30.7.10

I am so mad.
Gosh.
I am.
Just so mad.

I am so mad.

My license is suspended says dmv.
Because there is a lack of communication between court or whatever.

So, I won't have my license for maybe a week.
Or maybe until March.


Melissa.
Is being so selfish.

I tell her.
I may not be able to come on Saturday because I'm working this license thing out.
And I have to get my iud in the middle of the week.
She tells me.

I am not being a friend.
Let alone best friend.
Because her boyfriend left her.
And she needs suppourt.
And is upset that my iud is more important.


Selfish.

WHY AM I JUST SOLD TO HER.


She did not help me get over anything.
I did it by myself.

I had to get over all of the shit in my life.
Without her.

I mean, I've cried to her.
I've had my freak outs.
But she just listens to me cry.

And then I go and I calm down.
And then I fix it all in my head.

And she doesn't even care I'm getting the iud.
Or that my license shit it is fucked up.

I tell her I feel depressed and want to isolate myself.

And all she thinks about is how I need to be there with her.

She doesn't care about the license.




And my dad is freaking out all day over this whole mess.
And I'm having anxiety.

And I ate a sandwich this morning.
And have been having diarrhea.
And swallowing the little vomit that keeps coming up.
My stomach burns.
I feel just tired.
And so nauseous.

The day before yesterday, I threw up six times.
And yesterday, I think two or three.

And I am just quitting straight as of today.
Just cold.

And I had that sandwich.
But I feel too sick to eat for the rest of the day.
And soda makes me feel more sick.
And water makes me feel more sick.

I just feel sick everything I put in.


I don't want to go back to Santa Cruz until everything is fixed.

I really don't think I'm made for anything.
I'm not going to make it.
I really just.

I'm really so incapable.

I'm really scared for my life.
I really think I'm going to end up just.
A mess.
And lost.

I'm not going to make it.
I really swear.   

27.7.10

Sometimes, 
I find myself in a bathroom.
And I wonder if they have any drugs in there.

I keep wanting to shut my head up.


But I keep telling myself I don't want that life anymore.



It feels really weird to experience being upset and sober.
I cry more.
I used to always be alone.
For months.
And I used to hide in my house for months.
And I wouldn't see anyone.

And I haven't been alone in a while, it seems.
And I don't feel comfortable with it anymore.

I used to stand there around people and watch the clock until I went home.

I don't understand why my friends like me much.

I know I'm funny.
But in that dopey way.

There isn't really much important about me.

I didn't vomit one day.
And then yesterday, I vomited dinner.
And then I vomited dinner today.

For some reason,
I can't spell as well as I used to.

Ever since I started this eating thing,
I've been so much more spacey.

My friends in Sacramento miss me.
And I don't really.

Well, I just thought they'd forget about me by now.
But they seem so excited to see me.
And ask when I'm coming around.
And make plans.

Sometimes I feel really pointless.

And worthless.

Really, what do I do?
I do nothing.
I'm not really much.

There's the half where I question why my friends care so much.

And then there's the other half of my friends.
Who just treat me like shit.
And I don't bother enough to really care about it.

I just assume that the world is like that.

I love my friends, though.
They all have such souls.
And I watch them sometimes.

Like when Shelby laughs,
That's when I always remember why I love her.

When I see people blink.
Or watch their stomach rise for a breath.
Then I love them.
Because.
Well, I don't really know.

But there are so many great people that I know.
From everywhere I've been.
And I love them all.
And they're very pure and honest.

I don't think many people know as many people as I do.
Who are real.
Just straight who they are.


I don't know why I think I'm lower than people.
I don't really consider myself fake.
And if I were someone else,
I think that I would appreciate that about me.

I want to stop thinking about what used to be.
Ever since that night I showed him the pictures,
It's just been weird.

I told him how I used to think my father wanted to have sex with me.
And I haven't really told anyone that.
And I don't think it even really stuck in his mind.

I sat in my car, and I cried.
I don't want to have ever thought things like that.
It's weird.
And.
Twisted.
And.
Disturbing.

26.7.10

He read that Cognitive Babble poem.
And he said that when he read the part where I explained how it's hard to look him in the eyes.
Because my body freaks out.
He felt it happen to him.


And last night.
I felt really weird alone.
And then he called.
And we decided he was going to sleep over despite his family being in America.

And I'm in the kitchen making him food.
And he starts playing the recordings of me signing Radiohead, Spoon, and Otis redding on guitar.
And then we lay together, and he holds me, and we listen.

