I CAN'T HANDLE THIS

SAVE ME

RIP OUT MY INSIDES AND PAINT THE WALLS WITH MY BRAINS

REALITY.

I DON'T NEED YOU.

I DON'T WANT YOU.

Peace of mind

I have a journal now, so I don't write online much. I use tumblr too.

I think I am doing the right thing. I just need to not crumble under outside pressure and my own fears and doubts and overanalyzing everything.

I want to post this just so I can remember it happened.

jacob

i know what i said

?

in that message i sent you

and I want to take it all back but I want to know how you feel about what i said

because i honestly think you're the only boy who'd make macaroons with me and let me wear frilly dresses and paint murals on the walls at 4am

Well honestly ..we don't know how things will work out

but it's kind of out of control

I don't want to overcomplicate things

and spend our time worrying

instead I just want to be happy and in love

and have things be simple

or try to keep them simple

if we can't, we can't

but until then there's nothing to say that we can't just be wonderful and in love

6:40 PM

you're right

i was freaking out so much after you left in april that I told virg I wanted to break up with you because I felt like nothing was going to work out

but why?

because I like being super committed and serious with my relationships because i will do anything and everything to make them work but there's just too many complications with me and I didn't want to make you put up with that. I was going to break up with you and then not date anyone until I had moved out and then start dating again so I could have a normal relationship where I wasn't such a freak all the time

mom called ... fuck sec

but then I realized I was 20 and you are 18 and I have a very long time in which to

keep going

oh

ok

ok

get my shit together and we could just see how long we can last

even though I dont want to see how long we can last

i want us to last

that's it

basically

oh mern

because i could never find anyone like you if we broke up

you would

and i dont want to

break up with me?

don't

don't even say that

to save you from me

oh shush you're an amazing girlfriend

and you mean the world to me

and save myself some pain

and I'll do anything for you

because I love you with all my heart

so no talk of break ups over stupid things like that

can you just

stop

worrying so much?

like

it's hurting my heart

sometimes

can't we just

love eachother and be happy?

i depend on you too much. you and school are the only stability i have

is that too hard? if there are problems we'll deal with them

no

im sorry

okay it's okay my girl

I didnt used to be like this

I love you

im so crazy

i'm here for you

i love you

and I'll always be here for you

no matter what happens

I'll always be here

my girl I love you so much

you're wonderful

how can you be 18 and be so emotionally mature

i was so scared all day

about tomorrow night

i couldnt eat

or sit still

I know bby

i'd been crying so much that the babies came over and started shoving ice cream in my face and petting my head

my dad said he wold bring me sleeping pills

I'm sorry I'm such an emotionally demanding mess, tell your mom I said hi!

she said hi to you

It's okay mern

stop worrying about us

i'm here to stay

and I love you unconditionally

just let's both worry about you

why are you so perfect?

Tell me all your secrets. I want to feel you.

Boys...they can see color in everything right?

They can hear colors.

Why is no one else interested in this? This might be the most intimate way to get to know a boy.

The idea that my mind might get cramped by stupid shit as trivial as the past disgusts me.

I wish that wedding over the summer had been more fun. I wanted to hide my shoes behind one of the giant decorative pot plants with my little sister and run around looking in all the banquet halls and pretending they were our secret clubhouse.

She's too old now apparently.

At 13.

What was I doing at this age? Besides that?

Running around with all the little kids playing hide and seek tag. You had to go run through the masses of people- all brown, all encrusted in star covered fabrics you couldn't remember the names of for the life of you- to find whomever's poor parent got picked that night to be base.

My biggest concerns used to be trying to steal an extra slice of cake and coming up with lies to feed my parents about the absence of friends in my life and not missing Digimon (RIGHTAFTERSCHOOLMOMWEHAVETOGOSTRAIGHTHOMENOWORELSE) and reading the dictionary before bed.

I spent too much time in the library now that I think about it. Working there, sitting there, volunteering there, half-living there.

