dramatically disingenuous.

i came home after work this evening, anxious as i had been before i left. i pride myself in very few things, but one of those things is my ability to seem relatively normal (normal relative to myself, which is abnormal, but not too abnormal). today i had been cleaning my room vigorously, after showering and scrubbing myself vigorously, dancing vigorously around and generally trying to force myself into a better mood. 

feeling anxious, are we?
 my brain had asked me, as i sat on the edge of my bed, chain smoking cigarettes and rereading my many journals. cleaning usually helps, let's try that.

it didn't work. time came to head to work, i chugged 20 oz. of red bull and charged in, wired to the gills and seeming my usual self. giggling, bubbly, full of energy and positive vibes. that's the version of me people know and love. matched a coworker, wit for wit, thrusting and parrying with words like swords. made her laugh. even made some of our patrons smile as i joked with them. left with a grin and a wave, double thumbs up, telling one of my coworkers, see you 'round! then slipping out the door. two jobs, well done, if i do say so myself.

smoked another two cigarettes. got on the train and came home. sang morning theft by jeff buckley as i walked home. showered. which is to say, i stood under the water in a dark bathroom, listening to music play on my cellphone and trying to warm myself up from the outside in. came back to my room where i asked my teddy bears, mice, room in entirety, what the hell is wrong with me? what am i feeling? my eyes partially misty, choking back their own tears, swallowing the frozen lump of sadness congealing in my throat.

the question was rhetorical; the answer was immediate. dramatically disingenuous.

can't be, 
i thought. does that mean what i think it does? or is my mind just fucking with me some more?

googled the definition of disingenuous. (i already know dramatic. re: the scenes of my life, a well scripted live divine comedy.) i saw the following.


not candid or sincere, typically by pretending that one knows less about something than one really does.
insincere, dishonest, untruthful, false, deceitful, duplicitous, lying, 

(then this, the word used in a sentence written almost directly to me)
"that innocent, teary-eyed look is just part of a disingenuous act"

sarcastically, it was very funny.

sadly, it was painfully accurate.

i know what's bothering me, deep down. i know why i've felt uncomfortable in my skin all day. i know what caused the anxiety, the pacing, the chain smoking and agitated finger tapping. i didn't want to admit it. i don't want to admit it. i don't want to face this problem. i want it to take care of itself. it won't and i have to. i know that and i hate it. so i'm pretending i don't know what's going on, which only serves to make me more irritable and anxious because, well, why not just deal with the damn problem? because i am a coward when it comes to my own emotions. and because i won't face them today, tomorrow, or even sunday at this rate. i'm making myself almost quite literally sick. i ask people vaguely what would make me feel better, as if i didn't know myself. i frown and sigh, head tossed back, exhaling warm, gray clouds into the cold, black air.

the not knowing why i'm upset part? that's false. forget being economical with the truth; this is plain old lying.

i'm just being dramatically disingenuous.



long story short


absolutely wild.

i'm about to turn twenty-four in eleven days and my twenty-third year has been the single craziest year of my existence. well, every year gets madder, more unpredictable, somewhat worse from an objective viewpoint. sometimes i'm not even sure it's real. i keep expecting i'll wake up one morning and wooooo it'll all be a really bad dream-- like i've had one too many drinks, popped a stray pill, went on a crazy trip, i don't know-- but it isn't. time has proven that. over and over again. it's all been too real. i want to say it's life, but it's not. it's me. i've always been losing it. now it just affects my life in more obvious ways.

this is what i've been doing.

i go to work in the evenings, some nights. i go to therapy in the mornings, some days. i spend my afternoons reading, journaling, writing music, cuddling with my teddy bears, and recently, watching breaking bad. (i've never seen it before. the violence doesn't do it for me but the philosophical questions it generates excite my brain to no end.) sometimes i stay awake for days, staring out blankly and wondering if i'll ever go through with the suicidal thoughts that flash through my skull. sometimes i sleep all day and can barely get out of bed long enough to brush my teeth. some weeks i eat too much, some weeks i don't eat much at all.

every once in a while, i put my phone on airplane mode so i don't have to talk to anyone. i remember wanting people to talk to for a long time but lately, i just want to be left alone. like, who cares? i have a few people i talk to regularly but mostly, i'm past it.

