I am only one face,
in a sea of fake beauty.
I am not the perfect face,
and so you disregard me.
28.3.05
asylum
I think everyone should spend ten days in a psych ward, it is a very humbling and, at the same time, uplifting experience. You come closer to realizing the true nature of depression and how it affects the people around you. You see that you are not alone and you see what normality really is. You would not believe how normal you truly are. I am not insane, in fact I am probably the most sane person I know, that's not saying much considering the people I know but it's still true. My grandfather told me that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, I suppose by that definition I may be insane, but at least I realize it, and in that realization I am one step closer to being free of it.
When I was in the psych ward I was told that sarcasm was my coping mechanism, and I was pissing everybody off with it. The doctors encouraged me to find a new coping mechanism and I did, I'm just not sure what it is yet. I really wish I could go back there, just to be able to see those people again, to be able to interact with them and observe them, they were truly amazing human beings and I believe that if I had only been able to stay longer I might have been able to help them. I suppose that's not true though, I have changed so much since I was there, I would never have been able to help them the way I was then. I regret leaving more than I regret anything else I have done in my life, perhaps I would not have had to go through as much pain if I had stayed a little longer, but I cannot change that now, and I don't think I would want to anyway. I guess I was there for a reason, a reason I am only now starting to understand, I am not as selfish since I've been there, I realized that I wasn't alone in the way I was feeling, I also realized just how good laughter can be for the soul, perhaps that is now my coping mechanism. I used to want to escape from reality, deny it, and now I just laugh at it.
Most people who deny reality are the ones who want to escape it most, and yet they are bound to it, they are afraid to let go of it.
Rene'e says she has no beliefs, what a lonely way to exist, perhaps that is why she is so afraid to let go of her depression, if everything is only what she percieves, what will there be if she lets go of this reality she so desperately clings to. If there is no reality how is it that people can share experiences, either that is not true or human beings are so connected that they are able to see the things other humans percieve. Or do they really? Everyone sees things differently, whether it be from a different angle, a different perspective, one cannot be sure of exactly what another person sees, I suppose the same is true of experiences. Renee is experiencing depression not much differently than I was, but she is dealing with it in a completely different way, perhaps because I didn't believe I was depressed I was able to change my reality. She believes she is depressed, moreover, she believes it is just a chemical imbalance and that pills are the only way to cure it, at least this is what she tells herself. If she really believed that I don't think she would be going to therapy or admitting that it makes her feel better to talk about it. She does beleive, just in the wrong things. It's fascinating to see how the things I have said to her have affected her subconsiously, I don't know if she will still deny the fact that talking about her depression will help her, but she does talk about it, and it does help her. And I beleive her whole quest to help Mikey is because I told her that helping others would help herself, she just doesn't realize how selfish it all is. She grasps the concept but she doesn't quite believe it, just like her whole concept of reality and depression. One of her major problems is her lack of belief, in herself mostly, and her lack of love for herself. I wrote in a poem that I am hurt by her misguided affection, true I meant that she does not appreciate me but more so that she does not love herself, I don't know why that is, as selfish as she is you would think it wouldn't be hard. That, I believe, is where her love for others is flawed. The wisest thing my mother ever said to me was that you must first love yourself before you can truly love others, this is a major problem with my mother and with Rene'e, just as it is a major problem with many others. The thing with depressed people is that they isolate themselves because they want to feel special and to admit the fact that depression is common in society today and that what they are going through is being experienced to some degree by every other human being on the planet would be like losing their individuality, because depression has become their essence, it has become the thing that made them unique, when in reality it has done the exact opposite. This is why Rene'e is such a hyppocrite when she talks about reality, that is why she is afraid to let go.I don't know if the concept of reality is true or if it's all really just human perception, but I do know that we are all in some way connected even if only by the fact that we all experience the same emotions, life in itself is generally the same for everyone, the only difference is how we cope.
Funny, my intention was to write about me, but I ended up writing about everyone else. Griping about everyone else. It seems I am defined by my experiences, my choices and the choices of those around me. The words crazy, insane, stupid, mean and funny. Those are the words people use to describe me. Not the words I would use to desribe myself. But what does it matter, how I see myself? No one else can see me through my eyes, just as I cannot see others through their own eyes. As much as I understand, I do not understand that. Understanding humanity is knowing that you will always be suprised. I can read the meaning of an action after it has been performed, but I will never be able to say, for sure, what a person will do. I can guess, judging by past perfomance, and it will seem like I know their mind, but I can't read minds, I can't tell the future.
Human beings experience the present through the past, it acts like a filter through which we see. That is what makes human behavior so predictable, once you know their past and how they react to situations you can accurately predict how they will react to similar situations. Even with unpredictable people there is a moment where they will eveluate the situation and how they've reacted to it before and consiously decide to act differently. So, in expecting the unexpected you are, to a certain degree, prepared for it.
