I miss her so much that my stomach hurts and I think I might vomit because she's the only fucking person that knows. She just KNOWS and I need that right now. I need someone to just fucking get it. To be there the way that I need them to be and she always, always does that. She's always there even when I'm an irrational bitch and I'm cold and I'm sarcastic and really terrible she ignores it and tells me with that much more force that there is good inside of me and that she loves me.
I want to die. I don't have fancy words for it. I just fucking want to die. Dealing with the same shit day after fucking day. I can't be a blogger. I can't make it interesting. I can't keep you here. Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think I could do a relationship? I can't fucking do anything.
I don't want to be alone.
If I don't find drugs soon I'm going to fucking lose it. I can't do it anymore. Anything.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Know What I Hate More Than Life?
Death.
I do not take someone's passing lightly, whether I know them or not. It is a selfish motivation - I am not always crying for the deceased, but for my own mortality and the concrete fate of those I love. I become obsessed with the thought. You're going to die, Arie, but first you'll get to bury a few family members and best friends. May as well end it now. Honestly. I think of how one day I'm going to die and how it may very well be slow and agonizing, and I want to kill myself here and now. Surely that is the best solution?
My coworker and friend lost a loved one today. A person that was responsibly driving. Wearing a seat belt. Signaling properly. None the less dead. It doesn't matter what you do, you can't escape death when it wants you, and that thought is enough to sometimes paralyze me.
I think of how often me and the person I love more than anybody on this clearly foresaken earth drive around at one in the morning, slightly intoxicated and eager to get to bed. Of how I could cause a crash and, worse than hurting myself, have something happen to him. I could never live with that. I could never live without him.
I do not take someone's passing lightly, whether I know them or not. It is a selfish motivation - I am not always crying for the deceased, but for my own mortality and the concrete fate of those I love. I become obsessed with the thought. You're going to die, Arie, but first you'll get to bury a few family members and best friends. May as well end it now. Honestly. I think of how one day I'm going to die and how it may very well be slow and agonizing, and I want to kill myself here and now. Surely that is the best solution?
My coworker and friend lost a loved one today. A person that was responsibly driving. Wearing a seat belt. Signaling properly. None the less dead. It doesn't matter what you do, you can't escape death when it wants you, and that thought is enough to sometimes paralyze me.
I think of how often me and the person I love more than anybody on this clearly foresaken earth drive around at one in the morning, slightly intoxicated and eager to get to bed. Of how I could cause a crash and, worse than hurting myself, have something happen to him. I could never live with that. I could never live without him.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Trayvon Martin.
I've just listened to this tape in its entirety.
Trayvon Martin 911 Calls
This boy was 17. He was walking back from the store. He was in possession of Skittles and Tea. His hood was up. It was raining and someone was following him. My hood would be up, too.
You cannot pursue someone and simultaneously call out for help. He was chased down. He was afraid. He needed help.
The police officer directed the man NOT to pursue this child.
One man chuckled nervously on the phone with 911 as he stated "Yeah he's screaming for help, but I'm not going out there."
This is more than tragic. More than disgusting. Hearing his screams. The final sounds to escape his throat before his death and they were a desperate call for help. That won't leave me.
Whether Zimmerman is locked away or not, this family will not recover. I would not recover. The justice system has failed in letting the gun man escape and that should be rectified - but it will do NOTHING to right this wrong. Nothing will give life back to this innocent child, and nothing will erase his screams from the minds of everyone that cared for him.
There is no hope for the human race.
Trayvon Martin 911 Calls
This boy was 17. He was walking back from the store. He was in possession of Skittles and Tea. His hood was up. It was raining and someone was following him. My hood would be up, too.
You cannot pursue someone and simultaneously call out for help. He was chased down. He was afraid. He needed help.
The police officer directed the man NOT to pursue this child.
One man chuckled nervously on the phone with 911 as he stated "Yeah he's screaming for help, but I'm not going out there."
This is more than tragic. More than disgusting. Hearing his screams. The final sounds to escape his throat before his death and they were a desperate call for help. That won't leave me.
Whether Zimmerman is locked away or not, this family will not recover. I would not recover. The justice system has failed in letting the gun man escape and that should be rectified - but it will do NOTHING to right this wrong. Nothing will give life back to this innocent child, and nothing will erase his screams from the minds of everyone that cared for him.
There is no hope for the human race.
On the Borderline, so to speak.
Feelings. So many feelings.
No, really. This is sort of serious except that I can't actually talk about something serious in a serious manner, so it might not sound as serious as it is but it's serious. Seriously.
I woke up this morning and I felt wonderful. My beautiful God-send of a boyfriend was sleeping peacefully beside me, the sun was shining through my skylight, and birds were harmonizing victoriously outside of my window. And then - AND THEN - my boyfriend leaves for work and I'm alone with my thoughts for five minutes. Suddenly the sun is excruciating and why won't the noise outside stop already?! I hate birds.
