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Friday, August 11th, 2006
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Today I couldn’t cry.
God knows I wanted to. I even set aside time for it. “At noon, I will cry.” Therapeutic. My therapist had that effect, as she said she would. I didn’t cry in therapy. I didn’t cry right after. I made the necessary phone calls for my disability claim, took care of what was needed. When it was over, I could still feel the tears hot behind my eyes.
But I couldn’t cry.
Partial hospitalization. Twenty six plus hours a week of therapy. Disability for CMDD (Chronic Massive Depressive Disorder), GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder), Neurotic Compliance, Anorexia Nervosa. Twenty six hours plus per week to teach me how to be a person not a doll. Self help books. Bed time reading is “Cutting” and “Bodily Harm”. Twenty Six plus hours a week of how not to kill yourself. Three different medications in my cabinet. “I’m doing better, so much better. It’s helping. The treatment is working.”
But I can’t cry.
I read my old writing, old poems. Notice the cycles, the patterns. Listen to my old music. Try to hug my inner child, who says that’s a “Say No” touch.
But I can’t cry.
I feel like crying. Drink a beer to “really feel my emotions”. Still can’t cry.
Think about how I’m doing better, the people that love me, all I want for my life.
Think about everything that brought me here, the pain, the self destructive behavior.
Still can’t cry.
I wanted this first entry after to be outside the bell jar… an entry about thinking of myself as something other than a blow-up doll or Barbie. About the progress and the struggle.
But here is the struggle…
…I can’t cry.
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Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
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I took a vacation day today to get more of the study cleared out. It's a damn good thing I did- it's becoming an Olympian task. Its the weird things that are the hardest to place, such as what to do with the two remaining cheep cartoons I bought for the kids at Hope but forgot to take in? Weird little things like that which need settling.
Gods, it's amazing how much gets buried in four years (more?). Issues of Newtype USA and untouched artists notebooks seem tragic- remember when I was an artist? Band stickers and a Camel cigarette pack from France- tiny memories of Saint Louis. Mixed CDs from David, letters from Byron tied up with string. A collection of red hearts that Spencer put up on my bedroom wall for me to find, and overly-indie letter I found taped to his door a week or so later. Poetry for Philip Baker, for Steven Lynch, for Joshua Meyer. Remember when we all wrote poetry? Not because we wanted to impress someone, not those overly commercialized sonnets and prosey emails we keep to know (keep it safe, no one wants to be accused of bad poetry). We wrote it because we believed that what we were experiencing had to be written. So many words- I can only imagine how fast I'd be dropped if I wrote sweet simple honest poems for a lover now. Cant appear to romantic, to keen, to attached. Our adult selves look down on positive emotional displays of joy (years of thinking, "remember not to say I love you as you fall asleep, it's only been a few months after all"), and woe be the girl who wallows in the agony a breakup and bemoans the loss of her other. Remember when we felt enough? When a lack of emotional charge indicated a lack of character? Try for just a moment to feel something. Just try it, I dare you. Are we even capable anymore? The bad poems written by our mother's mothers and penny-aggie Walt Whitman want-to-bes were right. We grow old, grow stiff. We didnt listen when they told that the world would break us all. No, not us. We were infinite. But look around and find the man who isn't broken. If you chance upon this rare creature, take another step and see how he is seen. Childish dreamer. As if we can live without dreams. Are we really stronger at the broken places? Is that what we call strength? The ability to hide from hurt, from possible exposure, by injecting botox into our emotions? I want to smile with my eyes- damn the lines! But I'm the worst of it. I found two leaves of paper- no signature and I dont recognize the hand writing. "Dancing naked through long dark hallways with no end, you sit down and cry in desperation with your newly slit wrists wiping the tears from your mascara eyes. Your red hair a devilishness and your green eyes aglow with such a clean cut hatred for MANkind." They saw me. Have I really gotten better, or just more functional? More numb? Is this half-life, this desaturated existence really so healthy?
