sat·is·fy

Journal

I have been met with criticism for my decisions. Done things that were not perfect, however no one is always.

Yes, I am aware, I use men for my own personal pleasure. Men who I don’t have feelings for.

But telling me I need to have self respect when you have your own problems you blatantly ignore is not only hypocritical, it’s laughable.

I am, at the least, aware of my shortcomings. I know that I find comfort in the arms of men I have no intentions of staying with. I know I’ve done it for a long time – it’s not a new flaw, it’s hardly even unique.

But I do it.

Some people pop Xanax, others steal, some harm themselves physically.

I just fuck men who say they love me. Even when I know they don’t. Especially when I know I don’t. They tell me it’s the best they’ve ever had, and I know they’re just saying that to get me to do it again. They say that it was incredible, but let’s be honest – neither of us really thought so. I’ve only had sex with someone more than once with one guy, and I think it was because he was the most desperate.

Everyone who inserts their opinions into my life without me asking seems to think I do it because I have no self esteem or standards or whatever – but the truth is, I find it empowering to know that at the drop of a hat all of these guys would do just about anything for me.

They have never been given the chance to by a girl before, and I gave them something, I saw something in them that made them believe in them self.

Many just think I have no standards, but the truth is, things are a lot deeper than that. I love the power.

But I diverted from my original topic, feeling like people are hypocritical for judging me for my issues when they know they have their own kryptonite and yet choose to judge me. Tell me that I’m insecure, when they are. Say that I need to pull myself together when they can’t afford their own bills. My mom tells me that I need to work harder, do more, when she is totally failing to do her job as my parent.

When will people realize I’m doing everything alone? That I wasn’t handed life on a silver platter and have had to work about twice as hard for everything I’ve got, including my fucking health.

I have issues some people will never even know exist, and yet they tell me how to live my life.

They can fuck off.

I’m doing the best that I fucking can, and since they have never had to live a day in my life, it’s best for me to just ignore it.

I’m exhausted, broke, can’t even relax because I have this problem where it feels like I constantly have to be doing something so I don’t fail.

I have assignments I have to do, but no more motivation. I know I have to work most of this weekend, but I don’t want to wash my work clothes. I want to lay in bed and cry, but even that pleasure cannot be enjoyed.

Nothing is satisfying.

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res·o·nate

Journal

Things I learned today: there is no sense in (verbally) complaining. It just shares your negative energy with those around you.

Sometimes it’s best to let bad vibes roll past. Sometimes it’s best to let them resonate with your soul to better understand what’s going on inside yourself.

It’s okay to be attached to people, even if you know they won’t be in your life for the long haul. It’s okay to love people who won’t be around forever. It’s not only okay, it is good.

I have to wake up at 6am tomorrow morning, I clocked off at 12:40. Got home at 1ish. And now I’m finally in bed.

Heartbroken, but I’m moving on. I’m sensitive, but I’m growing. I’m in love, but it is not my prison.

Life is constant chaos; It is the ebb and flow of peace and turmoil. As a human, it’s my job to adapt and grow with my surroundings. But amidst the ebbing and flowing I’m misconfigured into something nearly inhuman. As Bilbo Baggins once put it, like butter spread thin over too much toast. I can’t quite be happy like that.

I’m feeling spread very thin. Emotionally because I have feelings for one guy, I’m sleeping with another, constantly trying to discover who I am and I have just about no one to talk about it with. Physically because I’m working full time and these last four days alone I worked 32 hours (maybe even a little more because I stayed late). Not having a car means walking a lot, so my body is sore and exhausted.

I never have a moment alone anymore. I’m sharing a room with Riley, and our schedules are the same right now. When I’m home, she is. When I’m working, she is. I just want to sleep in a room by myself. Quiet, things where I left them, sense of privacy. That thought becomes more distant everyday.

I should really just post this and get some rest, but there is so much on my mind. Self care is more important.

/kənˈso͞omiNG/

Journal

It’s one thirty in the morning – I just got home from work. Should be sleeping, in about six hours my alarm is gonna go off so I can get up and clock on to stand in a box and sell movie tickets for eight hours.

