If I could be myself as anyone else
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Friday, June 1, 2012
See the skull? I designed that. I am so cool.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
Monday, April 9, 2012
when i was young, and i hated myself, i cut myself, externalized the unhappiness with a razor blade and band aids. i've learned, though, that no one wants to see the sadness of others, they want it bundled away neatly and quietly, so they won't feel forced into doing something to help. other people resent sadness in others, they only care about their own.
so now, as an adult, i bundle my misery neatly away into over-exercise, into a whiskey glass, in politely abusive relationships and politely toxic friendships and nice polite self-loathing. everyone is happy, everyone can focus on him or her self without a thought for me. i can be the shoulder to cry on without reciprocity. i can hold the hands, dry the tears, say the right things, ease the pain... and then i can come home and bury myself in exhausted body and torn muscles and obsessive compulsive cleaning and drink and order and organization.
my self-abuse is a clean home, a healthy menu, a toned and strong body. a handsome husband and a beautiful child.
my self-abuse is the picture of the perfect life.
I had good intentions to take pictures today. I'm going to knit instead.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
i bought a video camera today. then we went to mckinney. i sheared one of the pads off my palm. this is a video of me doing so. it made me laugh. my belly is huge. also tim is a terrible camera man.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
In my dream last night, I was walking through the woods to the west of the house I grew up in. It was late fall, and I was remembering the summer my family spent climbing trees, picking mustang grapes from the wild vines for wine, the way my brother would swing through the branches like a monkey, his bright laughter ringing through the trees. I sat on a branch and stared at the bare vines and I wanted to cry.
I heard voices, and I crept off the path to hide with my knees to my chest on the bank of the creek.
I looked up, and there you were, with your hands over your head on a grapevine, leaning over me, smiling. You held out a hand, I got up, we walked. We walked without touching, without talking, hands in pockets, eyes on the path, for a long time. You stopped and unzipped your jacket, pulled it open. I put my arms around your waist, inside the jacket, and put my head on your chest, listening to your heart beat.
We made love in the woods, leaves damp against my back. We never kissed. We wrapped our arms tight around each other, buried our faces in each other's necks, kept quiet, eyes tight shut.
You helped me pick the leaves out of my hair, I buttoned your shirt. We kept walking without touching, without talking, hands in pockets, eyes on the path.
I woke up and my pillow was damp with sweat or midnight crying, I don't know which, and my head has been ringing with your voice all day.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
I woke at 3 am to the sound of pouring rain, and stayed awake for far too long enjoying it from the warmth and comfort of my bed. I do things of that nature too often, spending time on pleasures that I know I'll eventually have to suffer for. At least the tiredness that stems from seeking solace in the sound of falling water is less painful than sleepwalking through my days with an injured heart and bruised ego.
At least, I think it is. I could be wrong.
I find that I'm wrong a lot, and I find myself with people who like to remind me of it often. I tell myself that I like it about the people I love, that I appreciate the honesty, that it shows how much he or she really cares about me. I lie to myself a lot, too. I don't lie to other people; sometimes I leave out parts of the truth, of course, but I don't lie. I save up all my lies for myself. I'm the only one who really needs to be lied to. I'm the only who can't face reality, and the reality here, of course, is that I surround myself with people who don't care if I'm hurting. I'm always hurting. I never stop hurting. I need people who won't care, who won't try to help me, to fix me, to save me, because everyone who loves me enough to try, leaves. They fail and they leave. They leave me clutching excuses in both hands, "I love you too much to see you like this", "You deserve better", "I'm sorry".
I'm tired of being left.
People ask me why I stay with a man who doesn't always treat me the way I want to be treated. He's the only who hasn't left, who won't leave. Those who asked?
I haven't heard from them in weeks. Months.
They left me, saying, "You deserve better, and I'm sorry."
They left me, saying nothing at all, no explanation, no goodbye, just a casual assurance that he'd be back, she'd be calling.
Silence on the other end.
At least the rain always comes, eventually, when I need it.
Friday, May 29, 2009
some days it feels like the sun must have risen on another horizon, in another life, in an old dream. surely i'm not still sitting here, alone, waiting... this sun doesn't rise the way i want it to, i want to cry, this sun isn't as bright as i was told it would be, this isn't the sun i remember... but i don't remember, i can't, because that day never dawned. that day is just as fictional as the life i know i could have lived, had the sun risen on the western coast instead of the east.
i would change it all if i could.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I woke up last night around 4 am, and I couldn't breathe. It felt as if someone were sitting on my chest. It's been a very long time since I had an athsma attack. I forgot how terrifying it is.
I don't know what to do. I lie awake half the night, and then when I do finally fall asleep, I'm waking up every half hour from nightmares or wet dreams. I'm averaging less than four hours a night, and this has been going on for about two weeks now. My entire body aches. My eyelids feel like sandpaper. Sooner or later, I'm just going to burts into tears, and that will be very embarrassing.
8:36AM - old one
couldn't sleep last night, again. can't sleep, can't eat. my fucking hair is falling out... i think i may be quite ill, all over again. that's just awesome.
Monday, February 2, 2009
i just ran my hands through my hair. a fistful of hair came out. that's probably bad, isn't it?
god fucking damnit.
11:26PM - Sore
My shoulders hurt. My back hurts. My chest hurts. My broken foot hurts more than all the rest of this. I'm exhausted, and over-worked, and I'm going to bed, to dream of you again, and start all over in the morning.