"You have a very good attitude on the situation. I dont know how you do it."
"Actually, I dont have that attitude at all. Fake it till you make it, baby."
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Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.
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Like Daymon, I'm asking people to report in that you're ok.
After our impromptu flashlight slumber party at the Brewhaus, I spent most of last night in a steadily flooding basement with my cats. What's your story? I'm collecting pictures and links to albums- will add as I find more. Check out what I've come across so far.
Scenes of Springfield-
Edit: also found where another myspacer posted this. Check you the west end- I didn't make it that far.
Fould an article from Chicago Sun Times- here. Also Chicago Tribune.
SJR has three great photo journals: Staff March 13th, Staff March 12th, and Reader pictures
And remember, if we don't keep drinking at the Brewhaus and complaining about how much Springfield sucks, the tornados will have won.
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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Sunday, February 19th, 2006
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I know.... I'm gone for so long and then I come back... just for this. But I'm feeling introspective. So click it. I heart pop psych.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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Sunday, January 15th, 2006
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It's never how I want it. The dance club, or the bar before. It's never how I see it in my mind when I decide to go. There are the better nights, the "perfect" nights, the nights that drip with fond sincere smiles and light light lovely lovely laughter. Those are sweet nights.... honey sweet, devoid of saccharin; they keep me coming back.
Those nights are few and far between.
Even they aren't quite perfect
Last night was not that night.
It's never how I imagine it.
In my head:
They play "Salome" by The Old 97's. Rapper's Delight. The Softies. Wanda Jackson's "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" Sugar plum sweet sweet songs that explain the purpose of the moon. I dance silly, wild- like a long haired girl in a teen movie, jumping up and down. Everyone loves each other, but only the established couples (or those who you know for the entire fucking movie are going to get it together- you just know it) kiss. Pink bubbles float by, if they feel the urge.It's never like that.
It's always sticky sick sweet, sweet like a daiquiri drinker’s vomit- sweet like a sugar substitute. Sticky evil eat-to-much-cotton-candy-and throw-up-on-a-carnie sweet. I say the worst things. My smile reveals tooth decay and nothing more. And the decay is everywhere- I look around and only smell-feel-see the sticky sweet of rotting flesh. The bodies which should be lush and beautiful, WHICH WE ACT AS IF THEY'RE LUSH AND BEAUTIFUL AND EVERYTHING SENSUAL SEXUAL SWEET SALOME, are dead on the dance floor, decaying in my arms and against my hips and I'm so afraid that when I pull away the pieces will come off in my hands.
And I'm the worst... dead already (just bones and rot and tooth decay- just foam and sick and and sarkin cigarette stains) and watching them tell me how they want to fuck me but never ever ever never ever say they love me....
and then I come home. To a sweet angel who always says he loves me and doesn't give a rats ass if I'm to tired for sex, he just wants to hold me... rub each other's backs... and I think, "my god, why does he love this dead thing? But I'm so lucky... so lucky...", and I won't question it, wont take it apart just to analyze it, because sometimes it's best just to know you're lucky.
So never wonder
why I might want to just stay inside with him instead.
You can join us.
If you want to.
Just bring pink bubbles
and The Old 97's
and maybe (if you're in the mood) Rapper's Delight.
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Thursday, January 5th, 2006
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The last week I've been getting better, getting over things. Pulling my life back together after the last "boy". Getting things in order, lining up my ducks. After John, I've had to redefine myself. He helped me find myself, for which I will always be grateful, but when he left I felt as though that new-found self had been ripped away from me. Now I have to discover what I'm capable of all over again. No longer mother, no longer the lover of a sweet simple man with whom I led a sweet relatively simple life. I have to find a "self" which is not reliant on the presence or opinion of others. An essential self, if you will. And I am. Slowly.
