Good things to be happy about

Also known as: what I'm thankful for...

1. Not wearing a bra!! Those things can be so constricting.

   

   I brushed my hair for you bitches. Not wearing a bra, yo! And lovin' dat red light.

2. I've lost weight (but am not at all underweight! Yay 113 lbs!!!).
3. So far everyone has adored my Christmas presents to them (the best thing about Christmas).
4. I'm drinking hot cocoa! Seriously the best mood-lifter eva.



Plus, how cute is my mug?

5. Just as I was feeling as moody as ever, my brother invited me to watch Two Towers with him. Perfect timing, perfect movie, perfect company.
6. Watching LOTR, I've come to the conclusion that no matter how terrible my family life is... Hey, at least I don't have to be delivering the ring of power to Mount Doom. 

   

   And hey, at least I'm not Gretchen Wieners...

7. Although I miss my boyfriend very dearly, I will get to see him in two weeks! Exactly fourteen days, possibly less if I manage to get the earlier flight I want.
8. My skin has been clearing up a lot lately.
9. My booty is still sore from working out a few nights ago. Same with my abs and thighs. Glad to be getting my body in shape!
10. I got some absolutely wonderful Christmas presents! I actually had one of the best Christmas' ever. Presents included: astrology watch, fox hat, elephant shirt, AND JEFFERY CAMPBELL SNEAKER WEDGES!

    

    New Favorite top.
    

    

    I'm actually obsessed.

11. Due to a 50% coupon, I was able to buy my boyfriend some really nice gifts. (One of which is normally $55!!!) I'm in the process of personalizing them to give to him.
12. Even though it sucks that I'm not with my boyfriend right now like I could have been, not seeing him this weekend means I have more time to perfect this present..
13. I love giving gifts. Can I just give gifts forever? Can I be Santa Claus? Please!
14. I finished Slaughterhouse-Five last night! I'm devoting this break to reading, writing, and making art. 

    

    Casual fireside reading (throwback to Christmas day).

15. Monday I plan on dying my hair dark brown! I've been talking about this for months, and wanting to do it for ever longer. Maybe I'll finally get to have my indie rocker muse phase or whatnot. Pretty much I'm going to fuck shit up and love myself.
16. For getting mono during my first semester, missing classes for two weeks, and struggling through midterms, my grades are excellent! I didn't make Dean's List (yet), but I still managed to get excellent grades and I'm going to make Dean's List next semester for sure.

    

    I don't know my French grade yet, but even with an A, it's impossible to have a 3.75 GPA..

17. My new majors and minor are incredibly fantastic! I'm more than ecstatic to get to study Film and Philosophy in depth, and will forever adore my minor in Creative Writing.
18. I made $$$ last night babysitting. But even if I didn't make money, babysitting makes me incredibly happy. It's possibly my biggest confidence booster. I simply love spending time with and taking care of kids. They're so cute and lovely and ughhh I love babysitting.
19. This scholarship thing... Can't really go into detail but it's a lot to be happy and thankful for!
20. THE LOVELY PEOPLE IN MY LIFE. Wow. Even though I've been in a lot of shit moods lately, my friends have really stood by me. I'm most excited to get together with them and dye our hair (my friends want to dip-dye and I just want dark brown, yo). But really I could not express how much it means to have support during such a dark time. I've been encouraged countless times to do what makes me happy, even if that means paying all that money for an earlier flight to get home to Colorado. And not only have my friends been supportive, wow, my boyfriend has been so incredibly... Wow. I'm always scared that opening up and showing that I'm in pain will scare people away. That being human will make people realize that I'm not worth dealing with or something. Not worth their time. But here I am being human, being completely imperfect, and still being a part of something beautiful. My relationship constantly astounds me and always fills my heart with joy. I am happy.

    

    Wearing his heavenly sweatshirt. God, I miss him.
    

    

    I feel the need to protect his identity.
    

    

    My present to whomever reads this. Merry Christmas, a picture of my hot boy toy.

And now a lovely cover of Gravity by my dear friend, Alex:

I'm crying harder

I'm crying harder and I hate when you don't say good night. I hate when any conversation is left hanging in the air. Good nights are so significant because they aren't forever, they aren't for long. Good byes, farewells.... They have too much weight. So much that it worries me. Good nights are simple and sweet and meant for safe and happy dreams. They're almost a promise to speak again.

