5 Minute Poem

Sometimes, I have to remind myself to breathe.

These permanent scars, I've left on my own sleeves.

Will I ever be free?

Will I never, not plead?

Tumblr

I found this today, and I had to share it, document it. It's utterly beautiful.

"I feel everything. From the bath water that’s slightly too cold, to the pain in that old man’s eyes as he walks through the street and wonders how he came to be so alone. I think such small and intricate thoughts; untouched blades, so dangerously sharp. These thoughts cut the deepest and yet a part of me craves to swim in a river of red. I want to watch myself bleed in the comfort of knowing I’m not alone and nor are the hidden droplets of life that no one else has thought to look for. That’s why shallow people are often so beautifully pristine - they are thinkers of common thoughts: blunt knives that cut no deeper into their smooth skin than the hands that caress their bodies. 

Lonely are the sufferers."

News

I went to the dermatologist yesterday because I've had a mass on my left arm for about a month now.

Turns out it's a benign tumor.

They won't know what it is until they take it out.

I'm getting it cut out this following Monday.

Wtf, universe.

I'm the statistic of all statistics.

I was feeling indifferent and fine until today. In fact I was laughing about it. I'm now sad, but why? I don't know why.

I'm so tired. All I want to do is sleep.

Sudden Inspiration

I love winter and everything about it. I love the sound of the heater on and the thick scarves that actually serve purpose of keeping you warm. I love the always a good idea hot chocolate and the beautiful twinkling lights of holiday. I love the television and movie themes. I love the smells and special musical ambience that circulates throughout the months.

It's a beautiful paradox. Everything screams warmth in contrast to, almost to counter, the harsh tangible cold season. It's as if we all need that bit of magic to give us hope to carry on, to see us through so we don't freeze all the way internally.

It's getting bad again. I feel like disappearing. I'm so volatile and impulsive that I can't take it.

Life

Begin again.

Wishes

I've never been there, but I imagine this is what my heart yearns to look like.

XX

When it happens, because it most certainly will, over and over again, put on some lipstick, keep your broken pieces together, and never look back.

Liz Taylor had it right. Put on some lipstick, pour yourself a drink, and pull yourself together.

Please

Please.
Let me, let me, let me,
let me, get what I want.

So, Official.

I think I really am dead inside. There's nothing. And since there's nothing, I don't know how I feel about this new affirmation. Meh.

The xx

The xx’s music is like the match to my heartbeat. Their clean sound. Every song, the bass pounds, guitar strums, calculated fades, rhythms, and breaths sound like a body’s own chemistry reacting, sometimes with another, most times. It’s beautiful.

Tea

When the world goes to shit,
make some hot tea.

Down

All I can think about, is
blood.

Flowing,
broken skin.

Self cut, prepare for the
dark flood.

My own blank stares.

Dry eyes, that glaze emptiness
and somebody cold,
who really doesn't care.

I wish I were dead.

Never awoken from slumber,
in the sanctuary, of my
warm, protective, bed.

Blood spill, a catharsis
I can control.
A direct relief, a life cheat,
to my, already dead soul.

Let it out, I'm trying.
Always had bad luck,
no satisfying.

Done.

I never want to go back to southern California.

I'm not worth shit. And you just made that even more evident tonight.

I told you I was unstable and hurting, and you still abused it. I would have never done that to you. 10 fucking years. Fuck you.

You want to know why women feel like worthless pieces of shit? It's because no matter what they do, men will always treat them as such. Fuck you.

Make me feel something, anything, other than a dead emotionless nothing inside.

Low

So, low.

To

To fully heal and not feel any sort of pain anymore would be a wonderous thing. To want to actually live, to not utterly hate myself, now that would be an accomplishment.

Self reminder*
Breathe. Let it go. Breathe. Repeat.
You're better than this. Karma.

Forget Them

Forget them all.

I am by no means a feminist, but it's disgusting the way society has shaped males to treat, view, and talk about women.

Self Reminder*

In with the good, out with the bad.
Inhale, exhale. Deep. Repeat if necessary.

Don't let little things bother you and ruin your good feels. It's too easy.
Repress and ignore the bad. You are not your failures. Be kind to yourself.

How can you expect me to be emotionally available if I come from two emotionally unavailable parents.

Beginning to really realize how emotionally unavailable, in life, I really am. But to be honest, I'm not sure if I mind. It's easier this way to not feel anything that's of my own.

She's empty.

And they'll never understand.

What if I didn't make something grand out of my life, like become a lawyer? Or something more, that something always chasing something?

Would that be okay with the world?
Would that be okay?

To actually want to live, would be a great accomplishment all on its own.

Though I wish everyone else judging would feel the same way.

They don't seem to understand, that just making an appearance outside on a simple errand, stepping outside of my domestic domain, is a big enough feat all on its own.

Just that is enough to celebrate for the day. It is indeed, life in the little things.

At this moment,

I no longer have any great ambitions in life,

but to just be content with existing.

I love the quietness of an empty house. Strange, 'cause I used to loathe it and need some sort of white noise in the background. Not anymore though. I'm learning to appreciate silence. Learning to love quiet solitude.

If I could just lay here in this bed, with these clean white sheets and comforting smells, for the rest of my life, I'd be okay with that.

Nobody cares.

Not even I.

Seroquel

So turns out it does help me a lot at night. It calms me down. My prescription refill with insurance can only be done on the 29th and I only have a couple pills of Seroquel left so last night I seemed to already be tired. I thought I could skip it and make it last and take it the next night, but boy was I wrong. It was like my body was craving it. I started to mini freak out. It's weird being so tired and needing sleep, yet still not being able to sleep. So much that your body self-reacts without you doing anything to cause it yourself. So, there's that. Now we just need to find a way to subtract my severe depression.

