Cerebral Buffet

If you had to give up one favorite food, what would the most difficult?

2011-07-27T19:20:00.001-04:00

Any meat product, really.

Tell it to me straight, doc, is it serious?

formspring.me

2011-07-19T12:04:00.001-04:00

Tell it to me straight, doc, is it serious? http://formspring.me/chikadee

formspring.me

2011-07-07T05:11:00.001-04:00

Tell it to me straight, doc, is it serious? http://formspring.me/chikadee

formspring.me

2011-07-05T20:20:00.001-04:00

Tell it to me straight, doc, is it serious? http://formspring.me/chikadee

formspring.me

2011-06-30T17:47:00.001-04:00

Tell it to me straight doc, is it serious? http://formspring.me/chikadee

formspring.me

2010-05-22T17:51:00.001-04:00

Tell it to me straight, is it serious? http://formspring.me/chikadee

Verizon FiOS and the Future of Telecommunications: Part 1-Introduction

2010-02-17T19:50:00.004-05:00

Look at those beautiful fucking cables.

When I worked for Verizon doing tech support I learned a lot in training. I thought it was just fluff about the company but my trainer threw in a lot of extra knowledge. You may not think you pay attention or remember stuff but you’d be surprised. I got into a discussion with my boyfriend about internet speeds. And out of nowhere I went on this rant about the major ISP companies and where they’re at and where I predict they will be. It was a pretty awesome conversation and I’m going to reformat it into something coherent instead of conversation form. So, here we go.

One of the things I learned was the current cap speed. At the flip of a switch, all ISPs could turn on 50 gb/s. That’s a shit ton. A huge ass shit ton. But they don’t. And why don’t they? Because they need to stay at the top of the competition; if it was at 50 gigs right now they would lose money. They would compete by making the lowest price. And that makes no sense. So, the cap right now is 50 mb/s for business customers only with Verizon FiOS. Again, BUSINESS ONLY. That’s a lot. I didn’t take business calls, I only took the residential ones. But their business service was pretty solid.

Right now FiOS is only in the east and west coast and a few more densely populated states across the US. The east and west coast are the most tech intensive. California, Oregon, New York; all that shit is crazy influential in the entire tech industry and everything else in culture from fashion to medicine. Silicon Valley, Portland for more indie culture, New York for fashion and the arts; FiOS is in places that need it the most to spread everything. But that’s a whole other topic on the culture and subcultures in American and the exported industries in our culture.

Anyway, Verizon is mainly putting down their new FiOS in new developments. It makes sense for starting off. See, there’s a thing called POTS: Plain Old Telephone Service. That’s your old school copper. And that’s just the phone, the internet is something entirely separate. Your cable and your dial up. Man, people still use dial up. The television, telephone, and internet all go through the same bunch of cables into what’s called the OLT. That’s Optical Line Terminal. That’s the box between your house and the CO, the Central Office. The ONT then transmits the shit through just a few thin fiberglass cables. That’s the fiber optic part. Clear fiberglass is melted down and formed into flexible wires. It’s pretty neat. So that then goes into the ONT, which is the Optical Network Terminal. It’s the same thing as the phone box on your house or whatever but a lot different. Inside the ONT is a backup battery and then the other plug ins for the other services.

Up next I talk about exactly why FiOS isn't absolutely everywhere.

Anhedonia

2009-11-24T10:39:00.005-05:00

hedonist - noun
a person whose life is devoted to the pursuit of pleasure and self gratification

anhedonia - noun
lack of pleasure or of the capacity to experience it

About a month before he left me things began to get stale. They probably began to get stale long before that but hindsight is showing me severe boredom around December. Tony moved in with us in September. ~~The sex was semi-~~ Scratch that the sex was never good. I have nothing wrong with bisexuals but this boy was effeminate as all hell. If the Devil was a full on gay just like in South Park he would be gay as hell. He was more gay than straight. I was the first girl he ever dated and had ever been with sexually. He was hands down a textbook definition of twink.

Twink or twinkie is a gay slang term describing a young or young-looking gay man (usually white and in his late teens or early twenties) with a slender build, little or no body hair, and no facial hair

He wasn't a bimbo by any means but hot damn he got mistaken for a woman. I'm a tomboy. I enjoy sports, cars, getting down and dirty, bugs, I sit like a dude, I enjoy belching out loud, I hate wearing skirts and dresses. He didn't mind wearing skirts and dresses, enjoyed wearing makeup, and was absolutely terrified of bugs in his hair. I'm 5'11, he was 5'6. I could beat him up badly. Like I said before, I have no issues at all with bisexual men. Not at all. They're just not great boyfriend material when they're more girly than me.

Anyway, everything was routine. Wake up, sit in front of the TV, read magazines (me) or be on my computer while he watched the news. At night we would watch Olberman and Maddow then he would go to bed and I would stay up a little longer. If I was lucky he would stay up and we would watch the late night shows. I'm a sex fiend. But he was the one to always say, "No not tonight, honey." I tried making movies. I eventually gave up. I gave the fuck up. If I felt the need I would just go to the basement bathroom with a blanket and my laptop and take care of it with myself. I should have known that once the sex stopped that was when things were ending. His reason for breaking up with me was he was getting back into hold habits. I don't completely understand, still, what that means. His old habits were, supposedly, that I became his absolute everything and he stopped giving a fuck about anything else. Which is understandable that that is indeed a horrible thing.

7 years. 7. Fucking. Years. It was long distance up until he moved in with us. As of January of this year I've finally come out of my shell. I was completely broken around June or July with my first one night stand. I of course thought something more would come of it but nothing did. Which is fine. Since then I've experimented with finding all the things that I enjoy. My sense of humor, the horrible things I enjoy, smoking and drinking, and lots of sex. As of this moment in time I do not wish to be in a relationship. It would feel incredibly wrong. I would feel trapped. I feel like it is in more in me to be with multiple people. I joke that I am a selective slut. But I am. I wouldn't have sex with someone I met at a fucking party. I enjoy being with people that enjoy not only my company and friendship but my physical/sexual company as well.

It's not just the sex that I enjoy. I greatly enjoy smoking marijuana. It helps a lot when I'm in a mania Bipolar stage and it's fun. I enjoy getting slightly tipsy, as well. I refuse to get drunk. I will never, ever, get completely shitfaced. I have to have control. And contrary to popular belief I do have control of myself when I am high and I do remember what I did.

I enjoy my life. I am pretty relatively satisfied. Yes there are many things I would like to change and the mental health issue is dealt with as it comes up.

After 7 years of oppression, I love life. He matured very quickly. We used to have a lot of fun and a lot of laughs. We shared the same offensive humor for a while. A year later he changed. He did a 180. He was Mr. Serious and didn't like me being fun and boisterous out in public. I'm glad he is now out of my life. I do wonder from time to time how he is doing. But it is not of great importance to me. I will not go back to him. Those 7 years was very on and off but it off for good. He was not and is not good for me. I believe I wish him well and there are still bitter feelings but he deserves a well off life just like any other person.

I enjoy the pursuit of pleasure.

I Will Be My Own Mental Health Advocate

2009-10-22T15:47:00.002-04:00

I will no longer be silent. I will give the stupid psychiatrists a piece of my mind. I know my moods, I know my Bipolar. I know what has worked and what hasn't. You have met with me once and you think I should be on Lithium when Depakote, although different, made me worse. You want to decrease the Effexor when the last time I was in the hospital they increased it and I felt fantastic.

Doctor: Okay, we can try decreasing the Lamictal first, if that doesn't work we'll put you on Lithium. I also recommend we decrease the Effexor. Does that sound fair?

Me: No.
Ms. Prissy pants looks taken aback a slight bit and starts writing on her little paper.

Doctor: Why not?

Me: Because the Lamictal and Effexor have been the one combination that has worked for me for years. I do not want to go on Lithium at all. I am very aware of my moods and my Bipolar. It's now just a case of maintaining and working more on separating the logic from the emotions.

Doctor: Alright, well you may not think it would work but I would like to decrease the Effexor at some point.

She's a fake blonde, she has fashion and women magazines in her office, she is weird and disconcerting and I cannot relate with her at all. She also always has to go talk to her supervisor at the end of the session. I'm not sure she knows quite well what she's doing. I'm not going to be a doctor's plaything anymore. I know what works for me. I am not a psychiatrist but I know myself well enough. She also said something about how all of her patients that are on Lithium are doing well. Whenever doctors say "all of my patients" and then a very popular medication and about how they're all doing great makes me nervous. Look, I'm sure it works greeeaaattt for some people. But I'm pretty damn in control. I'm doing damn well better than I used to be. I will not be another statistic on whether or not some popular medication works. You are the doctor, yes. You know the chemistry. But I know myself, and I know my moods. I've only seen you once and you don't know the first thing about my fucking history.

Hating Michael Moore is Universal

2009-10-22T01:33:00.002-04:00

I was helping a friend figure out ideas for a research paper and it's only when I'm trying to make friends laugh that my amazing writing skills and sense of humor finally come out full force. She needs to write a 6 page argumentative essay on current events. I suggested the health care reform and this is where my madness started. I should also note she is a flaming Christian Conservative and we've been friends since I was like 7:

You could definitely talk about the health care reform; compare it with Canada's and England's. Even attempt to possibly get through Michael Moore's "Sicko" without throwing your shoe at the TV.

Lovely Lady Friend: Had to watch it already for a class.

I'm sorry.

LLF: Me too. I could write about him.

I mean dang, I'm a liberal hippie but that dude even gives liberals a bad name. By the end you would have abused and dried up all the negative adjectives even in the OED that you'd resort to ending with, "and that's why he's a stupid poopy head." That'd be an epic essay. By the end your thesaurus would actually be bleeding ink from being used so often. You'd probably end up coming up with so many new adjectives that if the OED even tried to deny your words you'd still be so pent up with rage at his ugly fat ginger face with that crappy grin you'd like burst into flame. So the OED would cower under your prowess with the English language and grant you whatever word you wanted.

LLF: That would be pretty cool, I'm not going to lie.