The smell of the dust on the dust-jackets ("wipe it off"), cheap ink on the older paperbacks ("be careful they're ancient"), mindlessly alphabetizing everywhere ("These are JFic not Reference"), dodging between shelves pretending you were Indiana Jones (Encyclopedia shelf was the get-a-way plane), renting out tapes to try and teach yourself French ("Je voudrais un bouitille du eau minerale, si vous plait"), seeing the curly haired librarian of 10 years comment each day on how she remembered when "OhmadearyouwereITTTTTTYbittybackthenyepyepyepy'allcomebacknowyaheard?".

!

I figured out what it must be like for people who can draw! They see it as just another part of life and I suppose since they have the skill they just accept it as something as trivial as having teeth in their gums and eyes in their skulls.

It's like that feeling when your mother was asleep that one afternoon and it was sweltering outside so they had you locked inside like a caged monkey. You were four years old, goddammit. You had things to do and places to see and they locked you in the house and left you to it (unless you were one of the respectable ones who escaped from naptime- fuck naptime), suffocating you with those musty off-white walls of your family's first house ("the starter home," my father would say. "We're not going to be in apartment for long" was another line at this stage in life). You'd look at the linoleum floors that your mom worked so hard to keep clean and curl your wretched little grape toes into the cheap synthetic rug of the living room relishing in how the scratchy feeling felt against your perfect baby skin. You'd stand there, all four puny feet of you, and you gaped.

There were no adults. You were somehow magically all alone (I always made it a point to check for fairies at times like these).

You were free.

But you don't stop to relish this moment-no, that would be a waste of your time and you're all about productivity at this age.

A quick pre-cursory glance allows you to take in the uncomfortable rented furniture your mother had so begrudgingly picked out at the Rent-a-Center or the local pawn shop, the shitty TV your dad bought at a yard sale (no cable, shit was expensive), the ugly knick-knacks your grandmother made mommy put up on every available surface...

AND THEN...that's when you see them.

The "oh!" face (the one that fills all your grandmother's ancient picture frames), the hand clap (quiet as burning autumn leaves slapping the pavement), or the shifty look, JUST to make sure you were in the clear (shit's about to go down).

It's that motherfucking green and yellow box. The one with the colors in it.

Your mother would hold them up in your face day after day, saying something important about each one- but you could give less of a shit really- all you knew was that some you liked more than others, some were sad, some were the same color as Dad's tie and some were the same color as your favorite Hotwheels miniature.

MamaMomMommyMummyDaddy'snewsleepoverfriendSharon- whoever- would lay out big squares of imposing white paper on the floor, over that shitty synthetic carpet. The colors wouldn't work properly there and they always got taken away too quickly.

But then you look around at those warm, crumbling off-white walls (dripping with the last minute plasterputty that clung desperately to the edges of the ceiling trying to cover the cancer inducing asbestos the broker assured your father wasn't there) and you know what must be done.

Sheer passion. Sheer energy. Sheer focus.

The box is ripped open, it's contents strewn across the floor, you observe your magnificent canvas. Without any further ceremony, you start grabbing the colors- some would feel the thin paper wraps of the crayons growing hot in their chubby fists, others' skin would sweat against the thinly lacquered wood of the pencils, and- if you were the king of kings and struck the absolute jackpot that glorious, spectacular afternoon- you were lucky enough to feel the chubby plastic markers slipping between your fingers as you grew tired of standing on your dinner roll sized feet.

But finally,

FINALLY-

there it was.

Your masterpiece.

Unabashedly streaked across the walls the color of off milk.

Beautiful, unreserved, pure imagination.

It simply was what it was,

the most glorious undertaking of that particular day (You had really only lived so many days, you see).

And with that short burst of approval at what you had accomplished (some were not so lucky, their masterpieces ended with shocked gasps somewhere three feet above them, coming out of the bedroom at exactly the wrong moment), you moved on to the next thing.

That's what I think it must feel like for people who can actually draw. There's no recognition of it as art. It's just a natural flow of desiring to create, creating, and then moving on.