But I’m not sleeping.

How could I sleep after the day I’ve had?

exactly twelve hours ago I was laying exactly where I am now, except there was a mans lap beneath my head. His hands were combing through my golden hair and his eyes were gazing upon me like I was something magnificent. He smelled like he put on too much cologne. He was skinny. Curly brown hair. Wore a cute beanie and I actively try to ignore that if he and Leo were blurred images, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

I like to think that the things I feel for him are completely separated and not just manifestations of the things I felt for Leo.

I like to think that.

But I don’t believe it’s true.

When he holds me, I feel comforted. But when he fucks me, I can’t finish. The pleasure I got was not fulfilling after the fact, even when he kisses my forehead.

But the good news is, at least I don’t have these same feelings directed at Leo anymore. They have been separated. I’m not jealous about stupid things anymore. I don’t really care what he thinks anymore. I’m not constantly wondering about him anymore.

But when I’m on my knees refilling the popcorn seeds, and he’s standing there getting popcorn – the fact that my head is level with his dick still comes to mind. It still kinda turns me on.

But I remind myself about everything that has happened – all of the stupid shit he has done and said, when I remember that this is the same guy who doesn’t care enough about me to ever talk to me, I suddenly care so little.

Because he is never going to care about me.

Not if I sacrificed myself at the guillotine like Sydney Carton.

Not if I gave my first born child to save his life.

Not if I walk one hundred miles on hot coals to be by his side.

Leo will never care about me.

Not the way I want.

It seems so ridiculous, he is just a regular guy. Someone I have placed on a high pedestal and determined was special by some code. But he’s not. Realizing how regular he is was the turning point in the road for me. He’s this guy, a plain old regular dude, and even when I know this, he is special.

Maybe no one else sees it.

Maybe all of my friends will call him trash.

Maybe they will all think he’s a low life who can’t seem to get life straight.

But me? I see a light within him, a special quality that no one else has in my eyes, and Leo.

Leo has it.

Leo might always have it.

I need someone to see that same quality in me, because he fucking doesn’t. And that right there is why I could never actually love him. I have deep rooted affection, but in order to truly give a trusting love to someone, you have to believe they love you back.

I don’t think I could ever believe he did.

So I will probably tote around this knock-off, younger, more motivated version of him for the next three months while I try to convince myself I’m over him. I will probably convince myself that it’s Tristan I actually have feelings for in this situation. That none of it is really connected.

But I will know, when all of the lights are off and there is nothing to see but the engulfing and consuming darkness, that Tristan is nothing but a glorified sex doll to me.

And with that I’m gonna say goodnight.

ex·ist·ing

Beauty, Journal

I have been so exhausted recently with my new schedule, but I only have twenty days before graduation. Then I will only have to deal with work for three months before college. Three months of Galaxy left. Twenty days of high school. How many people will I be leaving behind? It feels like everything is already changing beyond repair and I was not ready for it.

Good news, though, I am slowly but surely getting over Leo. He becomes less and less attractive to me every time I see him – and I have started viewing him more as a friend than anything else.

I started seeing someone recently – one of my coworkers set me up with their friend. He came over to my place the other night. He is really cute, but I do not want anything serious. I do not think he does either, which is good.

We kissed and it was really nice to feel young.

cor·ro·sive

Journal

After tonight, I will have worked 40.5 hours this week and I want to topple over and sleep. Funny thing is, I haven’t gotten much of that recently. Hell, I haven’t even found time to eat or shower in the last three days. I barely get my homework done.

Last night, instead of doing those things, I covered someone’s shift. After work, a friend of mine was having a rough time, so we met up and talked until 12:30. I didn’t get to sleep until 1. I had to get up at 6.

I’m exhausted, been moving at 100mph, afraid of what will happen if I try to stop.

All this after having those two weeks about a month ago when I didn’t do anything but sleep and cry. Didn’t go to school. Only worked.

I’m afraid I’ll crash and burn if I’m not constantly doing something. But maybe I need to crash.

