Despicable Me

I am legitimately shocked and awed by how fucking awful this feels. I am living alone. I am alone and eating ramen. Depressed as hell. Be careful what you fucking wish for. It’s only Tuesday. I have only been alone since Sunday morning. Regardless, I have cried every day, starting that morning around 6:20am. I’m finally mourning. Doubly mourning. I know I have to go through this to get to the other side. Like the chicken I’ve been feeling like at work lately. The one without a head. There is so much I want to say. So much I feel I have to hide. I’m tired of hiding.  

Small details: I had planned on going to the gym after work. Instead, I made a conscious decision to allow myself to fall deeper into this sadness. I made a conscious decision to buy a bottle of Irish whiskey (it makes me feel connected to so many things). I made a conscious decision to not make real food. I say I don’t care but it’s because I do care so much that everything weighs on me so heavily. So heavily that bottle follows bottle in a futile effort to stop the pain and disappointment that I feel. Being aware of what I’m doing makes it that much more painful.

So many things are going through my head right now. Thoughts and feelings. Especially “STOP!” But not a positive stop. It’s “stop writing, stop thinking, go to the couch and turn on the tv, forget all this.” But that doesn’t stop it, only delays.

“I don’t know” and “I’m so sorry.” The two most common refrains I hear come out of my mouth or that run through my head. I wish I could say “Yes,” and “I love you” and “Help me.” “Please.” And that I could accept help. And love. It’s enough to make me turn to Jesus, I swear.

I wish I could be less stubborn. Open and gracious and forgiving instead of glancing sideways at everyone and everything offered. Yet still being taken advantage of. That I could work with instead of against. You and me.

There are so many truths about me that I find disturbing. Truths that I have trouble voicing. Truths that make me despicable. Using and abusing. I realized not long after I moved out that I am not necessarily a “good” person. I do what I need to do to survive. Yet people still call me a saint. People still want to help me. People think I am good. It’s not goodness, it’s self-preservation and idiocy. Being who I need to be to get by. Denying myself, hiding myself. Fronting.

That’s all bullshit, that last paragraph. I victimize myself and blame others for making me unhappy. Because I am unhappy and I’m too chicken-shit to do anything about it.

You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.

I don’t deserve all the chances people give me. Yet I do. Because I care so much. Because I’ve been hurt so much. By other people who were hurt before me. And it goes on and on. The legacy of hurt. 

Fuck. How did I end up here?

Fear. Fear that I’ve lost another friend. Because of my fear. Because of second-guesses and outside pressure. (Incompatibility and desperation? Insecurity?)

Why can’t I just sit with myself? Why am I so afraid of myself? Because I know how despicable I am? God, that’s depressing. Because I know how much I hurt. I know how much pain is inside of me. And how much rage and anger. And that does scare me. It makes me of absolutely no use to anyone.

So here I am. Finally alone. And scared to death of what I’ll discover. Yet I know I am searching for something in others that I can only find in myself and I’m no good to anyone until I find it.



But do not ask the price I paid,
I must live with my quiet rage,
Tame the ghosts in my head,
That run wild and wish me dead.
Should you shake my ash to the wind
Lord, forget all of my sins
Or let me die where I lie
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.

Interpretation, or, Go Fuck Yourself

I had one of those dreams last night.

I often have dreams where I am trapped, unable to find my way out of a building or location and that's what was going on last night. All the windows were old and either wouldn't open or were too small but most importantly all of them were just too high to jump from. I was in Cecil County and Chris was with me and one other person who wasn't really identifiable. We all climbed this hill and got inside the building but for some reason it was just me who ended up being what I can only describe as an indentured servant to the people living there, this woman and her elderly mother. What I was doing isn't important. It involved making sure tour groups got up and down the hill safely, there was a railroad trestle and water... Anyway, I ended up alone and I didn't want to be there, I didn't want to be doing this job, but I couldn't escape. Inside the building where these two women lived it was like an episode of Hoarders but every once in a while I'd get a glimpse of this pristine bedroom and bathroom which were somehow off limits to me and I knew I'd get in trouble if I were caught in there. Eventually I escaped, but I don't remember how, and I found Chris and the mystery person again.