WELL I'M JEALOUS.

AND EXHAUSTED.

AND SO SO anxious.

I have to post this so I can remember that it actually happened.

If you tried to bring god into my life, I'd be closer to you, even if it didn't work

it's a very personal, beautiful thing

you have to understand that you accepting me is still so ridiculously weird to me i have to keep checking

and I think that there is some of god in our relationship

because love is the most powerful emotion i've ever felt in my life

it's overwhelming

in a good way

it makes me hurt sometimes

but it's a good hurt

I used to be very, very empty

because my life was mundane

and now that you've come into my life, i've filled this emptiness with you

and it's this

weird, wonderful sensation

when we were together I honestly felt like

the world could fall apart

and I wouldn't care

i'm sorry

im being weird

no you're not

Easier said than done

I've finally acknowledged my mediocrity head on.

I could write you volumes about how I feel:

Each and everyday I find new ways to be disgusted by myself.

Rip a butterfly's wings off and see how long it lives.

Let's see if I can achieve at least one of my fantastic goals by the time I turn 20.

Everything I said I'd never do, I've done now.

Everything I set out to do, has yet to be done.

I've realized that I have a connotation for everything. To make myself comfortable I associate everything I see with memories- sights, feelings, smells, tastes.

People are too demanding; They're so wary of giving love that they refuse to even accept it nowadays.

I'm looking for a job or an internship and I've finally found a focus that I can agree with.

I'm actually the happiest I've ever been in a very long time, the fact that it's too good to be true is the only thing that has me so melancholy.

I just want to design layouts for magazines, write about music culture and be organized for the rest of my life.

I've learned to be laid-back enough to where I'm comfortable with the feeling.

I'm happy.

:D

Ignore this.

Weak people are usually the ones who know exactly what the world is dealing them.

This steady refusal to accept what is real is the only thing keeping most people on some sort of track.

When I say I've "burnt out" I mean I'm exhausted. The day I burn out for real is the day I'm going to disappear. Fade away, melt away, into the wind, like so many leaves, burnt orange by the sun.

Rhythmic prose. I know I messed up. I knew I should have done the History English double major and gone to my pre-law meetings. All my teachers were right about me, I liked making things harder for myself just so I could make myself feel better. And here I am talking about how I'd like to do something perfectly instead of finishing something but doing it half-assed.

My whole life has been half-assed. Why am I so fucking weak?

The apathy is the only indulgence I allow myself so I don't completely crack.

I can't motivate myself.

I'm so scared sometimes of what tomorrow is going to do to me that I don't even want to move. That in this moment- here and now- living, breathing- I'm safe. Untouchable. If I move, if I get up...everything will go wrong.

My mother was right about me. I've spent my whole life waiting for Godot.

Crippling insecurity.

Why won't you leave me?

The boy I'm in love with loves me for me but I don't want him to see me.

He's more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.

Entertaining notions. I smoke a lot. It's a problem now. I like the feeling too much. I didn't know you could feel like that.

I feel so beautiful.

I've never felt beautiful before.

Also this obsession with smoke is becoming a nuisance. I keep burning myself on purpose. Just to see what will happen. Skin blisters in the most appealing way.

Time to go re-watch Red Dragon and hope one day I meet a blind boy to fall in love with.

All my life I wanted to be self-destructive. And here we are.

I don't want

I don't think I want to be touched. For a very long time.

The craving though...hilarious. How do you know what you want when you've never even had it, he said.

I now have 6 journals, 3 Jacobs, 2 Toms, and a very expensive taste for certain herbs.

Remember when the only problem I had was getting my poetry published or finishing Heart of Darkness?

I write too slow to keep up with my brain. I need someone creative enough to keep up with me.

I. I. I. I. I.

There are bracelets to be made, promises to be kept, and people to see. I would much rather vanish.