I’ve been smoking, drinking, overworking myself, not eating. Acting like I’ve got a happy attitude, but when I’m alone my body is just empty.

No longer a body. A shell. Emotionless. I stare into the eyes on a face which I know is mine, but don’t recognize it. The pupils devouring light, a blackhole.

Eating away at myself. Corrosion of emotion. Nothing of me left over after I’m done.

Lay in bed, a weight placed on my head that doesn’t physically exist.

Developed migraines.

But I just keep going. Pushing on into the forefront of the battleground. Cramps in my feet that go ignored. Hunger pains in my stomach that are just a reminder that I’m capable of feeling. Take a prescription strength ibuprofen, just make it go away.

But it doesn’t. Not the cramps or the hunger. It can’t go away because it’s not about the physical pain.

It’s never been about the physical pain.

It’s about feeling abandoned and unwanted. It’s about inadequacy and failing those I love. Never rising to the occasion when it mattered. I could withstand all of the pain in the world, ignore any discomfort, when it comes to handling physical pain, I can handle myself.

But having to live with this aching in my chest, the physical longing I have, it might be my end.

fox·tail

Journal

Rose early, falling late, never feeling completely awake. Cup of coffee at 7:08. Another in class. Lunch consisted of a chocolate shake and fries you didn’t want to finish. All of the mindless busy work in Spanish made a you want to claw the fleshy balls of eye out of your head.

Showered when you got home, did your makeup, washed the work clothes.

Stole a moment to glance at your bare face in the mirror. Admiring the freckles. The growing hair. The blueness of your eyes.

Had to leave for work. But you left early. Anxiety takes over when you can’t find your inner peace.

You found out that last night the guy you like came into work really stoned with his friends. Unsure why it hurts you, but it does. It’s like this foxtail that has worked it’s way into your chest and slowly it inches toward your heart – and you feel every second of its golden betrayal.

But then you remember, Santana is single. She’s still that girl you fell in love with. Moving to Santa Cruz, won’t be far from you in San Francisco. She’s cute. Artistic. Even if you gave her space, you still think she’s amazing.

That puts a smile on your face. She is the one you wrote that sonnet about. Her eyes of dawn. Your heart gets warm at the thought of her.

Fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t move from one person to the next. I mean, Leo was the distraction from Santana. I really consciously moved on using him.

And then it became something I couldn’t control, something darker.

And arguably I used Santana to get over Charley to get over Santana to get over Xavier who I used to get over Talon who I used to cope with moving and starting at a new school my junior year of high school.

So are my feelings for leo just an elaborate way of avoiding dealing with my sense of loss over moving to a new place? Displacing my emotional struggles by finding happiness in a false emotional bind?

Because I used Sam to cope with my parents separation and eventual divorce. To get over Sam I used a bunch of guys I don’t remember, and then Cadence.

I decided to be single because I had jumped from one person to the next since I was fourteen. Now that I have been single for seventeen months, I’m realizing the issue is deeper. It’s not just relationships, I jump from person to person emotionally too. Fall in love with one, but then get rejected and turn right around and pick someone new, doing it over and over, sometimes picking the same person twice, sometimes they are entirely new.

Some, like poor Zach, I have knowingly strung along even when I wasn’t interested in them, just to have someone there.

Just to have someone holding me on the beach at 11pm. Bonfires. Knowing he really, sincerely liked me.

Daniel. He won’t admit it, but I have to. I was only ever interested in feeling like someone cared. He gave me that.

Do I use emotional attraction to others as something to divert my emotional pain off my everyday life?

I don’t know but I want a double double. Fries.

I want a heated blanket.

Fresh, warm, chocolate chip cookies.

Comfort food. Netflix. More things I use as temporary bandaids on my emotional struggles.

Now we can add weed and alcohol and prescriptions to that list as well.

More people should be concerned.

Sometimes I imagine what it will be like for someone to go back over this shit if I ever actually kill myself. Will they be like “wow how didn’t we see the signs?” Or something?