i have a new boyfriend (or as he would say, manfriend); i call him wolfy because he is. he bites, nibbles, growls. endlessly kinetic and marvelously wise. i don't spend a lot of time with him because he's a busy, busy man, but when i do it's beyond wonderful. more importantly, he's wonderful. he's also 26 years older than me. i wonder how long this will last... hopefully a long time, however foolish that may sound to people. i have a separate boy who's in love with me. (no shortage of those, oddly enough, no matter how hideous i think i am, or how horrible i tell them i am. there's a couple. it's weird.) he's also nice. a cross between a best friend, former lover, and gap filler for the free time in my days. we mostly just get groceries together, play basketball, shoot the shit. there are nights when i miss my wolf and wonder if i should just date this other guy out of convenience (not unlike my first boyfriend). but i wouldn't. it's too easy.

sometimes i look at old posts here and i think to myself, oh wow, i should've probably gotten help for x y or z back then, but haha, i didn't and look at how far i've fallen! it's pretty horrendous. i've slowly watched my mental health grow increasingly worse. i've stood at the edge of the abyss and gazed into my own soul. (dramatic, ain't it.) i still read poetry. i fell in love with a musical, notre dame de paris. i broke a few hearts, even while trying to be gentle with them. hey, you know, i became more honest with people because of this blog. i found out being one hundred percent honest doesn't work as well in real life as it does here. a lot of people like being lied to.

i'll probably be writing here (sporadically or not) until i'm twentyfive flat. maybe twentyseven. maybe even after that. we'll see.

life, hm? the more it seems to change, the more it stays the same. funny. not so funny. has anything really changed here, though? same script, just a different cast.

i feel like i've been spinning in circles, doing donuts and leaving skid marks on the asphalt of a parking lot for the past few years. but even if i was doing great, i don't know if i'd feel like i was making progress. i don't know what i want.

maybe that's the truest thing i've ever said here.




i had a friend call me that the other day. my school presented me with a bouquet of flowers for always singing for them, in spite of my obvious hatred of the place and most of its faculty. i told her when they handed it to me, i frowned in confusion and quickly retreated offstage. part of this was because i don't like attention like that (i never know what to do, obviously) and part of it was because i think almost everything is a trap. well, only when it comes from weird places.

someone being nice to me who used to laugh at me for being short in elementary school? it's a trap.

someone asking me if i'd like to hang out, even though we both know he/she can't stand me? it's a trap.

my mother talking to me in a civil tone? it's a trap.

maybe i shouldn't have read the iliad as a child. this trojan horse mindset isn't helping me relax.

the only reason i'm thinking about this now is because i was watching some old intervention episodes. one of the girls was talking about her relationship with her parents and at one point, she glanced off to the side and whispered, i just want them to love me. it was really heartbreaking. but then i started thinking, do i want my mother to love me? i don't think i care anymore. i definitely want her to stop wearing down at my self-esteem and happiness. (years and years of this kind of treatment, not going to end well.)

maybe it's petty but after a lifetime of all the things she's done and said, if she were to suddenly turn to me and apologize, i'd probably frown and walk away. i'm not saying that's the right thing to do (hypothetically, if there is a right thing to do), but i think i'm starting to realize i'm handling this a lot better than my sister might be. i mean, sure, i basically abuse my body and treat myself like crap ninety percent of the time, but as much as i hate the woman, at least i just avoid her. my sister, on the other hand, still makes these halfhearted attempts to be a good daughter. (they have a better relationship on the surface than me and the ol' egg donor. she buys them tickets to go places.) but they argue a whole lot more. i was talking to my sister on tuesday and she basically looked me in the eyes and said, i'm going to treat her kindly because i don't want to end up like her-- a sentiment i understand all too well-- but i'm on the edge of just beating the shit out of her and calling it a day. i'm tired of all of this. i didn't say anything to the last part because it seemed a little extreme to me, but hey, i've been there before. i can't judge her.

either way, i think i realized today that my mother has done so much damage to our relationship that even if she tried to fix it now, she would have to be on her best behavior for the rest of her life for me to attend her funeral for any reason besides making sure she's dead. no matter what she does, or how many times she pretends to be a good mother, i just don't think i care about having a biological mother anymore. i collect older women/mother figures like otakus collect figurines.