I don't even know what I'm saying but I'm crying harder and I don't know what to do with myself.

Silent crying scares me. Not being able to make the tears stop. I feel so trapped here. I'm suffocating. I wish I could run away. Never have I been more depressed in my life. It is as though I had finally escaped, as though I had finally broken free from my family and found happiness in college. Only to return and realize that no matter how hard I try, I'll always be stuck here. Sometimes I think I want to run away for good. Flee the country and cut off all ties with them. Maybe then I'd be able to get to bed without crying myself to sleep. I don't feel safe here, I'm constantly walking on broken glass. I just want to be held and told that everything is okay, that it's going to be okay. But you're not here. And it's not okay. It's not okay that being here affects me so drastically. I automatically revert back to dreams of escaping, dreams of running away.

For the first time in my life I had stopped dreaming of running, I had stopped running altogether. And it barely lasted. I'm already back where I started, running from this house and these people. I'm not okay.

All I Want For Christmas

All I want for Christmas is an earlier flight home to Boulder. I hate it here. I want these nightmares to stop, I want to finally fall asleep in your arms again. I miss feeling safe, I miss your lips. I hate it here. I hate how depressing everything here is. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it here. I don't feel safe. I'm sad always. All I ever do I cry. This isn't home, this will never be home. I want to go home. I miss being happy. I miss being me. I hate that I'm crying myself to sleep every night. I hate it here.

I'm in I-want-to-end-this-before-you-hurt-me mode. Realizing that I care way too much and doubting you care the way I do and ultimately worrying and crying nonstop. It sucks. Especially since I don't want to cut off ties with you. I want you. I just want me too. I want to protect myself. If I stop talking to you then I'm in control, except you make me happy and the idea of trying to cut you out of my life is painful to even think about. And when I'm with my family, if you can even call them that, I'm such a mess. I'm worried you'll hurt me now, now when I'm already down. I'm so vulnerable. Please don't hurt me.

I'm actually in break up mode because I'm terrified. I'm so scared to let you in. But I like you and I don't want to lose you but I'm afraid you'll leave me. I'm scared. I'm so scared and I feel so alone.

I'm sorry for being timid. I wish you were here to hold me. I just want to exist with you.

Core

I just received a letter I wrote to myself over the summer, while on a mission trip. I don't know if this sounds incredibly selfish or whatnot, but I wrote about how I need to learn to appreciate myself. That's one of the things everyone told me that week: to appreciate myself, that I don't appreciate myself enough.
So here I am, sitting in bed, in New Jersey, trying to appreciate myself. And I can't do it. I can't fucking do it. I got back here Thursday night. I don't call this place home. Colorado is my home. My mom has already spent two days yelling at me. To an extreme amount. How can I appreciate myself? She makes it clear that I take things for granted, she says that I think I deserve better than everyone else, she tells me that I don't do enough for our family.
I try so hard, but clearly my efforts are fruitless. I don't even know what to do with myself at this point, I'm stuck here for another three weeks. I just want to go home, home to Colorado. At the end of this trip I plan on threatening to not come back. I could find a job in Colorado or go home with a friend, I don't care. Honestly, I'd do anything to not be back here. They make me feel worthless. I try so hard and they make me feel like dirt or less than that even.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the core of the earth. So much is on my shoulders, practically everything, yet everyone tends to forget about the effort I put in.
Yesterday night my mom threw a fit at me. I got home from a casual coffee evening with two friends, came in the house, and went to my room. And suddenly there was my mom, shrilling. Her rude words pierced the darkness, I had yet to even turn on a light. "You slammed the door! Veronica's sick and asleep and you woke her up!" or something along those lines. It's gotten to the point where she sounds like a siren, the words lose their weight and she's just sound, going off at me every chance she gets. I knew I hadn't slammed a door but I accepted it and moved on. This morning my sister revealed that my mom's screaming had woken up. Well great, her waking up wasn't my fault, but my mom's screaming was still my fault.
Then this morning my mom asked me when I was going to get my hair cut. I was excited and said after we eat. This was less than fifteen minutes ago. She pulled out a coupon for Supercuts and told me I was going to pay for my hair cut. It's been almost eight months since I've gotten my hair cut, and yes, I was a bit upset that I had downgraded to Supercuts. My hair is a mess and I don't know how to take care of it and I wanted a good hair cut. So maybe I acted a bit childish saying that, but hey, if I'm going to pay for my hair cut, shouldn't I have a say in where I get it done? To which my head proceeded to explode from the sound that escaped her lips. "You're not an adult! You're not better than everyone else!" Thank you, mother... I do happen to be eighteen and I never said I was. Once again the words jumble together. At moments like these, I've realized, it doesn't even matter what she says. I guess that's why I suck at writing dialogue and can't put conversations together to write a play. The words don't reach my ears, they only reach my body. They attack me and beat me till I cry. "You have no sense of money! You think you deserve everything! I spend so much money on you and you don't appreciate it at all!!" I spent $80 on my mom's Christmas present. I'm actually broke because I spent about $300 on Christmas presents, and I've been very conscious of my money since then. I promise whoever is bothering to read this whole load of depressing, I do appreciate everything my mother does. I try so hard to keep her happy. And yes, it was childish of me to "want more," or really to voice my want, but if she says I'm not an adult, why get mad when I'm being my apparently childish self? I don't know.

