretely for myself and speculatively for her. I admit to deliberately emotionally distancing myself. I can explain this with a couple reasons. One is the character flaw: I have a knee-jerk reaction to the very instance I sense the possibility that the other person may not have requited feelings in any way to any degree, or is emotionally distancing themselves. This is the more instinctual and forceful action. The second is what I create to support it which is the reasoning in my head that goes something like this: there are only two weeks left, the sooner I distance myself before leaving the better it will be, and if I sense that a part of her wants this then why not reciprocate. I will always have the slightest hint of desire to re-spark any fire for the remaining short time, but it is easily trumped by busy schedules. You would think that making time would be simply doable, but I guess not as time has proven. If my speculations are true, I'm sad that she feels this way. Overall, I'm incredibly sad that I have to do this again. If I tell myself that in the end it's for the better, will it help? It will only help if it's true, not if it's a lie that I'm telling myself.
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[17 Jun 2010|04:57pm] |
From naomi:
Your rainbow is shaded brown. What is says about you: You are a deep thinking person. You appreciate the roughness of nature. You feel closer to people when you understand their imperfections. Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.
Whoa!
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[22 May 2010|11:56pm] |
A relatively considerable duration of time has passed since I've shared any of my thoughts or feelings and so I feel that I should have something to share - which I suppose I do - however, I don't know where to start. This is a simple primary example of my stress-inducing view of things as one large, looming, and overwhelming mass which I will then pretend doesn't exist. Break the habit break the habit break the habit.
Since the last substantial update, things in my life have moved at different paces simultaneously: 1) I'm in my last month of high school. 2) I'm in a relationship of sorts with a lady. 3) I'm going to college at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana. Huh, if you think about it you can consider the list as going in a temporal order of past, present, and future. Ehhh.
I don't even want to think about college right now; I want to think summer first then college. But, concerning college, I have good feelings and I have bad feelings. I have uncontainable excitement in my mind and I am so ready to finally discover and explore new aspects of my being. On the other hand, I'm afraid that it won't be everything I expect and want it to be; that there will be racist politics; or that I'll be surrounded by white faces and not feel a part of a community. Now, the things I just listed I criticize myself for 1) inarticulateness and for 2) having such a small-minded perspective. I suppose that's just what they are, inarticulate fears of the not-yet-experienced events. I think we waste a lot of time idealizing and imagining how things will play out or be in our lives because the experience of the "happening now" is never as we imagine. I'm sure that's simply and mostly due to the inherent distinction between future and present realities. And that's what I'm saying. So I need to chill out and relax on that topic in my head, which is what I've been telling myself to do and I think it's what I've been doing for the most part.
On another note, I also realized a couple days ago just thinking about things that my attitude toward counseling was one that expected and moreso assumed that if I simply sought counseling and received "treatment" that I would as though it were a simple mathematical equation have some kind of solution to all my problems, or something. I felt so dumb for thinking that yet happy that I at least had had the realization. Reality check = real life is not like that. And it kind of sobered me up, the realization that "Hey, even if I do seek counseling and get treatment of some kind, I still might not be okay after. Some of the things I feel and have felt might not simply go away and never come back." I know that probably sounds like a strategy I had to discourage myself from seeking counseling, but in truth, if anything, it makes the possibility more plausible to me.
Any process of demystification is a process that I approve of. This entry is a nice length for now. I also have pictures of more recent times sooo hopefully if I'm not lazy I'll make a picture post.
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[28 Mar 2010|02:19am] |
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If I am not living in the moment then I am criticizing it.
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[22 Mar 2010|12:32am] |
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Sometimes the itch is too deep for nails to reach. Sometimes the feeling is too much to breathe. Sometimes everything's spinning around me. Sometimes my feet are stuck too far into the ground. Sometimes I want to fly. Sometimes I'm floating too high. Sometimes it's nice to see that there is blood in me. Sometimes it's nice to see that I'm alive. It hurts me though. To see the wounds. It does something to me that I can't describe. Most of the times it simply lets me feel the feeling of not feeling. That is precious.
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[21 Mar 2010|12:24am] |
One part of my perspective is very egocentric. I must never shatter the image of pursuing the supreme being. That is, I must be the supreme being. One person.
I am a megalomaniac. They say we all dream of doing great things. But, I am a megalomaniac.
I sit here, wondering about the things that are wrong with me. I laugh. I don't know how to live. Sometimes.
I experience unpredictable flashes of intense shame and embarrassment when I'm reminded of particular experiences in my life. I don't know how to react. I don't know how to control it. I yell. I hit the wall, the floor, the bed, myself. In the water, I squeal, like I imagine a dolphin would. I usually constrict my body and strain my muscles. I don't know how to control it. I just shut my eyes. The craziness lies in the insignificance of some of the experiences. So unimportant and forgettable, yet I don't forget and am haunted. Haunted, that's the right word.
I need to be real. I am extremely bothered by my lack of doing. I feel that I must do something. Do something. If I am not doing something I am undeserving of life. I am extremely bothered by not doing anything about something, or something about anything. I am disgusted with myself when I do nothing and sit here typing. If something is not being done than I am useless. This is how it is with me.
I am not ready for anything.
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[19 Mar 2010|11:45pm] |
I don't know what to feel. I'm starting to feel crazy. I could feel euphoric and morose in two seconds. I could. I don't know what to feel. right. now. I'm starting to feel. crazy.