.

Had some really bad dreams last night, but I still hate being awake more.

How

Howdoistopnotwantingtolive?

Not working

Prozac isn't working, seroquel just puts me to sleep and that's it. Is it supposed to do anything else? Low.

The Waiting Game

Tick tock, tick tock.
So goes, the indifferent clock.

Fuck

Fuck, I'm manic. Or hypomanic, not good. Angry. Fuck. Can't sleep, wired, depression. Jittery. Wired. And it just hit me, hallucinations I used to have as a child, where I would 'black out' and see things, not normal. Damn. I need it to be 9 already so I can call my doctor. Fuck.

Fuck, researching and reading about sensory hallucinations, fuck, I think I am bipolar. 2 possibly. This is so heartbreaking. I would've never thought that the things I thought I saw or heard would conclude to this. It literally came out of no where when usually I am pretty perceptive about things. Fuck. It would definitely explain my paranoia of hearing and seeing strangers while I'm drifting into being awake. Hearing rustled bed sheets or paper when I'm all by myself or even a stranger kneeling beside me. FUCK.

I'm so screwed. I thought the hallucinations, migraines, and blackout tantrums I had as a kid were just ephemeral stuff cause I was physically unhealthy. I never thought they were psychotic. But now that I'm older and can piece things together, it all is beginning to make sense now. I still get bad migraines. Goddamnit.

I just had this strange wave of utter finality and acceptance. This is it. This is who I'm supposed to become. Fuck. Clinical Depression seems a whole lot better compared to this. Ugh.
But it's not a competition.

25yrs, Sick

I don't want to be this way anymore. Suicide is selfish, but I can understand why someone would do it if there's no other way out. I don't want to be this way anymore. Suicide is selfish, but I can understand why someone would do it if there's no other way out. I don't want to be this way anymore. Suicide is selfish, but I can understand why someone would do it if there's no other way out. I don't want to be this way anymore. Suicide is selfish, but I can understand why someone would do it if there's no other way out. I don't want to be this way anymore. Suicide is selfish, but I can understand why someone would do it if there's no other way out. I don't want to be this way anymore. Suicide is selfish, but I can understand why someone would do it if there's no other way out.

Bipolar II Disorder

Shit, I think there may be a possibility. The thought never even crossed my mind. I always thought against it. Ugh. I think my doctors know something they're not telling me. Hence the use of a low dose mood stabilizer with my antidepressant. Go figure.

My Heart, When It Rains

Soft, hued changes.
Famous, impatient paces.
High sensations,
on skyscraper adrenaline elations.
Late night strides,
through side-by-side changing blue tides.
Yellow-cabbed, slow drive-byes.
Places, bestowed, with light and sweet sighs.

A hazy, shimmering, light shines.
On reflections of bright, hopeful eyes.

Just

Hold on, to this.

The moment, the second
of fate, nearly missed.

Your courage- radiating,
coursing through your veins and blood,

like a fire, suddenly deep satiating.

Hold on, to this.

Life's scintillating gift,

time's imaginary
and playful, sweet kiss.

The beckoning, it calls.

Heaven's deathly descent
and the heavy fall.

Hold on, to this.

Unrest will soon awaken

to take back,
what was so willfully dismissed

and so quickly forsaken.

Just.

Hold on.

Fear- The Moment- Losing

The comedown.

The worst,
is fading sound.

My heart, breaking.

Every second dose,
too much life faking.

I miss my focus, the most.

It's always hovering,

just that close.

1/7

One good day out of an entire week? The universe is definitely fucking with me.

And then.

And then the rough seas magically calmed. Settling down with such pleasant triumph. The rays of sun were able to show through the perpetual; yet, beautiful gloom.

Incredible

Remarkable, how I
can fake and feign.

While every vein
in my strong body

is throbbing with
undying, reluctant,

and searing dark insane.

Rendered completely
useless.

Writhing and writing
in bed;

Laying down proves,
not everything is

completely fruitless.

Still, no hasty incisions; yet,
poor luck will soon follow-

demanding, too damned and
impatient decisions, to be met.

The first hollowed
and then kept.

Trapped in
this wretched body
of mine.

A mimed bell jar.

Constantly waiting, from afar.

Patiently waiting,
for a miracle
to pass my clouded and
cursed time

to my unexpected and
twisted kind.

Warmth

The tinkering of sweet rain falling.

The dry summer smell,
of that breeze calling.

Late star gazing,
under warm filled nights.

Great long term lack
of those, heavy fights and flights.

Away are we,
in all unwelcome and deathly lies.

Simple love,
in all forms and free highs.

Pure liquid sunshine,
forged from two bona fide lovers.

Drunk off one another.
Nature's wine, has our hearts' a flutter.

The neverending yearning for
your matched and light lips.

And such amazing butterflies,
with back and forth gentle quips.

Your never forgetting
protector arms around me.

Always messaging me
love letters and notes, subliminally.

Depression; The Lesson

I,
am a blank-
dark ocean.

A canvas,
always stirring- with
chaotic-like emotions.

My stormy waters,
so utterly blue.
Created and aligned,
with such, multi-faceted hues.

Like a
pseudo-steel wall.

Deep currents,
are so easily
succumbed- to the
ever taunting falls.

Molded, the crafty fluidity
of my liquid-like,
rises.

Then, the low drops.
After, a final night's
full surmises.

Moonlight, reflects-
the only thing, so clear.

Life's giant mirror, shining-
my sins and misdeeds;
back with, the heavy fear.

These lessons, harshly turned.

Always ending
through fire's,
glowing burn.

These

Shadows of leaves.
The memories, left on
my stained sleeves.

The beauties
behind life's twists;

Can be matched,
to our bright dawn's
lingering mists.