THRILLS, CHILLS, AND CHEAP PILLS FOR ILL WILL

I want to have purple hair and wear flannel shirts in ugly colors with black jeans and bowler hats, gold jewelry, pocketwatches, bonfire parties, boys who drink cheap beer and smoke good weed, talk about science fiction, dance to bad music, feel my teeth chatter from that good kind of nervous, feel warm at all the right times, never feel anxious about wanting a hug from the boys, listening to Stars while looking at the stars, lying on the roofs of people's cars, running in the streets with sparklers and eating stale candy.

No pumpkin smells, no splintering leaves, no winds that make you want to run inside with your head in your hands.

Purple hair and a gold-studded black leather bag is all I can do, I'm afraid.

While thoughts about touching and telling teachers about toking teem about my mind, I'll tell you this now, Kitty- There are more pills in our future.

Wonderdrugs. 

In Pete Doherty we trust.

Living on short-term solutions.

Jumping on buses, getting off buses, stumbling into streets, occasionally finding the right alley, getting lost, and sitting at the wrong train station.

Littlethingslittlethingslittlethings.

There aren't any ears to listen, no hands to grasp, no arms to fall into.

People who don't deserve anything sure do ask for a lot.

I could listen to Joy Division, stop showing up to class, hang myself from the ceiling, drink protein shakes, and "fight the good fight".

Or I could listen to The Smiths, put on my rings, finish all my work, drink like a fish and tell my mother I love her.

Stereotypical music is going to fuel all your little stereotypical problems.

There's so much Spanglish, vice, and thinking about touching. More than there ever was before. It's no longer detachment but I'm scared of what I gained. My nervous tic, my withdrawal, my anxiety has turned into a P-R-O-B-L-E-M. I need a beige sofa and a nice off-white room to talk to.

I wish I could see people as people and not images of people. But then those are my standards that I'm holding them up to. No one can get over those. Get over those and I can't handle you anymore.

I wish my imaginary friends would come back. They took such good care of me.

How Do You Get Along Sir?

I promised myself this wouldn't happen.

You're like the boys I'd imagine.

The magicians in the movies.

I'm torn between eradicating every trace of you from my life and wanting you to be a part of it.

This isn't even real.

That's how I keep it under control.

I promise myself it isn't real.

I like it best when I'm out of my mind then I can tell you everything.

Olive green dresses, shiny pinned hair, red lips, and pearly white shoulders.

Gold chains.

You're rough. All of the above meeting a jarring black denim and straight jawline.

This is all wrong. Entertaining notions...since when do I entertain notions? I can't even entertain myself.

I hope I can enjoy you for as long as possible. I don't want you to disintegrate, I don't want you to be like the leaves....I want to trust you and I don't want you to change.

But mainly...I just wish I could meet another magician that's so bohemian like you.

THIS HEART'S ON FIRE

-----AN OPEN LETTER TO THE GREAT ONE IN THE SKY-----------

WHY WAS I BORN WITH THESE EXTRASENSORY POWERS, GOD?

WHY DID YOU MAKE ME THIS WAY?

I WISH TO FEEL NO LONGER. I WISH TO BE FREE OF YOUR AMAZING GIFT.

THIS EMPATHY THAT KILLS ME AND MAKES ME CRY.

I TRIED BLOCKING IT OUT.

I DREAM OF NOTHING BUT MY FILTHY SUBCONSCIOUS DESIRES.

THEY TOLD ME I WAS GOING TO BE A GREAT WRITER, BUT I WAS ALWAYS VERBOSE.

GOD, YOU PUT TOO MUCH EMOTION IN ME FOR ME TO NOT BE VERBOSE.

SO I THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME HYPERBOLE.

THANK YOU FOR THE SHUDDERING SIGHS AND THE VULGAR GESTICULATING HANDS YOU GAVE ME.

I would just like some company that I can feel. I would just like to feel some warmth against my skin. Something to distract me. I understand that it's not time yet. But I would like to meet him soon, if possible.

Thank you.

-----------END LETTER--------------

“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.”

