I just lovvvvvvvvvvve himmmmmmmmmmm.



I'm vomiting.
Taking a break from this.
I feel like it just continues my overanalyzation.
Everything is good.
And that's chill.


     Almost always.
It's always something negative about me.
And it's always about how everything I have is a piece of shit.
Or how I suck at cleaning.
And I'm not good at cooking.
And I'm annoying.
And I'm too sensitive.
And this sucks about me.
And that sucks, too.
And I ask too many questions.
And I should shut up.
And I shouldn't be pissy.
And it's not really my money.
And I'm a bitch.
And I suck at photography.

And I try so hard.
To change all of those things.
And I stop talking about what makes me feel bad.
But I still feel bad.
And I don't really feel.

I feel worthless.
I have nothing to offer you.

And you like everything about yourself.
And when you don't, I try my best to make you feel loved.

But you don't do that for me.
You're not nurturing when I'm upset.
You don't recognize it as pain.
You recognize it as being selfish.
Or sensitive.
But you don't see that it hurts.

And you.
You're just focused only on yourself.
And what you get out of everything.
And you do some favors.
But you're not modest about them.
You make me feel guilty every time you help me.

I wish that you built me up rather than constantly acknowledge the negatives about me.
And I have grown by knowing you.
Because I keep trying to erase the bad about me.
But I would like to feel like I have some good, too.

I would also like to become aware of what I don't need to work on.

And I don't think you consider this to be a serious relationship.

And maybe you will when I'm good enough.

And I know that's a pitiful thing to say.
But I really feel like I am just not good enough.
But I'm trying to hard to be.
And it's another thing I suck at.
I realized.
That the only reason I'm depressed anymore.
Is just because I thought that was my destiny.
So I therefore lived in such a manner.
And I just assumed it was a part of me.


I just can't handle being alone.
I don't know why.
I can't be alone.
I don't want to be alone.
It makes me cry.
And it makes me freak out.
And I get angry.
And I start to hate myself again.
For no reason.
Except that here I am.
I am alone.
And I can't handle it.
These anxiety attacks are really fucking with me.
My heart burns.
Didn't eat much yesterday.
And I feel good this morning.
I'm back on.


I have to write an essay about my identity.
I don't want to think about myself anymore.
Or everything that happened.
I feel disgusting.
School and searching for an apartment.
And fucking money.

I've been going to the gym.
I'm still a lot fatter than I used to be.
I think he might know.
He doesn't want sex much.
I think I'm doing something wrong.

But I'm trying so hard.
It has to be my weight.
I'm trying to talk myself into starvation again.

And I need to buy a lot of gum.

But with life,
I'm really happy.
We've been hanging out with his friends.
And I like them so much more than.
My friends.

But it's horrible saying that.

He brought his sitar over.
And he taught me how to play a little.
It's so fucking cool.
It's the most beautiful instrument in the world.
It's so.
Just so beautiful.
And watching him play it was crazy cool.
And we shaved his beard last night into sideburns.

I just want to lose weight.
And then everything would work out, right?
But then I'll start obsessing about food again.
And being upset a lot because of it.
I wish I could just not eat.
And not care at the same time.


There is so much to tell you.
I'm just going to swoop over this.
Because it makes me feel... Just so horrible.
Went to psychobilly show.
And it really was amazing.
Not because I was out of control.
I never got drunk.
Just on.
And the music wasn't my music.
But I finally got to go in the mosh pit.
And just fuck around.
Run around in this venue.
With loud music.
I really thought I was being a good girl.
Went into the women's bathroom.
Smoked cigarettes with pin up girls.
And boys would dance close to me.
But I just moved to somewhere else.
Because I didn't even want to have to deal with the verbal confrontation.
And I just wanted to enjoy myself.
By myself.
I spent the time by myself mostly.
Just letting it all take me on.
I get on stage.
And I dance between the singer and the man on the cello.
And it was a small stage.
But I looked out.
And I felt like that's where I'm supposed to be.
And I know it's cliche'.
But I wasn't intoxicated.
It was real.
And I was revving people up.
And the crowd helps me down.
We come up to the band afterward.
They're signing her tits
As the guy told me, "You were cool on stage. So real. Just crazy out there."
I have them sign my stomach.
And one decides to slither on my lower back.
I thought I was being good by keeping my tits in.
It's me.
And I'm retarded.