Like a lasting
adrenaline sparked,
sweet and pure kiss.

Thus rendering one,
so utterly left
in perpetual, powerful
complete bliss.

Take an intense
and poisonous, deep
dragging, dark breath.

Now, no need ever,
to crave unnervingly,
such an entranced death.

These strong drugs
soon, will lead to a
dimmed unrest.

The last and final
true passing,
of life's incomparable test.

This

Moonlight and star dust,
on every corner.

Warm summer nights, radiating love-
between cute foreigners.

Far away from all familiarity-
comfort zones eased, from
any sort of known clarity.

Hazy afternoons, spent swimming
in metaphorical seas.
Blurry senses, drifting
from all heavy tease.

This.

Surely is a form;
Fate chosen rarity.

Forged, from
pure heart's
sweet sincerity.

Under

Ugly- twisted,
Hopeless, pale misfit.

Dark soul, but gifted.
Yet, undervalued and
too long drifted.

Strong,
however; still run down.

There's nothing left,
but what's to be lastly found.

You

Quiet, bright love on liquid fires.
Senses- which cannot be held in,
from muffled desires.

Fresh kisses- like falling, warm tulip petals.
Good feels, coming from friendly- small tea kettles.

Receding- lonely pain, finally dissipating,
welcoming slow-rising, lovely- high elating.

Growing lust, in timid sound bites.
Intimacy made best, on star-filled- gazing nights.

Moon light, candle lit- soft jokes.
The sounds of rain,
amongst innocent- affectionate strokes.

Strands of long, dark hair,
falling all over-
pale skins, smooth and fair.

Your steady, intense eyes.
Will surely,
be my own- welcomed demise.

Our tangled limbs.
And together, beautiful sins.

Those light footprints- on carpet,
while, both hearts destined-
on the same target.

Bottled,
sweet memories.
Enough to last and remain,
through time's, ever changing leaves.

In

Darkness and throbbing misses.
Red falls, while laying down, listless.

Away from this reality's heavy hands,
I would rather stay, in Alice's Wonderland.

With heavenly, feathery moods
and high filled, dark-lit balloons.

For no- damned good reason,
candles-
always, celebrating the season.

Winding passing days,
with never-ending,
exploding unbirthdays.

Forever broken clocks,
time perpetually
and willingly stops.

The Night

Those beautiful, black butterflies.
Dancing- whispering. Fluttering,
blank goodbyes.

Capricious non-devils.
All sorts of mischievous-
light, what hells.

Enveloping you, from all sides-
waiting, for the bright moonlight.
To meet- the soothing- blue ocean tide,
risking, any, dark wavering heights.

The still warm sand at your feet.
Comforting you-
while you remain deep.
Fateful, in your sleep.

I Love This Song, Forever

I've probably already posted this song, but eh. I slip softly through, all my dreams, my dear, they are of you. Even if your heart stops, I’ll be there to hold you up. Even as the world turns, I’ll be there to watch the fire burn. Burn us both alive.

Youth In A Glass

Yellows- and white petals,
Light raindrops- and carefree, dark, empty lots.
Frequent light stops, around the local community shops,
Young love, with innocent air, above.
Fresh dew, among a beautiful pale blue,
Sneaking in- living life- after hours, to the brim.
Warm summer nights, under star filled, sky sights.

Dusk, being the most incredible time of day.
We'd wait forever, for this way.

Ocean

Emptiness ensues,
killing every- and all possible moods.

Nothing, but hot, black coffee cups,
though, I'm still, left alone by those- long high ups.

Flowing music, aids to soothe.
When my broken- and damaged body, can barely move.

This fine pen, is my extension.
It's my heart- the beat, with no pretensions.

This is the only saving, smooth grace.
Managing to mark, life's every- little, beautiful trace.

Healing, hopefully, soon to be unfailing.
I can't coexist anymore.
With this, unhealthy- rough sailing.

Stormy waters surround my reality,
unlimited painful currents, must be the utter finality.

Light blue swallow birds, will eventually guide me back,
a safe journey- away from the lovely, and missing lack.

Radiation

Open sores,
It's dark black red,
to my core.

I miss the pulsing surge.
Where all would
fluidly and beautifully, merge.

The world is pouring,
pain is always on- the touring.

Thus, spreading the continuing word,
'Til my soaring next mornings.

Frustrated

Ugh, I'm fucking frustrated that everything I'm writing lately is pure SHIT. Fucking of awful substance. Such mediocre and bad, bad poetry, at best. What is going on!!

Fuck Up

My heart swells heavily,
with the misfortune of
death longed heavenly.

Take away this body of mine,
kill off all the matter,
in time.

Please help me stave off my
crimes.
I need to be healed, forever
of all kinds.

"Oh, That"

I hate myself,

For everything I've done.
How to kill myself,
would be the only thing, fairly won.

Sadness always wins,
while the internal lights
are forever, on dim.

My soul is a perpetual
blank, one suffering heart.

There's no way ever,
out.

Not even through, poorly written,
fucking, failing art.

"I"

I breathe in my own life,
I breathe out my own personal strifes.
I inhale my own clear- white, fallen angels,
I exhale- and thus, expel my own black, dark- bent hells.

Ripping And Crawling

I feel like ripping off all of my skin today. I can't. The only thing that seems to help is writing poetry, but I left my notebook at home. Fuck. And I have my therapist appointment today too. I can't.

Bananas

Forcing myself to eat bananas 'cause they're supposed to make you feel better.

On

On the plus side, I've wrote so many more poems just now to add to the two I wrote yesterday. Huzzah for the little things.

Crimson And Porcelain

Oh, I've missed this.