—	Arundhati Roy

Would you like to save now and play again later?

This happens a lot. But I finally took the time to type it

Those fabulous twenty-somethings that moved to the city to make it big

dancing down dark alleyways,

covered in glitter and grime and godknowswhatelse.

They collect antiques and burn soy candles that

drip

drip

drip

on to stainless steel tables next to their laptops.

Always choosing the old to make it new,

keeping it classic to keep it cool.

PhotographyModelingActingWritingDesignMusicArtPublishing

The press will say

So much joie de vivre, so much energy and passion,

The headlines will read

NEXTBIGTHING: This year's ingenues and parvenues

You find them all over,

all always alive,

all always alight

burning up the city with

the parties, the noise, the music, the smeared lipstick, and sterling pound coins.

East, West, South

London will follow them wherever they go.

I love my job

they will tell and talk and turn 'round and 'round

till

time

forgets

and those who follow

will remember why they came to London.

I read poetry and do not write it. I am good at nothing- little more.

Ignorance is love and I need that shit

It's really at night when I feel alive. So spacey.

I can feel my thoughts instead of simply having them pass to and fro between my ears.

And now I realize how detached I am from everyone, how removed...watching myself.

When you're addicted to sleeping pills, you realize how weak you really are inside.

It was like that day in 8th grade when I failed my first test on purpose.

All my life they told me I was going to be SOMETHING, do SOMETHING...something AMAZING. I had so much POTENTIAL.

That one little F made me realize how stupid everyone was.

I wasn't anything special and nobody else was either. We just had different ways of whoring ourselves out to the right people until we ended up succesful in one way or another.

I've been taking these little fuckers for almost four years now. Powder blue Lunestas, snow white Ambiens, the lovely little twinkly Xanaxes- no thinking was involved, just sleep.

Have you ever been scared to sleep in your own $2,000 bed?

How when your parents get mad at you, you pretend to be asleep so you don't get in trouble?

Or when you get in trouble for cutting yourself to deal with your problems, so you try to just sleep through it all but can't?

Then I found a solution.

I'm 19 and it's 6AM. I'm drained, physically exhausted- but if I tried to sleep right now I would hyperventilate, cry, and eventually faint and wake up every few hours until my body can't take it anymore.

I have had seizures, spasms in my face muscles, anxiety attacks, nausea, and occasional eye twitches. I don't regret any of it of course, I like blackout sleep. My right eye is twitching right now and I can feel a muscle spasm coming on.

But I feel weak. I have let myself become dependent on something.

I don't want to be dependent on anything more than I have to.

Not on medication, not on drugs, not on my friends, not on a boy, not on anyone.

I'm explaining this on the phone to one of my closest friends who is 17 and idolizes me. She's disgusted (masked with worry, of course), I can hear it in her voice. I don't blame her and I don't really care.

I'm not sad or unhappy. My point is that I don't like being weak. They filled me up with bravado when I was younger- I took care of that. I know I'm not going to get anywhere in life- I'm not stupid. I'm fulfilling my potential best I can.

But now I have this problem (now that I have FINALLY come to terms with it) and I need to get rid of it.

The zine will be starting as soon as school starts.

EMERALD CITY :3

My baby, my breath, all my glittery tears and salty saturated blood will be put into that.

Besides grades and work.

I'm not feeling my major anymore. Art History and Writing or English would be better for me I think.

But it's something I promised myself I would do, and I need to be in control of that.

I'm feeling a little dizzy now. I almost want to wait for Tom to get online.

I hope one day I can meet a boy like him.

Someone who genuinely appreciates all the little things in life, all the beauty.

These boys are little children. They need someone to complete them and feel needed. They need someone else in order to validate their own existence.

Constantly seeking for someone to "love them". Honestly, GET A LIFE. Do something. You'll have something to show for. Develop tastes, fulfill (or at least attempt to fulfill) your potential, go make something of yourself.

YOU are the most important thing YOU have. Not someone else.