I suppose I couldn't talk about myself without talking about the people around me, it's like explaining the reason behind my actions, the actions I react to. If you understand someone's past you understand how they experience the present. I think that's the first time I've actually come to any conclusion from a train of thought, normally I just write in circles, elaborating on one idea or another, even come up with more ideas. I think I'll come back and read over what I've written more often. Look at it from a different perspective.
Fever comes like wine, drowning the senses with akward sleep, and coming to, awakened by primal urges and needs, sounds feel urgent and near and you cannot see your hands. Another contraction, imprisoned in starry womb, you pound the boundaries with fists, echoing through night's idiosyncrasies. The lights sighing, sad to be awake and voices, your voices, and their abhorrent adoration so unfamiliar, singing hymns in unintentional rhyme. Souls, smiling enigmatically, converge, hands like heavy hammers, out of view. But the pounding never stops, is that your heart resounding in your ears, you can't be sure you're alive anymore, tired, but before you sleep, visions of edible things and fantasies and more noise to be hidden in memory's intangible dreams. They feel so real, but you will never know.
It's like a prayer trying to feel closer to a god I like criticism constructive, that is I have enough assholes in my life I don't need to hear anyone else's angst bullshit this is life life is painful and lonely and full of shit you don't think I feel the same pain I will rise above that is what separates me from them I will rise above I suppose you could say I have faith at least I have hope I don't know what there is anymore to have faith in so many heros have passed or been revealed human with human faults, human motives, human desire but what is human anymore is it humane to deny pain perscribe happiness and turn individuals into vehicles of rage pumped full of silicone and pain killers and blood letting is the only way to feel alive children speak to therapists instead of their own parents and their parent don't care they think it's better this way we spend unimaginable amounts of time and energy to avoid pain and humiliation or any real human emotion deny ourselves the things we really want because they are made wrong by society rebels are no longer individuals they are unrecognizable, for shame I would not want to be recognized too if I was one of them
and reaching the peak of our comic genius we pulled back and everything after that was absolute shit but we did it once and the memory of that time is all that remains of our once formidable troupe and our once indestructible dream
nothing is sacred. nothing is precious. nothing is real.
My entire life I've been lying to myself about how strong I am, at least I wish I was,it'll get to me eventually, and I'll break down, and cry for help like I've done so many times before. But I'll cry where no one can hear me and no one will see my tears, and no one will ask when I come out with my eyes all red and puffy. I think I scare them, no one knows whats wrong so they are afraid to help, they are afraid even to ask. I miss Glen, he wasn't afraid, he saw right through me. I miss that, just being me, saying what I think and feel. I cannot express myself anymore, except through my blog, how liberating it feels. I don't know if anyone is reading this, someday someone will, even if it's just my children or my husband and my closest friend. This is as honest as I can be, there are some things I have not said, but some things are better left unsaid. I want nothing more than people to know the truth about me, my faults, my virtues, my petty fears, and my righteous dreams.
I asked my friend what she looked for in a man, of course sense of humor and a good personality, but above all I want a man who see's right through me, all my bullshit and games. A man who knows when I'm acting and knows when to stop me from doing that. Someone who is honest with me and not afraid to tell me when I'm being stupid or cruel. A man who won't let me take advantage of him, one who won't hurt me. Someone who knows me, the real me, and loves me in spite of it.
I can only bring myself to hate large corporations and inanimate objects
my friend is full of hate, she hates society, she hates posers, she hates she hates she hates. I remember when I worked at mcdonalds she said I was a slave to money, to society. But what is she? A slave to the cure in a pill bottle. A slave to the belief that it could have actually worked. She hates she hates she hates, she doesn't understand. I cannot hate because I can emphasize, because I understand why people do the things they do, I can't hate a person for doing what is in their nature to do. That is why I do not hate rene'e, or any other depressed people. Depression, like most other things, is a product of either nature or nurture, I know this is a very broad generalization but, for the purpose the sake of argument, it will do. My depression came from nurture, or the envioronment and experiences I've lived with; Rene'e's came from nature, a chemical imbalance, but either way, it became natural, it became the very foundation upon which we built and lived our lives. It was what defined us. I can understand the reluctance she feels to let go of this, if she is no longer depressed what is she. She is afraid that she will become the nothingness that she believes is out there. But what is out there anyway? She has likened her depression to being in a hole, when the hole is only a product of her mind. She talks about phenomenology and perception, how life is only what we percieve and reality does not exist, and yet she cannot apply the same thinking to her state of mind. She does not understand that her body and her mind are linked together, wouldn't that chemical imbalance be just another reality does not exist. I have told her time and again, talk about it, be honest with yourself, understanding the problem is the key to solving it. It's simple logic, it's so simple she would agree with it without missing a beat, so simple it couldn't possibly apply to her situation. I think she fails to realize how universal the feelings she is experiencing are, if she could see that, she would be one step closer to realizing that there is no out there or in here, only the walls she has percieved. She doesn't know how much power, how much will that took, however subconsious. That same will can be used to break down those walls, but it would be hard, it's much harder to control the power than to let it control you. Perhaps that is why depressed people feel so out of control, which leads to cutting and suicide attempts. I wonder if the same theory can be applied to other disorders.