My childhood was sort of sick and twisted and while I'd rather not get into that today while I'm still emotionally charged, suffice it to say I am still healing, if you can even call it that. I have a lot of issues and one of them is an inability to properly control my emotional outbursts. Being as thoroughly damaged as I am has prompted me to take an interest in personality disorders. I've done quite a bit of research on the matter and at the risk of sounding like a hypochondriac, believe myself to be suffering from a disorder, or three. I've been in search of help for a while now (on and off - when I'm depressed I don't feel much like searching out anything) but I haven't found a place that I can actually afford.
Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)
— n
psychiatry a mental condition on the dividing line between a psychiatric disorder and normality characterized by impulsiveness,extreme mood swings, and often aggressiveness
Thank you, dictionary.com. This is what I relate to most. I've best heard of this disorder described as having a thin emotional skin. Things that would make most people only slightly flustered cause massive panic attacks for me. It is emotional instability. You're too high, and then you're too low. There is seldom a middle ground and it is always, always too much. I hate myself for the unnecessary pain I cause to myself and to those closest to me. My boyfriend is truly a saint to have stayed by my side for the past year and a half, because dealing with my shit on a day to day basis is absolutely the most difficult thing you could ever attempt in your life.
Sometimes my emotions shut down completely. I am cold. I'm talking "I just heard your mother died today." "Yeah, she did. I think I'm hungry." dissociative cold. I try to fight through those times and it isn't as if I'm a complete zombie, unaware of what's going on. My mind is screaming at me about how I should be feeling and there's this little person locked away somewhere that's bouncing from wall to wall in frustration, but it just won't surface. It's like banging a television remote against the table and tapping the channel up button with the ferocity of a child on the "B" button during a round of Mortal Kombat. Nothing happens for a while and then suddenly you're 42 channels past your intended destination and missing the best part of 16 and Pregnant. (I absolutely do NOT watch that show - but you go Chelsea for getting that GED and leaving Adam's sorry ass!) Really what you need is a new set of batteries, but healthcare is just too expensive in the US of A and so you're forced to work with dysfunctional pieces. Wait - what's this a metaphor for again? I'm not good with this.
Digressing, when the remote decides to work and my emotions come back, it's too much too quickly and I'm suddenly in hysterics because I sneezed the other day and no one in the room had the decency to say "God bless you." and OBVIOUSLY this means there is nobody in this world that truly loves me. It's a hot ass mess. One time I spilled a bowl of eggs in my boyfriend's dorm room and he had to hold me up so that I did not fall to pieces in a floor full of yolk. I've looked into facilities for diagnosis and treatment in my area but the truth is that without proper insurance it's sort of impossible. I'd like to know if there's anyone out there suffering from BPD or any emotional disorder and is getting adequate treatment at a fair price. And by fair I mean as close to free as possible. I hate poverty. I hate ruining the lives of those I love more, though.
No, really. This is sort of serious except that I can't actually talk about something serious in a serious manner, so it might not sound as serious as it is but it's serious. Seriously.
I woke up this morning and I felt wonderful. My beautiful God-send of a boyfriend was sleeping peacefully beside me, the sun was shining through my skylight, and birds were harmonizing victoriously outside of my window. And then - AND THEN - my boyfriend leaves for work and I'm alone with my thoughts for five minutes. Suddenly the sun is excruciating and why won't the noise outside stop already?! I hate birds.
My childhood was sort of sick and twisted and while I'd rather not get into that today while I'm still emotionally charged, suffice it to say I am still healing, if you can even call it that. I have a lot of issues and one of them is an inability to properly control my emotional outbursts. Being as thoroughly damaged as I am has prompted me to take an interest in personality disorders. I've done quite a bit of research on the matter and at the risk of sounding like a hypochondriac, believe myself to be suffering from a disorder, or three. I've been in search of help for a while now (on and off - when I'm depressed I don't feel much like searching out anything) but I haven't found a place that I can actually afford.
Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)
— n
psychiatry a mental condition on the dividing line between a psychiatric disorder and normality characterized by impulsiveness,extreme mood swings, and often aggressiveness
Thank you, dictionary.com. This is what I relate to most. I've best heard of this disorder described as having a thin emotional skin. Things that would make most people only slightly flustered cause massive panic attacks for me. It is emotional instability. You're too high, and then you're too low. There is seldom a middle ground and it is always, always too much. I hate myself for the unnecessary pain I cause to myself and to those closest to me. My boyfriend is truly a saint to have stayed by my side for the past year and a half, because dealing with my shit on a day to day basis is absolutely the most difficult thing you could ever attempt in your life.
Sometimes my emotions shut down completely. I am cold. I'm talking "I just heard your mother died today." "Yeah, she did. I think I'm hungry." dissociative cold. I try to fight through those times and it isn't as if I'm a complete zombie, unaware of what's going on. My mind is screaming at me about how I should be feeling and there's this little person locked away somewhere that's bouncing from wall to wall in frustration, but it just won't surface. It's like banging a television remote against the table and tapping the channel up button with the ferocity of a child on the "B" button during a round of Mortal Kombat. Nothing happens for a while and then suddenly you're 42 channels past your intended destination and missing the best part of 16 and Pregnant. (I absolutely do NOT watch that show - but you go Chelsea for getting that GED and leaving Adam's sorry ass!) Really what you need is a new set of batteries, but healthcare is just too expensive in the US of A and so you're forced to work with dysfunctional pieces. