For the past three days,
I have had a depression that simply takes me over. 
I am not sure why. 
Because everything is going very well. 
But I am simply a sad girl. 
Never tell people you have cigarettes. 


I am angry
And cynical
And I 
Not going
To put effort
Into any soul
That does not
For me 


I had the panic attack that I expected.
I was so tired all day.
Even though I went to the gym.
I was just so tired due to my mind.
It was eating me.
I am sad that no one loves me like I do.
No body new.
My Cali skat pack sure does, and I know that.
And Clara is the only friend that I made in Ny that has held true.
But it makes me sad that no one thinks I'm special.
I do not understand why people don't want to be friends with me.
I give them everything.
I give them gifts.
And I am deep with them.
And I am nurturing.
And I care about them.
And I think of them.
I throw parties.
And I always share my tequila.
But no one reciprocates.
No body cares for me the way that I care for them.
And that hurts.
And it makes me feel sad.
And it makes me feel unloved.
And I think that I am.

I wonder if they can see the degradation inside of me.
They can see that I'm used.
And dirty.
But that's not fair.
It's not fair because I didn't know what was happening when it happened.
And I haven't been dirty here.
Or in Santa Cruz.
But I bet that they can see it.
It makes me embarrassed.
And sad.

And I feel so out of control.
Because I can't cure myself.
Not this time.
It makes me feel out of control.

And so I am walking home from the L train.
And I can feel it.
I know it's coming.
I start to hyperventilate.
And this man says something to me, but I didn't really hear him.
And then he says you can at least say thank you.
And then I just started crying and crying.
I cried all the way home.
And this man told me I was beautiful.
And he realized I was crying and said don't cry, baby.
And I had to hold myself back from turning around and asking him for a hug.
And I cried and cried and cried all the way home.
I get home,
And I run into all my furniture on the way to my room.
And I slam my face into the pillow and scream my pain.
And I hyperventilate and hyperventilate.
And I scream my cries.
And I cry and cry and cry and cry.
And now I feel a little bit better.
And I am listening to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse.


I have been bulimic recently. 


Also, in a dream 
I was in a car
And the driver hit other cars six times 
I am there at some apartment
And Rob was there.
And I am looking into the sky.
And I yell for everyone to look.
And it looked like the sun.
It was some huge planet or huge something.
So close to earth.
And it was volcanic looking
It was red hot, but you could see every detail.
And so it was red hot.
But was like lava, so covered in black dried spots.
Like a giraffe.
And so this planet.
The second I tell people to look.
It flies vigorously up and away.
And then all of a sudden.
We see it launch itself at the earth.
And we are all thrown down.
It was a planet one third the size of earth, I would say.
And we were all so freaked out.
And another one happened.
And we all ended up flying up into the air.
And soaring down slowly elsewhere.
I landed somewhere in Manhattan.
And I was with my friend, I forget who it was.
And I spend my whole time with this friend trying to get back.
But more of these kept crashing and crashing.
I thought it may be a meteor shower.
And the world was coming to an end, it was.
The meteors or what not must have been hitting another continent.
BEcause we were simply being shaken.
And some people were such fools to call cars to go home.
And some people were such fools to still try to make money off of this.
And the world was coming to an end.
And I thought to myself that I always knew I'd be there for the end of the world.

I have made myself vomit three times this month.
And what the fuck do I fucking think I'm doing.

I have also quit smoking weed this week.
And I don't think I'll be needing to throw up any more.
I'm a dumb one.
I'm a mouth that doesn't shut.
I tell people things of myself because I feel as if I am human, and we can all relate as humans.
But then I walk home and stare at the cement.
And I realize that we aren't all just souls inside of bodies.
We are bodies that contain souls,
But they also contain the media.
And blindness.
And judgement.
And all of these things that make us so normal inside.
That we can not relate to pain nor depth.
And this is not true with all.
But I cant keep assuming that everyone is just.
Available to feel me.
I told Rob over a bottle of gin.
I told him one quick sentence.
About the memories.
And he's nice and I don't think that he judges me for it.
But I am now judging myself.
Why does anyone need to know.
He knows that I am dirty now.
I feel like I am a bit out of control sometimes.
And I blurt it out to people.
Because it's not something that I have taken care of.
But I'm trying to fucking hard to deal with this.
And I'm over all great and fine and happy in life.
And a lot of the time, I can think of these things without pain.
But never without filthiness.
I feel so disgusting about it.
And I shouldn't have told him how disgusting I am.
And it was right after I told him I'm considering hooking up with women.
And he must see that I am simply a madd girl who is having a hard time understanding how to cope with these things.
So I end up sloppy.
But he did tell me of his therapist.
And I'm in contact with her.
And I'm afraid to do this.
I got a panic attack when I remembered that I told Rob.
And then I tried to email her.
But I just continued my attack.