I have gone off topic, I write about rene'e all the time, I'm afraid I have made her my ginuea pig, my test subject. I feel like the mad scientist, observing, calculating theories, and messing with peoples minds. I wonder if this is helping me more than it is helping her. I wish I had a way to find out. I've noticed she has been getting better since the first few times I scared her out of her shell. I've noticed that at times I regret doing so in the first place. Doctor Roth is helping her, he's very good, although I don't think he's pushing her hard enough. I went to her appointment with him yesterday and at first I thought I was only making things worse, it wasn't until half the session was gone that she opened up and we actually made some progress, and of course after it was over she informed me that it normally took that long for her to open up. I suggested that she think about that and see how the awareness of that fact affected her next session, she asked 'why? do you plan on coming to the next one', how little she knows me. It was at the end of the session though, when she started to annoy me. He was asking her what the take away points of the things we discussed were and she got really bashful and played the whole 'I don't remember' thing, when in really it's 'I don't want to remember'. It has occured to me now that she didn't do that because of my presence but because of his, he is, as rene'e had said, intense. But still when rene'e and I have a session, I push harder, and I've seen the results of that, even in her journal. She still needs to work on taking the good with the bad. And the denial and selective memory thing is not helping her, I wanted to point that out today but I didn't want to make her cry. I suppose I just know her better that Dr. Roth, I know when she's bullshitting and I know when to push her. I understand he doesn't want to push her though, he wants her to leap of her own volition, as do I, but sometimes, it's just too tempting.
my muse is selfish and sad and tiring she reminds me of me as I was years ago she embodies all that she hates about society ever the puppet in denial of her strings hiding from the pain that life inevitably brings she can't understand that it's me here trying to show her the way but she thinks that I don't understand when who knows better than I how to rise above despair but I cannot throw myself in for her all I can do is be there reaching out my hand for her to hold if she could only see me
a much needed moment of self hatred (that didn't turn out quite as I expected)
my poetry is contrite and lacks depth, I just can't express anything, any emotion. ok, it may be good, but it'll never be great, I never edit, because I don't know how. I come up with good lines, that's what I am a one-liner. Looking through my poems now I just can't believe how stupid I am. There is one I'm actually quite proud of, I do not want to die(the first peice of mine that I seriously edited), I was wondering what it would feel like to be diagnosed with a terminal disease and I was thinking about how I used to feel like I wanted to die and I think that actually came through, at least, willie noticed, but willie is exceptional. There were some comments about tightening up the lines a little bit, cutting some, but I am always reluctant to cut any lines short, I suppose I could but I wouldn't like the look of it, it wouldn't look like me. but I think I should start less lines with 'and' that has become a habit.
I've been reading more lately, and I've noticed that my poetry has improved because of it, perhaps one day I may be able to write something meaningful. I think I'll try my hand at prose.
originally written - 18 of January 2001 rewritten - 30 of December 2002 just a list I wrote to remind myself of the kind of person I wanted to be. I suppose I should add on to it, there is always more.