But here's the fucked up part: This all happened in one day. And the next day I went back to do it all over again.

Witness my insanity.

How fast can you run?

Shit is just fucked. Nothing has... I feel like I have no control over anything. I moved out because I needed space, because I wanted to be alone... But nothing has worked out like I'd hoped or planned. And I am so angry I can't stand it and I don't see a way out. And it's my own fucking fault. For being such an idiot, for believing in someone, for trusting someone. When I should have known. I should have known. I wasn't and am not in the right space for this to be happening. I feel used and taken advantage of. And so, so angry. I just want what I wanted: To be alone. To work through things. To have my own space. To fucking watch tv as loud as I want. Alone. 

The Great Divide

This fucking depression is killing me. And the stress. And the “OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?” aspect of it all.

That’s right, I’m going to talk about this.

This past week has been hell. There was the monthly blood-letting, the oppressive humidity, then the spider bite, then the spider bite infection (thankfully the visit to the urgent care center and the antibiotics I had to get on Friday evening were both free), I slept til about 5pm Saturday, woke up, showered, then realized I had nowhere to go. So I went to get beer. Which was when I realized I had parked in a handicapped spot and gotten a $75 ticket. On the way out of the beer store, something in my back just, like, snapped and the pain was so intense I thought I was going to fall over right there on the sidewalk. I remember being really drunk last night, taking a bath, sending weird messages to strangers. Today I didn’t go to work, I don’t even know why. But I do have diarrhea and what I think are the beginnings of a yeast infection from the antibiotics. Sweet.

Throughout all of this there have been copious amounts of tears. It’s still three weeks until I can move out and mourn in peace. Three weeks until I find out if I can even manage to live on my own, a thing I’ve never done. Made all the more thrilling because of how alone I feel. When I feel like I have three friends in the whole world who I can talk to about this and none of them live in the same city as me. Philadelphia, Brunswick, MD, and Holland aren’t really within “Can you come over? I need company” distance.

God, I just want to sleep.

But this is what I want, right? Yes. I made this decision. It’s going to eventually be the best thing for both of us... But right now? Right now there is nothing I can do. Three weeks. It’s already been about 3 weeks since the decision was made and I’m just waiting. Feeling awkward and uncomfortable. My head hurts. My back hurts. I just want to feel comfortable somewhere. To not be scared out of my mind for an hour or two. To breathe and be able to think for a minute in a space of my own.

Three weeks.

I don't know what you might already know about what's going on, some of you know more than others, of course, and I know many of you have been through this, but I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. I am about to embark on something so positively terrifying that yesterday I couldn't even, I mean literally, get out of bed. Yet it's something that millions of people do all the time. I know, I just know, that for the sake of both our futures and our future happiness that this needs to happen no matter how much it hurts right now.

So I came across someone's life to-do list on XOJane and now I'm stealing a bunch of things from other peoples' lists and adding some items of my own. So many corny clichés have been running through my head this morning so why not just fucking go with it. The only way forward is through. Amiright?

Here's my part stolen/part original list:

Stop thinking about the ending when you're still at the beginning.
Never, ever, EVER fucking give up.
Stop being so fucking scared.
Take risks.
Don't look back.
Be selfish.
Save yourself.
Do not regret.
Do not be ashamed.
Never abandon yourself.
Be patient with yourself.
Be self-sufficient.
Stop hurting yourself.
Own a pair of Frye boots. (I totally forgot about this one! Any of these will do.)
Value experiences over things.
Find happiness within yourself.
Listen to your heart.
Be able to write that without starting to sing that vomitous Roxette song.
Listen to your body.
(Do more yoga.)
Consult your head but don't always let it win.
Do not take friendships for granted, especially when they're so scarce. 