I finally did the next morning, 
And it's all being set up.
I am scared to talk about it.
Because I'm going to cry.
And I've cried about it twice.
And I am scared to cry of it.
Because that is so painful.
And I feel like Young Little.
And I feel six years old again.

I talked to both of my parents about this.
And my mother reacted very loving.
And she doesn't bother to know why.
She just suppourts it.
My father thinks that I am dumb and doing this for fun.
But I can not tell him why I need it.
But he should trust me.
He does not.
He will not pay for it.

And I am confused about this.
Because my parents have put me into counseling since the age of nine.
And sent me to New Leaf Academy, The Camp Recovery Center, Sutter Outpatient Clinic, Aspen Achievement Academy, and Island View.
All therapeutic institutions.
Most fucked me up far far far far fucking worse.
And I never wanted any of it.
But now that I want it, myself.
It is unnecessary.
I feel offended by my father.
And I feel like I will never have much depth with him.
And I wanted to cry.
But I was on the phone on St.Marks.
And Clara and Fluffy were inside with a pitcher of Sangria.
And I had to suck it up and socialize.
And maybe I'll cry when I see my therapist.
And I think that avoiding tears is going to bring me a lot of panic attacks.
What else is new.
I've been making more art again.
And playing more music.
And printed some of my photography to paste up with my graf tag.
And I've been working hard on Articity.
And I start school on Monday, and I'm so fucking excited.

I had a dream that Chaz kissed me.
It started with hanging out.
And I felt very tired.
And I wanted to nap, but
I didn't want to be rude.
And so I just turned it into a double nap.
But I played with his hair.
Because he got a haircut, and I think that it looks nice.
And I think that I just pushed the envelope.
Because I think that he's always been sweet on me.
And it turned into snuggling.
And then all of a sudden.
He kisses my forehead and cheeks.
And then my face.
But he mostly missed my lips.
And I just felt his scruff moving.
And then all of a sudden,
A sharp pain stops him,
And he looks at me in embarrassment. 
And runs away.
And I regretted that situation.
But I woke up.
And was so fucking happy it wasn't real.
I'm really surprised that I dreamt of anything sexual.
I have none of that inside of me.
And any time I think of anything sexual.
I just.
Retreat even further.

And so I have been thinking of sleeping with women.
To ease myself back in.
And women like me very much.
I think that will be nice and effective. 


I am. 
I am mad! 
An insane hyper fuck wad. 
A street slimer. 
A gutter grimer. 
A skat shit. 
A brain spit. 
But I feel good. 
And I ain't neva quit. 


Masha, don't eat. 

Stop eating. 

Weak and at loss of self control like a greasy mongrel swimming through the scummy slime of shit that slithers down your throat and stays implanted inside your stomach causing a grand swelling of gluttonous endeavours that explain to the world simply how little you can contain your spoiled self from the indulgence that many don't have the opportunity to lust after. 

How am I to stomp when my body shakes with each step.
A vile thing I am upon the streets rather than the power villain I aspire to be. 

Weak girl weak girl 
No body loves 
Ya weak girl ya weak girl 
No body need
A weak girl yeah a weak girl 
And ain't nobody sees 
Tha weak girl tha weak girl. 


My dream last night, so.
I can't fully remember, of course.
But I'm amongst Minnie and Ashley Anderson.
Drew and Rob and the other boys.
And we were walking through this desolate land.
And there was this building.
I forget what it said on the building.
But we decided to burn it.
And I was staring at the sun, it was huge.
Huge and orange, so orange.
And so, as I stared at it,
I could see the little squiggly lines.
All of the details.
And I was somehow a bit eggy of the night.
You could see it in the sky.
Some parts of this desolate land were lit up as the day.
And it was warm in those areas.
But in the darkened spots,
It was cold and eerie.
And it gave me fear.
So, we light up this building.
And I see pigeons on it.
And some girl screams about them, 
And we all knew they'd simply fly away,
But it brought attention to a kitten on the roof.
So we saved it.
Okay, but so.
I knew it was a dream.
And so I left him alone again.
I think that this decision in my dreams.
Is due to the decision in my reality.
And since I've been exercising it in my dreams,
It's become something true.
But every time he is in my dream,
I see him the next day.
And this is so funny to me.
How can this prophecy become true?