Nope

After a month or so on antidepressants, still don't want to live, kinda still want to die. I'm tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of being me and tired of not cutting. And I'm so tired of waiting. Fucking rollercoasters man.

Melting- Well, I Will Sing You A Song

Untitled

smeared lights and
rain-rinsed windowpanes

moon-soaked nights and
star-filled driving lanes

my youth in a memory sleeve.

the sky dusk to dawn cigarette smoke hanging eaves
and sweet dry blowing breeze

dancing through sun-kissed bare branched trees
while radiating unstoppable waves
through currents of blue oceanic seas

all unwavered nostalgia, bottled then stunted.

first lit on fire
with metaphorical lightening
and desire

now, no longer modeled- but forever, harshly blunted
and tired.

Ode

What is it about hands?
(that I love so?)

It's the fingertips,
the memories in
the fingerprints.

It's the remarkable brushes of skin,
the mental marks
of gentle sin.

In my restless sleep,
I dream, alone.

And I awake with yours.

I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)

This cover of the classic and amazing song by The Proclaimers is awesome. Awesome way to turn it into a ballad. Way to go Grey's Anatomy.

New Projects And Pleasant Incidents

I Fell In Love At The Seaside

I've already posted this song in the past, but whatever. I miss listening to The Kooks. God, I love music.

Everybody Needs A Cure; Cut Here

my heart on a tuesday.

Mine

My life is an endless waiting game.

Ah

Thank you, the pain is beginning to dissipate again.

Lol, there's got to be a better way. My demeanor is drastically different between the two.

It's incredible how much better I feel, the pain even disappears from my hands and a deluge if calm washes over me. Everything is smooth and the white noise quiets, amazingly. There's no other feeling like it, having this pain you've had your whole life gone. Even looking at the difference in tone and context of my entries on these virtual pages, from my words, it's extremely noticeable. I'm in awe.

Waves

I want the uninterrupted currents. The lows have to be avoidable right?

Chasing Prozac

Waking up at 4am automatically after finally drifting to sleep and beating hardcore insomnia, then chasing the pain with a pill. Thus, waiting again for the pain to reside.
My body is way too sensitive and unbelievably strong at the same time. The beast is a strong and cheeky motherfucker that apparently won't go gently  nor unwillingly at all. Fucker isn't giving up without a battle.

Old Souls- Vintage Love

I decided to utilize my old vintage pill box, since I actually need it now. I love vintage stuff and I've had this since before I was born. Beautiful things make me feel better.

The Hours

The couple of hours before my second dose of the day is painful. I fear comedowns of any sort.

I've Been Tryin' To Do It Right

I fucking love this song. And this cover beats the original. These two girls are so goddamn talented. Thank god for music. I've said it time and time again, and will take it to my grave. Music is an essence of life. And we take what we can to get by.

Will You Still Love Me

I don't listen to Lana Del Rey, but I cannot stop playing this song. The trailer got me. It's one of my favorite books of all time. One of the only books I wanted to reread all over again immediately after I had just finished the last sentence.

Bona Fide Pill Popper

So went to the psychiatrist's for a check up today. Told him everything I've been feeling.

We're gonna switch the two 10mg capsules to morning and night again twice a day, since when I started taking them together in the morning, like I was told to, I relapsed into my old trusty beast of a buddy, Depression. Good old D. What a fucker.

And then he gave me 2mg Abilify. I'm supposed to start taking that at night too, along with my 10mg capsule of Prozac. Should be interesting.

So of course, I immediately started doing research on this new drug my body has to consume. And, I've got to tell you, I'm a little worried.

It's a fucking anti-psychotic!
What.
The.
Fuck.

Right?
Great.
But at least it's a very small dose. So we shall see what happens.
Out of all the other anti-psychotics, this one has the least side effects. So here's hoping.
I hope it doesn't make me gain weight. The side effects are fucking horrible. HIGH BLOOD SUGAR? And IT COULD KILL ME?! WHAT THE FUCK.

okay, whatever. all trial and error eh? lol, ahhhhhh.

Ey, but on a side note.
At least all this medication has not stunted my creativity. It has actually sparked the flame which once had been extinguished for the longest time. so, cool.

The Truth- Long Story Short

People say ignorance is bliss, I guess that's completely true.

Because no matter what, my mother cannot seem to connect the reason for my behaviour as a child. She knows that I never smiled and that I always cried when she gad to leave me. She knew that I could never get rid of my security blanket and that I woke up in the middle of the night and needed to sleep near my parents for the longest time, but she can't put the pieces together to figure out why I did these things. She doesn't understand that the things my parents did, every action they made as I was a child, deeply impacted me and who I am today. She doesn't understand at all how her behavior can affect my quality of life in any way and what the effect is now.

I made her fill in the pieces because I did boy want my perspective to be incredibly skewed or biased (even though most of the time I am a heavy realist who sees things literally as they are even though I like to play with words), and by no means was my childhood, not my brother's for the matter, normal.

When my brother was born at 3 months, my parents had my grandma take him to Taiwan to live because they couldn't take care of him since they had to work all of the time.

My mother didn't even get my joke when I interjected and said that my brother and I were just check marks to be crossed out. She just laughed and blatantly agreed at my joke that indeed we were that. I'm never really sure if she understands when I speak in English to her because of the language barrier.
Okay so after a year, he was brought back. So ever since we can remember, it's true, they were never around. So that's that chapter.

Then I was born when my brother was 5. My grandma wanted to take me overseas, just the same, but this time my mother didn't want to because she wanted to keep her babies with her.

But throughout everything, they were always working and had other people take care of us.

I clearly made her specifically explain, so I would not get it wrong. She put mee immediately in school the moment I was potty trained. So at one year old I began school. No wonder I remember being carried in blankets all the time in a car, waking up getting dressed and going to school.