Well, I just kind of cover my ears.
And freak out.

And recently, he keeps telling me I'm beautiful.

That word just feels weird.
I can't call anything beautiful.

We wake up in the morning.
And eventually go to Lucas' because they have work.
Lucas is asleep, of course.
So, we hang out on the couch in the living room.
And half fall asleep.

We seem to always be intwined.

I suppose we kind of start getting on.
And hold each other.
And I had been trying to get myself to tell him I love him.

And when I finally say it, it's some puny whisper.
And he tells me that he was just about to tell me that he loved me.

And I tried looking in his eyes, 
But I freaked out again.

We have sex on the other couch where the jam.

And I told him I loved him.
And I said his name.
And when he finished,
He told me that he loved me, too.

He told me he feels bad if it isn't long.
And I told him I just want to be with him,
And that's what matters.

And, honestly.

I can get off five times in like five seconds.















Oh, and I fixed my car.

24.7.10

I.
Facking.
Threw up.
And my throat.
Is fucked.
It's that feeling.
Like something is stuck.
And I swallow and swallow.
But I know.
It's just because.
Of me.


My stomach hurts.




Melissa says I'm going to end up in the hospital.
And he says he doesn't want it to get to that point.


I really don't think I will.

But I want to stop this.


But I wouldn't take it back.


I stopped before.
Fully.

And starving was easy.


I need more pills.

Pills.
Pills.
Pills.

And then I'll be healthier.
And the gym.

Duh.
Everyone says it fades.
But I don't think so.




Assholes.












Vomiting.
Is.
I think getting better.
I think I should log how much I vomit a day.

Today, I threw up twice.
I had a piece of toast.

And I kept that.

Did some coke.
And that was great.

We  listened to Led Zeppelin in the warehouse.

And.

That band.
It just.
It's becoming more and more.
Perfectly beautiful to me.
Perfectly.
Beautiful.


After some whatever.
I went home.
I ate an orange and some cottage cheese.
And threw it up because I felt ooooooverly full.
Put on some spaghetti.
And had some toast.
Vomited toast.

And then I couldn't have any spaghetti.

So, I'm drinking tea.
And I really hope I don't vomit anymore today.
Because then my stomach would hurt a lot.
Again.




Again.

23.7.10

So.
We drove to L.A.
And got pulled over.
So.
Before that,
We took bread from the bakery and got stoned.
And after that.
We went to In-N-Out.
I decided to eat a whole double double.
The obese family was pointing and laughing at me.
He was upset.
And I couldn't tell why.
He kept talking about how people are disgusting.
We walk out and he tells me.
And it's interesting.
Someone gets upset because people are being mean to me.
No one has really ever cared like that.

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So.
We get there.
And start the drugs.
And I look at him.
And I don't care what he does.
It's just him.
And me.
And that's what I like.

And The Dead Weather.
Was beautiful.
And it was twisted magic swimming in my veins.
Like being licked all over.

I leaned on him.
And put my head back on his shoulder.
And I smiled.
And grooved.

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And the show was over.
And we layed on the floor together.
They told us to leave.


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What the fuck.
He says it out loud.



And sometimes I want to cry again.
And most of the time it just makes me feel high.
And I don't believe it.
And it feels like I'm hallucinating. 

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So.
He talked to me about vomiting again.
Because I hadn't eaten that day.
And then he told me that he loved me.
And is worried.


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And now.
I feel just horrible.
Because I don't want it to hurt him.

I don't want this to trickle into other people's lives.
It can affect me.
And that's all.


But it hurt me, too.
To hurt him.


And I'm working on the eyes thing.

But it's embarrassing .
Because sometimes I have to take deep breaths.
To make up for the ones that I forgot.

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And this is all so.
Goopy.
And cheesy.
I suppose.

But it feels good.
And it makes me feel like I'm still young.



Which, I guess. I am.

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I feel comfortable nude around him.


Isn't that.



Weird?
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20.7.10

It became something that sat at the edge of my mouth for a while.
And sometimes I could feel it almost slip out.

And I can feel it in my body.
And it's like all the thoughts in my head are gone.

I thought he said it, but he didn't.
But I could see it, I think.

And then I tried to tell him, but my mouth would close.
And he thought I either cheated or was going to leave him.
And it's was really cliche', but all i could say was "I".
And he started saying he was going to leave.
Because he thought it was something bad.
And then I realized I couldn't brush it off as a nothing thing again.
And so I said it.

Well, it was like a whisper.