A while ago.
I had a dream.
Where this boy was sitting next to me as I slept.
And he woke me.
After he kissed my forehead.
And he asked if I wanted to spend the day with him.
And I had a suspicion that it was a dream.
So I told him no.
I am going to go and spend my dream doing dream things.
And in my dream head, I thought to myself.
If he wants to spend time outside of my dreams.
He may arrange for that.
He hasn't.
So he therefore won't.

But that was the end of my anxiety over such.
I want to shove my face onto someone's.
I miss skin.
I miss how boys have thick skin.
And I miss sleeping with my hand on a booty.
But I do not miss pain.
And I do not miss bruises.
And I do not miss crying until my stomach is sick.
And I feel as if I'm to throw up from it.
And I do not miss being bled dry.

But I miss a partner in crime.
And that doesn't necessarily have to be a boy.
But boys partake in similar crimes.
I want someone else who has adventures in mind.
Rather than spending my time talking my friends into doing things with me.
Being the only one who is this hyper.
Being the only one who has to release such energy.

I feel less creative these days.
The fact that I can't graffiti is killing me.
I spray in my dreams.
And then I spend my dream with anxiety over being caught before my court date.

Articity is about to start.
A business that I am an advisor for.
A business of six babes.
Clara, Yazmin, Briana, Derek, Ian, and me.
We are all doing this.
On the 19th floor at 801 2nd street in Manhattan.
This makes me feel powerful.
And like a part of me is grinding towards success.

Though I feel happy and in love with myself.
And I don't have the anxiety that the shadows cast.
I am.
I am not really exercising my full capabilities at all.
I can not wait for school to start.
Because I need more weirdos.
And I can find skin there.

The more I think of sleeping with someone in the full sense.
The more I say silently to myself that I will never do that.
I know it's not true.

It surely feels so right now.
I don't know if I'll be sleeping with anyone who I am not in a relationship with.
Or become in one eventually.
And that means.
That these eight months.
Are only the beginning of my patience.  


I feel like I just want to make out with everyone. 

But how sad is it that it is as far as I would go. 
Minn keeps warning me of being a tease. 
But I'm at the point where I'm just going to get what I want. 
And I always tell folks that they aren't going to get anything. 
But they still give to me. 
They think that by giving to me, I may give in. 
But, no, I mean what I say. 

So I walk home with a big ol' stride and big ol' smile. 
And they, well I don't know what they end up like.
Sometimes, they seem resentful and bitter. 
But they still try again. 
Again and again. 
But I am tha soulless soulless. 


I went to jail for graffiti. 
And was beaten up by the cops. 
I spent 19 hours there. 
I will explain at another point. 

But the love for myself that I have is endless. 
And I am certainly okay. 
I continue to worry about how asexual I am. 
I want nothing. 
And I need nothing. 


Stayed up all night taking to Yazmin. 
And we both spoke about our lives in depth. 
And it really helped me because I felt as if I was in a funk today. 
Ah man, but I have been in a funk ever since I came back to the United States. 
It's as if my anxiety waited for me right at the gate. 
As if Jo was. 
I toldher the story line of my life. 
And it has made me realize a lot of things. 
I know why everything happened now. 
I remember when the outpatient program at the Sutter Hospital told me that I wasn't depressed and that my parents didn't want to admit that they were at fault. 
And I had been sent there because I was kicked out of rehab. 
Because they decided that I wasn't an alcoholic. 
But just depressed. 
Because they found out that I was cutting myself on my thigh. 
And no one would know due to the location. 
But it bled through my pants that day. 
And as we leave the hospital, my mother asks me if I was ever sexually abused when I was younger. 
And I got so fucking mad at her. 
Because I thought she and my father were the problem. 
And I thought then about how I gave Dylan Mötley head at the side of my house every day. 
But I thought that was funny. 
And it's funny to think of that now because that was the second time I was molested. 
Or the second person. 
That was many many times with Dylan. 
Counting to twelve Mississippis. 

But Yaz told me that she loved the way that I told the story because it was so introspective, and I really know how and why everything happened. 

I feel like I can accept and have no regret for these things now. 
Because I see where I am now. 
And I'm okay. 
I don't belong in that life style. 
And I was so afraid that I did. 
Because I was molested so much, and I couldn't even remember it. 
But I remember sitting with myself. 
And thinking. 
I know that something happened to me when I was young. 
But I can't remember it. 
I knew that I had repressed memories. 
I actually wrote about it years ago in this journal. 