Who knows. Who cares. I’m going to sleep.

with·drawn

Journal

One of my earliest memories is laying in bed, dark room, on the bottom bunk. Dark outside, parents sent me to sleep without food, and they were in the kitchen. Just outside my bedroom door. I could see the light spilling in through the crack under the door. That house wasn’t more than 800 square foot. They were right there. Yelling about money for groceries. I felt guilty because I ate food. I felt guilty for needing things. Like the blankets on my bed. I was ashamed because it felt like I was the reason they were arguing. If I didn’t exist then they wouldn’t need as much money, all the money that they didn’t have. That was the first time I thought I was a burden for existing.

I wasn’t older than four.

That thought hasn’t gone away. It doesn’t matter how much I rely on myself, I will always feel like I’m a burden. I can never do enough.

I can’t blame leo for not wanting me, I’m so fucked up. Nobody should be with a suicidal wreck. I would eventually hurt him and I know it. I have hurt everybody. I’m better off alone, I can’t inflict as much pain on others like that.

It’s no wonder I have no one in my life. No one wants to stick around in this mess.

They all deserve better than this. They deserve the poised, refined girl who doesn’t try to kill herself or get jealous. They deserve the girl who is tall and skinny and doesn’t need to wear makeup to feel pretty. The girl who takes care of herself.

Not me.

I might never be those things.

My parents don’t even want me. They passed me on to my grandparents. They didn’t either. Then my aunt. And she didn’t. Moved back in my mom and Bryan and I just couldn’t make any of them happy. I was a burden everywhere I went. I was so over it. But it’s not just housing. It’s relationships. I’m abusive. Manipulative. A fucking ticking time bomb.

I’ll never be enough, will I? I’ll always be a little bit wrong. Why do I fight it? I should just give in. I don’t know if that means dying my hair blue or killing my self. Getting the tattoos I want or overdosing. I fucking hate myself. I don’t want anyone to get to know me because deep down I’m just bad. There isn’t a good thing about me.

People know I’m depressed too, but no one bothers to even ask. I’m exhausted from living this life. Why can’t I try someone else’s on? A life where I don’t have to be depressed and exhausted from school and work and one where my parents love me. Why do I even bother letting myself imagine what that’d be like?

I will always be alone, imagining anything else is just torturing myself.

de·void

Journal

I’m still feeling that sense of loss I mentioned before. Could all of this be fixed with medication for depression? I have felt like this for as long as I can remember. Lonely. Suicidal. Always searching for an answer as to why I feel the way that I do.

In most, depression doesn’t have a cause – however, personally, mine does. Physically abused as a child, emotionally abused, I witnessed a lot of violence between my parents, witnessed my dad’s alcoholism, my mom’s absent-mindedness, the emotional neglect from both, socially isolated myself for so long, my parents divorced.

I’ve got PTSD, and I don’t really tell people about that. I don’t want people to see me as defected. I thought that maybe if I kept that information to myself, they would just be none-the-wiser to it.

I miss my first therapist, Lauren. I just don’t connect with Kari in the same way. I trust her and believe in her ability to help me, but I don’t feel connected to her.

Last night I wrote about feeling like an emotional pinball machine – that my feelings come and go, I have them, but at the end of the day, I feel empty inside.

I miss my dad.

The other day I was in someone’s room, it was really obvious that they had this particular room since their childhood. Pastel pink walls, trophies from softball, book series stacked neatly, cluttered, homely, comforting. It reminded me of my room before my parents separated. I didn’t realize how much I had. It was all gone so fast.

I lost everything at fourteen. I lost my family, my possessions, my friends, my hometown, I was thrown into the world and realized I had to learn how to survive alone.

Devastating. Crippling. Broken. Mutilated. Contorted into something unnatural and inhuman.

I have no energy.

Nothing feels real. Not even pain. It feels like this casual passing thing. Is this why people harm themselves? They want the world to feel clear again? Alive? Unmistakably vivid? It’s like needing glasses, you can’t discern one thing from the next because of all of it just squishing together into a mess of thoughts and feelings, but the table in front of me isn’t made of wood anymore. It’s not from a tree. It’s just a cloudy thought somewhere in the back of my head that was filed in the wrong space. But everything is like that. Everything has been filed in the wrong spot, emotions aren’t where they should be, words aren’t where they should be, I am spread thin.