She also said that she always made are she had someone there to take care of me and my brother. She found different neighbors, nannies, and tutors while they were always away.

"Shit, so you guys really were gone ever since I can remember. You were never there, no one was."
"No, we were there."
"No, all I remember was crying alp of the time because you weren't there."
"You weren't always crying, you weren't crying with me."
"That's because you were there, with me, that I wasn't crying, you guys weren't there." (see the disconnection there that she can't seem to get?)
"But we always made sure someone was there to take care of you guys"

Those last words are what haunt me. There's a difference between having your parents there taking care of you and then having a series of related bodies, authority figures, taking care of you out of obligation because this is the way it has to be.

But she said they didn't have the time to take care of us.
Typical. I told her she should've waited then. "Then you shouldn't have had us." (it's of no wonder why my generation is so screwed up) She said, but they wanted babies. We were all part of the carefully thought out plan. The list to be checked off.

I use my sense of humor as a huge buffer when speaking to people. Especially those related by blood. It makes it easier, I feel, for them to handle my bluntness and harsh honestly at times. Softens the passive aggressive blow, if you will.

It's no wonder I am the way I am and how I can form any healthy relationship/friendship in my adult (yet still very immature) life. And how I can't seem to isolate my emotions sometimes so I end up feeling like everything's my fault.

So I actually didn't get it wrong with my childhood perspective and I actually remember the right things quite clearly.

See, my therapist thought that my perspective would be quite skewed or biased given that I only have ny own experiences to go off of, she doesn't know how much of a die hard realist I really am. (why does everyone seem to assume that I live in a fantasy world? I know what's real)

But everything in my childhood and upbringing was in fact worse than I originally thought it to be.

Yet, rather than feel bad for me, I feel for my brother instead, because all of my tragedy already knew. But I seriously misjudged him on the basis of our childhood and the great tradition of the lack of communication our family has enabled and continued to spurn for generations. I respect my brother so much now for the way he is. We misjudged each other. And I am in awe how much more well adjusted he has come out of all this despite our childhood. Because what we remember is just part of the real picture that was even worse than what we could've ever imagined without the help of my mother completing the storyline puzzle.

Funny how childhood blurs the lines for you because it has to protect you from something.

But my parents are in no way bad people. In fact, they have the best hearts and I am very lucky for everything they have given me. They love me very much, it was a different time then. They immigrated here without anything and had to make something out of nothing. I'm very lucky. It could always be worse. All childhoods are good and bad. It's just something we learn to accept and hopefully can move on from.

I can't live like this anymore

I used to say suicide is selfish. It still is, but now I can understand why one would do it. Because living like this, trapped, even for one more second longer is too unbearable. And anything, other than the continued feeling of this, is better than this.

My life us a series of wasted seconds of waiting.

Smeared lights and rain rinsed windowpanes.

The word, Catatonic, springs to mind.

Good thing I'm due for my psychiatrist tomorrow. I can't wait.

I

feel like ripping my own skin off, but that can't be an option anymore because THEY KNOW. And the older I get, the longer it takes to heal and the more permanent my scars accumulate and become. It's like I'm getting older but I'm internally stunted.
I've never been as physically crippled as I feel and am now. How did this even happen.
Bleh.

Word, Play, Ugh

Keel,
Me.

I can't stand being awake anymore.

Must Haves

Oh thank god Nyquil.

(after massive insomnia exacerbating)

The highly unwanted, demon child Hope, always gets the last laugh.

It- Us- Could Haves; Yet, Nevers

7 years, give or take of continuous active friendship. Yet, before that, I've known of you for almost half of my life.
It doesn't matter, it'll never happen. You and I, T.
I just need to stop getting sucked in whenever we have our usual conversations. I ignore you and you always come back.
We're always there, but always not.
Because I'm never the one.
Such is the case with life.
Letting go is the story of all our lives.

Plus, I've given up on love altogether. As it gave up on me. It's just easier to live this way.

2

For the past two days I've felt like ripping my own skin off. Why has it stopped working?

Is it because I did what the psychiatrist told me to do? I started taking two in the morning rather than the initial one in the morning and one at night after the dosage increase.

Argh, frustrating. I just feel like breaking shit.

My life consists of a constant stream of always waiting.

Ballads; Over And Over Again

His voice does it for me, every time. I've said it once and I'll say it again. I'd rather have a man who can sing over one who can dance, any day. (Something suspicious about a guy who's too smooth on the dance floor if you know what I mean.)

Now

Now that I know what a bit of normalcy tastes like, I don't ever want to feel as low ever again. It's honestly and physically crippling.

Physics

Whatever goes up, must come down.

Waiting; The Bottom

Let's hope this is not just some passing, loves to tease, flirty fluke. This is only the first upped dose taken. So it's no wonder I suddenly feel good.
The other meds have never worked like this before, but this is the first time I've taken an SSRI.
We'll see, cautiously.

Now I'm scared.

The bottom always falls out. Hope this isn't something manic related 'cause the fall usually is always harder. You expect the worst when that's all you've ever known your entire life.
All I can do now is just wait.

"Thy drugs are quick."

10mg -> 20mg; after 6hrs or so- waiting transitions in bed- new inspiration

Holy shit.
What a difference 10mg makes.
Is this what life is "Supposed" to feel like? On a regular, normal, basis?
Is this what everyone else has felt their entire life?
Because I have never purely felt life this way before. (i mean it's sort of like the upper from ecstasy because of the serotonin involvement, but never this sober and without paranoia) Like I've just awoken for the first time in my life and my senses are all working as they should be. I can't even explain it, it's as if everything has become suddenly so tangible. I can feel everything better, I physically feel like pain has been lifted.
My fingers even feel tingly from the bodily euphoria.