Your essay would strike chords with so many people. It would spread all across the world and Michael Moore would try to hide out in UC Berkeley but even those potheads don't like him. He'd have nowhere left to go. The Westbourough Baptist Church would already have a pile of stick all set up for him that had been getting dusty over the years. Those are guys are evil and we all hate them, but I think hating Michael Moore is one thing everyone can agree on except severe left sided hippies that are so far to the left they would end up on the right side.

So yeah, I'd definitely go with the health care reform part. I think researching Canada and England's side would be great. I'd also research into Stephen Hawking's quote that if it weren't for their health care system he wouldn't be alive today.

The Lonely Little Fellow and the White Wolf Cub

2009-10-20T23:18:00.000-04:00

Deep in the woods of Arkansas a lonely little fellow walks along a winding path. This little fellow carries a stick with a skull on it and he waves it around like a magic wand.

"What are you doing lonely little fellow?" asks the small white fluffy wolf cub following behind.

"I'm cursing this forest so that none of the bullies will ever get to me ever again no matter how hard they tried!" replied the fellow.

"But lonely little fellow, that skull; that skull is from the body of a cat. Why have you killed and beheaded this little cat? Why have you skinned it to make a wrist band? There is still blood dripping off of that piece of fur. Little boy, why did you eat the flesh of the cat raw?" the wolf club queried.

"Because I will be a serial killer when I grow up..." appearing behind the little boy with a dark sheen surrounding him is the Older Boy. This Older Boy is 23. The little fellow is 13. "In 3 months I will kill a dog. In one year I will kill a calf. In 3 years I will break the arm of a younger boy. In 5 years I will kill a woman. In 5 years and one month I will kill again. Each month after that I will keep killing. Once I turn 22 I will have been caught in the act of defiling a dead girl's body in front of her father and mother who are hanging by a rope with a table under their feet. They watch in horror as I grab their daughter's flesh and eat it. The younger sister will come in and hit me on the head with a frying pan. I will grab her by her ankles and punch her in the stomach. I will begin to rape her. 5 minutes into my penis being inside her virgin vagina I will get shot in the leg by a police officer..."

"At 25 I will be put in a state prison mental institution. I will be diagnosed with many different illnesses. I will snap into a different brain. I will no longer be Lonely Little Fellow or Older Boy. I will be God. I will trick the nurses and the doctor. I will be set free at 26 when I am seen fit to go back into life after a doctor's recommendation of how my sanity has returned and I am no longer a threat," an older man with shaggy jet black hair and arms of tattoos and a face full of piercings kneels down next to the wolf cub, I will live with my parents for a while. I live in a basement. They lock me in there. They are afraid of me. And they should be. In one more year I will have killed my parents, my siblings, and all of our pets. I will fry the fish and give it to the cat. I will fry the cat and give it to the dog. I will fry the dog and have a wonderful thanksgiving feast."

"At 35 I will finally be caught for good. At this point in time I have murdered 100 adults, 25 children, and at least 200 animals..." a body of charred flesh steps in front of the boy. He is sloughing off pieces of flesh, dripping fluid. He smiles and lips crack as a mouth of nothing opens. He laughs, it sounds like a fire crackling. "I will finally be executed. They electrocute me but things go awry and the room burns down. I burn and burn and burn. I never stop burning."

The three men start laughing simultaneously and they disintegrate into a flurry of ash that flutters around the lonely little fellow and he dances in a circle flailing the stick with the cat's head around. He laughs and the white fluffy wolf cub howls out in distress. He wishes he could end this boy. He wishes he could prevent this.

The boy takes a deep breath and his lungs are filled with the ash of his future selves. He picks up a large rock and bashes the little wolf cub's head in. The wolf cub stares off blankly as the bright blue of his eyes slowly clouds with blood turning them a dark purple. A little boy's hand scoops out the eye and bites into it.

"Plech," the little boy says as he tosses the eyeball aside...

Failure to Disaster

2009-10-15T05:23:00.004-04:00

I'm attempting to move back to Arizona. I'm afraid I won't have the money. I sent my mom an e-mail basically asking if I can take from my college fund so I can get the fuck back there. I'm so lost. I applied for ASU and U of A and I don't know how to go about doing shit. I feel like so much fucking shit right now. I know my fucking moods have been pretty off kilter recently and I think my work schedule is starting to fuck shit up. Well not starting, it is fucking shit up.

I work from 5:30 PM to 2 AM. I wake up around 3:30 PM. I get home at around 2:30 AM. I stay up until at most 9 AM. I can only get morning doc appointments. With my Seroquel it knocks me the fuck out. And my sleep schedule is so fucked that even though I would take my Seroquel at a reasonable time I still probably wouldn't fall asleep until like 5AM.

I feel like a failure. I feel like I've lost direction. I know what I want to do. I just don't know how to get there. I know what I want to major in, I know where I need to be.

My brain feels muddled again. I got out of the hospital in June and I felt clear-headed. I felt great. I could finally think again. I could separate thoughts. And now my brain is starting to cloud over again...

I just fixed my medication. I felt absolutely wonderful up until about last month. And since then I've been going downhill. I know I'm more than likely not in the right mental state at this moment in time to move. But I want to. I need to.

My highs and lows aren't worse, they're just more frequent. They're not as extreme, but the rapid cycling is back. It's like they're trying to push further into the extreme but there's a cap.

One thing I absolutely positively hate is when I get depressed and I feel helpless. Somehow I feel like I'm back in middle school when this whole bipolar shit first started. It's a horrible demeaning, belittling feeling. I feel young and helpless. I feel pointless. I know in reality on the outside my middle school years weren't THAT bad. I had friends and I hung out with them and I know I smiled and had fun because they told me. I have no memories of any of this, though. I only remember the shit. I only remember the clouded brain. It was like my brain was seething and writing in a jar of black muck. The jar is my skull and the black much got thicker and thicker the more I got depressed.

I know my mom knows I'm not ready to move. And I know I'm probably not either. But like earlier in the year when I forced myself out of my shell and into a social life...I feel like my umbilical cord finally needs to be broken.

I often find myself thinking, "Oh I want to die". It feels facetious. I don't want to die die. I just want to escape. I want to escape into a dream world where everything will be right. I just want to change a few things and live in that reality. I want to take an electrified metal wand of some sort and stick in my air and zap my brain. I want to lay on the carpet and have my brains seep out. When They come to pick me up, I want my head to be lifted up, my eyes blank and open, sticky pink strings of brain liquid coming up with me along with carpet fibers and crumbs and bedbugs.

This isn't what I want. That's what I see. What I imagine. And my body is there. But my brain is gone. My brain is somewhere else. My brain is in another me. In another reality. Where everything will be back on track again. It's not that I want to change things extremely. I'm very happy with my life in general. I just wish I had a clear head again.

I want to be able to plan. To think logically. I don't want to get too stressed out anymore. I don't want to nearly cry at work. I don't want to hate myself. I don't want to be disgusted with myself.

It's a constant battle. There's hurdles that I have to jump. And sometimes I trip over them. Those make me feel like the finish line is so much farther away. And then I get back up and continue running. Then the finish line looks closer. And then out of fucking nowhere comes a hurdle. If I'm able to jump it then that's good. If I trip again...I deal with it.

It's the worst feeling when you want to cry. Your eyes feel sore. You can feel the emotional pain pressing against your eyeballs. Yelling at your tear ducts to release their fucking fluid. My eyes would burst and just a wave, a gush of salty water would come out. Come falling down my face. There would be no blood. Just water. Empty sockets like caves in which waterfalls come down. Empty sockets that just dribble out some more water. They're scabbed black. Everything is covered again. Everything is clouded over. Can't see, obviously. And then at the bottom of the socket there's a little white dot. New eyeballs growing in where the old ones were. They grow and grow and fill the old holes. If you looked on the opposite side you'd see wooden planks building a levy. No more tears. No more tears. Not by the hair on my eyebally eyeballs.

It all bursts again. And each time there's a small jump in the brain. It ruins a week or so. Depression. And then it goes okay again.

This was rambling. I don't expect any of it to make sense. It did to me. And that's all that matters.

Skinned-Knee Generation

2009-10-04T03:16:00.005-04:00

So, I lived in Tempe, AZ before we moved to Ohio. I went to Kindergarten up through Sophomore year of high school. Met a lot of people, made a lot of friends, lost a lot of friends. I look on Facebook now and it just fucking freaks me out to see all these dudes grown up. Like the kids I helped out in this little afterschool program thing, seeing them with their fucking douche-pouts and cunt-lips and tits hanging out. (Okay not cunt-lips, but still, they're all whores.)

My favorite part (but so not really) of living in Tempe/Phoenix/Mesa (that area) the cool thing was for white chicks to act either Mexican or Black. It was amazing. And I fucking hate the crunchy curly hair style. That's just fucking unnatural and ugly. But we did have the Sharpie'd on eyebrows and the fucking ghetto glamour shots. Soooo many fucking ghetto glamour shots. I fucking loved those shits because they made everyone look sooo whorish.

Also, I grew up in the 90s/2000s. So keep that in mind too. Middle school started for me in 2002, that was 6th grade. 6th through 8th grade were fucking shit. So that's 2002-2005. High school for me was 2005-2007 and I went to online school around then.

Allow me to rant again for one moment: My generation (I was born in 1990. 1991 and 1992 apply, as well) was the last fucking generation to be raised without a care. The anti-bullying shit started my 8th grade year so maybe it is only 1990/1991, but whatever. Kids today, so afraid to play contact sports on the playground and shit. Fucking bullllshit.

I also found a picture of me from the opening dance at the beginning of the year, and I look gorgeous. I think I weighed between 160-180. I know I was a size 16 (I think) but my face looked thinner than it is today. And I looked very very pretty. I was in a toga 'cause the theme was Olympic Games (2004, we started school in August). I also won Best Female Toga and I see why now, I don't know if it was my mom or my sister but whoever fashioned the sheets into a toga did a damn good job because it looked great. The front of it gathered perfectly. 2004 was when things kinda started to look up but just barely. 2005 I went to the hospital but I was starting to come out of my shell a bit more. I know I was out of the goth-makeup phase (Mom, please correct me if I'm wrong) and more into the punk-phase. And by out of the goth-makeup phase I think I mean more emo. I was wicked emo when I was younger.