I’m a human paradox.

/ˈsen(t)əmənt/

Journal

So I’m pretty high but really need to get these thoughts off my mind. Well um productivity is rejected. Forget that post I was gonna write about wanting to find respect for myself. Chocolate pudding, scooby doo, mind wave.

Are brain waves like light waves?? I want a dog. Endless suffering and pain. Headphones.

A crow looked at me: a high perspective

He talks about really deep concepts that have a universal meaning.

“All fails, my knees fail, my brain fails, words fail, encrusted with tears, catatonic and raw, I go downstairs and outside, and you still get mail”

“and collapsed there on the front steps, I wailed”

LIKE FUCK

“a silence that is bottomless and real, it’s dumb and I don’t want to learn anything from this. I love you.

Talking about how when someone feels real pain they don’t want to turn it into art. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’ve felt so much loss it’s almost like I’m numb to it. Lost my family. Lost my school.

You’re my dead wife. I live with your absence. Fuck. Fuck you. I’m hurt and will eventually try to hurt you because I don’t know how to handle this particular negative emotion.

New thought.

“Slow pulsing red tower lights. All my life I can remember longing looking across the water and seeing lights … I saw fireworks many miles away but didn’t hear them and I felt a longing a childish melancholy”

Deep shit. I wanna go back to Dudley ranch and explore the wilderness alone.

I have an aching heart. I want hugs. It always feels like I just had someone close to me die. Empty. Alone. Unsure. Afraid. Terrified. But you have to keep going.

“You were probably aching wanting not to die I couldn’t bear to look so I turned my head West like an early death”

Like how I ignore my love for leo internally because inside I’m so vacant. I externally love him. But inside me is just like an emotional pin ball machine. It’s in and out but never stays. Actively gets rid of it.

Tulare water slides.

Never will be a part of this world. Always moving. Never one place too long. Never allowed to settle down.

Fuck my life. Fuck people who aren’t self reliant. Who look to others every time something mildly challenging arrives.

I’m scared I’ll never feel full inside.

Death.

I should sleep.

No.

I wanna write an essay on the literary devices in “Ravens” by Mount Eerie. Especially the plants.

Okay goodnight.

The world is constantly dying

Does anybody really know how to interpret those pronunciation spellings in dictionaries?

My feet do the chill.

“When and how could I live”

Just fucking let me die already. I’m in so much pain. Maybe it gets better. I’m tired.

/grēf/

Journal

Once I moved past trying to understand, I found that the only thing left for me was grief. There was nothing to understand. Just absence. The black matter of emotion, it doesn’t take up space, but it affects everything around it. You didn’t do anything, but it affects me in a very real way. You don’t have to do anything and I am huddled against an alley wall sobbing on my break.

I was thinking about how all of this exists in another realm, the one that emotions physically exist in. Where Love manifests as a glowing orange orb, Depression is a holographic puddle of flies, Lust is an oozing, radiating magenta goo. Hatred is magnetic, kinetic shapeshifter.

I found out that I’m not the only one who likes you, that many girls from work have. I’m just another notch on your belt to choose from. That’s what I was, at least. Not what I am. You can’t choose me anymore. Not that you would have, but this whole concept disgusts me.

Is this what you do with all the people you know like you? Kiss and leave? Tell them that it would never work out, but also that you care? Treat them like they are different when no one else is around, but you have a pocket full of willing bitches just like them sitting on the side? Is this your thing, never settling down because you have this ideal person in your head, so you lead everyone on because you like the power?

I’m not your willing bitch. I might think I love you right now, but I have a lot of expirience leaving things that I love. In six months your name will be nothing but a faint memory that smells like stale popcorn and apathy.

You can hurt me, play with me, tease me, but a year from now you will be the guy I loved who had no integrity and I will have only been true to my emotions.

At least I can say I was always honest with myself.