Good night my love.
10:55AM - Number three
Weird dream number three last night, only this one wasn't so much a nightmare. Matter of fact, this was the most intense sex dream I've had in years. Possibly the most intense ever, if the, ahem, grand finale is any indication.
After I woke up from that, obviously, it was difficult to go back to sleep. Long night of tossing and turning. I only slept for about four hours last night. I feel like crap.
Long, boring day ahead of me. Awesome.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
I kind of crushed today. I didn't exactly send, per se, but I climbed hard, I tried hard, and I didn't so much give up as fail miserably. If you've ever rock climbed, you understand. Failing is very different than giving up.
Also, my back looks pretty incredible, don't you think? Toned, bishes.
On the way home, Tim told me that he's okay with our not moving, and that he's picked out a car for me... because he still wants to try for a baby this summer. (Oddly, I am not less miserable. But, I am thrilled to not have to explain to Shiva that she's going to have to be pregnant alone. I am a strange person.) We're hoping to buy me a car next week, if our tax return comes in. We'll see. I'm not holding my breath.
I will never understand why people get so freaked out by cockroaches. I mean, they're just bugs, and they are pretty much a fact of life here in the South. My backyard butts up to a creek, guys. Of course I have roaches. Step on it, and let's move on.
When I'm upset, I pull my eyelashes out, one at a time. One day, I'm going to run out of eyelashes, I think.
11:00AM - pictures
Another strange dream last night. I was taking care of my grandmother, (who is dying of cancer as we speak), and I woke up one morning and she was gone. She had stolen the keys from my purse and left. I got out of bed and wandered into my grandfather's old paint room (he was an amazing artist). There was a jewelry box on a shelf that I had loved to go through when I was a kid, so I opened it up, and it was all jewelry that I had never seen before. Instead of grandpa's big heavy gold rings, there were delicate silver chains, and diamond crosses and emerald necklaces, and lots of small rings. I was standing holding the largest diamond cross to the light (despite having an abhorrence for Christianity, I absolutely love crosses), when I heard a car pull into the driveway. Grandma was already in the kitchen when I came out, still wearing her coat and looking through the curtains at the road. "I had to run from the cops to get home", she said. I looked out the other window, to the yard, and it was full of cars. Not cop cars, just cars. I asked her where they all came form, and she shrugged and pointed to the barn. It had suddenly become this monstrosity, with a huge cross covered in flowers hanging on the outside. It reminded me of the Wicker Man effigies, for some reason, and I went to go find out what was up.
The barn was full of folding metal chairs in rows, and there were people in most of the chairs. There was a stage at the far end, and there was one man standing on it alone, head bowed as if he was praying. I sat in one of the chairs at the very back, where the floor was covered in gravel, just as the man on the stage began to speak. It didn't take me long to realize that this was a cult, and that they were taking advantage of my poor dying grandmother, stealing her property form her (and from me, I guess, but that wasn't really what I was thinking about). A man wandering around the room started throwing gravel at the chairs around me, muttering to himself, louder and louder, "I anoint thee a liar. I anoint the a liar." Finally he was screaming it at the top of his lungs, and the people in the church grabbed me and carried me up to the man on the stage, who started telling me that he was going to bring truth into my life. I knew they were going to kill me, so I fought as hard as I could.
And then I woke up. Hell of a way to start a day, dontcha think?
Long night at work. Spending the last eight hours on my feet made me kind of wish I hadn't kicked the wall so hard at the climbing gym last night. It was an accident, at least, sometimes when I fall I kick things. It happens.
Bought some new fabric. New dresses in the works next week.
I think I tell people that I love them a little too easily. I think I should work on that... which makes me sad. Why shouldn't I say it, as long as I actually do love you? It doesn't always have to mean romance.
I was told that I was pretty more times tonight than I have in months. It makes me happy. Not to be ungrateful, but just once, I wish someone would use the word beautiful. Without my having to ask for it.
I'm exhausted and I have no one to talk to.
One of the chefs asked me tonight if I would be interested in singing for his new band. He thinks that having a cute chick singer to put on posters might help encourage attendance at shows. I think he's probably right.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
4:00PM - Bartendress
About to leave for work. I've been sickeningly negative lately. I think I'm going to try to stop that now.
11:51AM - Writer's Block: Left Behind
10:34AM - Strange dreams
In my dream, I was smoking again, but I didn't want anyone to know. I would smoke when I was alone, and then I would rush to shower, wash my hair, and brush my teeth. I was at my old, old apartment, on the balcony, and I was lighting a cigarette, only it was a giant pine cone. Giant. It probably stood three feet tall, and it was heavy, I couldn't lift it. It was hovering in mid-air, and I was using a blowtorch to light it, but once it got started, the entire thing burned to a glowing coal, and I couldn't figure out where to put my lips to it, to smoke it, without burning myself.
Then I heard a terrible, loud buzzing, which woke me up. I panicked and spent the next ten minutes trying to brush a bug, that only existed in my dream, out of my hair.
I am crushed. I've decided against getting pregnant this summer. Tim won't even talk to me about it, he says there's no reason not to. He's so fixated on planning a move, designing a house, that isn't going to happen for years, that he won't even discuss the things that are right here, right now. It's too late now to set what I now see were just my plans into motion. Maybe next year.
I'm so angry with him about this that I don't even know what to say to him.
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