Anwhoo, onto the pointless conversation.

3:09:30 AM Rachel: dude
3:09:43 AM Rachel: we grew up with some with some fucking white trash motherfuckers
3:09:46 AM Rachel: you know that, right?
3:09:52 AM Dylan: yeah

3:11:05 AM Rachel: im tempted to pull out my yearbook
3:11:08 AM Rachel: you got one handy?
3:11:15 AM Dylan: idk where it is
3:11:23 AM Dylan: i put it somewhere one time i was high

3:19:11 AM Dylan: LMAO THERES A PICTURE OF SOMEONE HANGING IN MY YEARBOOK
3:19:17 AM Rachel: wtf
3:19:21 AM Rachel: did someone draw that shit?
3:19:21 AM Dylan: a stick figure
3:19:22 AM Dylan: but still

3:27:40 AM Rachel: apparently, in 2005, my favorite TV shows, movies, and videso were: LOTR-Series
3:27:48 AM Dylan: nice
3:27:50 AM Dylan: i like that
3:27:55 AM Dylan: lotr is awesome
3:28:23 AM Rachel: My favorite things this year cost me: CDs=14-20 and up movie tickets: 4-6 (student discount dudes)
3:28:46 AM Rachel: i couldnt get enough: hershey's cookies and creams, string cheese, and onion rings
3:28:55 AM Dylan: lmao
3:29:15 AM Rachel: the things i did that im most proud of were: dances, overcoming hospital
3:29:15 AM Dylan: yeah mine is blank
3:29:26 AM Rachel: lolololol omfg the dances were a landmark because i was such a social fucking mess
3:29:46 AM Rachel: my favorite bands were: weezer, cake, mae, chumbawumba, the postal service, reel big fish
3:29:49 AM Rachel: that shit hasnt changed yo
3:29:54 AM Dylan: i think ive always been social

(My middle school had different teams for differnet groups of teachers. Our school colors were Purple and Gold so those were the teams)
3:39:10 AM Rachel: purple team was full of white trash
3:39:20 AM Rachel: gold team was like all the hard ass stand up honor roll kids
3:39:23 AM Dylan: purple team was troublesome
3:39:29 AM Rachel: lol
3:39:30 AM Rachel: yup
3:39:34 AM Rachel: and i was on it
3:39:42 AM Dylan: i was content with gold

(Name omitted of whatever chick we were talking 'bout)
3:40:58 AM Rachel: i think she sat with us at the retard-outcast table

3:52:57 AM Rachel: OH THAT JESSICA
3:53:01 AM Rachel: she was awesome dude
3:53:07 AM Dylan: yeah
3:53:26 AM Rachel: it was like her, rene, alicia, you, and me
3:53:34 AM Dylan: darcie
3:54:13 AM Rachel: yeah
3:54:16 AM Dylan: but usually we had to conjunction ourselves with the nerds because there werent free tables
3:54:21 AM Rachel: lolol
3:54:25 AM Rachel: and the retards sometimes too
3:54:33 AM Dylan: yeah

4:00:21 AM Dylan: i think i know why i did so bad in high school
4:00:28 AM Rachel: yeah?
4:00:38 AM Rachel: i did so bad cause i stopped giving a shit, basically
4:00:41 AM Rachel: i half-assed everything
4:00:43 AM Dylan: indeed
4:01:03 AM Dylan: well thats how it was when i went to mhs
4:01:12 AM Dylan: but when i went to florence it just bored me to tears
4:01:17 AM Rachel: damn
4:01:25 AM Dylan: i knew everything those fags were trying to teach me
4:01:40 AM Dylan: so i didnt do work, but i couldnt go to honors because i was failing
4:01:53 AM Dylan: so i just quit

4:06:42 AM Rachel: allen-mike
4:06:46 AM Rachel: wtf is that shit?
4:07:06 AM Rachel: the 7th graders were the start of the generation of soccer moms giving their kids lame ass names
4:07:21 AM Rachel: and our generation was the last to be raised in school as non-pussies
4:07:41 AM Rachel: we should call ourself the skinned-knee generation instead of the y-generation or whatever the fuck it is we are

BibleChucks, Bitches!

2009-10-04T02:49:00.004-04:00

So, my gaming group pretty much persecuted me tonight with their religious talk. I was talking with my good old buddy Dylan about it here and I don't feel like typing it all out so I'm just going copy and paste our awesome conversation.

2:48:28 AM Dylan: hello
2:48:33 AM Rachel: hi
2:48:39 AM Dylan: whats up?
2:49:13 AM Rachel: writing down ways i can defend myself against the highly religious right-wing farm town that i live in and the people im surrounded by at work
2:49:38 AM Dylan: ah i see
2:49:46 AM Rachel: yes
2:49:48 AM Dylan: use their text as a weapon
2:49:52 AM Dylan: if that doesnt work, nothing will
2:49:59 AM Rachel: along with my views on Obama, i gotta learn that shit too
2:50:00 AM Dylan: BIBLE CHUCKS
2:50:36 AM Rachel: i mean columbus is a lovely town and full of awesome shit
2:50:39 AM Rachel: but where i work...
2:50:43 AM Rachel: lots of nerds
2:50:48 AM Rachel: but lots of white trash idiots too
2:50:56 AM Rachel: and my gaming group, theyre all christian
2:51:06 AM Dylan: i hate where i live
2:51:21 AM Rachel: we got in a little argument tonight. the dm kept asking me questions and i kept trying to tell him EVERYTHING is relative, that NOTHING is really true
2:51:29 AM Rachel: and that i dont care what happens to me after i die
2:51:39 AM Rachel: afterlife is a null point
2:51:44 AM Rachel: i live in the here and now
2:52:02 AM Rachel: and i said im completely fulfilled and happy with my life without needing a false deity to fill my with his love
2:52:09 AM Rachel: *me
2:52:20 AM Dylan: im not happy with my life at all :L
2:52:29 AM Rachel: and he asked me what if you found out everything you ever believed in wasnt true?
2:52:33 AM Rachel: and i said, thats fine
2:52:39 AM Rachel: and he asked, wouldnt you want to know the truth?
2:52:50 AM Rachel: and i responded with, "nope"
2:53:02 AM Dylan: haha
2:53:35 AM Rachel: because i know that what i believe (which is science, chaos, and the natural order of this physical world and human beings and animals and what not) is the truth TO ME
2:53:41 AM Rachel: EVERYTHING is fucking relatively
2:53:45 AM Rachel: *relative
2:54:08 AM Dylan: at least you know where you stand
2:54:16 AM Rachel: and he kept asking me all this questions
2:54:20 AM Dylan: i sit here dumbfounded and i cant make up my damn mind like some kind of retard
2:54:31 AM Rachel: i really felt like i was being persecuted
2:54:56 AM Rachel: he asked me what i believe happens in the afterlife
2:55:02 AM Rachel: and i told him there is a number of possibilities
2:55:20 AM Rachel: i said, "reincarnation, heaven/hell, spirits, ghosts, all that stuff"
2:55:32 AM Rachel: and then he preceded to ask me what happened with each one
2:56:03 AM Rachel: "so what happens when youre reincarnated, what do you think youll be reincarnated as?" me: "i haven't done enough research to know"
2:56:07 AM Rachel: same with all the other stuff
2:56:16 AM Rachel: its not my religion, i havent researched it
2:56:22 AM Rachel: i told him allll beliefs are fucking relative
2:56:37 AM Rachel: and then i said that the bible is basically a book, fiction or not, whatever
2:56:39 AM Rachel: we dont know
2:56:45 AM Dylan: that would piss me off
2:57:01 AM Rachel: and he said something about how we document things that are true on paper
2:57:17 AM Rachel: and i said but a fiction book is on paper and it could be hocked as true
2:57:45 AM Rachel: and then one of the other dues said something about we could just as easily say the holocaust never happened
2:58:07 AM Rachel: that kinda put a twang in my heart but i said "yeah but theres pictures. but those pictures could be fabricated just as well"
2:58:08 AM Dylan: people do say the holocaust never happened
2:58:11 AM Rachel: i know
2:58:24 AM Dylan: its whack
2:58:24 AM Rachel: and then one of the other dudes said "yeah and the moon landing never happened"
2:58:30 AM Rachel: and i said "it really didnt, you know"
2:58:41 AM Rachel: so yeah, i need to beef up my shit
2:58:49 AM Rachel: cause these fucking punks are starting to piss me off
2:58:53 AM Dylan: i think they pre-recorded it so they could stream it simultaneously to the country
2:59:02 AM Dylan: srsly, get biblechucks
2:59:17 AM Dylan: no one will fuck with you if you use their sacred texts to just destroy their faces
2:59:33 AM Dylan: i think
2:59:43 AM Dylan: i mean, i dont have personal experience.
2:59:46 AM Rachel: you mean bible chick cartoons?
3:00:00 AM Dylan: no nunchucks with bibles on each end
3:00:05 AM Rachel: ...oh
3:00:09 AM Rachel: AWESOME
3:00:16 AM Dylan: i concur

So, I'm pretty sure I'm an Atheist, now. I mean, check out Discordianism, that shit is like my true religion but quite honestly, this whole "g-d" (Gotta appease the Jew in me, sorry) shit is just whack.

Am I Cool, Yet?