am i petty? maybe. but like my sister emphatically told me, it was a learned thing. we weren't always like this.

we used to be more forgiving.



here come the blues.

if i had to describe where i am in the year, i'd put it this way.

the period of time between april thirteenth and june fourth was akin to the top of a hill. my life (heavy and hard) is a boulder, and i suppose that makes me sisyphus. of course, just as i had started to foolishly believe that maybe, just maybe, this time i would make it to the top of the hill, that boulder just started to roll back down.

and here we are, with me sitting atop this boulder, head in my hands, sighing deeply. deplorable wretch that i am.

perhaps the only person in the world whose low opinion of me rivals my own low opinion of myself is my egg donor. lately, it seems that with everything going on in my life, her opinion of me gets worse and worse. the worse it gets, the more verbally and emotionally abusive she becomes. and the more that happens, the more i hate myself.

someone said you've made it through every bad day you've ever had-- 100% success rate!

nick drake knows though. it's not so simple as that.

here comes the long, lonely...

here come the blues.



nature boy.

foolish, foolish, foolish girl that i am. despite all my best efforts, my emotions always get the better of me. i've tried, tried, and tried some more. done everything i possibly could, yet this boy worms his way into my heart. carelessly. innocently. and so naturally, as if there were no other option for the two of us but to like each other. he doesn't make me feel out of control, like some others did, or freeze when i'm talking to him unexpectedly. from the first day, we were comfortable with each other.

maybe too comfortable. (who's to say for sure?)

at first, we were just getting to know each other better. then all of a sudden, it was him, meeting my friends and immediately impressing them with his charm. it was me, meeting his mother quite by accident and somehow impressing her with my friendliness. it was the two of us, spending time together. usually, as a result of him. (wanting to watch a movie. play uno. go to an open mic together.) occasionally, as an odd favor to me. (borrowed a guitar capo. needed a bike pump, tonight. once, just for a bear hug and an iced coffee.) sometimes just as a result of us wanting to see each other. (him: reading a scary story, playing a song on the guitar, telling me about his family. me: explaining how i feel music, reverently whispering about jeff buckley, delicately running my fingers through his hair and beard.) he offers to do things for me. drive me places, pick things up, drop things off. and me? i'm not even trying. i'm not even sure what i'm doing around him most of the time. i don't think i've done anything for him. he says my presence is more than enough. (who could believe such a thing?)

i remember the way he looked at me steadily, seriously, confidently as he said, i totally like you, just a week into our friendship. the way i nervously, hesitantly, bashfully mumbled back that i liked him too. we marveled over how open we felt with each other, how genuine, how relaxed. we've seen each other every week since we met. we've spoken almost every day since then. we talk about real things. we agree on important things. we share an odd, off kilter sense of humor. we treat each other with respect.

paradox that i am, i'm both enamored and terrified. his girlfriend broke up with him the day we met. (maybe these details are too detailed... oh well.) at first, as i voiced my apprehensions, he'd tell me, the universe is always at work. then over time, as reality sunk in (reality being that he was very recently single), he began to take time to puzzle things through and really get in touch with his feelings. and me? i took the part of myself that was getting lost in the moment and locked her away. or at least i thought i did.

perhaps the worst part of this is that no matter how hard we both try to keep this friendship casual (and, as per his tortured request, rated PG), there's something there. i don't remember this happening before. clicking with someone, agreeing with someone, feeling so comfortable with someone so quickly. let me clarify-- without alcohol. i've become a creature haunted by fears. a fear of not getting a job soon enough. a fear of the outcome of my court date in a month or so. a fear that his mother will invite me to their fourth of july barbecue. a fear that i'll live in this house longer than my mind can handle. a fear that i'll hurt or be hurt by this strange, strange boy.

he might be the only person in existence who's able to ask me to do things i'd normally not be comfortable with and have me say yes, albeit reluctantly. out at a diner once, before watching a movie together, he invited me to try an appetizer. i did. (i don't remember the last time i tried a new dish before that.) the other night, showing me a fishing rod he had bought, he asked me if i'd like to go fishing with him sometime. i said yes. i have absolutely no interest in fishing. or i suppose, i didn't before this. to his credit, he seems to be sincerely pleased with me, though i can't begin to understand why. and me?

i just hope my mind figures this out before my heart gets any more tangled up in blue.