I feel anxiety. I knew all along that what I was experiencing was very possibly depression. I knew, all along. It was just hard for me to accept. Because I'm not different; I'm not special, even though my individuality tells me so. My unwillingness to believe it was depression is rooted in fear. Subconsciously, I fear the stigma of depression and the stigmatized implications of a human who feels depression. Truth is: I fear. I tell myself that fear is the thickest root of bad things; yet I'm afraid of many things.
There are too many things in my brain, all mixing together. Now is not a good time. I don't feel strong. In truth, I feel weak. I feel disempowered.
I have an intense perception of things. Everything is a personal encounter. It's exhausting. It's how I live. I am incessantly fatigued. I want to give up. I want to stop this. Sometimes.
I need to address this issue so that I can address other issues.
Sometimes all I want is help, at the same time I would never ask for it.
Let go of fear, and your learning will flourish.
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[01 Mar 2010|09:48pm] |
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I think it's funny that for someone who believes so strongly, faithfully, militantly in balance, I have extreme tendencies. Tendencies, often things I'm not even aware of - until after the fact with the help of retrospective introspection. And yet I still strive for this moderateness. You know, the balance of the beam. Sometimes I feel like it's ridiculous. Other times I feel like it's the only thing I have to keep me going in some direction. Balance. What is balance.
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[27 Feb 2010|01:28am] |
It's 1:20 a.m. and I am listening to Jill Scott whose discography I just downloaded after I listened to Erykah Badu whose discography I also downloaded. I don't think about whether or not this makes me a bad person; I don't feel like a bad person. OUTspoken Session was tonight and it was amazing. Such good vibes, such openness, sex-positivity, community, intimacy, so soulful. It was an honor for me to emcee it. One of the three featured artists who was the closing artist sang a song by Erykah Badu and one by Jill Scott hence the download-age. Perfect shit.
I often feel that everything happening around me is surreal - including simple, not out of the ordinary things - and that I keep existing in it. The question of, "Is this all happening?" And what's that mean? "happening." It's time for me to rest my head.
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[25 Feb 2010|12:18am] |
I just made this post on ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=88.8) birls. Check it!
I'm drifting away from the "extreme" fringe of my consciousness. Coming back to what I assume would appropriately be some form of a moderate consciousness. This is something I have no control over. The act in itself feels very natural, but I find myself at times wanting to interrupt it, to intervene and say, "Hey! Stop! Go back! Why are you going back to that?!" It's interesting. It's as though I've done my damage, paid my dues, gave recognition to that part of me that is tuned into a different view of everything - world, reality, life, existence, possibility - and now I can return to a moderate view in which I can function to a higher degree. Trying to describe this is like trying to undo a tangled and knotted string of sewing thread, without nails, just your stubby fingers. I put lots of neosporin on all my cuts. It felt good. The itching and stinging stopped instantly. I still have a lot of damage to the outward reality that I need to tend to. Homework, school shit, college shit.
I'll be okay. It's a slow process that requires patience. I'll be okay.
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[21 Feb 2010|09:10pm] |
I realize that my previous posts about my sexual experiences may seem a bit, vulgar. I also personally see them as a bit detached. And perhaps it's that detachment that creates that sense of vulgarity. I can't say that I was detached from the experience, only to a certain degree that's necessary when the parties involved implicitly establish having no future implications of anything serious. And I would argue that the extent of detachment is necessary. The first experience was definitely intimate and, I felt, had a lot of organic chemistry, which was what made it really enjoyable. That was an overall nice experience that I wouldn't mind having again, although I do think I ruined it a little when the first thing I did waking up was go on the internet. I guess I should have done the cute movie thing and participate in the morning cuddle. But I didn't.
The second "hook-up" was definitely more along the lines of a hook-up. Not as much chemistry or even attraction on my behalf. However, the person was experienced and it showed. So it was interesting having sex with someone who knew what they were doing, that confidence was impressive. Not much else to say.
The reason why I've even made journal entries about these experiences is because they're not a "normal" thing for me -- to have casual sexual encounters. I'm not surprised that I had these casual encounters; in truth, I'm happy that I did. I never crossed out casual sex from the realm of possibility. It had always been one of those things I pondered about and thought that I was capable of doing/having. I sincerely apologize if you find the detached tone disturbing, and I completely understand why you would. I would too, actually. But it's coming from me, so not much I can feel about it there as a third perspective.
I have a positive attitude toward sex. I seek pleasure and enjoyment out of sex, and I think sex in itself has pleasure and enjoyment. What we, as individuals and human beings, bring to it simply adds to that intrinsic pleasure and enjoyment. It's sharing that intimacy and intensity with another being that I enjoy in which situations there may be added a chemistry or attraction. I feel that there are many levels of intimacy and intensity, and people are at different levels. I aim for a kind of rawness when it comes to sex. A breaking down of boundaries and barriers, a sensitivity to and an awareness of the moment, expanding your human capacity for feeling and being.
What more can I say. Other than this, I have been a little destructive.
( p.s. )
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[16 Feb 2010|10:23pm] |
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I cut myself tonight. Four times. Three different "tools." The first two look like long paper-cuts. Pretty pathetic, bad tools. Third cut is more gash-like. You could even say it is a small gash. Last one is the worst to date. Parallel to my arm. Opened up to about half of a centimeter. The absolute worst. For half a minute I thought it might have needed stitches, but with a little bit of pressure the blood eased. Did a temporary "butterfly" patch-up. For now. I'll get better shit tomorrow or something. We'll see about water polo practice in six and a half hours. I saw it coming. I knew it couldn't last. We'll see.
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