2009-08-16T10:50:00.003-04:00

I've always wondered how siblings can be so completely different. On complete opposite ends of the spectrum. We started similar, kind of. Maybe not. I know have a very distorted memory of the past. I used to beat up my sister. I used to want to hang out with her and her friends 'cause they were so cool. When I finally got into punk music in 5th grade she was starting her freshman year of high school. I thought her and my bro-in-law were so fucking punk rock and so fucking cool. And Mormon. I never felt really normal at the church. During Sunday school I zoned out all the god damn time. The only time I listened and participated was when there was candy being passed out for answering it correctly. One thing that sticks out in my mind is when we finally learned about the 3 planet shit. It was either planets or like different spots of Heaven? I don't even fucking remember. What I do remember is thinking "Maybe it's just a story. This can't really be what they believe in." I'm not as angry anymore at my sister and what she's chosen for her life. I mean, I've got a wonderful nephew, another one on the way, a fucking awesome brother-in-law. When I used to spaz out in anger when I thought of what Sarah used to want to be in high school, my mom says that I hold her up to impossible standards. I accept that that's probably true. But still...

When I was 13, about 7th grade, that was when I really started trying out new religions. Satanism, Wicca, Paganism, fuck I even researched Druidism. I was all into that crap for a while. I don't remember if there was a specific incident that made me stop believing. But I never really believed it in the first place. It was just this place I was forced to go to every Sunday and listen to bullshit all day. It was so fucking boring. And then going to Sunday school was worse. There was one specific song that always made me cry. What I remember, "Mother dear I love you so your happy smiling face is such a joy to look at it makes home a lovely place" Now, first off, "It makes home a lovely place" That's their bullshit of saying women stay at home. But I'm pretty sure it was the separation anxiety that made me cry every time we sang that song. And then we went off to our little group. They had us sectioned off by ages. I always felt awkward and out of place.

So, once I hit 13, I stopped going to those stupid Young Women's meetings and crap. It never sat well with me. I don't want tobe Holly Homemaker. I want to get a degree, I want to have an awesome job. I don't even want any fucking kids. I won't settle for being in the bakground. And it's not any feminist bullshit, either. I just think it's fucking stupid. So at 13 I was all depressed and shit. And it wasn't any "Why God, why?" Shit. I mean it was a bit "why me" at one point. (I carved that on my right leg near my ankle). But I don't think it had anything to do with god. I also, I guess, dressed goth, but I loved punk music. I was more punk that goth. And my sister was very slowly going more in the direction of Molly Mormon. She denies it, now. But...she used to want to be a lawyer. And she can be. She got straight A's her very first semester in college. I can hardly get a fucking C. But no...kids. I mean, I love my nephew, I do. But...she could do more.

I know I don't really have any right to say what she should or shouldn't do. 'Cause that's just too fucking judgmental. Oh well.

So I'm sitting here in my new favorite indie coffee shop since Arizona's Gold Bar. And I'm writing this blog post here. That I so aptly titled "Am I cool, yet?" I used to want to be some sort of internet superstar. And then I was into like productivity and shit. Why the fuck was I into that? I've got nothing important to fucking do. I'm just a dork. I always have been, and I always will be. I'm proud of it.

There isn't much more I can say here. I know I rant a lot about my sister. *shrug* Meh.

Rick Roll

2009-08-15T06:30:00.002-04:00

This is what you get when it's 6:30 AM and you can't step away from the computer when you're about to go to bed.

My phone number was also edited out.

Jared

Yahoo!

6:27 AM

but

Rachel

Yahoo!

6:27 AM

but what?

6:27 AM

IM GOING TO BED NAO GOOD NIGHT GOOD SIR

Jared

Yahoo!

6:28 AM

ah i was gonna make a rick astley reference but i cant remember how it goes

Rachel

Yahoo!

6:28 AM

(Autoreply) Sleep is awesome. And that's totally what I'm doing right now. Leave some awesome texts for me to wake up to xxx-xxx-xxxx

6:28 AM

NEVER GUNNA GIVE YOU UP

6:28 AM

NEVER GUNNA LET YOU DOWN

6:28 AM

NEVER GUNNA RUN AROUND

6:28 AM

AND HURT YOU

6:28 AM

NEVER GUNNA MAKE YOU CRY

6:28 AM

NEVER GUNNA SOMETHING OTHER STUFF

6:28 AM

NEVER GUNNA RUN AROUND

6:28 AM

AND DESERRRRT YOOOUUU

Jared

Yahoo!

6:28 AM

yeah

6:28 AM

and now you desert mee

Rachel

Yahoo!

6:28 AM

yeah

Jared

Yahoo!

6:28 AM

*sniff

Hurt

2009-08-08T06:05:00.000-04:00

34, eh? Let's double check this, shall we? Oh...we can't...Too many to count. Ah well. Let's begin. I wonder if I will ever recover If I will ever stop If the addiction will go away If the coping mechanism will get a wrench thrown in the works Hey, Skin. You cool dude? 'Cause, like, I don't think you are. You crawl. You seethe. There's nothing under you but muscle, blood, nerves. No worms. No hate. Definitely not Him. Yeah, we moved. Sure. Yeah, we moved closer to Him. But, hey, he's fat. He can't hurt you. A brand. On my brain. Under my skin. Prevents me from... Normalcy. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Pieces Take Short Drops Off My Body Pieces of skin Pieces of me Pieces of hate Pieces of love I can imagine it. Katana...blood dripping...sliding down the blade. Skin sloshing off...in complete ecstasy. I'm going to type with my eyes shut. And I'm going to type what I see when I close my eyes. I'm not as normal as I seem. In my brain, behind my eyes. It's terror. It's scary. Are you ready? I see the skin falling off. Like there's water under the skin. It's smooth. No blood. Pink water. But no blood. Ropes. Rough black ropes. Sling from walls and grab me by my wrists and my ankles. Nearly drawing and quartering me. But they don't. They stop. Held back by D-rings in the wall. Concrete walls. Black concrete. No grey. Grey concrete. I’m naked. Screaming. No details. Just flesh. Breasts, no nipples. No hair. No stretch marks. Just...plain. My brain is outside my head. In a box. It’s screaming. It’s crying. Eyes are growing out of it. An entirely new body is being formed. A circulatory system. Red and blue lines. Inside a clear glass. Its flat. Like cross sectioning. Each system is on its own slide. It’s all coming together to form me. But it’s still all flat. Just slides of glass stuck together. But no one can see. Its invisible. I’m walking around school. Smiling. Fake. Happy. Pretending. A baseball comes flying towards me. It hits my stomach. I shatter into glass. A pained look on my face. My insides explode. Glass is everywhere. It shines in the sunlight. Boys. Those boys. They’re pointing sand laughing. I’m in that concrete room. I’m struggling. I’m screaming. Crying. Blood is dripping down my wrists and ankles as I struggle. I’m upright. I’m restrained, but nothing else is supporting me. My flaws start showing. My scars are appearing first. Pig. Evil. Why me. The eraser burns. The wrinkled scars that those left. They’re becoming clearer. More prominent. My already pale skin, these scars are stark white. I’m gaining weight. Stomach is getting huge. Flabby. Sick. I vomit. I vomit all over myself. Down my chest. Down my stomach. I look at my stomach and I vomit some more. The vomit turns to blood. Searing hot blood. And its forming letters on my stomach. Pig. Sick. Disgusting fucking pig. It's steaming. I’m screaming and writhing in more pain. But I’m smiling. I’m laughing maniacally. I orgasm. The words on my stomach turn to scars. I’m back in the concrete room. My body is thin, normal again. The scars are still there. They’re actually turning red. Fresh. Again. A bucket of salt pours over my like fake snow on a movie set. The wounds sizzle. And I’m still there. I’m blank. Flat. Not doing anything. Just still restrained. And these wounds, they’re retracting again. But now they’re pulsing back out. They’re spurting blood. These chains rip off my arms and legs. Blood is spewing. I vomit more. And more. And more. And I keep vomiting until its blood. And green bile. It’s just me. The concrete walls turn to pink waves. A brain. My brain. And these chains, there’s more of them. But not coming from the walls. Coming from me. Slamming into my brains. Hooks digging in. a migraine. I’m holding my head. I’m laughing maniacally. As these chains are struggling to hold me back. I’m taking a straight edge, and I’m carving up my arms. I’m slicing and dicing. The blood is dripping down onto the floor. My eyes are bleeding profusely. They’re just tears. They’re clear. Wet. Tears. I’m in the hospital. I’m clawing at my skin. I need to hurt. I need to bleed I need to feel that pain. I need to punish myself for being a stupid fucking cunt. I’m yelling. Screaming. They’re coming at me with a syringe. A huge syringe. Its full of green. I’m screaming, crying. Clawing. And they stick it in me. It’s a dick. And I’m being fucked. And I’m crying. And screaming. And I’m chained. I’m bleeding where these chains are coming out of my arms and legs and sides and going on forever. There’s no end to the length of these chains. And I’m curled in a ball. On the floor. I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding and crying. I had a miscarriage. The fetus, I don’t know. I’m not okay. I've got the razor, and scars are just automatically forming. They’re just...there. Bumpy. Like a map. A map of mountains. Mountains of shame. I hate that I hurt myself. That I ever even started. Maybe id is a bit more normal. If I never hurt myself. I’m on my knees. I’m being raped. My mouth is filled with blood. I’m sputtering. Teeth are being knocked out as a masculine hand punches me. I’m chained, still. And I’m screaming. Crying. Yelling. A gag is put into my mouth. A white balled up sock. And it quickly soaks with blood. Its red. Put it in the wash, its pink. Along with the rest of the whites. A stain. A stain on existence. Scars. Scars. Scars. Scars that remind of shit. The scars turn brown. Flies lay eggs. Maggots come out of these brown scars. I’m blindfolded. I’m in goggles. I’m taking a spoon. And I open up my head. And I’m scooping out my brains. I’m scooping out my eyes. I’m laughing again. I fall over. Dead. My skull is popped open. Like a fucking jewelry box. And I’m hone. Black exes over my eyes. The end. My skin turns paper white. I turn into a paper doll. Made form lined notebook paper crumpled up and thrown away as a shitty design. And that's that. That's what I see when I close my eyes. If it's not me it's something else fucked up. That was tiring. It's 6 AM. I'm going to bed.