I'm now at that post break up phase where his awkward phone calls make me more relieved than nostalgic. These halting conversations make me wonder how we got on as well as we did for so long. Having removed the rose colored glasses of relationship, I find him human, fallible, flawed. And damn annoying sometimes. John is a good man. He redefined the word love for me, and taught me that I was in fact capable of it. He's also self interested, weak, and lofty. I feel better enough now to say that I'm glad it's over.
In honor of this revelation, [sarcasm]I did what any modern feminist would do.[/sarcasm] I cut and dyed my hair.Wave Goodbye:| Before | After |  |  | New car, new hair, new communication levels with my few good friends. Not a new Bianca, but a better evolved one.
And it turns out...
I think I kinda like myself.
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Tuesday, November 29th, 2005
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I tell you, there's nothing worse than when I hang out with people and then feel even more lonely.
This has been happening a lot lately. I'm not a fan.
I've become more generally popular than usual, but I feel estranged from those closest to me. I'm lonely- physically, emotionally, mentally. I want to hug my friends, sleep by someone, kiss and be kissed, play with someones hair, curl up in front of a movie, dance with my girlfriends, have sex. Any and all of the above. Sarah laid her head on my lap last night while I petted her hair, and it was the best I've felt in weeks.
I want my life back. I want to be John's girlfriend. I don't want to have to try so hard not to cry or even look despondent when I hold his hand late at night. I want a few close friends that I know love me. I want a quiet life in my own Remmy-Zero-Little-World. I want to smile without feeling fake smile lines forming around my mouth. I want my baby back. I want me back- to be the person I was before I became his ex-kinda-girlfriend.
I'm not going to get it.
And the truth of the matter is that I'm so damned hurt by all of it that I'm not even sure I'd go back, at least right away.
I don't want to bury my nose in the snow to keep warm anymore.I want to save everyone, and he relies on me to save him from himself. I can't even save myself right now.
Even my Dad noticed it. Daddy always said, "You're not fickle, you just figure out pretty quick if someone doesn't have what you want. Even if you don't know what you want. And you're not going to settle."
After well over 30 relationships, I found it. It wasn't at all like I expected, but I knew this was it. What I hadn't really been looking for, but stumbled over anyway. Losing him feels different than any of those other little loves. The only time I haven't just been happy that we're still friends even if we aren't together. I understand now why I could be friends with all my ex-lovers when so few could- I never felt like *this* about them. It hurt sometimes, but it was a hurt that could be pacified. I always said that if you loved someone, then it was worth having them in your life even if it wasn't in a romantic fashion.
This is not true.
Part of me wants to call this minute, but another part wants to never see him again. Seeing him smile just hurts too damn much. I'm not strong enough for this. Beyond that, life could be much worse.
I'll just keep breathing.
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Monday, November 7th, 2005
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| Time: | 8:05 am. |
| Mood: |  it's morning. | | Music: | Magnetic Fields. |
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It's pretty much the story of my life-
Virgo: You're ready for inconvenient, total, can't-live-without-each-other love, but you might be the only one. Let the Universe guide you; it may take you where you think you're going, but you'll be happy once you've arrived.
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Sunday, November 6th, 2005
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| Time: | 10:52 am. |
| Mood: |  uncomfortable. | | Music: | Rainer Maria- Tin Foil. |
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Virgo: An ordinary attraction will probably turn into a passionate affair within a matter of seconds. If you're available, there's no time like the present to put an end to your single status. Of course, as I'm not single, it just means that I've been fending off some unwanted advances. I haven't posted much as of late, but there's been a lot in my head. Maybe too much to come out. Times have been interesting, convoluted, and awkward (which does not bode well for my now daily anxiety attacks). My life is just portions for foxes.The more I try to straighten it out, the worse it gets. Conversations lead in all the wrong directions. I keep trying to keep it all together, find closure, find solutions to issues, find a way to get these mismatched puzzle pieces into a recognizable image. It's like when you're trying to work a rubiks cube and all you wind up doing is mixing up the colors more and making it impossible to solve. Do you remember doing that? Unfortunately, unlike my old toys, I can't just chuck my life across the room and let it roll under the bed when I get too frustrated.