And then he told me that he loved me, too.
And I started crying.

And he told me that he has for a while.
And I told him the same.


And my life is really different now.
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I'm really down with life now.
OH WHAT.

I looked at these pictures from my friends birthday party.
What the fuck.


My body.
Looks way different that my brain imagines it.


This is so odd.




I am.
Really confused.

19.7.10

I think about saying it.
And then I start to cry.

And then I erase it from any thought.



I know what it is.

But I don't think it's understood that I have the capability.


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He says that I am very much like a little girl.
And.
That's odd to me.

People used to tell me that I look aged.

Like I look tired.
And wise.


But now.
It's a different life.
And I think I'm a different person without all of the drugs.
And actions.


I think I'm young.


I just lived old for a while.


And maybe that's why my face is freaking me out.


I remember doing the make up for the job.
And when I was ready,
I would just stare at myself.
And tell myself.
I am a sixteen year old prostitute.
And this is what I'm making myself believe I want.


18.7.10

Being afraid is getting boring.

17.7.10

Yup.



I fucking threw up.


It's like.
Part of me really can't stop.

15.7.10

I have.
Have.
To stop vomiting.

My stomach hurts so bad.
I've been trying not to.
But I ate oatmeal.
And just vomited everything I had today.
I'm glad I did it.


But my stomach hurts so much.
It's raw.


It's really sensitive.
Like it hurts when people lay on my stomach.
And it feels swollen.

I really don't want to vomit anymore.

He said he just assumes whenever I go into the bathroom that I'm vomiting.


My legs are getting thinner.
And when I look down, I don't recognize my arms.


When I was high yesterday at Melissa's,
I was doing my make up, and when I finished,
I stared at myself in the mirror.
And I had no idea who I was.

I didn't recognize myself.

This has always happened to me,
But it really freaked me out.


I have no idea of what I physically look like.
And it's not just the eating thing.
It's my face.
It's not the face I assume I have.


I started crying and told her to hug me.
Because I wanted to get over it.


Fuck my mind.
I can not let things hold me back.
Life is life.
I want to enjoy myself.



Went to Danville with Bryan.
Hung out at Melissa's pool all day and dyed her hair.
Stoned.
Jeremy was there.
But afraid as usual.
We played old vinyls of her father's.
Zeppelin.
Went out to dinner with her parents stoned.
Went to the Chrysalis Den art show.
Where one of my photographer friends had some of his work.
Dressed in Thrift clothing from the 50's and 70's.


Melissa says that I'm mean to him sometimes.
I know that I am.
I wish I wasn't as much.
But.


Sometimes I think my standards are for perfection.
But I don't want perfection perfection.
I want mine.
I want flaws.
But the right flaws.
The perfect flaws.
And that's very pointless of me.


They kept going on about my driving.
And.
I know that I shouldn't have been upset.
But sometimes i get really scared.
Driving is supposed to be something everyone does.

It's something normal.
And all of these things that don't even phase people.
Are difficult for me.
I don't understand.

Sometimes I think I'm intelligent.
And sometimes, it seems that I realize that I'm far below.

I wish people understood what it was like in those places.

I suppose I could compare it to that Girl Interrupted film.

It wasn't always like that.
But just as strict and twisted.
And the people in there were like that.
Violent.
And gone.

Destructive.

Withered.

I don't think I can become successful.
I'm not meant for the mainstream of this world.
If I can do something with photography,
Then I might be able to achieve something with myself.

Otherwise,
I'm going to end up with blackened teeth.
And rotting flesh.
And bleeding thighs.


Veins that smell like a corpse.



I felt worthless by the end of the day.
There really isn't much I'm good at.
People all have their talents.
Melissa can just sing in front of everyone.
And I do nothing.
I think I'm really handicapping myself.
Due to my fear.

Singing is just too vulnerable.
When they made me do it at the last place.
I was shaking everywhere.
And I almost started bawling.

And when I sat down.
The southern boy told me I had a very nice voice.
And my face was on fire.
And I just smiled.
And said thank you.


My friends have been putting a lot of effort into expressing what I mean to them recently.
And he's being.

I don't know how to describe things.


He thinks we have too much sex.
And I've been thinking about why I feel like I want it so often.
And it's not because I'm on all of the time.
It's not sex, exactly.
It's what it brings to me.

Sex with him seems a lot more expressive.

It's like I can't really tell him that I care much because that's too frightening.
But I feel like I can show him during sex.
That he means a lot to me.

It's like we become this big.
Mass of energy.