Proper Care and Feeding of Your Nerd: Part 1-Introduction

2009-07-17T05:14:00.006-04:00

Disclaimer: I've dated two uber-nerds in the past and I loved them both very much. I'm still in contact with one of them and he's awesome. This guide is a satire. I love nerds. I respect nerds. I'm a nerd myself! This is a girl's guide to caring for a nerd. A normal girl. Not a nerd girl. I am in no way being mean. It's all for fun. If I get flamed for this, I'll point you to this fucking disclaimer and call you a poopoo head for not reading the fine print. You know, reading the fine print could save your life some day. If you disagree, please bust the myths. And I'll bet you $5 that for every myth you try to bust, I'll get 10 nerds to say that the myth is actually true. Enjoy!

Introduction - The Who, the What, the Why

Congratulations on the snagging of your very own Nerd! Keeping a Nerd is no easy task. It is both grueling on the mind, body, and girliness of oneself. I hope you're prepared to sacrifice, friends, family and hygiene. But don't worry! It may seem like a bad choice now, but trust me. As you'll find out later, the perks are definitely worth it. Shall we get started? Great!

First, let's discuss the perks, we'll call this: The Why

He'll fix any electronic device you may have...as long as you keep putting out!
Any time you are around your Nerd's friends, you'll be treated like a goddess. Even if you don't feel like one!
They like to listen. Even if they're not really paying any attention.
They're great at parties! Have your friends ask them any kind of pop culture question and 9 times out of 10 if it's not "gay" they'll answer correctly!
You don't need to worry about your girlfriends stealing him because no A&F trust fund bitch has the heart to care about a Nerd.
He'll help you on your homework!
They will make you laugh for hours on end.

Are you sold yet? Well I sure hope you are! Otherwise, why would you be reading my guide?

Let's discuss The What, now.

What exactly is a "Nerd"?

Nerd (pronounced /ˈnɜrd/) is a term often bearing a derogatory connotation or stereotype, that refers to a person who passionately pursues intellectual activities,esoteric knowledge, or other obscure interests rather than engaging in more social or popular activities. Therefore, a nerd is often excluded from physical activity and considered a loner by peers or will tend to associate with like-minded people.

Thanks, Wikipedia!

In layman's terms: A nerd is someone awesome!

Are you ready for The Who?

A Nerd is a person, too. You need to remember this. While he may occasionally act like one of those robots he so lovingly cares for, he needs love, too. Each Nerd comes equipped with their special personality. While it may not seem like much, you'll soon be able to recognize what his friends see as "personality", and you'll love it!

Now that we've got the basics out of the way, I'd like to outline what we'll be covering in this guide.

Part 2: Nutrition

Part 3: Pastimes

Part 4: Interaction

Part 5: In Case of Emergency

'Til the End of the Month

2009-07-13T14:05:00.002-04:00

"I wasn't sure if we'd make it 'til the end of the month."

It's a phrase I'm pretty used to by now. I've always been a worry wart when it comes to money. Even when I was like 12. Today I've got a savings account and a pretty solid plan for moving out. When I have enough money for the initial payment and all that stuff and left overs for 2 months of rent.

We've never really been "out of the woods" when it comes to money. We moved to Arizona with some stuffed animals and clothes. The Mormon church helped us out a lot and I'm very grateful for that. After my grandpa (my mom's father) died we got some money and inherited a portion of an orange grove I guess. And I've been on my step-mom's insurance for a while. But, we've always been either at or just barely above poverty level. I remember at one point my mom was frustrated because our income was just barely high enough to disqualify me from the free lunch program at school.

We bought a house in 2003. I don't remember how but we did. And then after we sold that and moved to Ohio in 2008. Stayed with my sister for the first two months before we settled on the awesome condo we live in now. But two people with bipolar doesn't make for good money management. We're working on it. But I'm still concerned.

I think that's one of the reasons I got myself in so much credit card debt. I didn't want my mom to worry about my expenses. Then again a lot of purchases were manic decisions.

And even though I'm used to that phrase, it still gets to me sometimes. On one hand, I think I'm humbler for it. I know rich people can be humble, too. But I love home made gifts. I love giving more than getting, too.

I remember scratching my mom's hand once in the library parking lot and the way her skin felt. I know she was only in her 40s but it felt so fragile. And I'm pretty sure I apologized right after, I don't remember. But I remember often being taken aback by how fragile her skin looked and felt and yet she's strong. But once something happened where she got nasty scratches from Woo (our dog), I worried again. I always worry. I worry about my mom dying, my cat dying. I used to worry worse. But I'm a bit better now.

I get my first paycheck on the 24th. It bothers me that we didn't get it for the 2 weeks we worked but meh. I'm concerned about what I'm going to do for insurance. The insurance my work has is shitty. I need a better one because my psych meds are so damn expensive.

I'm getting a wee bit depressed. That's enough for now.

My Sanctuary of Books

2009-07-08T03:40:00.002-04:00

In seventh grade I started volunteering at my school library after school. So let's see, school ended at around 2:20 if I remember. I would stay in the library until about 3:30-4 fixing books and putting books away.

This story begins before middle school. In elementary school we had a program state-wide called Kid Zone. It was just an after-school thing that acted like daycare. If parents couldn't pick up their kids until after work, they could hang out in the cafeteria or gym or wherever it took place and teenagers that needed after-school jobs would watch over the kids and play games and activities and other cool stuff. Even though my mom didn't work I still went to Kid Zone. I rode my bike to school, too so my mom had to come in at one point and sign something saying I can leave whenever. I wouldn't call my mom when I wanted to come home before I got my bike. I'd just tell her to pick me up around 5 PM or so. I'd get my homework done, I'd hang out with my friends, I'd do some awesome stuff.

So, middle school was when all my shit went downhill, right? Well, they didn't have Kid Zone in middle school but I didn't want to go home, either. So every Tuesday and Thursday I'd volunteer after school helping the librarians. The librarians were awesome. One was in her mid-30s and the other was 40s or 50s. They were both super nice and I always had fun. Fixing the books was my favorite part. We just had desk packing tape dispenser and if a book's edges were becoming too frayed, or if the cover was falling off, I'd just tape up the side and fold it neatly on the corner. It was relaxing. It was quiet, no one to make fun of me, kept my mind busy. I discovered new books that looked cool. Putting away the books was cool, too.

Now that I think about it, I stopped going around 7th or 8th grade. I started in 6th grade and after the depression and bipolar got really really bad that was when I shut myself out from everyone. And I really liked fixing the books.

I love books and I love to read. And I wish I could force myself better to read more. But somehow I always get sucked back into the internet. I wish I could lock my computer up sometimes and only have mom have the key. Kind of like designated reading time. It's sad that I don't have enough self-control. It sucks, and I hate it.

Anyway, work tomorrow, as usual. Good night.

Blood, Blood, and more Blood

2009-07-05T00:20:00.003-04:00

DISCLAIMER: This post was written when I was in a bad state of mind. I ended up giving myself an eraser burn and drove to Chillicothe to see my mom. It ended up being an absolutely terrible weekend because I forgot my meds. I can't tell you exactly why I'm posting this anyway, I just am.

I can't even watch an Intervention about cutting. I want to hurt myself. I wish I wasn't a pansy and could use blade to hurt myself rather than just a stupid safety pin. I know that's terrible. I'm kinda hating myself right now. I eat too much. I hate the way I eat. I hate the way I look. I hate my habits. I hate everything about myself and I always have. I've just learned to deal with it. I'm pretty much apathetic. I don't take care of myself because it's what I want. I do it so that I can go out in public.

For some reason I wish I had more scars. More visible scars. I don't think it's an attention thing. I have friends and family that will talk to me or hang out with me when I ask. So that's not an issue. It's a personal thing. I hate myself so much. I hate my body. I always have. Once I hit 11 years old I started packing on the pounds. I weight about 245. 5'11, 245 lbs. I was 257, so I know that's a bit of an improvement. And I was doing well for a while. But then I started eating and eating again. I often wished I could take a scalpel and carve off the fat. Like making the cuts in cows. But instead of selling it, I just, throw it away. Paint the walls with the blood? I don't know.

I'm afraid I'll never understand why hurting myself is bad. If it makes me feel better, if I like it. Why is it so bad? I'm not chopping a finger off. I'm just creating scars. Scabs. Like when you scrape your knee or something. But seeing the blood, and feeling the pain, helps me feel better. Sometimes it's punishment, sometimes it's to deal with shit. But why is it bad? I'm not doing drugs. I'm not drinking.

I remember telling someone, I can't remember who, that lots of different people have different opinions on what makes them beautiful. To me, body modification makes someone more beautiful. I know self-mutilation isn't healthy body modification, but I guess I do feel better about myself. The more scars I have, the more I have to show off. Like a status symbol? I don't know. I wish someone could help me understand why hurting myself is bad.

I tried calling a suicide hotline. It was pretty pointless. I want to hurt myself. Just because. Because it makes me feel better. And if I don't do it often, then maybe it will be like weening myself off.

I almost want to hurt myself severely, and go to the hospital. And go back into the psych ward. I don't get it. My medication is fine. But I can't go back to the fucking psych ward because I've got a fucking job and I can't miss training. I just want to hurt myself. And I want to feel better. And the more scars I have maybe I'll feel better about myself. And I know that's ridiculously stupid. But I want to hurt myself so bad. I'm afraid I'll never understand why it's bad. I mean, I know it's an addiction and I know it's pretty much like a drug. But it's not harming anyone else. They're just scars.

Ghosts of Love Struck Past

2009-06-29T10:25:00.005-04:00

So, on my way home from work this evening, flashes of memories of my most recent to past crushes were coming to my mind. Recently, I've been really wanting a boyfriend. A hot one. I was never picky about boyfriends, and I've been doing fantastic on enjoying alone time. And I'm still fine by myself. It's more of a companionship thing, I guess. And like I said, I've never been picky about looks in a guy but there's one dude in my training class that's like the epitome of an Abercrombie model without the douchey-ness. I doubt he'd ever go for me and that's not even a worry of mine! It's just, I love my nerds. I love an awesome pale nerdy guy. But I'd like a boyfriend that's normal-tan, slender but with definition, taller than me, sorta hippie-ish but also a total nerd.