be nicer to people
be honest
do 5 good things for someone else each day
compliment people
make someone laugh
make someone happy
try to learn something new each day
stay calm
try to teach someone something new each day
try to develop a new way of thinking
make someone feel good about themselves
don't judge
respect all others and yourself
be tolerant
be understanding
appreciate beauty
acknowledge your mistakes and correct them
forgive but never forget
let the past stay where it belongs
find a new way every day to cope and move on
always try
be quiet for a moment at the end of each day and reflect
lessen hate, in others and yourself
show someone love, grattitude and kindness
don't make a fool of someone else
practice humility
be silentbe still
try to realize the reasons for your fears and overcome them
never stereotype or categorize anyone
try to understand the nature of a single action, especially your own
lessen pain in others
do not limit yourself
try to find the true nature of your prejudice
stry to be humble
try to soften your words
try to be reserved
be aware
let go of things you don't need
determine what truly holds value to you
never comprimise yourself, your values or your pride
take pride in your virtues and realize your faults
be proud of someone else
be less materialistic
speak only when words are necessary
know when they are
speak in a way that you can be understood
take pride in all you do and do it well
never settle for less than your dreams
when you are sure no one is listening to you even though they need to hear what you are saying, keep talking
do things that make others happy
ask until you find the answer you seek
aswer only the questions you are asked
never deny another soul knowledge, wisdom or understanding but inform them that they must first know what they seek
use your will
never give up on people
do not expect anything but be ready for everything
don't tell people what they want to hear if it's not the truth
understand that truth varies from person to person
beauty is not in the eye of the beholder but in the heart of those beheld
never say 'I'm sorry' unless you truly have something to be sorry for
ask for forgiveness but don't expect it
guilt is a useless emotion
never make anyone feel guilty for something they have done
never do something you will regret
admit when you are wrong
never make the same mistake more than three times
don't ever forget, the good times or the bad
some things are meant to happen and some things are meant for us to change
no one can plan your life but yourself
no one can live your life but yourself
try to understand others' beliefs
do not condescend, preach or try to convert someone to your beliefs, if someone finds truth in your words do not think of it as an accomplishment
never think yourself better or more 'enlightened' than others
never pity them of pay lip service
help those who help themselves
help them to help themselves
help those who cannot help themselves
know that everything you do, whether you benefit from it or someone else does, is ultimately done for yourself (or you probably wouldn't be doing it) so don't believe you deserve any kind of award for self sacrifice
don't bring anyone down
don't give in to egotism
don't fear the judgement of others
live life for yourself
don't fear death
don't fear pain
don't fear rejection or reproval
remember that there are many different words for one thing and only the true meaning matters
the world is not yours to save or damn, you can only try to make it better and be an example of what life it could be
no ones problems are more urgent than yours and yours are no more than theirs, regardless of age, race, sex or stature
I was helping my friend edit her book and a few words popped into my head, I love words. I love these words, and phrases, I write them in notepad and save them in a special folder that I almost never go into, I wrote these ones recently and I just love them. They're just some things that make me smile. Hope they make you smile too. hehehe
a life in modes humping like bunnies peripherals tickling her waist (as in tall grasses, you sick minded people) meandered fuck i and e!!!!!!!!!!!!! expidition inconstant coagulated nothing better to do than rewrite poems and watch visual effects while listening to music solidify coalesce pressured converged sounds felt near oddly enigmatically inexplicably curiously
Reality was a vague dream in which images eluded him and sounds thickened, converging on his senses.
I just had a suprisingly stimulating conversation with two of my parents' friends, Rob and John, about Shakespeare, language and society. Which is odd because at first I hadn't thought either of them would be interested in such things. Rob was entertaining, he has a kind of enthusiasm that you do not encounter very often nowadays. He has trouble finding the right words sometimes though and he speaks so quietly that it's hard for me to understand what he's saying, let alone help him. John on the other hand was suprisingly well read, and it would not seem so from the looks of him, he had some very interesting opinions on Shakespeare and the language of today and how they differ. He was very easy to talk to, he's one of those people who knows how to reciprocate. I wonder sometimes how my parents can be friends with such intelligent people, my mother is smart, yes, but hardly ever delivers worthwhile conversation. I suppose people can't be so intense all the time, that's why I have Rene'e. Not that we don't talk about serious topics, when we do the conversations are always stimulating, but things are always more superficial with Rene'e and I do tire of the superficial so easily. It's just good to have someone to talk to though.
John suggested doing an essay on the de-evolution of words, I think that would be a very interesting topic to write about. I'll have to think about that.
leagally it's kidnapping if you are in the vehicle
I think I was eleven when some man tried to kidnap me. Every day after school I would ride the bus to the bottom of my hill, I live up a really steep hill, I didn't like walking up so I would wait at the bottom for my stepsiter and my brothers and their friends to come back from school, they're all about five or six years older than me and they went to a private school. I usually just sat down and started my homework while I waited for them, I paid no attention to the blue van parked nearby until the man sitting in it called me over to him. Being young and naive I thought nothing of it so I went over, he was sitting in the passenger side and when I got to him he told me he had something to show me. To this day I can't say why, but I leaned over towards him and he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me onto his lap. I did the only things I could think of, scream and fight. I kept my foot in the door despite him trying to slam it numerous times and I screamed at the top of my lungs. He covered my mouth with one hand and kept his other arm around my waist, I bit his hand and elbowed him in the stomach. I don't know how long I was in the car with him but I can still remember the feeling of his arm around me and I can still remember his smell. When I finally got free I picked my things up from where I left them and started running up the hill. I'm not much of a runner and I was getting tired, I could still see the van, he hadn't even started it, he was just going to come up and get me after I'd tired myself out. I turned around and started back down the hill, writing his licence plate number down through my tears, I guess he noticed, he drove away before I could get the last number. By this time I was hysterical, I just stood there holding my books and crying, two people I knew past on the highway, one of them a security guard from the shopping center where my family's restaurant was. By the time my brothers and my sister got there all I could say was 'he tried to grab me' they put me in the car and drove to the police station. When we got there, my brothers went to get my mother while my sister tried to comfort me. We waited at that police station for two hours, well, it's actually a sub station but I've hated the Hawaii police department ever since. Well, for the next few months I had to tell and retell and even write down what happened and I even had to look through pictures to try to identify the man. The incident was in the newspaper twice, once on the front page, on a sunday I believe. I got teased for it at school, I don't know why anyone would tease a person about something like that, but the kids in Hawaii are stupid anyway. I am told I had nightmares afterwards but I don't remember any of that. I do remember that, after the initial shock of it, I started enjoying the attention. I guess that's just me though, a player no matter what.