I just want my mom to be happy. But it's clear I don't do enough to make her so. At all. So, no, I don't appreciate myself. I doubt I ever will. But at the end of this break, if not sooner, I am threatening to never come back. I will figure out a way to pay for school (even though, hey, I'm emancipated! Paying for college all on my own, with my own money, except that I never see this money/have no control over it/it only pays housing and tuition so I have to buy everything else, even tampons and toothpaste, with my own money/my money could be gone at any minute) on my own. I got offered a scholarship and I dunno. I just can't do this anymore.
I can't take shutting myself in my room to cry. On a daily basis.
I don't even have a lock on my door, so anyone could waltz right in and laugh in my face.

Great. If I'm the core of such a beautiful planet, what happens when I'm gone. Does everything fall apart? (with my family, yes).



I want to go home.

repeating

so much shit going on in my head. i just want to escape with you.

Love; it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free. Be more like the man you were made to be.

I know that yesterday I posted a simple quote and it may have seemed meaningless, in some ways it was meaningless. It was significantly beautiful and heartfelt, but not necessarily anything pertaining to my life right now. This quote, however... This song lyric is everything I feel right now. It's my heart bursting and my emotions welling and tears spilling over for only the happiest reasons. I once wrote one here that the day I could speak/write openly about my parent's divorce would be life changing. Now I can say that my life has been changed. I finally feel safe enough to open up and I opened up and it's done amazing things for me. You have done amazing things for me.

I'm finally courageous. No longer scared. I've always been a lion but now I've got my c-c-courage. Now I can stand up tall and scream my thoughts and laugh and smile and make something of myself. Make something worth your while.

Love has set me free.

(I'msortofalsolaughingtomyselfathowcornythiswholepostis.....I'mwaytoosentimental)

You’re allowed to be sad, but you aren’t allowed to be too sad. If you’re always sad when you think about me, then how can you remember me? -Sally Nicholls, Ways To Live Forever

What Am I Afraid Of?

I'm afraid of you. I'm terrified of letting you in because (what if) you don't like who i am (inside). and this is when my heart starts racing, stops beating, the in between. me fearing you and this relationship. because what if i want something else, someone else (nothing lasts forever) and sometimes we need a (change) new day or place. but then i really like (you) and this and us and (you) just make me so happy i think (you) may just make me (glow) brighter. but really i'm just petrified by this idea, the idea, (idea of) ending up like my parents. because they have hurt me in more ways than i can illustrate with the flick of my tongue and (sting of) my words. and i don't want to do that, i don't want to do that to anyone else. i don't want to be that kind of (monster) that tears apart its children's lives. i want my kids to be happy (like you make me). and i know this is the future (and the future is forever away) but the future is now and i think a hella lot and sometimes (i can't help but wonder) sometimes i get caught up in my thoughts but it's because i want so many big things and (i want to make big things) i want to be a part of something big. and you make me feel like that's possible. is it possible. (possibly). and that (hope), you as the flicker of light in this darkened state of unconscious that i feel (i'm stuck watching the world pass me by, but i want to be a part of it), that i've always felt having watched my parents. i don't want to (feel) alone anymore!
i want you to open my eyes and sometimes i think you already have begun to and it scares me because you give me so much hope but what happens when you're gone? nothing lasts forever. but some things last long enough to leave their mark on the world. i want to be a part of something big, something that leaves a mark, i want to be a part of the world (with you).