That's an impossibly standard, right? I thought so. And I'm not actively searching anyone out. There was also an article in Time magazine (that I only read the first couple paragraphs of) about a study saying after the first couple years of marriage, women/men have a waaay bigger risk of obesity. I'm pretty fucking fat. Okay, I'm not supposed to trash myself. So let me rephrase that. I'm overweight and my BMI claims I'm obese. I carry it fairly well because of my height and I was blessed in the gene department with having my weight placed pretty evenly except for my belleh. Which is a whole other can of worms in my brain department.

Anyway, back to the original story! I'm going to start from the beginning.

Benjamin, Kindergarten, California: He had brown hair and freckles and I guess he was adorable.

Best friend, Kindergarten, California: I don't remember his name and I don't remember if I had a crush on him. I know I saw his penis at one point. We were all sitting down cross-legged for story time. I looked over and down and his fly was unzipped and there was what I later pieced together was a pen0rz.

Cliff, first grade, Arizona: Cliff was kinda cute. I think I had a brief crush on him until he vomited all over the desk when he was sitting next to me.

Austin, Arizona: I had the biggest crush on him for the longest fucking time. He had blonde spiky hair and blue eyes and he was the badass.

Sead (pronounced Sod), Arizona: He was a dude in our apartment complex that I once kicked so hard in the back when we were playing scrimmage that he told me the next day he was pissing blood. This was during the time when I was very violent with boys. He was 14 I think when I was 12.

Kevin, Arizona: He was fat, funny, punk rocker, and fun to be with. Until he started picking on me with the rest of his friends. We dated for a little while We tried holding hands once but that didn't work out so well. We and his family were on good terms for a while. Don't remember what exactly happened but after that his Dad or Mom hated me.

Amir, Arizona: A brief crush before I found out he was an asshole.

Lucas, Arizona: Lucas was a goth-ish kid. He was skinny and cute. I stopped liking him because some friends of mine deemed him emo and lame. I played a mean MySpace prank on him once, too. :/

Dylan, Arizona: VERY VERY VERY brief before we became like bestest friends forever.

Jamie, Arizona: Brief as well before he pretty much became my brotha from anotha motha.

Will, Arizona: Brief, too before we became best buds, too. I pretty much had a crush on all my male friends at one point or another.

Joel, Arizona: I blogged about him. Blonde hair, tan skin, tall, perfect Ambercrombie model. Total douche bag.

Alex, Arizona: We dated for like a weekend before he broke up with me because he told me he was afraid of my mom. I was 15. I found out when I was like 17 that he actually broke up with me because his sex drive was kickin' in and he didn't want to corrupt me. Sweet guy, kept trying to get into my pants all the time after that.

Ray, Arizona: Ray was just awesome all around. The first time I met him I was walking around with Will and we went through the alley where his house was. His bro (Ray) was jumping on the trampoline and we stopped to say hi. He told me to kick Will in the shin and thinking that he was super-cute I did. Like as hard as possible. He was limping the rest of the day and for like two days after. I still feel bad.

Various other dudes in school that I can't even begin to remember.

Now, college and whatnot.

I had a total crush on my English teacher. He was very cute in the complete bookish nerd but he was a complete punk rocker when not teaching.

Trainer: Oh. My. Fucking. God. The first time I saw him I was floored at how fucking cute he was. He's still fucking cute and I know that my cheeks get slightly flushed whenever he says hi to me at work.

And then this other dude in my class. The guy I was talking about at the beginning. But it's fleeting. It's just a fun crush.

Oh, and then there's Euan. My Brit friend who used to be like a perverted older brother whom I've recently gained a crush on. I originally wanted to go to England for my later career. But I think I'd just like to move back to the West coast. Specifically California. Yes, Mom, I know it's incredibly expensive.

It's 3 AM and I need to wake up at 1 PM. I know that's late for most of you but when you work from 4 PM to 1 AM that starts to seem way too early. Everyone have a safe and happy 4th. I'll get to escape the class at 10 PM as we all go on a field trip outside to watch some fireworks from far far away.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

33 Reminders of my Masochism

2009-06-28T22:41:00.005-04:00

Before my last visit to the hospital I'd been sober for about 18 months. Which is huge. It was the longest time I'd been sober since I first started hurting myself. I'm going to add an essay I wrote for my English 111 class in May about the addiction.

Anyway, how I first got started hurting myself. Tony. I've talked about him vaguely before. I don't blame him for anything. It was a mutual fuck up. We were both incredibly fucked up and both thought we were incredibly madly in love. It lasted 7 years on and off before he up and left. I was 12 so that would make him either 13 or 14. He was 2 years, six months, and four days older than me. He had carved my initials in a heart on his knee. I had alway wanted to be hardcore and shit as a kid. Punk and all that jazz. So, I took a mechanical pencil, the cheap kind where the end tapers off into a semi-point. It was plastic, and I don't know why. I don't remember the train of thought that led me to it. But I started carving "TM" into my wrist while sitting at the computer. This was when we still lived in The Apartment and I shared a room and bunk bed with my sister. I don't think she was in the room and I don't know what my mom was doing. Probably taking a nap. So I just started carving. It felt good. The adrenaline rush of doing something I'm not supposed to. At that period in time I was still Mormon. They teach you your body is a temple.

It was like a pulse of pleasure. Pleasure and pain. With each scratch over and over a new rush of pain and adrenaline went up to my brain. When I hurt myself, it's almost orgasmic. I've come to terms now that I'm a true masochist. But back then, I hadn't even started masturbating. I guess that's a story for another time. But the feeling of my first time. Popping my pain cherry, I guess. This first time it wasn't so I could deal with whatever was plaguing my mind. It was just for fun. Because I thought we would be together. The mark is on the side of my left wrist. My watch covers it.

I don't remember the first time I hurt myself to deal with It. I remember how I learned one of my favorite techniques, though. Easer burns. I was talking to a kid that I met in a metal chatroom. We used to "cyber" because I said I was 16 and had all these awesome piercings and tattoos. We talked about self-harm at one point. And he mentioned eraser burns. I've got about 4-6 scars on my left arm from those. It was fun. I would just take the end of a pencil and start rubbing it over and over on my arm. I would zone out and only focus on the pain. The pleasure. When it would scab over I liked to stretch the skin of my arm and crack the scab and see the liquid from the platelets and some puss come out. They were my favorite scars.

I also carved. Mostly words at first. The last time I hurt myself before the 18 month dry spell was just lines on my knees. But, carving. I carved mean words into my arm and leg. When I was 13 I carved "Pig" into my arm after running to the bathroom during band. I stood with my arm up against the wall of the stall trying to hold in tears and carving with a safety pin on my arm. I think I was wearing long sleeves that day so no one saw. If I hurt myself while at school or something it was usually hidden by my pants or my sleeves. So when I would get home from school I would sneak into the bathroom and wash off the loose pieces of fuzz that the wet blood/puss/platelets had collected. I used to just use water and soap. But after a while I started to intensify the pain by using alcohol.

I also carved, "EVIL", "WHY ME" there's one more word that for the life of me I can't remember. So, 33. Yeah. After I did the shit on my knees for the last time I counted them all up. 33 self-inflicted scars. They've all pretty much faded over the years. You can't really distinguish the self-inflicted ones from normal wear and tear. The only one still prominent on my arm is an easer burn and a T. I think I started to carve TM again but stopped.

This last time I went to the hospital I started using a push pin on my arm. I used safety pins, push pins, and erasers on the top of pencils. My friend was living with us for a time, I was on Facebook. I turned up the Slipknot on my headphones, zoned out, and just started scratching. I didn't do any bad damage. No scars. I messaged her saying "You need to come here. I can't stop." The next day I freaked out coming home from work. The only way I made it home was by pure instinct. I still used my GPS to get there and back. I wasn't even listening. I was blaring Slipknot, crying, and yelling. I couldn't yell loud enough, hard enough, long enough. I called my mom when I was about 10 minutes from home, told her to get her clothes and shoes on because I need to go to the hospital when I get home. I walked into my house, fell on the floor at my knees, layed down, started pounding the floor, crying and screaming more. I freaked out my friend.

So, yeah. I'm hoping the masochistic urges can be sated when I find a boyfriend that will actually inflict pain on me and all that stuff.

Narrative Here

The Sly Cat and the Squiggly Fish, Or: How I Managed to Fuck Up My Sex Life

2009-06-28T21:19:00.003-04:00

DISCLAIMER for my family if they're reading it: You may not want to read this post because I talk about, well, my sex life and such things.

The first part of that title means nothing. Just being kind of random. Anyway, yes, how I fucked up my sex life. I guess it wasn't exactly me that fucked it up. Part of it is my high morals. Granted I don't think sleeping around is my thing but I enjoy sex just like any other person. I would only have sex with someone that I love and that loves me and respects me. That's just how I was raised. On one hand, I wish I could enjoy sex as just sex. Just the amazing feeling. This could work out if it weren't for PTSD.

I don't remember jack shit about what my dad did to my sister and I. I know he fucked us up good. And I know my sister remembers more than I do. I was young so I blocked it all out. I wish that I could remember it but then again I know that it would fuck me up even more. I know my dad sexually abused us. That's left me a slimy feeling. When I was younger, I couldn't stand being naked for more than 5 minutes. That's why I never took careful time choosing what I wore. Not only am I lazy, but I didn't want to stay naked any more than I had to. So if it smelled fine, I wore it. That still stands today but I'm much more comfortable being naked and it's more of a lazy thing than not wanting to be naked.

Once I started having sex and even when masturbating, I would get this incredibly uncomfortable feeling. Like I did something incredibly wrong. I knew logically it wasn't wrong but my body just feels disgusting, slimy, creepy crawly. I enjoy naked cuddling after sex. But it would get so bad sometimes I would curl up in a ball and nearly cry. I didn't want to cry after sex. I liked it, kind of. The three guys I've had sex were not the best. But, we were young teenagers so we didn't know jack shit. But, it would get to the point where I had to get dressed. Not even just putting on undies and a t-shirt would help. I would have to get fully dressed before I felt comfortable.