Six or so years later I forget sometimes that it even happened, I used to get emotional if somebody brought it up but now it's just another story to tell my friends. Not very long ago, probably six months, I was up at my granmas house, we were out on the porch, me, my mother, my grandmother and my brother Josh. We were talking about his lifestyle and how it would affect his daugters future and somehow the subject got around to him beating me when we were younger. I have always been afraid that he, being an alcoholic, would beat his daughter, but thats not the point here. He said that he beat me for a reason, that if he hadn't I wouldn't have been able to defend myself when that man tried to kidnap me. I love my brother, though I don't know why, and for awhile I truly wanted to believe this. However, by all accounts I was strong enough before he ever hit me, my mother even tells stories about how I would struggle so much when I was a toddler that she almost dropped me. So I must acknowledge that this is his way of justifying what he did to me all those years. I don't know how he justifies the two fights we had just days before he said this but I suppose it's better than the way my mother justifies her ignoring it all those years, which is in her own words, I was asking for it (this is also how she views the aformentioned two fights). What would I be without my family?
I always wanted to be an artist, to be able to draw the beautiful things I see, if only I could draw. I am no artist, I remember once I drew a picture of Roger Rabbit, freehand, I was thrilled. Too bad I lost that picture, it was actually pretty good. I started to draw a tree one day, I drew the trunk and the branches and then I started on the leaves, I drew every single leaf individually, I still haven't finished that picture, I started it almost a year ago. I guess I just have to be content with the gifts that I do posess, even if I cannot draw beautiful things using a brush, perhaps I can use words to recreate the images that I am fortunate enough to behold. That is what I am, fortunate, to be able to see beauty in things others would not. My mother's face looks older than her years, from smoke and poor life choices, when she smiles you could trace three lines from her eyes to her hairline, and when she raises her eyebrows the creases stretch across her forehead. I have a picture of her from when she was in high school when her face was still full of life and color, it's hard to believe it is the same person, but when I look at my mother I do not see her pale leathery skin, or her laughlines or worry lines, I see the remnants of a vibrant youth and a great beauty.
children are the promise of spring I am just a child compared to the springs you have seen and soon spring will melt away to summer's heat and summer will bloom and fade when the trees, shaken by autumns desire to sleep bare themselves to winter's silent soul and the steady stagnation of a world without growth or change yet waiting for the coming of a spring I will never see I do not want to die
I'm so lonely, I hate being a night person, no one else is awake to keep you company. I was gonna watch a movie but I've watched every movie I own at least twice this past week. Maybe I'll watch Leo again, that's a great movie, or maybe 1984, no that'll make things worse and I'll never go to sleep. I prolly won't go to sleep until around seven or eight, then I'll wake up at eleven, my god I need a fucking job.
listening to talk shows on mute. that's such a great sentence, of course I mean the song. I think Iove this song because they mention 1984, coincidence? I think not.
whenever my mother is bitching at me about something I just turn the conversation onto a different scapegoat, sometimes this tactic doesn't work, since her favorite subject to bitch about is me, but usually it takes the heat out of the fire under my ass. I know this is a horrible thing to to but, I can be my own worst enemy, thank you. It's amazing what a common enemy can do to two people. take my mother and my stepsister, for example, two of the most conniving back stabbers I know, but when it comes to bitching about my brother and my sister in law, they are best friends. That goes for my other brother's girlfriend as well, of course if you get all of them into one room together they have no choice but to make me the topic of their pitiful gossip. It's sad that four grown women can't think of a more rewarding topic, I suppose I should be flattered, that would confuse them.