I just want to split my tongue, super glue my lips.... I never say the right thing.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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Tuesday, September 27th, 2005
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There's a lot turning over in my head these days. I've been thinking much more clearly since I left Hope and got a mental fresh start. Some of this might be attributed to the decline in drinking myself into a stupor.
My friend Justin IMed me today, and (despite the fact that AIM cut me off midway through the conversation) it was enough to start me missing him. Talking to Justin would be just what I need right now, as a few things are solidifying in my head and I could use some external input. This the moment when at one point in my life I would have had one of my girl-type friends (which often included males) over to sound off, brainstorm, etcetera. That currently isn't an option. For one thing, one of the few available people for such activities is having issues of his own, and I feel like I don't spend enough time listening to him. Beyond that, I'm not a fan of calling people when I need to talk. I consider that to be saying, "Hey everyone, lets focus on me now. Me me me. Everyone wants to talk about me, right?" I don't have the same reservations about other people calling me with problems, but I don't like to "dial out" for some reason.
Also, I'm not looking for just any old sounding board. I need advice and interaction- coming from an appropriate source. Rationality tempered with compassion, as well as an understanding of my priorities and personality base. No to mention someone observant, and likely to look behind and beyond what I've found to play devils advocate.Time to break out the notebook and pen, but honestly, it's not the same. I know that I wont manage to write until the moment is lost and forgotten about.
Damn, I miss Justin.
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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Thursday, September 22nd, 2005
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It has become apparent that the anxiety attacks are getting worse. I'm forming a plan to combat this. Section one deals with not drinking no matter how socially awkward or fed up need-to-unwind I'm feeling. Section two is devoted to recognizing the attacks for what they are in the early stages. Section three is my newly developed technique for handling them once they've already started, which is a form of meditation involving counting pink fuzzy bunnies jumping over a fence (kind of like "counting sheep"). Hopefully, with these things in place, I can secure my mental state a little better until my new health care kicks in in December.
Another of "Bianca's discoveries in personal psychology"- I have determined that everyone is not, in fact, out to get me. I am "out to get" myself, and just projecting it. The results of this make me rather difficult to be around, so hopefully this insight will help in that regard.
I think that it's time to stop "exploring" and start taking this whole "time of self discovery" thing seriously so that I can make real progress instead of just making a muck of myself for the sake of "scientific research". I should have gathered enough social data by now to move on to stage two, drawing conclusions and awareness from what I have observed. Stage three will be implementation of new philosophies and methods of conduct.In more interesting news, I just read some spoilers for Tim Burton's "The Corpse Bride", and (while it's different from what I gathered from the previews) it looks great. Anybody wana go? Also, the people who put out "Spirited Away" have a new movie currently playing in Springpatch- "Howl's Moving Castle". Any anime heads wana check it out with me?
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Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.
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Monday, September 19th, 2005
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| Time: | 1:44 am. |
| Mood: | sleepy. |
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I don't normally post these, but parts are very very true.
| What Your Sleeping Position Says |
You are secretly sensitive, but you often put up a front.
Shy and private, you yearn for security.
You take relationships slowly.
You need lots of reassurances before you can trust. |
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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Saturday, September 17th, 2005
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I stumbled across this and thought it was a little nifty. Also, the song suits my mood. I would currently like to sing it to everyone I know. And buy them a coke, or a Jones cola if they prefer. And maybe a kitten, or a snack pack. But the kitten isn't for eating.
And of course, the code for the nifty thing wont work on LJ (too bad) so go here and check out the nifty scrolly thing on the right side of the lyrics.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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...I finished writing my resignation. It's short, sweet, and to the point- while making sure to thank all those who need to be thanked.
To be honest, I'm terrified shitless. And excited. And remorseful. And relieved. And just.... indefinable.
This is it. three years of my life, and this is it.