Depression seems to be literally all I've ever known as far back as I can remember since childhood. There's always been that shield of fog negatively sheltering and handicapping me from life itself.

Even still when I'm laying in bed, stuck with insomnia, left solely tracking my bodily feelings.

Exciting.
Beautiful.
Too good to be true.
Creative.
Capricious.
Yet, Peaceful.

Not completely hopeless.
Internally, too good to be true?

Shit, I better not be manic right now.
I hope this doesn't give me any poor consequences.

Fucking Insomnia,

man.

Final Comforting Thoughts

I might have emotional scars and be angry at myself for apologizing to you years after for the action that spurned the bullying, but you will always have to live with the fact that you were the bully and what every horrible thing you did and caused after.

Unsettled

I wish I knew what made me feel this way, so I could stop it.

Unsatisfied- I'm Sorry, Don't Leave Me Now

Please give me something to sleep to.

My Prozac Nation

Here I go.

First Session

Interesting.
I hate how money makes the world go round and how expensive getting healed mentally, emotionally, and physically is.
I can't believe I'm actually getting real help after all this time.
All thanks to my mother. I'm so fortunate to have parents who are so loving, even if they show it differently than most parents, I still consider myself lucky.

I Am

Selfish.
Lazy.
Spoiled.
Ill-disciplined
Horrible.
Undeserving.
Worthless.
A liar.

As Much

As bad and as low as I feel, I feel worse for what my mother must be feeling for having such a fucked up daughter. Bleh.

Break; Astonishment

My mother is making me go see a psychiatrist. She doesn't understand how hard it is to do yourself, so she did everything for me. I don't understand why I'm so hindered either.

Is there really something wrong with me or am I just a lazy, spoiled person when it comes to life?

Unsatisfying

Life is too hard, I don't want to do it anymore.

First Generation Immigrant Minority Kid Problems

Everyone's dead inside, how can you expect anything to change. Effort is so exhausting.

All Monsters Are Human

So fucking empty and filled at the same time. It's almost unbearable. The human body is a forceful thing.

Compilations

I should've died so many times ago, beginning from birth, to childhood and up to now. So many instances and occasions; yet, I'm still here. I've always had the worst luck, but when it comes to mortality, I have the best, I suppose

Djdkskdjddbd

Fucking highs and lows. All bad, they're all bad. I spend my life waiting for the pain to pass.
I really want to cut right now. It's been so long since. It's hard to fight the urge when you need something to counter all the painful weight you're internally carrying. Just all these painful memories I wish I didn't remember. It all hits so hard. My body is already ridden with permanent and severe scars, but I can't stop. It's a bad addiction and the monster only wants more. I've cut, sutured myself for fun, and have resorted to burning myself. Nothing is ever good enough. Hopefully the rising waves in my chest will pass so that I won't have to physically act to get by. It's as if I need some of my blood to flow to counter my inability to cry on my own. Blood is so fucking  cathartic. Especially when it's your own. And I love waking up to stinging open wounds. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live either. I don't want to live inside my own body anymore and live these damn irrational emotions. Fuck, I really need to get some help.
Call me fucking sick, but aren't we all? Sorry mother and father, I'm such a failure at 24.

Mental Note

Yesterday, I dreamt about water again. Like I seem to so often do since childhood. I dreamt I was on a small small walkway in the ocean. The tide was strong and the current pulled me into it. It wasn't chaotic, but a slow motioned current. Then an orca whale caught me by the arm in his teeth and pushed me back on to the aisle. I woke up still feeling its light teeth bite on my outer forearm.

Side note*
Will elaborate more in the day time. I just wanted to have it down somewhere so I wouldn't forget.

Valentine

You didn't see my valentine
I sent it via pantomime
While you were watchin' someone else
I stared at you and cut myself

It's all I'll do 'cause I'm not free
A fugitive too dull to flee
I'm amorous but out of reach
A still life drawing of a peach

I'm a tulip in a cup
I stand no chance of growing up
I've made my peace I'm dead I'm done
I watched you live to have my fun

I root for you, I love you. You, you, you, you.

I made it to a dinner date
My tear drops seasoned every plate
I tried to dance but lost my nerve
I cramped up in the learning curve

I'm a tulip in a cup
I stand no chance of growing up
I'm resigned to sail on through
In the wake of tales of you

I root for you, I love you. You, you, you, you.
I root for you, I love you. You, you, you.
I root for you, I love you. You, you, you, you, you, you, you.
I root for you, I love you. You, you, you. 

Physiology- Sore

I'm sore, but the good kind of sore. I love this. Just enough that I can go again today and push myself even harder. But boy am I going to be utterly spent on Sunday. Good thing I stretched hardcore last night. I love stretching. I hate that the gym closes so early on weekends though, makes it hard to keep it up because weekends give you passes to be super extra sloth-like.

Self Made Highs, Here Am I

Finally went to the gym for the first time in almost a year.

I forgot how much I loved it.
Forgot how much I loved moving. Period.
Physical and not, obviously. (But that isn't at all surprising since I love change and become fitful when things become too routine- the metaphor of my life has all become just a little too literal for my tastes, lol but at least it's amusing.)

Back to the objective at hand.
I Forgot how it transformed every single cell and molecule in my body.
Forgot the lasting effects that stay long after.
I've been stationary, stunted for so long. Mind. Body. Soul. Stopped. Stuck.
A body in motion tends to stay in motion.

(My brain even feels stupid, like I've devolved. I hate it. My thinking feels like it's slowed down immensely. I need to do something about that.)

Strange how you forget the things you wish to remember; yet, you can never forget the things you wish to forget.