It doesn't happen as often as it used to. Every once in a while I still get that terribly uncomfortable feeling after I masturbate but I'll hang out in my bathrobe for like an hour after I get out of the shower just fucking around on the computer. I think if I didn't have something to distract my mind I'd feel like shit.

Another problem: Once I start dating someone, I become a nympho for him. I'm a very touchy-feely kind of person and once I get someone that loves my body and actually wants me, then I feel incredibly comfortable with them. I have such incredibly low self-esteem that if a guy wants me I jump for it. But that causes a problem. Such as with Bennett. He has a first name but all my friends were in JROTC so he mostly went by his last name. Bennett was a dick, and asshole, a slimeball, an all around piece of shit.

There was a time in high school when Bennett was madly in love with my best friend Kim. I tried my best to help win her over. After a rumor spread about her I believed Bennett rather than my best friend. I avoided them. I hung out with Bennett all the time. I even started getting physically violent. Whenever I ran into the "Lemmings" as Bennett so lovingly called my two other best friends, I would ram my shoulder into them when walking past. It wasn't until I got called to the Principal's office that I broke down. I think it was after Bennett broke up with me, too.

I'm skipping important spots. After the rumor of Kim got out, he didn't want her anymore. Before that, he and I fooled around while I was with Tony. I cheated on Tony a lot and I'm not proud of it. I was naive and fucking stupid. So, I started wanting Bennett's attention wherever I could get it. I let him do things to me, I let him convince me to do things to him. Eventually we started "dating". Right off the bat he said "It's just a casual thing, right?" I didn't exactly know what casual dating meant at the time and I said, "Yeah, sure." I know at one point I told him I loved him within like the second week of "dating." I was a fucking retard back then. It ended up that he only wanted sex. Every Sunday when my mom would go to work at the Judaica Shop at the Synagogue he would come over and we would fuck then he'd leave.

Cut to a few weeks later I was his date to the Military Ball. The Military Ball was basically Prom for JROTC. It was my first formal dance. I didn't go to Prom, I didn't go to Coronation. I went to Morp once but that was a casual thing. Anyway, we get back to my house and we're watching a movie while I sit on his lap and we start making out. I'm still in my gorgeous dress and he starts to unzip his pants. I look down and say, "What are you doing?" and he zips it back up. A few minutes later he does it again and I say, "No, I don't want to. Not now." And of course there's the "Come on." And I didn't want to do it in my nice dress. It just felt wrong to me. So he gets up in a huff and storms off upset. A week later he breaks up with me. He comes over to my house sits down with me on my bed, says, "I still think you're really beautiful but..." and I was so upset.

After realizing that I was only used I felt like a whore. I had one of the worst drops in my self-esteem. I felt like a whore and a slut and just completely terrible. That was a big addition to why I can't sleep with someone casually.

My Distaste For The Mormon Religion Explained

2009-06-27T16:50:00.002-04:00

I was raised Mormon. I'm grateful to the Mormon church in Arizona for helping out my family when we first moved to Arizona away from my abusive father. We came there with next to nothing and they helped us get up on our feet. I'm also grateful and recognize their help in forming my hardest-set morals along with my mother: Modesty, respect for oneself and others, no excessive drinking, no illegal drunk use. The "treat your body like a temple" thing really helped me. While my reason for modest dress and not sleeping around is partially due to PTSD, my mother and the church helped set those beliefs in stone.

Now, onto why I DON'T like the church.

The church in Arizona we went to was very harsh. The women gossiped a hell of a lot and some terrible rumors were spread about my mother. This began some ostracizing of my mother. At my sister's wedding reception, my mother and I were in the receiving line (I was her maid of honor :D) and one woman skipped completely over my mother.

I was also reading some facts about the Mormon religion and it seems to me just like a cult. I don't understand how some douchebag could look into a fucking hat, read off some religious-sounding bullshit and call it a fucking religion. I don't understand how this douchebag's "religion" became so widespread that it's one of the most recognized religions.

The only thing I ever correct to my friends and the only joke I find offensive about the Mormon religion, is the gross misconception that Mormons today still practice polygamy. That's the only rumor I try so hard to dispel from my friends.

I also think the Mormon religion had a part in "ruining" my sister. I know my mom said I hold her up to impossible standards. But when she was younger, she was this awesome punk kid that I wanted to be like so much. And eventually I was. I'll always be a punk kid at heart. She has so much potential in the smarts department, too. She got straight A's her first college semester. I didn't even finish mine. She could be anything in the world when it comes to getting a degree, but she just chose to be a Mormon housewife. And that makes me very sad.

If my sister or my brother-in-law is reading this, I'm sorry. But I can't keep this bottled up anymore or I'm afraid I'll blow up at my sister one day.

My sister and my brother-in-law are amazing people. And my bro-in-law kept the peace between my sister and I when we were living with them for the first two months when we moved to Ohio. But I hate the Mormon religion. I hate that it's just a fucking cult. I hate all the hypocrisy that's gone on throughout the years. But I also hate every other fucking Christian religion. The reason is not because I disagree with their beliefs and so they're wrong, the reason is the bigotry, the lying, the hypocrisy. It's all just so god damned terrible. They preach to follow in God's way yet they trash gays and anyone who goes against their fucking bullshit teachings. The only religion I absolutely despise because I feel their beliefs are actually wrong, is the Mormon religion. I respect other's beliefs, but I hold a personal vendetta against the Mormon religion. I know everyone is entitled to believe what they want, but there's just something about the Mormon religion that I absolutely cannot stand. Maybe it has something to do with my father forcing my mom to be Mormon.

What I do know, though, is that it's a fucking cult. And I absolutely hate organized religion. I am a strong proponent of free fucking thought. I wish there wasn't organized religion. I wish churches were more like support groups or just general hangouts altogether. I wish churches were more of a place where they preach free thinking rather than some bullshit about Jesus. I wish churches could be more broad. I think people should search all through other religions for something that truly speaks to them. I'm not religious. I'm Jewish because my mom is Jewish and I'm fine with that. My belief is that you should treat everyone with respect until they prove they don't deserve it. And even then, treat them with respect. That's my only basic belief. If you're okay with sleeping around because sex feels amazing, you're not going to go to "hell". If you curse like a sailor but know when to hold back so as not to offend anyone, you're not going to "hell". If you drink or do drugs, you're not going to "hell" unless the drinking and the drugs cause you to do some absolutely heinous crime. I understand drinking and some drugs can lead to an awesome and fun time. If you don't abuse anyone or anything, you're not going to "hell". If you're fucked in the head and love to gross friends out and shock people, as long as you know when to hold off and can tell when you're in polite company, you're not going "hell".

I strongly suggest that anyone who is searching for some sort of religion or spirituality, research things FIRST before you decide. People should pick and choose what really speaks to them from any religion. There's a difference between being religious and being spiritual.

I love my sister and my brother-in-law and my nephew(s) to pieces. I may disagree with their beliefs but I don't treat them any differently. They're still awesome to me and I think they're all wonderful people. I disagree with some life-choices but there's nothing I can do about it. And if it absolutely feels right, go for it!

I think in another post I'll explain why I don't want any kids.

Wrinkly Fingers, Great Ideas, and Homemade Jewelry

2009-06-27T03:22:00.004-04:00

I'm sitting here on my bed in a bathrobe! I just took a shower at 2:50 AM. It's 3:23 AM now. And I told you all my best ideas come between the hours of 2 AM and 6 AM.

Okay, first, my fingers got unusually wrinkly unusually quickly. It feels weird to use a trackpad now.

Second, my great idea: What about an implant in your brain that worked with an implant in your arm which was a control pad. You would plug USB cord into the device in your arm which would sync up with all of your blogging/social network platforms. It would be like keeping a journal but without writing anything down.

Here's how I would break down some of the different social networking sites and how the implant would work:

Twitter: One part of the implant would be a button you could press to post a single thought to Twitter. It would be a part of your cell phone texting plan or something or maybe a data plan. All you would have to do is push the button, enter a password (so that it doesn't Tweet your dreams or anything else without you knowing/wanting) and then whatever thought you wanted to be posted would be posted. I guess the only trick/problem is how to implement it so that it stays >140 chars.
Blogging: This could either work with wifi or just as a journal keeper. You push a button to start a blank "piece of paper". Basically, you just start thinking what you would normally type or write and the microchip would collect this stuff. If you were sure you wanted to post it right away (like if it was a Livejournal or another private blog) you could push a button that would send it if there was free WiFi in the area. Otherwise, once you plug your arm in to sync it back up to your computer, the "entries" will be in a folder saved as textfiles.
Another wicked awesome thing would be to post pictures or take video with the visual nerves. I guess we would basically become cyborgs to be able to input all this data without using an actual computer or any other peripheral devices. It would pretty much be a computer in your head. You could take direct pictures from what you see, video from what you see. And like with the journal "entries" it would be saved as simple .jpeg or .mp4 and you could edit it once you sync back with your computer. I don't think you would store anything in your head that you'd want to recall. It would purely be a dumping ground for what goes during the day.

I was told by my psychology teacher Dr. Tom that when you sleep/dream your brain is basically doing a defrag. It would be so awesome, for a scientist or if we could even implement it, to get into someone's brain and load onto a computer everything. Memories, information, anything in the brain. I wonder how much space it would take. I think it would depend on the age of the person. I think someone in their 20s would take up at least a terabyte or more. And someone in their middle-ages to old age would take god knows how many petabytes.

I'm starting to freak myself out because I've never been a fan of integrating computers directly into the body.

"When those god darned bluetooths came out I thought they was gonna drill right into your head!"

And the homemade jewelry! So, I was messing around with an elastic headband, I wanted to make it into a bracelet. But it was too tight on my wrist. I got it to fit around my ankle. I've always wanted some hippie-ish jewelry. Also a while ago I got some pleather from Joann's because I was going to make a dice bag. Well, now I'm making it into an armband. I'm hand-sewing it and putting safety pins on the corners. There will be a safety pin in the middle of one of the edges to hold it together. You can add more for more flair. I wonder if I could start selling these to my friends at like $15 to pay for materials/effort.