I remember when I made my brother cry, he was beating me and I told him that I hated him, that he wasn't my brother anymore. He went into our mom's room and when I went in ther after him I found him sitting there crying, I hugged him and told him I loved him, and to this day he has no recollection of that ever happening. It's funny, what people remember, and what they choose to forget. My mother doesn't remember the time she and my brother laughed at me when I told them they were hurting my feelings, I think that was the last time I ever admitted being hurt to anyone. I never wanted to be laughed at again. I wonder sometimes what my life would have been like if I never stopped, if I cried when people hurt me, I wonder if they wouldn't be so cruel to me. But I suppose if they could laugh at me when I was eight it would only get worse. People say I'm tough, that I don't feel anything, I don't think anyone really believes that, they just use it as an excuse to justify being so cruel to me. I'll never tell them though, I'll never say I'm weak, I'll never say I'm hurt, and they'd never believe I was, I am such a good actor. I learned when I was a child how to cry on cue, I don't need to think very hard to find something to make me cry. Usually I think of my mother, or my real father, there are alot of painful memories to choose from. I never wanted to be here, the ten days I spent in the psych ward at Queens were the happiest ten days of my life. I didn't want to come back, I asked to be put in a group home. I hate what I have become, fake and heartless, afraid to be myself. I have become everything I always hated. I want to move to a place where no one knows me, then I won't have to lie to anyone about who I am, I won't be afraid of what people will say or do to me. I can be an honest person. That's all I want.
I have so many different blogs on my favorites list, I never have the time to visit all of them. I like that when you go to enter in the publishers clearing house sweepstakes and they want you to subscribe to their magazines the Submit button is really big and pretty and then No, Thanks is just a small underlined blemish towards the bottom of the page. There is a virus on my computer that makes my mouse move and close all of my active windows. I hate webpages that turn your cursor into + or the ones that have stupid crap follow the mouse around, and I also hate the ones that automatically start playing music.I'm just browsing, using the next blog button on the blogger navbar and adding interesting ones to my favorites, some of them are in languages I can't understand but the pictures are beautiful. I guess that makes me a pirate, well, it's not the only thing. Web log We blog
interesting how the media makes a point of saying MS. O'Donnell, when she refers to herself as being married.
I like to think that I have a mature relationship with my parents, we respect each other as adults capable of making informed decisions. I like to think that. I realize, however, that I do not respect them because they do not, and also seem incapable of making intelligent decisions. How can you respect a person who willingly causes harm to themselves and others around them. I had not realized that adults were so selfish. Well, I suppose I always knew it was so, but I am so good at ignoring things I do not want to believe. Am I selfish for wanting my mother to love me more than she loves herself, for wanting her support, her attention? Perhaps, I mean, what have I done to deserve any of that? All my life she has tried to make me feel like I owe her something, like giving birth to me was, not a gift, but a favor, one I was obliged to repay. Am I supposed to be grateful for the years of abuse, physical, sexual, and emotional alike? Should I devote my life to serving her and making her happy? For what? For all those years I had to take care of myself, for all those times I wished I was dead? Does she honestly believe that she is worth all of the pain she has put me through? But I am at her mercy, I wish I could hate her, then she wouldn't have so much power over me. But I love my mother, for her sadness and her wasted life, I pity my mother, for her sadistic needs, I just wish my mother loved me.
I was just looking over Rosie O'Donell's blog (onceadored.blogspot.com) every one of her posts gets at least 20 comments, most of them get over a hundred. I think it's funny, I wonder if people will comment on my posts when I become famous. Probably, people are just like that, they want their words, their opinions, heard by important people. And while Rosie isn't really that famous anymore, she is now accessable. I must say I admire her for it, well, I suppose I simply admire her for the way she lives her life. She is an amazing woman.
I wish time passed as it does in the movies, one moment you're a girl, akward and lonely, listening to Nat King Cole singing mona lisa and dancing with an invisible man, imagining his arm around your waist and his hand closed tightly around yours, he spins you around your living room floor and suddenly you're a woman and the man is no longer imaginary, the music is being played by a live band and there are a dozen other couples dancing around you, envying your lovely parter and fancy dress. Then he leans in to kiss you and you hear the minister pronounce you man and wife, you kiss and he carries you over the threshold of your first home. You look around at the bare walls and then, smiling, at the pictures of your family, your children, then their children and soon their grandchildren too, your husband comes up behind you and takes you by the hand, and you are dancing to Nat King Cole singing mona lisa, and he is spinning you around your living room floor.
I was never much of a writer, I suppose I write too visually, that is why I want to makes movies. I have thousands of scenes in my head, from a dozen movies, dialouge, movement, even camera angles. I want to be a storyteller, one who takes you on a journey through the darkest shadows of human existence to the illuminated peaks of man's higher mind. I want to create gods and humans alike. I want to show that man, even at his best, is still human. I want to document the souls journey to immortality, to divinity.