Also strange that I love pushing myself and setting my own limits, but when anyone else does it, I shut down, completely and irrationally. It's like a reset button gets hit and I retreat back into the dark place and thus have to repeat the process, my "process" all over again. Whatever that is. We can't ever describe it. The problem is that it's a vicious and self-destructing, self-consuming cycle that is doomed to nothing but failure.

But the gym was good.
It was so good, I didn't want to leave.
I think the feeling of being in control of some aspect of my life subconsciously plays a big factor in all of this.
I didn't want to stop physically moving.
Today's the first time I've felt naturally better in a long time.
I don't know if it was the pouring rain I love so much, or that my body was finally giving me a sense of temporary relief.
It literally felt like the weight was being lifted, ever so slightly.

That's the bad thing about being one of us.
We live in fragments that can be taken away in seconds. Taken away to either the dark place or the opened place. I'm usually in the former. But today it felt like I could breathe.

The difference is astronomical. It never ceases to astonish and render me dumbfounded by the juxtaposition.

I used to say we live in moments, two kinds, the bad and the not so bad.
I don't even think I live in moments anymore.
I exist in a state of heaviness. But simultaneously in perpetual limbo. Waiting, always, for the heft to be lightened. And whenever it is lightened, I fear the moment it becomes swayed and blown to the other place I have come to call my internal home.

My mind wanders, every thought is connected like branches on a tree or veins and nerves in the bloodstream. So how can you expect my thoughts not to digress. Thinking spurns creativity. People have stopped thinking for themselves so us kindred folk have been pushed into the group of odd outcasts, but I rather prefer it that way.

I know the high has now faded. I can always gauge my feelings through what I type down.
But point is, I plan on working out every day like before I stopped.

Forgive whatever I type, I doubt any if this can be called/considered 'writing', hence why I haven't called it such in this entry. The more I type the more my words make no sense. So alas, I cease.

But huzzah for today's small triumphs. We'll all do better and try again tomorrow.

I guess we're all just trying to chase that high and ride as long as we can until we can trigger/trick it to come back again.

Boy am I going to be a bit sore when I wake up.

Song Love

"If you wanted to work it out, why'd you lock the door.."

I wish

I could die. Please. Please.

Dead; Catatonic

I wish I were dead. I can't live in this unbelievably cruel world. I wish I had brought my knife.
I don't have anyone. You'll never understand.

Blood

You should've protected me better. You all should have. You should have all done better.

I should have been protected instead.

Hard To Get Out Of Bed

I need a cigarette.
And to realize again that I'm crazy and that we are no long a part of eachothers lives. And it was never me. And you never felt that way. You just screwed me up by leading me on, by just being you. You're not a bad guy, if you were that would make it easier to dismiss you. Story of my fucked life.

I don't know how I let these memories creep up in me, fucking dreams man. I hate memories, just the thought of thrm make you relive everything you ever wished to forget.

Dreams

Just woke up. Haven't thought about you in a long time, Stephen. Yet, every time I do, it's nothing but the ache of what could've and what should've been.

It was supposed to be me. You and me, and real love. Now it'll always just remain, the one who got away. I guess I still can't convince myself that you really just didn't want me, none of your actions added up. That connection just  doesn't add up to not love.

I haven't thought of you in a long time, and no matter how much we hurt each other, I still love you. I guess I always will.
It should've been us. But I guess life doesn't give us broken people that much luck. Or at least one of us.

So I guess the memory of you will have to be buried away again until the next time my random subconscious chooses to have you submerge again for no reason at all. But nobody can say that I didn't try.

Amicability

Since when was it okay to be a blatant and smug asshole, in the worst way, for no warranted and apparent reason?

Fuck

Fuck, stop crying, you fucking idiot.

Thanks Again, For Nothing

Thanks father of mine, for making me, your daughter, feel like shit again.
You can't just support me, mentally and emotionally- no, 'cause that's not your style to try and actually understand or know the person I am. People should seriously take an extreme test to even qualify to be parents. If you were going to be like this, then you should've never calculated my birth and had me.

Note To Self: Burning Bridges, Today

Breathe. And don't cry please. Be strong, not weak. Hopefully you get let loose  from these chains as soon as possible.

My Life, In A Fucked Nutshell- Unedited

My performance has seriously downgraded at work as of lately. Actually, as of these past couple months, when the melancholia has steadily crept back in to take me down. (I told you it was a stirring beast, always there, waiting, plotting when to make its move at any sign of a useful external trigger to attack and cause me to lose it hysterically- anything goes.)

But I feel as if I am in limbo most of the time. Well, that seems to be my constant state of being. My excessive and ever-present constant state of existing. I don't think this is what was intended when I spoke from passion about existentialism. This is a whole other type where it confiscates- locks up, my self-control and renders me completely powerless in my own body and actions. It's passed that. For a person who has to be always in control- for an extreme "controlist" (yeah, I just made that word up, so sue me), I am never in control anymore. I find myself constantly in a waiting period. The waiting room of life. But I don't know what I'm waiting for. I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I can't anymore. Can't do it. But what is it that I can't do?

I read somewhere that the worst thing you could ever do to a depressed person is ask the question, "Why?" Because there is no answer most of the time. And it's a feeling that cannot be full described to suit the needs of the listener so that he may actually understand the experience of the mentally unstable. Unless you've been there, that rock bottom club filled with tears and blood, that raw, and so unreal, juncture in space and time, you will never get it.

A numbed, yet at the same time unstable, and sad mess. But the mess is all bottled up and expertly concealed. I am my life's greatest pretender.

It's happened again where I need another change. My friend thinks I might be bipolar instead of merely a type of depressed person. I'm beginning to believe him, because now the feelings are becoming comparable highs and lows as well. But who knows, I'm not a fucking psychologist. I do know that I need to actively seek out real professional help though, but who has the motivation for that either? Those are precious hours wasted that could've been spent in bed.

