home·sick

Journal

I feel like rambling. Letting my words flow free like a brook. Roll, pass, flow, dipping and weaving elegantly passed beautiful vines and rocks and wildflowers.

I’m naive. Letting the cursor blink. Thoughts halt. I’m afraid. Something inside me just stops, wondering if I will ever understand. Analog age, no more wildflowers. Silicon Valley instead of my hometown horchata and Orange Blossom Junction valley with the Dead Rat Saloon – trading that small town for a high tech city that moves faster than Cottonwood Creek ever would. You can’t hold onto the riverbank if the water moves too fast. Can’t find your footing in the riverbed if the current whips you away before you know what’s under your feet.

Let me lay under the sun once more on that blacktop in front of dad’s shop, smell the fresh fruit growing on trees, hot sand on summer days – mallow mounds and lemon trees.

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/ˈkaləst/

Journal

Got to thinking about the calluses on my feet. How I dislike them. Rough, reminding of how I stand for hours on end. Reminding of how I walk. The calluses that have been created by the lifestyle I didn’t choose to have.

I could not have stopped these calluses from forming.

I wondered how painful it would be to not have them. How much the calluses have saved me from. They protect me. Have been pressed against. Pressure prodding against the poor feet. All the pressure that would have sunk deep into my soft skin, pierced my nerves through my daintiness.

I cannot help but draw comparisons between my physical calluses and my emotional ones. I have been abandoned, disappointed, rejected by so many, but most important by my family. That negative emotion presses on me, I grew callus because I had no other option. I had to tell myself that was just the way of life – people would abandon me. I grew layer upon layer of protective emotional calluses, formed by years of neglect.

The calluses on my feet are there because I am in the working class. The calluses on my heart are there because my family is dysfunctional. Both serve as protection against a more painful reality. If I didn’t have the calluses on my feet, I would be in a lot of pain everyday as I stand or walk or rush around. If I didn’t have the calluses on my heart, I wouldn’t be able to bounce back from all the little struggles I face everyday. They would consume me, take me down effortlessly.

But here I am, callused and strong. All of the negative experiences I have been through collectively come together to form something positive. I may have been neglected and abandoned as a child, but I can withstand more than someone who wasn’t. I might have to work until 1am, but my feet are hearty and my will to finish strong is invaluable.

Here I stand, and here I shall stay.

ac·tu·al

Journal

How the fuck did I make it through high school? It was a goddamn trip and I’m so happy it’s over.

It was depressing, felt like it was never going to end. The teachers sucked. The students sucked. The atmosphere sucked. I didn’t learn anything useful besides the science courses, and most everything was a huge waste of time.

It’s not what people make it out to be, not even in the movies that paint it in a bad light – for me it was a depressive haze. People talked about me behind my back, as I walked by, they had nothing better to do – and it killed my self esteem.

Before I was in high school, nothing could stop me. My motivation was maxed out, and I wanted to change the goddamn world.

Nothing but high school could have killed that incredible spirit.

And when I say high school, I’m talking about the back stabbing bitches and the teachers who did the least, I’m talking about the people who poked my back fat when I was a freshman, the insecurity I felt when running during PE, I’m talking about having to breakup with ex boyfriends and dealing with seeing them around with new girls, the drama – the anxiety – the depression – all accumulating to create the shit expirience I had.

I’m hoping that I can just move on from that trauma and create a new life for myself. My actual life. The actual me.

/gasp/

Journal

Place me inside of a glass jar,
Release into the vast expanding
Universe we gasp for air.

Closed off. Veins pulsing. Hot,
Glowing orbs protest against our breath.
There is nothing to breath in this
shallow environment.

Everything is a thin film away
from being ours. Unobtainable, running
in circles around my cage. Unaware that
I have made no progress.

ir·rev·o·ca·ble

Journal

Despite the fact that I’ve been sleeping with Tristan and don’t want anything to happen between Leo and I; I still love Leo.

I don’t want anything to happen because I know nothing serious could ever manifest between us. Emotionally, I’ve been removing him from my day to day life. All I ever wanted from him was something serious. I could tease anyone with nudes, I could fuck any number of people for fun, but all of that seems lost on me with him – I want none of that bullshit with him. It’s why I wore baggy pajamas when he came over to my place, I didn’t want it to feel like I was trying to seduce him ((haha, lunging at him to kiss did that for me.))

I wanted Leo to want me for the same reason I desired him; For the part of his soul that is indescribably pure, gentle, lovely. I didn’t want things to be about bodies and sex and physical attraction. That’s all I’ve ever had and I’m tired of meaningless rough sex. I’m tired of not being able to finish because right before I should orgasm, I think about him – followed by thoughts of futility, and not finishing because the person with me is not him.