He is mad because I don't answer the phone.
I had this feeling in my stomach.
I don't know what happened.
I just bawled all night.
And I gave myself another black eye.
I just.
Felt so stupid.
Just a dumb, young girl.
Who ran around ignorantly.

I told him the black eye was from the mosh pit.
I feel like I'm starting to lie about small things.
But it's things like.
When I get upset.
For no reason.
And I tell him nothing is wrong.
And I make myself smile and kiss him on the cheek.
And then I really do feel better.
And I just think it would keep my bad mood if I told him.
Rather than just fixing it.
And having a good day with him.
Which is my super favourite.
And sometimes I notice boys flirting at me.
And then I say something about him.
And then they don't bother me anymore.
And I used to tell him.
But coming home every day and telling him about a boy trying to flirt with me would just upset him.
As if I was rubbing it in his face.

No way.

I'm sure girls try to flirt at him.
And he doesn't need to tell me about it.

I would just not want to know.

So, I assume he wouldn't want to know.
And honestly, it's just so fucking annoying.
When boys flirt.

Because I feel like I give the vibe well enough that I'm uninterested.
I want friends, so I'm nice.
I get along with boys.
And I just want to enjoy myself.
And it annoys me.
Because it's not something flattering.
I just like him.
And I get annoyed because it's just me and him.
And they can all fuck off.

Flirting is so stupid.
I can see through every intention.
Flirting is sooooooooo stuppppppid.

Sex is too around.

I think about how I used to be.
And that's so fucking gross.
How could anyone have sex like that.
It dirties your body.
I don't see how he can accept me.
Or not feel disgusting after sex.
I could never.
Ever ever.
Just have sex.
Just sex.
No way.
No way.

He tried to leave me.
I couldn't ever ever have sex with anyone except for him.
Or let anyone ever touch me.
No waaaaaaaaay.

I feel.
My skin feels afraid when I think of it.
No one else.

It was.
The weirdest thing when he was going to leave.
I don't know if I.
I just looked at him.
And I don't think he loved me anymore.
And I hope he isn't staying with me just because I begged him.
I don't think so.
It feels good with him now.
And I'm just going to fix everything.
And I'm just going to do everything I can.
I'm just not going to try to make friends with guys.
Because they are all wrong.
And I like his friends most.
So I'll enjoy the time I spend with them.
And I have to keep his perspective in mind.
And realize that my life has boundaries now.
And I really hope that he can feel good about it as soon as possible.

Because it has to be fixed.
Has to.

I feel like I've worked so hard.
And put myself out there so much.
And I finally feel comfortable with him.
And I think I can play a song for him soon.
Because I love him,
and I should.
And he's done so much.
And he plays guitar in front of me.
And he messes up in front of me.
And I should be okay with doing the same.

I'm moving to a new place.

And I've realized that I don't want to think about myself anymore.
And I'll explain later.



Fuck eating.
I'll deal with vitamins just fucking fine.
I drank too much.
And he kept flirting with me.
And I threw in a couple stories that made it known I had a boyfriend.
And then he didn't pay attention to me much after that.
Had a conversation about the world.
And how humanity is turning into robots.
With this boy.
There was something about his eyes.
I could tell he was really sweet at heart.

Bryan met me at this Blockbuster.
And the whole situation was messy.
And he was pissed with me.
And I crawled to the bath tub to die.
Threw up this paste of a past meal.
He left.
And I rinsed myself off.
And ran out in my towel.
And I saw his car gone.
Just yelled fuck over and over.
Went inside.
Self loathing.
He came back.
With milk and half and half.
I passed out.
After he gave me a brown bag that now holds more paste.

Woke up this morning feeling terrible.
And bile was the essence of my morning.
And I love him.
He's just patient with me.
And I feel comfortable almost completely with him.
I feel like he's my friend.