It is easier to not believe in god you cannot be hurt you cannot be judged you cannot be forsaken by god if you do not believe he exists I would rather not believe in god than spend my life resenting him I would rather not believe in heaven or hell than spend my life in fear of him I would rather not believe in miracles than spend my life waiting to be saved by him I would rather not believe in his plans than spend my life a slave to him
act like you're not dying, it would suprise you, how easy it is to ignore your crying
I remember a sharp pain in my stomach, sort of a twisting feeling, like something has hooked me right behind the belly button and pulled and twisted. I am in a classroom and the teacher is passing out a test, it's algebra, the student next to me leans over and whispers some snide remark, I laugh and reply with a suitably sarcastic response. The hook in my stomach now feels like it is being pulled up towards my chest. My expression does not change. The hook is pulled down again and twisted some. I finish the first problem on the test. The twisting continues. I finish the third, the fourth, the fifth. Some one asks out loud for the answer to the second question, I say it out loud and laugh as the teacher scolds me. It has now become impossible to sit comfortably. Almost to the last question. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I finish the test first, and walk up to put it on the teachers desk, I walk back to my desk and sit down. The hook seems to have ripped my stomach out of my back, at least I can't feel it anymore. I passed the test without one wrong answer. I've sat through that experience many times. My expression never changes, no one would ever know I was in pain. I have lived my life that way, the inside is the only part of me that resembles humanity. The expression on my face is ever changing, always what is expected of me. Angst, idiocy. I show people only what they want to see, I let them believe whatever they want to believe of me. I hate doing this, I hate living this lie but I don't know how to stop it. I no longer know how to be myself anywhere but on paper. I'm so afraid they will laugh at me, that things will change and they will lose their respect for me. The thing I am most afraid of is that if I showed myself to them, I showed them how voulnerable I am, that they wouldn't care. They would go on hurting me like they did before, this time with the knowledge that they are. I know that is how they will react, I know these people, they do not care.
I wish my friend weren't so sad, I love her dearly but I don't want to be her therapist anymore, I mean loyalty only goes so far. I find that everytime we speak, we're talking about her problems, her school, her parents, her life. I realize now how little she actually knows me, and I hate myself for that, if there were anyone I would like to really know me, it would be her. But that is impossible, she has put me in a little box labelled weird, shallow and unforgiving; just as my brother has, just as everyone else has. I dearly wish that people would not think that I am hard and unforgiving, it pains me to think that I am viewed as such. I suppose I seem unforgiving because of my somewhat overblown sense of righteousness, a trait of which I am not overly fond. She has said of me what a typical teenager I am, and the word most she uses to describe me is insane, again, wrong on both counts. I remember once I tried to express to my best friend Allison my dream to help people, she laughed at me and said 'you don't care about anyone but yourself', she meant it as a joke but it hurt nonetheless. That was when she was first getting to know me, she knows me better now. But Rene'e is too caught up in her own world to see me, she doesn't want to know me. Just as a patient does not want to know their therapist, sure they want them to disclose a little bit, just enough to earn their trust, but in the end, they are not paying to listen to the shrinks problems. People no longer genuinely care about each other enough, I hope I was not that way with Glen. I would hate to think he, of all people, thinks of me as the rest of the world does.
to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, in the worst way
My entire life is just one cosmic mistake, I was born in the wrong time to the wrong people. All I can do is make the best of what I have. Oh, would that I were born seventy years ago, my life would be everything I wish it were now. I would be at death's door, and I would be ready to go. I already feel as if my soul has walked this earth before, in another body. I feel so old and tired, I'm barely seventeen. I have never felt young. I am frustrated that the years go by so slowly and yet, a part of me mourns the loss of my youth. I feel a strange tension in between my shoulder blades, from years of bowing my head. More likely from years of sleeping on the ground. I wish now that I had never been born into this life, I do not know if I will feel that way tomorrow and already I cannot remember if I felt the same way yesterday, but today I feel like dying. My memories have always seemed reluctant to stay with me, perhaps this is a defense mechanism of my mind, to shield me from things I would rather not know. I feel as if I should know whatever my mind is keeping from me, I feel as if I am ready to face whatever truth lies hidden deep within me, emerging only as incoherent dreams. But I do not know how to begin.
I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now
I gathered together all the things that remind me of my childhood shortlived and broken as it was I look back fondly on ignorance, seeming innocence even though I knew then what I know now it was easier to pretend
I do not feel jaded, or robbed of what was rightfully mine I do not envy others the things I never had a home and a family and love and trust, I trust I will find later on in life that's just my lot in life, no more than I deserve
but who is to discern my truths from my lies who is it that judges me by my sins and thoughtless acts and who has condemned me to this life
I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to post this, it's very personal, but what the hell my opinions are as good as any...