But I stray, the point is: Guilt. Saying and doing are two completely different things. Whatever I have, severely disrupts my work ethic and has transformed me into and unreliable employee with a highly disappointed manager. But why am I stressed myself and beating myself over and over about a job that should be so simple and mechanical? Why am do I go home most of the time feeling so inadequate because if it's not one thing, it's another- and nothing is ever good enough. We've become robots, but since when did our own feelings not matter? Oh right, it's the vicious and malicious monster of the retail world where everyone is out for themselves and where familial issues are not a viable reason to call out of work. What could be more important than family? It's blood. And what could be more important that what's coursing through our bodies and sustaining life for us?

Yet, again, I stray. But it does feel good to write again. I've taken so much time off from this blog that maybe that's where I began to disintegrate further into not knowing who I was and am. I lost an outlet. But it was because I was tired of hearing myself speak and circulating and recirculating the same tiresome broken record of words that filled my pathetic soul. But what do you do when your life is on a loop and you physically feel unable to act. That's where all the disdain for all those inspirational posters and pictures come in. I am so goddamn sick of all the, "Well if you only help yourself, then you will be happy." Or shit like, "Where every tear there is a rainbow of hope." Fuck that shit. (yeah I made up those phrase just now, but you get it) I am so goddamn sick of coming across those shitty sayings and signs because when push comes to shove, that shit does not pertain to people like us. That's where you can clearly see the distinction and divide between "them" and "us". We, us kindred spirits, know, we fucking know, that it doesn't work that way. If only it were that simple. That's where the saying, "easier said than done" comes to play and application. The whole, "you can only help yourself, and to be happy, you have to make yourself happy first." Well fuck you, and fuck them. Like it's so fucking easy to be happy. I can't even remember the last time I was fully happy without the beast creeping and stirring underground- just waiting for its move. Because until you get rid of that beast, until you kill it, all that happiness, rainbows and sunshine, will never be for you. And we might have to realize that that, isn't in the cards for us.
Because killing that beast, will be killing a part of ourselves. Because that beast is us. It's a mirrored reflection of who we are.

But I get it, until you're ready blah blah. It all makes sense, but it all doesn't anyway. When you're numb and unmotivated- when you hit that state of being where nothing even matters anymore- that's when you're really screwed and beyond repair. I feel like I have to be dragged to be saved, fixed, undamaged, whatever. Yet, I also feel so damaged that I stick out in the world. I am the outcast of my realm. And it's when you come to maturation and finally receive that unfortunate epiphany of your entire existence that it all comes colliding and crashing down. Because now it's too late.

All the signs were there, all of them, from birth. It's insane how much you remember when you don't want to remember at all.

Okay, digressing, I know. The point is: guilt. My boss has every right to be disappointed, angry, and frustrated. It is not fair to her to have to deal with my poor work performance just because I'm going through shitty life right now. But then again, why am I beating myself up over work? It's 'cause I take everything personally when I shouldn't. Oh here we go, I will counter-argue with the whole, "but it's my life and why shouldn't it be personal, 'cause life is personal itself". There, in a nutshell, done. Moving on.

So the big question is: How do you separate your life?
As a persona who feels everything around her and nothing at the same time, how do you isolate things when everything has become so goddamn blurry and bungled together. I feel like I was a painting that in the end got all blended together with the brush of my own doing. So now I am a nameless and faceless blend of colors, pigments, and textures from a palate.

 So anyway, the gut decision, where I just know out of the blue and receive that force of impenetrable motivation to do one thing as soon as possible to move on. I've decided to put in my two weeks.
I know "quitting" is never the answer, but in this case, I shouldn't not want to be at work all the time. I shouldn't have to get yelled at and treated like shit (I was gonna say like a dog, but even they treat dogs like kings) every day by grumpy customers all day long. And feel so inadequate. I swear, people of the retail world should get hero medals because it is a mentally and emotionally taxing job that leaves you dead inside because it shows you the wrong end of humanity.

Yeah, sure, "kill them with kindness" but that can only go so far before they kill you first. And indeed they will.

Damn, I forgot how good it felt just to free form write. How a single thought can transition into all this and branch on into little segues of other thoughts and that it opens up a plethora of brain picking matter. This is one of my sorts of transcendence. Cheers, lovers.

Well

Well look, at least I had the motivation to write something- no matter how distastefully written and ill-substanced it was. Well, there's the fire. Part of the "hard, gem-like, flame." Maybe I should start reading real literature again, but who has the motivation for passion these days? And by who, I mean me. Night.

People

Those who make a mockery out of real self-mutilation disgust me. How can you belittle the problems of someone who cuts themself? Someone who clearly hurt so badly in their life to have to take it that far. You'll never understand until you're at that point with a sharp object in your hand, pressing it against your skin, feeling the cold metal, and seconds away from a psychosis filled dark determination.
I can't believe what you said today. I'll never be able to look at or think of you in the same way. This is why, what we do is secret. Because it's the general public who never wants to know the harsh truth of reality. This is why you can never really trust anyone.

skinny love.
oh, my, ultimate love.
oh, so be it, love, my, sordid love.
say, what kind of love. did you need it, too, love?
please, so tell me, so be it, love, love,
oh, honey, dear love.
i hate to tell you, my ridiculous love.
oh, so who knows, my dear love.
my life upon it, my dear love; oh, so be it. Bet my life- on it love.
let's not be so abundant and absurdly, about it, my love.
ridiculously love; yet, so obscenely, love, i guess, we'll have to end it, my love, and stay so ever true,
my love.

Nobody can.

superficialism. who can't? who doesn't.

Oh does.

Story of our lives.