At the kick back, I started to question if I'd fit in.
Not exactly fit in,
Rather that I would get stuck in one of those shy,
Sit silent on the couch
I think I have a good personality, though.
I think I have good jokes.

Is dying.
And I'm not thinking about it.
And he thinks it's silly to cry.
It's Emma.

I threw up today.
But I could have kept it.
I just.
I am not happy with my body.
I'm ashamed of it.

I'm really fucking pissed at my fucking.


I understand why I get upset when he spends the night away.
It used to be different.
I used to prefer it.
My secret world.
But I think it reminds me too much of what used to be.
The day time is fine.
But night is when my mind crawls.
And I feel like her again.
Sometimes I believe I'm still her.
Or rather am afraid.
Being alone.
I just feel scared the whole time.
Like I'm in shock.
I don't know what exactly I freak out about.
But it's this physical screaming of my body.
I hate when anxiety makes me cry.
No reason for tears.
But I just bawl.
Because I feel afraid.

It's okay when I have my friends sleep over.
I can sleep like it's nothing.
But that second when you tuck yourself in.
And close your eyes.
I can't.
Then I start freaking out more.
My heart races sometimes.
And it starts to burn.
And I start getting heat flashes.
My face gets hot.
And it hurts in my chest.
I hold my breath.
And slow it down.
And it comes back and comes back.

And I lay there.
And I don't sleep.
I never do.

Unless there's someone there.
I feel safe.

And that's why I get mad at him.
Because he doesn't know it.
But that's what happens.

But I'm not going to tell him.
Because there's already enough weird and fucked up and annoying things about me.

I feel like he has to ignore a lot about me to love me
Like my hair.
And my skin.

I felt Grace's leg.
To see what a leg is supposed to feel like.
And it had squish on it, too.
I thinks maybe girls have a layer of fat on their thighs.
His are just hard.
But why do mine surprise him?
I'm not in shape
But I don't feel like it's drastically odd.

When he talks about it.
I just wonder what hers must have been like.
How much worse is my body than hers.
I want to know.
And I want to change that.
I want to be solid.

Two black women on the street.
With a child strapped to one.

My friends in Sacramento make me feel good.
And really loved.
I'm starting to act like that in Santa Cruz.
People seem to like it.
Laugh at my jokes.

I'm getting fat.
I have gained at least ten pounds.
I can tell.
I refuse to weigh myself.
Because I need to eat.
And if I know, I won't eat.

I wish I could just starve.
If I was born with thick hair,
Nothing would stop me.


Gold Station.

That intwines.
This rewind.
That's inside.
My weak mind,
I still grind.

And it's that tension in the morning.
When there's no smile left to rise.
I can smell the coffee.
But I want nothing that I need.

Photographs swim in the grooves of my brain.
And it smells like the Vodka.
That instilled.
The forever.
Cemented floor.

And when she was afraid.
Because you were begging so.
And your eyes were bleeding.
And you needed me.
As you ran from yourself.

And you've made me believe.
Jo's got something to say.
She's still crying for herself.
But she's fucking wasted away.

You've got a lie.
In the plaque that corrodes your teeth.
I'm still chasing the shine.
It dulls the blood as I scream.

You're only alive behind closed eyes.
And you smell like dust.
Covered in grease.
And all of your human habits that I can still remember.

And your fucking phone calls.
A year after we last spoke.
They fuck it up.
They make my phone look gross.
And they make my house look gross.
And my skin.
And my face looks different in the mirror.
And you like the power.
Because I'm young.
And I won't smile.

You have stale breath.
And unhealthy skin.
And your soul is fucked for good.

I don't want you chasing High school games.
And I don't care about the neighbourhood crowd.
And I don't care if you want me to tell you that I love you.
Even though I tell you I'm only saying it to make you shut up.
You still like the words.

I don't think about you anymore.
And you don't need to come when I close my eyes.


I bought a 35mm SLR film camera today.
A Nikon F10.

And it's beautiful.