It's great if you find someone, many people don't. They even get married and still don't find their true love.

I love everyone. I'm needed by many. I'm blessed with more friends than I can handle and family from three continents.

I have a great sense of self.

I am content but always reaching for more. As it should be.

You know who was cool though? F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife.

Bitch died in a goddamn hospital fire. She died still creating things. Works of art.

I mean how fucking amazing can you get?

I could kick it with Lily Allen

AS FAR AS MY WRITING STYLE GOES,

I'LL LET MY BRO E.E. CUMMINGS SUM IT UP FOR YOU WITH SOME UNRHYMED VERSE:

if feeling is first,

then who pays any attention,

to the syntax of things

...

for life's not a paragraph.

Oh there are so many things coming that no one will see but that I will remember forever.

Here's to you Emerald City, may you live long and prosper.

If for only a year, I will love you as if you had been born in 1973.

Now all I need to do is make a name for myself.

And by that I mean I need to come up with a name for myself.

One not heard in the common cabaret.

something that melts in your mouth and not in your hand

that slides off your tongue but can't be worn out

with some glitter in it that makes you inhale when you think of it

"A well dressed woman is always in love- with herself"

I kept answering questions with "I used to" and "I was into that"

I fell into the little freshman trap that I promised myself I would not fall into.

You know the one where you meet a whole bunch of new friends and get so busy getting acquainted with everyone that you forget about yourself?

As much as I enjoy bro-ing around....

My sister wrote a poem for me when she was 4.

I hung it up in my room and read it everyday.

The last line is

'I just love myself'.

Everything hurts

And it feels so good.

Fuck you, P90x

I went out and did all those stupid ditzy glamorous annoying things I used to do in high school with my family and their friends.

Yeah I felt awkward and didn't fit in with any people. But it was nice just being entertained and being with people who have known me for a while.

Oh and walking around in 4 inch platform heels was also pretty fun ;D

I haven't done that in a while

There's absolutely nothing wrong with who I am. I keep forgetting that.

That's the thing I like best about me. That there's no one like me.

I'm the only me in the entire universe.

Sure there are better, sure I'm not the most unique, most creative, whatever.

But I'm me.

And I think I might have almost achieved what I've wanted since I was 12

I think I am the best me I can possibly be...just by...being...me.

Anyways.

The zine I'm starting...I'm really worked up about it.

I'm trying to compile all my ideas while I'm on this trip so I can act accordingly once I get back.

It's funny because now I have this blog ( I used to hate blogging so much), my Tumblr (I hated tumblr even more- still kind of do), my journal, my commonplace book, and the little notepad I keep in my bag.

But whatever. I'm just so excited that I'm finally actually doing it.

As for why my life has sucked from January to June:

I realize now that I broke some of my biggest rules-

Never talk to people you feel you have to justify yourself for.

Also, never feel you have to do something because everyone else is.

Don't bother with those who can't keep up

and

STAY PARANOID.

I've been listening to so much Kid Cudi lately. I have no idea why I am so impressed with him.

I asked for other opinions, tried to NOT like his music- I just can't.

I guess it's how Rumsha is with Drake. Hmm.

Anyways....

I'm just looking everywhere for inspiration. I'm back to how I always was, looking for new things, soaking up stories.....

Colors magazine is pretty impressive. I'm going to see if I can find more issues before adding it to my favorites list.

These magazines take up a lot of room but I collect and have kept them for a reason.

I like going back through them. I want people to go back through them.

I'll be in England soon. Back where I feel like I fit in the most.

I'll have my flower rings back from last summer. And I can go to Troll and buy more...which I don't need.

I've decided that I'm not going to buy any more necklaces but I want to start dressing like a drag-ed out gypsy again. I thought I looked beautiful. I'm changing my hair too- as soon as school starts so my mom doesn't flip a shit.

I'm just glad that I believe in myself again, love all my quirks again, realized what good things and friends I have.

I am not my parents, I am not my former religion, I am not my culture, I am not my private school education.