I remember hallucinating when I was really sick, I never really understood what was happening until recently, I always just thought I was dreaming. In comfortably numb by Pink Floyd the lyric 'when I was a child I had a fever, my hands felt just like two baloons' has come closer to describing the experience that anything I have ever written. The memories I have of my childhood seem more like dreams to me now, sometimes I find it difficult to discern what really happened from what I think happened. I'm not sure about alot of things. I remember my cousin molesting me and I remember asking for it, those are images to horrible to have been made up. I remember sitting in a psychiatrist office playing with something, and even now I can hear him telling me that what happened is not my fault. That was after Jason molested me, it's funny, I don't remember him actually touching me, but I remember always being near him, always wanting to be near him. I knew what I was doing, even then, I couldn't have been any older than seven, but I knew how to get older men to like me. I knew how to smile, how to laugh, and how to tease them. I think that after a certain point in a persons life they become aware, sexually, then that person ceases to be the victim, at least in the sense that they are robbed of the choice to do what they previously had been made to do. They are still victims though, they were robbed of their innocence, they were robbed of their time to be free of decisions like that. A molester is defined as a person who subjects others to unwanted or improper sexual activity, while the activity is no less improper, eventually it becomes, not wanted exactly (although in some cases it is, but that is another argument), but allowed. In a way a molester robs a child of their judgement, by bringing them to make a decision that they are not prepared to make. The decision is nonetheless made by the child, causing them to feel guilty and to disbelieve the psychiatrist's favorite way of reassuring them, by telling them that it was not their fault. I am not saying it was the childs fault, but I know from experience that it seems that way to them. Molestation has many horrible effects on a child later in life, I know I am changed because of my experiences, but by coming to this realization I find that I have a bit more peace that most. And I find hope, and endless amusement, in the fact that I am very close to my cousin, the first person who molested me, indeed, he is one of my closest friends.
of humble beginnings and extraordinary ends and the places inbetween.
I think I'm really gonna miss living in Hawaii. I've collected so many things, little things like shells and necklaces and rocks, all just to remind me of here, of home. I don't think I would refer to the house I live in as home, I've never really felt comfortable here, I believe that a home would feel... different. I've always pictured myself searching for someplace to call home later on in my life, but I've realized that 'home' doesn't neccessarily have to be a place, I can be home wherever I go, within myself. I want to have kids someday, and I want to travel the world with them, I want to expose them to different cultures and the beautiful things that the world is made of. But I never want them to feel the way I do in my parents house, I want them to feel at home with themselves and their family. I just can't imagine living my life out in one place, in one house, one country, with the same people and the same society surrounding me. The world is full of beautiful things and terrible things and I want to experience them all. But I know, however far I may travel and whatever wonders I may see, I will always hold a special love for Hawaii, I will always be proud to be Hawaiian.
Well, I learned a long time ago that sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do in order to achieve your goals. So I'm gonna fill out that application for choicemart and see if the video store is hiring, and hope to whoever is up there that I can save enough money to get the hell out of here in six months. I don't want to wait until I'm eighteen anymore, I just want to leave.
I don't like to complain, I don't like to hear people complain. I think it's one of the most annoying habits a person can have. That's probably why I have so few friends, people just complain too much. I don't know what it is about me that makes people want to tell me all their problems. For the most part I don't mind but people can be so whiny sometimes. Not that I never complain, I do, mostly about my mother. Everybody needs someone to talk to, I'm that person for most of my friends. I don't have anybody like that, I used to, but I fucked that up. Oh, well, that's what people have blogs for right? To gripe about their lives.
To accomplish great things, we must dream as well as act.
Other people have more interesting lives than me, I have no job anymore and I don't want to work at choicemart or the video store, and I am sure as hell not going back to McDonalds. I have no money, all I have are dreams. I don't even know why I'm so sure I'll achieve anything, but I am. I have to make my grandpa proud, he once said to me I was the last of his grandchildren that he had any hope for going to college. Well, I've got other things on my mind. That is not to say that I won't go to college, maybe someday, I'd like to study psychology or anthropology or philosophy or linguistics or something like that. I've always been interested in business. I want to do alot of things with my life. It's like I want to experience everthing, like I'm afraid this will be my only chance, which is funny because I believe in reincarnation. Oh well, no harm in trying, if I don't achieve everything I want to do at least I will have tried. I suppose that is what matters.
I would have joined the peace corps if it weren't for the whole four year degree thing. I think the peace corps would have been great for me, it's something that combines two of the tings that I am truly passionate about, world travel and helping people. Yes, despite what everyone who knows me, or at least thinks they do, believes; I truly want to help people. There is another program, called cross-cultural solutions that is like a mini stint in the peace corps, and you don't need any college or experience or that sort of thing. The only drawback is they require a fee, but that doesn't really bother me, I understand why it's neccessary. If...no...when I have the money I'll do that.
I am broke. I've got $6.04 in my checking account and no job, and somehow I managed to spend $700 in less than two months. I really shouldn't be allowed to handle money. Of course, I'm never lending my mother money again, there's $600 I'll never see again. And she wants me to pay rent, when I have repeatedly asked to move out, and she threatens to report me as I runaway if I just leave. I just want to make movies, man. Is that too much to ask?