I came home, and he ran up to me.
And he said that he missed me.

We lay around and try to figure out how to spend our day.
And we were going to go to the deli, but it was closed.

And today's been foggy.
And it was an interesting view of the beach.
Million birds.

We walk to the Mexican restaurant.
And it turns out to be a nice place.

And I'm trying to write about the nice day right now.
But he's just complaining about how dumb I am.

So fuck it.


This new hair diet.
I think I've gained weight.

Fucccccccck, dude.

He brought over his record player.
I know it means something.

I like hanging out with his friends more than mine.

Sometimes, I have nothing to say here.
Is just.

I don't know why I thought self destruction would do anything good for me.
I knew it wouldn't do good.
But hating myself so greatly like I did.
It was weird.
The things I thought about myself.
Or things I cared about.

It was like there were two people inside of me.
And I guess that's cliche' to say.
But it was like my soul against my body.

I don't know if I ever counted as anorexic.
Bulimic would have been nice.

I think I'm a really lucky person.
More than normal.

My friends have been waiting for years, it seems.
For me to realize I'm just a human being.
And maybe understand why they love me.
And my family.
Is just tooooo goood.

Bryan's friend, T-Bone.
They have such a nice house.
And I always notice things like that.
I really.
I just think it's interesting what people are used to seeing daily.
What is home to them.
His house is really nice.
And it's classy.
And his friends are so comfortable with his parents.
And his parents know the balance between being relaxed and reasonable parents.
But they aren't trashy.
They keep it clean.

My parents.
My mother is just a god damn Russian.
She's chill.
But only if you're stable.
Which makes sense.
I think I got my extreme behaviours from her.
When that women is mad.

But she's been there.
The whole time.
And I fucked it up to the point where she didn't love me.
But she always comes back.
I feel like she needs me, too.
Sash is Sash,
But I'm kind of the...
One who is focused on, I suppose.
And because they've seen me dead.
And rotting.
I think they have a special connection with me.

Like the second alcohol poisoning.
And I kept crying about my dad.
She poured water in my mouth.
And I would spit it out.
And I kept telling her that I loved Sasha more than anyone.
And she slapped me when I was seizing.
And I just watched her slap me.
I couldn't feel it.
I didn't know I was seizing until she mentioned it.
I just felt like my heart was launching itself into the air.
Trying to jump outside of me.

My friends always come out the same.
They become very protective of me.
They give me anything I show a slight interest in and they are willing to part with.
They put me on some pedestal.
And talk to people about how great I am.
I always have to meet people.
And it's always, "Oh, you're Masha."
Stories and stories.
They always thought I was a strong person because of what I've done in my life.
But how?
It's like.
I was so weak.
And I couldn't handle the world.
And I hated myself so much.
That I was willing to do some crazy things that they find bold.
But it's just grand fear.


I don't know.
I think about my past, and it feels weird.
Like, it was really.... Skewed.

I was thinking about sex.
And I wish I never did it all.
I wish I saved it for love.

I realized that your childhood really does affect your sex life.
The first sexual experiences set you up.
And, I guess that got fucked up for me at six.

And at nine, I was the cool little kid who hung out with the junior high kids.
And I knew all of these things about sex.
And they praised me.

And my dad.
And the porn.
And his creepy...... way he looked at women.
And I thought he looked at me that way, too.
Maybe he was just recognizing the changes in my body.
But not appreciating them in such a manner.
Just acknowledgement.
I was just sensitive to people and sex.

I thought girls were stupid.
For trying to find love so young.
When boys would only use them.

And I thought I'd use them first.
And that's why they found me interesting.
I was like a bro hoe, or something.
I was chill to hang out with the guys.
But if I wanted to, I'd fuck them.
But they'd have emotions.
And I'd tell them to forget about anything of the sort.

Just friends.
Just get me off.

I feel like I might almost be normal now.
As normal as I would like to be.

Adriana heard me sing along to a song for a second.
She said I have a really pretty voice.
And, I think I do.

But I can't sing for people.
It's like putting my soul in their hands.