There's no fucking point to this post except to let you know that I'm terrified, scared about what I'm about to lose yet sadly hopeful about the future. 

XO... Jen

It's cold out here. Cold, okay? I'm thinking about my Mellow Yellow fingernails and my Air blue toenails while sitting on the deck with the tiki torches lit and drinking Golden Monkey and chain smoking.

Babies, I've seen a new therapist for two sessions. Babies, I've been reading xoJane like it's my new Jezebel because it is. Cat's back. No, I'm not going to start one of my "I don't understand the ladies" rants... as easy as that might be.

What was I going to start? (Are you my lady doctor, "my lady"?) I had the horrible realization today, while talking with her, that I've been here before. I think she likes me, for the usual reasons: I'm smart, I get it... But I don't. That's why I'm there. I know. But I don't. It's the same old song and dance. Me me me me me. The same me from 2005. The same me from 1999. The same me who knows what to do but is too afraid to do it.

I was sitting there today thinking, "HELP ME", knowing the whole time that only I can help myself. So I listed off my 4 main reasons for being there and she said something like, "well, you're here to make yourself stronger, so you can make these changes." We've talked about all 4 of my issues in two 50-minute sessions. Now what?

Stare off into space.

That's how I talk about important things. Staring off into space.

"Does [this happen]?"
"... No ..."
"Does [that happen]?"
"... No ... Eh. No. Not really."

Hmm. I get the feeling she wants drama. I tend to downplay things. Yet dream the drama.

"Yes."
"No."
"Yes!"
"No!"

It's not that.

Two nights a week. "Two."

"Do you think you could commit to only [doing this thing] twice a week?"
"I could..."
"Will you?"
"I will."

Knowing I was lying the whole time.

"We should keep you broke."
"Ha, ha... ha."

"You should write about it." Journaling she said. Fuck me. I do. And it's always the same thing, over and over again.
"Bring it," she said.

She just found the key to my heart.

Oh, I will. I will bring it, sister.

Panic Button

I'm having one of my "going quiet" episodes brought on by an impending job search. Or at least I think that's what it is.

I've been trying to write everyday on my lunch break and it feels like each day I have less and less to say. Or I'm just repeating the same things over and over again. Yesterday there was this: "I know. I'm totally blank. Because I should be doing at this point. Not thinking."

But it's the idea of "doing" that triggers the panic. (We could get into some deep psychological shit if I were to start unpacking that sentence.) And then I mentally (and physically) shut down and I'm just "no, no, no, no, no. I'm going to stay here where it's safe. Here inside myself, inside my head, here inside this apartment, inside this windowless office at work. It's okay here. It's not so bad." When really I want to scream and break things. And escape.

Forgive me for what I'm about to do here, I know he can be hard to take. I may have mentioned... no, actually I don't think I ever finished writing that, about how much I identify with Kanye West. I think it's still a draft. Anyway. It probably won't be clear to you but I have a special affinity for this song. We're both assholes.

Last night I just sat on the couch, watching TV, not even looking for anyone to talk to online. "No, no, no, no, no." The Killing, Mad Men, Drag Race. All the while eating the candy and drinking the sweet, sweet Coca-Cola I bought at Target after work. Thinking, fuck it. All the while wishing I was fucking drunk. Then I went to bed.

It's always the same. I know I just have to give it time. I'll come out of it. When it has to be done I'll do it. Sometimes it's just nice to succumb to the desire to hide and eat like an asshole, even knowing the whole time that you're only hurting yourself. Because you feel like you deserve it. And I know how to hurt myself best.

God. Even writing this is making me anxious. I've got that weak, shaky feeling you get. Do you know that one? Just from writing. And my hands are all sweaty. I'm a god damn mess.

But I'll come out of it. 