This is why I hate people like you. You whose eyes are closed to the world of the words I'm trying to speak and the way I'm trying to paint the sky. You are choking me with your pudgy hands and chubby face. I want to scream. I want to tear out my hair and let out a bellow, to have the fire escape my throat, to burn the bridge between us because I cannot stand you. I want to punch, to create a home of purples and yellows, of the sky's complimentary colors upon your face because you don't understand how rude you are. I feel completely alone and I want to make you pay. I'm out for revenge.

This loser thinks he's special because I wrote of his breath that rattles like the smell of weed and toothpaste and told stories of his strong arms to my friend from home. Those icy blue eyes that are so bright they blind me. The way these eyes glaze over in the most serious fashion as he tilts his head back in ecstasy. I love getting under his skin and making him squirm. Finding that terribly ticklish spot. God I love the way you move (with me).

I stole your shirt

I haven't had feelings for a boy in a while, so this is all new to me. But I like you. And I kept your shirt so I can sleep next to you even when you're not here. Sweet dreams, my dove.

Degausser

de·gauss [dee-gous]— vb

1. to neutralize the magnetic field of a ship's hull (as a protection against magnetic mines) using equipment producing an opposing magnetic field

2. another word for demagnetize

de·gauss·er [dee-gou-ser] —n

1. something that degausses.

“God, I’ve missed the chronic taste, of cheap gin upon your lips; entwined with mine, like cauterized skin,” she gnawed her words, watching him tremble as they lingered. Her body convulsed, slithering into a state of ecstasy, as she was finally able to indulge in her addiction. Only at 38,000 feet could she dig her talons into the haunting cavort that allowed her soul to slip away into the present; her cold hands grasping at life, aching to have a pulse. It was during the scattered, shuddering breaths like his that she discovered herself a vampire, sinking teeth into her prey. Only, she knew she could create destruction far better than any myth, as though there was an individual tempest brimming in each of her fingertips. She could feel his body clenching as she watched the pupils in his muddied blue eyes shrink as he gaped at her. “Is this supposed to be her hell or mine?” he asked himself.

Despite his inner cry for help: the roiling of his murky moons, back and forth; the studying her face, praying that she would take pity on him... He was completely mute, unable to get down on his knees and beg. Something about her had a hint of dreadful familiarity, one that caused him to feel an uncomfortable aching in his bones. There was a searing echo of her words, words that his memory had no recollection of but his body responded to, cringing. Her voice was as harsh as the grinding of teeth, like the primitive sound of fingernails scraping a chalkboard, “I love you so much, but do me a favor, baby. Don’t reply.”

She didn’t have to cackle to make him cower, instead fixing her shrewd, soulless eyes upon him as she considered the sadistic possibilities. Her hollow-cheeked, gaunt neck dangled closer to his and he felt her breath tickle his face. Naturally, his body reacted as a flower blossoming at her touch, his lips pursing at the inhalation of her sickly-sweet, syruped perfume.  She was a putrid bouquet of poppies rife with the musk hint of decay. His eyelids fluttered shut. Determined to abscond from her allure he forced them back open. Much to her inhuman pleasure, she knew he was no degausser. Her grey fingers snatched his collar and she brought his face to meet hers, locking lips with him again. This time he felt her underneath his skin. This time he gave in.

Unveiling the enigma he had exerted himself to conceal, his thoughts spoke for him, a new mantra: “I’ll let the bad parts in, I’ll let the bad parts in, I’ll let the bad parts in.” Now that she had his attention, she turned frigid; her pale eyes fell upon him and froze his heart with her wretched gaze. He was paralyzed; she spoke.

“I could be anyone. The silent wind grazing your arms and sending shivers down your back, the sound of your pulsating heart throbbing, echoing inside your head. I could be anything. I could be envious... So I am. Every time I stand up no one looks my way. Am I a soulless body, dragging itself through the day? I delicately place my tongue between my teeth and bite. Hard. What does it feel like to be real? I watch you slouch in your seat, the small opening of your lips. You are the predictable book that I flip through, hardly bothering to even glance over the pictures. But I? I am the book that's never even left the shelf. Do you enjoy watching me collect dust? I swallow, the sound of your footsteps echo through the hollow hallways, passing through me as though I am dissolving into the sky.