Here's to the future.
I'm glad you're in it.( The Letter )
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Thursday, September 15th, 2005
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Most annoying thing of the week...
When I say "I'm gay." and people laugh.
Ok, yes, I am currently dating a male. This is no way contradicts the fact that I'm bi. Monogamous, Bisexual, and rather ticked off at not being taken seriously. Regardless of who they're dating/have dated, Bisexuals are a legitimate part of the gay community. It's like we're doubly outcast. Last night, I managed to have both a horribly drunk gay guy and two of my straight friends entirely negate my sexuality. Which, by the way, is very dehumanizing. Regardless of who I'm dating, my bisexuality is a sincere and legitimate part of my identity and comes into play in my every day life. It's a fundamental part of who-I-am. To negate my sexuality is to negate myself.
I'm just so tired of fighting for it all the time. It shouldn't have to be this way.
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Wednesday, September 14th, 2005
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You know, I'm not sure if I'm nauseatingly anxious today or perfectly at peace and undergoing rebirth.
I suggest: "A guy who takes his time"- Kathryn Williams
"Aint Misbehavin'"- Billy HolidayI want to do much better. And I think I've found what my key was. I've been bad with keys lately, both corporal and non. I was doing well. Just got into a funk is all. I can pull myself out. Set those sights high. Drink less, speak less, find my eight fold path. I have been quite depressed lately.
So if I've offended anyone, I'm sorry.
Sometimes I find it interesting
that people are more likely to judge me
to become offended
to think less of me
because I've been acting like an ass
instead of saying, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Is something going on?"
They think, "Man she's been slipping and making an ass of herself."
instead of saying, "Why have you been drinking so much, girl?"
"What's wrong?"
"You need to get a grip on yourself,
because I know you're better than this."Well, if that's how it's going to be, then that's how it's going to be.
In the words of Big O, "We have come to terms."
Cast in the name of god ye not guilty...
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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Saturday, September 10th, 2005
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Monday, September 5th, 2005
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| Subject: | Today |
| Time: | 2:51 am. |
| Mood: |  reflective. | | Music: | The Lyndsay Diaries. |
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Virgo, for Sept. 5th-
Endings aren't bad things, although we have been trained to think of them that way. When something ends, it also means that there's now room in your life for something to begin. At this time, connections with others are definitely beginning to change, but this is a good thing in the long run. Ride out this current cosmic unrest."Sometimes"- The Lyndsay Diaries:"Sometimes the inspiration never comes.
When all you want is someone to realize your depression.
When all you want is someone to say that they care.
The sun can be shining but you don't see it.
And the love can be there but you don't feel it.
Sometimes the inspiration never comes
and the ransom for your joy is just too much.
And to show your face means they might judge.
They always judge.
When all you want is the will to get out of bed.
When all you want is some understanding.
Sometimes the inspiration, it never comes" Nothing can say it better than that.
Today, I am 24. I was off all weekend.
Whoever you are,
chances are that I wish you had called.
Oh well.
I have "survived" another year.
I am still learning how to "live".
Good night.
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Comments: Read 8 or Add Your Own.
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Monday, August 29th, 2005
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Cutest Fricking Thing EVER. 
Fred has begun bathing Caligula regularly, I guess he thought the little one wasn't doing a good enough job. It's freaking adorable.
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Comments: Read 4 or Add Your Own.
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Saturday, August 27th, 2005
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| Time: | 11:25 am. |
| Mood: | exhausted. | | Music: | None. |
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I was in a band for two days before they broke up. I'm a bad luck charm.
But I'm glad I did it, had the guts to make the attempt.
I wrote my first political song, and I'm proud to say that it's guaranteed to piss every single political person in the US (regardless of their party) and possibly abroad.
And that's something, right?
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Comments: Read 7 or Add Your Own.
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jezebelsenvy's journal
nostalgic.
complacent.
listless.
productive.
weird.
hopeful.
ticked off.
bouncy.