It’s all so stupid, so many girls have obviously had feelings for him, I fell into a trap. He is a trap, and a loser of one at that. He never gave a fuck about me, I wish I hadn’t let myself get into this mess.

And the girl I know likes him, she is what he said he was looking for. Confident, full of sunshine and hope and happiness. I will never forget that he told me he wouldn’t be with me because he didn’t want to limit his future options, that I wasn’t what he wanted for one reason or another, honestly I missed a lot of what he was saying just trying to wrap my head around the fact that he said he wouldn’t be with someone who had depression (in less words.) That I wasn’t what he wanted. That is what I got; Leo did not want me.

I need to get away from him. Run away, never look back. There is no future there. There never was anything there. He used me for a confidence boost and obviously doesn’t want me to move on from him because it makes him feel good to know someone likes him – so he strings me on, even if it is unintentionally. And some of it is self-inflicted. I allow myself to flirt still and I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even talk to him more than necessary for work.

He never gave a fuck. He will never give one. It’s time for me to give up, move forward, and continue pursuing the things in my life that will actually take me where I want to go and lead me to a person who loves me the way I once loved Leo. That’s all I want in life, for someone to feel for me the way I felt for him. Someone who has a career or plans for one, someone with motivation and charisma, interesting and unique.

I’ll find them, and they won’t be leo.

I’ve known this whole time that he would never work, but I’m swallowing the truth finally.

/āk/

Journal

I used to think I was the meaningless rough sex kinda person, but I’m learning that’s not true. I want to be taken care of, loved, given attention and cuddled. I want someone to show me that they love me.

I’ve lived for so long hiding from the fact that I want to be given affection, I’m assuming because my parents are distant and semi-neglectful. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t need it. But deep down I just want to belong.

The other night Tristan stayed over, I’d never had a guy stay over all night. It was a new expirience for me, and I didn’t know what to expect. Around three in the morning he got out of bed, I didn’t really know why and my first thoughts were that he had to go to the bathroom or put his clothes on, but then it crossed my mind that he might be leaving.

And it hit me. I didn’t want him to leave. Not because of who he is, because honestly I’m not too attached to him, but I didn’t want to be alone.

The idea of him leaving in the middle of the night made me ache.

When he crawled back in bed next to me it was reassuring. And then he grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him and even if I don’t have feelings for him, I was comfortable and satisfied.

min·i·mal·ism

Journal

It’s important to recognize who you are, in no definition but your own.

For instance, I am an old soul. I love science. I love Oxford shoes and doc martens. I love listening to instrumental piano but also Ghostemane, I have a chip on my shoulder but at the end of the day I just want to be loved. I want to move to Bora Bora in the French Polynesia one day – and also somewhere quiet in the South of France. I love minimalistic art because it can say so much by using very little influence on the observer. A line, perhaps it represents the lifespan of a person, perhaps it represents the beginning and the end of all things. Maybe the line is there to exemplify that simple things are beautiful. Because somehow a line ended up in a national museum. Or say there are a bunch of lines, all of a sudden there are a million different lives being portrayed. A million different universes and you are in this one.

The world with salted dark chocolate. Where rain falls as water droplets and wine exists. A world where a kiss can mean a million things: hello, goodbye, I missed you, I love you, you’re attractive, I can never see you again.

We could have lived in a world with none of that. Water could just have moved by vapor. Chocolate might not have been compatible with our tastebuds. Kissing might have seemed silly.

And all of that came just from looking at lines.

Simple lines. Basic lines. Perhaps even boring lines.

But I would much rather live a boring life and live through all of it than run fast, burn quick, and die young.

Let’s make the good decisions.

I made an unorthodox “good decision” recently – letting someone I don’t love into my life. We have a lot of fun together, and like a puppy sometimes he doesn’t know when to calm down, but it’s cute. And I’m beginning to think he cares about me (which is dangerous).

Can someone take me back to Thai Pepper in Ashland? I don’t want to be the person who lives off of their past memories, leeching everything good out of the current life- but I miss my old friends. They were all so genuine. In the sort of way that Leo is genuine. They all remind me of who I know I am inside.

They are all curious.

ce·ment

Journal

Yet another night, staring into my own eyes, unrecognizable against the dark backdrop. They are filled with some substance? Something terrifying, absent.

A black matter, invisible yet completely present. Intangible.

Glazed over, they go on and on forever sinking deeper and deeper within me, and nothing.

There is nothing.

Emptiness. Dank, cold, something that would send chills of terror down the spine of any.

It’s the fear we all have, complete and utter loneliness. To be truly alone.

To have lost yourself.

To have realized the lies you have told yourself about one day waking up and suddenly feeling belonging. To suddenly feel satisfied.

It will never happen.

Everyday will be like this: the monotony. The plain. The early mornings. The bills. The endless work and school. I will never be free.

I can never live.

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.

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.