And the way I was so brainwashed from
New Leaf Academy. 
I mirrored the way I treated myself to the way I was treated. 
I used men for sex. 
I became a drug addict. 
A prostitute. 
I would beat myself up and gave myself black eyes. 

And they prophesized that. 
My father prophesized that. 
They told me I would. 
And it gave me so much anxiety and fear that it was inevitable. 
That I got it out of my system. 
I had to see if I belonged because I thought it was so true. 

And I remember when I told my mother that I lost my virginity at thirteen. 
And she told me that sex is meant for love. 
And I told her that I thought the opposite. 
Sex is a selfish, degrading, and dirty act. 
And I don't want to love the people I had sex with. 
It was power to me. 
Because I had my power taken from me. 
The first sexual act was in daycare. 
With a black boy named Jamie. 
I was so nervous. 
The teacher walked in before much could happen. 

And after the repressed memories coming about this year. 
And accepting that what happened with Brian and his brother was rape. 
And after being bled dry by Bryan. 
Loving him so. 
And receiving very little back. 
A boy that would hit me quicker than he'd have sex with me. 
Though we lived and slept together every night. 

I am here going to the other extreme. 
Lonely Young Little. 
But I am okay and patient with that.  

And I can now understand why I was so disconnected to my body. 
I did not grow up with pride for it. 
The molestations. 
And when I was thirteen, and Sasha ce out about my father talking shit about me. 
Picking me up from school "Oh, fat girl coming through."
And "Morgan's ass is too small, and Masha's is too big." 

And I knew it. 
I knew I was a fat chortle slob bod. 
And I hated it. 
I had no pride nor respect for the thing. 
I never really had much purity, that's quite true. 
I didn't get much time before I thought sexually. 
I remember being ten years old in fifth grade being excited for when I would start having sex. 

I understand how everything happened now. 
And years from now,
I'll look back at these present moments and will understand them much more than I ever could now. 

And Yaz and I talked about how her bulimic friend has this "man" in her head that yells at her if she eats. 
And it was insane to hear because I've never heard of anyone other than Grace with Jess in her head. 
And it felt kind of good to hear because I knew that I wasn't mad when it came to Jo. 
And now I understand Jo. 
The poisonous self hatred. And when we ran away to San Fransisco and prostituted, that was me giving into Jo.
As if I said "Fine! I give up fighting you, have at it. 
I will listen to you now and will do as you say." 
And when I moved to Santa Cruz and quit drugs and sex and a of those horrible people, it drove her mad. 
Jo hated my respect and fought me for it.
But I was severely bulimic. 
And she still had me there so much. 

It mostly turned to anorexia. 
But I was bullemic every time I fucked up. 
But at some point, my stomach was so horrible that I simply couldn't eat. 
A couple frozen strawberries, and my day was filled. 
I lived in my bed for months. 
Unable to ever fully wake. 
And when I was straight bedridden for one month. 
I couldn't move. 
Even sleeping was painful because moving in my sleep would wake me. 
My organs were screaming. 
I kept throwing up and throwing up. 
I didn't want to give up. 
But I became afraid of dying. 
And so I stopped for a week until I got better. 
And then went right back. 
And Elizabeth asked me if I was on meth. 
Because I became so thin. 
And she was a meth head, herself. 
And my hair was falling out so much. 
I had to do a combover. 

But it was power to me. 
When I started to become thin,
Boys started to find me beautiful. 
And I controlled and destroyed them more. 

I threw up this week. 
Which is unsettling. 
I haven't done it in so long. 
The last time was in Italy, so about a month ago. 
And before that, it was when I had first moved to Ny. 
I would say that I am mostly over bullemia. 
Anorexia is still something that I am having a hard time with. 
But I do go to the gym again. 
I have for two weeks, and I feel stronger mentally and physically. 
Drug addiction has been long gone. 
I drink every day, but it's due to my lifestyle and too much free time. 
And I don't care to drink every day. 
But it is what we're all doing for the night. 

Ah, four in the morning, I must sleep. 
To wake at 7am tomorrow. 
I am sleeping at the Waldorf Astoria. 
Had dinner at The Russian Tea Room. 
Free breakfast tomorrow.
But this is all due to spending time with Clarita's mother. 
And Yaz has her art show at Pratt tomorrow. 
I feel much more positive now. 
And I feel like I'm okay. 

I feel like I have a lot of psychological things going on with myself right now, and this is a big part as to why I have no interest in men at the moment. 
It is why I am so enveloped in myself. 
And I need to be. 
Because I want to be aware of what's going on with myself so that I care for myself and maintain respect.