Oh also, last night (it's still tonight) Friday, was my last Friday all to myself. This past week was my last week all to myself. On Monday I start work again as tech support for Verizon FiOS. I have to restart training so I'm not looking forward to that. I'm not really nervous because I know what to expect and I've been through the process before. I just don't want to dress all dress-casual and shit. You have to for the first day. After the trainer goes through the dress code all call reps on the floor only have to wear casual dress. Like t-shirt and jeans with close-toed shoes. Everyone higher than call center reps has to wear dress casual, and those higher than that have to wear business clothes.

Mental note: Do laundry, try to clean room, try to keep room clean.

PS: I never proof read these damn things. If I do catch an error, I'll fix it when I catch it. Otherwise, feel free to correct any of my fucking grammar you find is wrong.

Do All Brothers Talk To Their Sisters Like This?

2009-06-22T23:39:00.003-04:00

Jamie is awesome. I've known him since I was about 12 or 13. He's always been there for me. Even through my crazy times (which was mostly middle school). Eventually, we've become like brother and sister. And this is one of the many reasons why I love Jamie ever-so.

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

RACHEL

Rachel

AIM

11:33 PM

WUT

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

hai

Rachel

AIM

11:33 PM

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

guess what I'm doing?!

Rachel

AIM

11:33 PM

drinking?

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

Nope!

11:33 PM

I wish.

Rachel

AIM

11:33 PM

driving?

11:33 PM

applying for a job?

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

nope.

Rachel

AIM

11:33 PM

having a wank?

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

nu uh.

Rachel

AIM

11:33 PM

eating?

Jamie

AIM

11:33 PM

nope!

Rachel

AIM

11:34 PM

i give up

Jamie

AIM

11:34 PM

I'm reading a book about licking pussy. :3

Rachel

AIM

11:34 PM

okay then

Jamie

AIM

11:34 PM

Isn't that great?!

11:34 PM

IMa be like a pro

Rachel

AIM

11:34 PM

sure

Jamie

AIM

11:34 PM

shit's pretty hardcore. over 100 pages.

Gramps is A Dick

2009-06-22T18:43:00.002-04:00

My grandpa on my dad's side was just diagnosed with lung cancer. Serves him right. He's old, he's been smoking for ages, he's a conniving asshole.

I had separation anxiety with my mommy when I was younger. There was one time we had to stay at my grandparent's house in Payson (That's in Northern Arizona. We lived in California at the time. My mom, my sister, and I moved to Tempe, AZ in 1997). I don't remember why we were staying there this time but I know I hated it. They made us eat oatmeal and if we didn't eat it we got yelled at. Grandma made awesome chocolate covered pretzels, but that was about it. I know we watched The Gods Must Be Crazy various times. Grandma was kinda deaf and kinda blind. And of course she'd watch Jeopardy. So when there came a commercial she would change it. And when we figured Jeopardy was back on we were too afraid to say anything, but eventually we would say loudly, "It's back on."

One night I don't remember what was going on, but I was crying and bawling about how I miss my mommy and I want my mommy. Well, Gramps comes in, grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me and yells at me telling me to "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" So, abuse runs in Sperm Donor's family. Hooray.

That's one of the reasons I don't want kids. Not because I'm afraid I won't be a good parent, but I don't want to pass on the crazy genes. That's also why I want to be a child psychologist. I don't want anyone to go through what I did as a kid. It sucked, and I would never wish that kind of struggle on any of my worst enemies.

I wasn't affected when my grandma died. I wasn't affected when my mom's father died. I wasn't affected when one of my cousin's committed suicide. I wasn't even affected when Woo (our dog) died. Well, I kind of was. But it didn't hit me until a year later. And I won't be affected when Gramps died. He can rot in hell.

Medicated Creativity

2009-06-22T01:47:00.002-04:00

Let me dispel a myth here: Being on medication won't take away your creativity.

Since I've gotten on an amazing mix of meds, my creativity has actually been able to come to flourish even more. While pain can bring about genius, it's not the only way. I think mental disorders kind of act like a cloud in your brain. And once you can get medication that can make that cloud go away, you can think better.

I noticed the first big change when I was talking to Anth about how I could help him out with his parents losing their house and some other shit. I wasn't jumping into things. It was slow, and calculated. I could think clearer, I could plan better, I actually considered the consequences. Which is something I used to never do. I can finally think better and my creativity has been able to show in short bursts. Whether it be answers to a single question, a short poem off the top of my head, hell, even my word choice in everyday life is about where it should be. Of course, I still curse like a sailor, but I can hold my tongue when needed.

I will try writing stories again eventually. For now, it's just getting things in order. And so far, life is lining pretty neatly.

Early Journal Entries Prove How Naive I Was

2009-06-21T17:31:00.002-04:00

Oy vey. This is scary. I'll quote some things from old journals. I'm keeping the bad spelling, grammar, and random capitalizations. From this journal I used it from when I was 14 to 16.

"2/16/04 So I am in love with two people. (3 if you count you, journal, oh 4 if you count my cat, hell I love lots of people but this is different) I am truely in love with Tony. And I THINK I'm in love with Joel [Ed. Note: Joel ended up being a complete douche. Let me quote something he said to me in MIDDLE SCHOOL when I was already having weight issues Him: Hey Me: Hey is for horses Him: And cows like you. Yeah, pretty fucked.] I feel like the only way to get his attention would be to hurt myself. But I can't do that."

Ready for some more fucked-ness from the same entry?

"I wonder if my life would ever be interesting enough to publish my journal. [This was a thought I often had] My god! If my secrets got out to my friends and family I would be devastated. Of course I'd probably [I think "be" is supposed to be here] dead but It's not nice to make fun of Dead people. If anyone wants to understand me (which no one does already) just listen to Evanescence. Listen to the words. [Ha! I was such an emo kid.] I really do think my sanity [this part was crossed out] and my sense of style have run has run away from me."

Here comes the scary part:

"I really need to clean out my mouse's cage tomorrow [When the fuck did I have a mouse at 14?]. I think I might continue eating a lot less. Starving/Anorexia they call it. I do believe there are just a few things holding me back from killing myself. I grabbed some safety pins from the car and hid them in my room. I hope to use them. I'll bring them tomorrow to use. Sometimes I just can't hold back. Do I do it for attention? Maybe. I wear a mask. I hide my true emotions. I just want someone to show they care. It seems like none of my friends care. I know my mom does, but it doesn't seem like it. Ugh, we go back to school tomorrow. I dislike school. It does give me something to do instead of sitting on my lazy butt in front of the PC but I want to get in a fight. I always get the munchies at night. I think I'm so fat and ugly, NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME. [So fucking typical emo kid] But people online do, that's why I spend so much time online because people there do understand act like they care I think I'll go to bed. Maybe. Good night."

And then followed a ton of doodles about Tony and me figuring out a signature.

With depression comes bad hygiene.

"2/18/04 I'm clean! That's pathetic. Janet [Janet was the best therapist I've ever had] and I made an agreement not to go without a shower for more than 2 days. I really need to get my "Personal Hygiene" in order. I am so gross and pathetic. I just lied to my mom. [About what? I don't remember. I do know that I lied a lot to everybody back then.]

And here is a major manic episode. I don't even touch very much on the fact that I tried to kill myself.

"3/9/04 I tried to kill myself last night! I took a flat edge of the blade and slid it across my wrist and with each time I moved it slightly upwards. I couldn't do it so I just cut my leg. Also yesterday morning I carved "Why" into my leg. I'm on such a high it's not even funny! Haha! I love Tony. I miss him. I really need to print out a picture of him. I'm taking pictures of random stuff :P PU my feet smell. What PU stand for? I feel like carving again. Maybe I'll recarve the TM on my wrist 80 I think I've got a bugbite on my hand cus it's itchy. Lauren left her rings here so I gotta give those back to her tomorrow." And it ended with some other random shit.

I love my mom, here's why.

"3/20/04 [Preparing to go my step-dad's cousin/niece's wedding] We leave at 11:30. I tried talking out of it but my mom got me with, "You can't hide from people forever."

And that's all for today.

Living With Bipolar

2009-06-21T17:10:00.002-04:00

Up, down, around again.

Do a shimmy, turn it up again.

Up, down, around again.

Blow your nose, cry some more.

Up, down, around again.

Hurt yourself, cover it up.

Up, down, around again.

Fake a smile, convince yourself it's all okay.

Up, down, around again.

Fall on your face, admit it's not okay.

Up, down, around again.

Get some help, deny you're seriously ill.

Up, down, around again.

Hit the bottom, break your nose.

Up, down, around again.

Visit the ER, enter the paddywagon.

Up, down, around again.

Sit with the crazies, take your meds.

Up, down, around again.

Go home, feel okay.

Wait until it starts all over again.

7 Years Solid

2009-06-21T17:03:00.002-04:00

Let me first explain a couple things:

"The Group" as I will refer to them from here on out, are my four/five best friends that took me in when I moved to Ohio. They pretty much saved my life.
Tony is a boyfriend I had for about 7 years on and off. It was an interesting relationship that I will get into some point in the near future.

I told The Group today that it took 7 years for me to get where I am today. I was with Tony for nearly 7 years. Connection? I think so. I haven't heard from him in months now. The only reason I care now is because I still have some of his shit. But, those 7 years were my worst. They got a little bit better in high school but I was still unstable and still incredibly naive.

I'm okay now. I'm enjoying the time when I'm alone. I never thought it would happen but I've made a big leap in my codependency issues. I'm happy, I feel accepted by my friends, I feel normal, I feel like I can finally function. I'm doing awesome. I'm okay with where I'm at in my life right now. I've got short-term and long-term goals. The long-term goals aren't completely fleshed out yet but I'm focusing on moving out and keeping a steady job. I'm also saving up a lot of money.

I'm also looking into getting a tattoo soon!

So, yeah. It's taken me 7 fucking years to finally be happy.

But it was worth it.