Oh, Little Girl, Pick Up the Pieces...

You learn to live without...

I have only just begun to drink so this is going to get much more pathetic as the night goes on. This song is destroying me right now:

I always think, "this time it will be different". It's never different and it always hurts. I wouldn't let myself cry yesterday but things are different tonight. I didn't think there would be much to mourn considering the circumstances but that's exactly what I'm doing. I've reached the second stage of grief. Anger. Actually, I went there first because there's never any reason to deny what's happening when it happens and I'm always so quick to walk away. And it's not like anyone ever regrets that I do.

This wasn't supposed to be a pity party but I think that's what I need right now. He said, "don't take it all on yourself," but how can I not? I know how I am. But he's right and you can't control what other people think about you. You do your best and that's all you can do. So no matter how much you want something maybe the other person doesn't want it as much. And no one's to blame for that.

Old Me: Just Stay Home

OH MY GOD.

I'm depressed again and I even wore my depression shirt. [I remember this shitty shirt, it's depressing to think about even now.] I wrote to Sarah last night but gosh darnit [sic] I didn't have a stamp. I just never could call her. I'm mad at Dave and I wish I would've stayed home today because I didn't do my homework for this most highly exhalted [sic] class. I couldn't -- didn't know how.  I'm mad at Dave because he didn't call me back. And because he's so moody. He may have called but I'm not sure. [OverReacTron 2000.] I hate the fact that he has this special knack at making me mad. He's so obnoxious. But I'm still here -- mad, depressed, hungry, tired, confused and downright pissed. [This all sounds suspiciously like PMS, which is the hunch I had about the last entry.] Okay - I'm going to start over now.

[...]

No offense but this class is getting terribly boring. Oh, great, now the sun's coming out. Just what'll make me feel better. Where's the wind and rain and darkness? I'm really in a bad mood and I hate being in a bad mood.

Later -- Should I call Dave or wait and see if he calls me? I'm opting for the former. But what if his mom won't let him call? [It seems I actually meant latter.] Does that mean I'm allowed to call him? I'll wait a while.

I wish I could think of something... Oh! Guess what? Janet's preggers again [my sister]. 10 weeks. How she waited that long to tell I don't know. I was so happy when I found out. I wasn't suprised - I wasn't last time either. I knew it had to be soon. I've been really wanting a baby, too. (Wanting Janet to have one, of course.) They're so cute, just to hold them and rock them and give them their bottle. They're cute until they start walking and talking [I still agree]. (Kenny) He's not a baby anymore.

I was just thinking of what I would write to Dave assuming I did love him. And not something about the psycho child from hell.

[Here I wrote out the alphabet with "Dave's" full name interspersed.]

I'd write that but much more elaborate I'd imagine. [I can't imagine.] If it were to come to that of course.

Which right now I don't care. I'm in a bad mood. A real bad mood and I don't want to be in a bad mood but I am in a bad mood and I hate it. You know what would make me in a happy mood would be if I would've stayed home today. Then I would be in the best mood cause I'd be asleep. I miss sleep. I really do. Sometimes. I can't stay home tomorrow, it would have to be either a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. I'm hoping Sarah calls me tonight. Or I call her. I was going to call her last night (as I am every night but don't). I really want to talk to her. It must be because I'm terribly sad.

Did you know that Jim Morrison was killed by Pam, his girlfriend? How tragic can you get. She was giving him heroin. [Mmm, free will. I was kind of obsessed with Jim Morrison, reading books about him and poetry books by him. I was never that into the music, though. Huh.] It can't be all her fault though. He let her [Oh. I should've read ahead.] But then a few years later she herself overdosed and is daid [sic] as she should be.

[...]