‘Who are you?’ Your voice tries to coo calmly, but I can hear the desperation clinging in your throat. You're trying to claw your way out of this darkness, but do you really want to see the light? I told you that I could be anyone; I've laid out my whole being for you and am now waiting, waiting for you to see what you've always seen, but a second time. And when I give you an answer, don't be afraid to meet me halfway, you are so close to escaping the poison of your own mind.

I can hear your heavy breath and I know the truth. I would tell you not to bother with the reverberation of your words, but, ‘Who are-who are you?’ they double over themselves too immediately to be heard distinctly. Do you feel me now? I could scratch open your chest, watch you heave as your secrets pour out, an unending tale of surreptitious sin. And you, oh you, you thought you would win.

Have you ever come across a serpent devouring its own tail? I can tell you desire to make something of yourself. But what are you willing to risk, would you eat your own tail for the chance of eternal life? Stop wringing your wrists and listen to me, listen to the world, as you know you never have before.

You have no feelings in your brain, it is all embodied. So why try to transcend that body? To overcome your own creation. The king must die, but there are consequences with the slicing of veins and the way your eyes widen to try and take in the world.”

Perspiration dripping down his face he awoke with a scream, terrified of the dream that burdens him every time he flies. “Are you okay, sir? Is there anything I can get for you?” the slender stewardess looked at him with wide eyes. He immediately felt his heart pulsate and some of the blood return to his dead face for he could not believe the sight of life. “Finally, eyes with spirit and warmth,“ he thought, letting out all the air that had built up in his chest, only then realizing that he had been holding his breath. “No,” he spoke softly as he turned down the empathy he so dearly craved, “I’m fine, thank you.”

For the first time, he paused to take in his surroundings and felt relieved to have sat in first class, where he did not disturb as many people. He pulled up the blind, brought his chair upright, and excused himself to the bathroom. He was surprised to come face to face with a raw-boned, sallow monster. A sweaty mess looked at him with two muddy oceans of panicked eyes for a long moment before he realized that it was only the mirror, a reflection of his disheveled self. “It was only a dream, it was only a dream, it was only a dream,” he spoke his mantra in a stern voice and splashed frigid water onto his solemn face. He was alive.

“Could I please get a gin and tonic?” he asked the stewardess with a grin as he settled down into his seat. He leaned back and sank into the safety of his chair, once again allowing his eyes to scan the room he had awoken in. They stopped, his eyes having fell upon the face of another passenger, a woman he had not noticed previously. She looked as though she had just gone for a run, heaving, gasping for any air she could get into her lungs. Feeling his leer, she twisted around, allowing him to see her alarmed eyes. He recognized them, the eyes. Although they were brown, the eyes fostered the same anxiety he had seen moments ago, in the mirror.

A jingle danced through the air and reached his ears, the same haunting voice he’d heard in his dream, “I’d die for you one time, but never again.”

the girl that lay in another world

taken by the ever lovely Sarah Robinson

Sometimes I want to slip through my chair, through the floor which becomes the ceiling, through the grass and dirt and homes of the deceased, decomposed. Sometimes I want to slip through the caverns of inky water to the center of the earth so my body can float on a new sea: of lava, of molten rock, because maybe then my pulse will catch up with the breath in my mouth. Maybe then I will open my eyes and find myself awake. I am two delicate feet, cloudlike, drifting through this world as a dream. I am trapped in my own dream, terrified to reach out and actually touch the world. I hear tales of the shivers a soft breeze will give you, the touch of someone's fingers tiptoeing across your skin. I hear myths but I still have yet to witness them. Am I just a body? What with no mind, no heart to feel. I know that when lips collide against mine it is called a "kiss," though I have never felt the scattered words pass between our mouths. I know that when you look at me with the fire in your eyes you might call it "lust," but the only fire I've felt was in that the dark of the depth of the earth that I've clawed my way to reach. This is my attempt at running away, my soul and body dividing where there is no divine and in this new world I can be godly. With shaking hands I steady my stoic face and grab handfuls of dandelions, wishes scattering among a breeze that I only know is there because I can see the seeds falling out of my grasp. I have created for myself a sanctuary of saturated colors among the veins of the earth. I am waiting in vain.