There's so much I want to write about. I bet  you can't guess what/who it's about? Yep, you're "write."  There's so much about him I don't know. But that's mutual. I guess you can never know everything about a person, it would be boring if you did. As far as I can tell I love him [whoa!]. He's so fucked up right now [double whoa for the first f-bomb I drop!]. I don't know if he can love back but that's that [sic] important. [Freudian slip? A. How could that NOT be important? B. I think it is THAT THAT important, dummy.] You should never waste a chance to tell someone you love them [jeez, embroider a pillow, why don'tcha]. I lost my train of thought again. (Chug-chug.) There's so much I want to say I can't think of anything. My newest discovery? NIИ - Nine Inch Nails. The coolest stuff yet. I've got to get more.

I have this huge secret I'm just dying to mention. It's the coolest thing. And to think all this time and I'm just now finding out. [I think I'm about to die from embarrassment.] I feel like a weed for thinking it's so cool [you should feel that way]. I mean it's got to be terribly difficult to actually live it. To think I actually know someone who's attracted to people of the same sex. Isn't that wild?! [And... I just died.] I wonder what he'd say if he knew I felt this way? [Also embarrassed?]

[... I mention my cat, transcribe some Nine Inch Nails lyrics for 3 & 1/2 pages ...]

I'm not a happy (humpy) camper. I don't think Dave is here. My day's shot. I really almost stayed home today. Now I wish I really did. School is getting boring. I'm hoping to go over Dave's house Friday night. Saturday we're going to 3 Little Bakers [yeah, it's a dinner theater]. My mom's a weiner. She won't let me go over on a week night. Is that the most bogus thing you've ever hear? [I'm still amazed she let me go to his place at all.] But weekends aren't out. I'm going to make a list of all the stuff I want to take with me when I go. [WTF?] I'm going to have a suitcase full of stuff to take with me. [KNOW ME! LOVE ME!] What if he is here but I just didn't see him. I hope so. We didn't get to talk much last night.

This day is going to last forever.

[Page(s) missing. When it starts up again I'm talking about my father. I think this might be around the time my mother let him move back into the house with us:]

...he even home, too drunk to notice, I guess. Fifteen years I had to deal with the stupid bastard. Until, um, last May I think it was when I finally decided I wasn't going to live like that anymore. Not that he ever said or did anything to me. [Hmm. He definitely said some weird shit to me but I think it was after this time period.] We barely acknowledge each other's existence. But nobody deserves to listen to him constantly putting other people down, especially your mother who has somehow accepted that living like that's okay. It's okay to be called a bitch and/or worse every single day of your life. I blame her a lot for everything. How she can sit there and watch 9 kids be put through every kind of abuse possible is beyond me. He used to beat David, punched Diane right in front of everyone while they were eating dinner, nobody even tried to stop him! The worse stuff happened before me.

I don't want to talk about that anymore.

April's not here, the wench. She said she wouldn't be here Friday, it's only Thursday. She's here, the wench. I couldn't stay home today, my mom did. It's truly hell trying to stay home when she does. Acting like you're sick all day. It makes me really sick.

I wish Dave and me [grammar, people!] could hmm. I don't know how to say what I'm thinking. I want more. I'll just leave it at that. What is more? More everything. That's sickening. [???] It's not a great feeling, wanting to be with a person all the time. [Oh.] It just makes you sad because you can't be and really you don't want to be because I get annoyed after 2 days of the same person being constantly around. I'm flustered, I love/hate that word. Frustrated is a better word. It's crazy because I don't know why I am. I got my pepperoni "logs." They're real cute all wrapped up avec bow [WHAT are you talking about?]. I'd rather have a bologna (baloney) (I like that word better) log, though. Oops. I shouldn't go there. Sometimes I think I do want it but then sometimes the thought of it makes me nauseous. [I hear ya, sister.] Not because it's Dave. It could be anybody. It's a scary thought.

Tales of a 15 year old virgin. Next: more relationship confusion, mostly revolving around cryptic conversations and news of the relationship getting out, thoughts on Madonna's movie Truth or Dare, and remembrances of childhood friends.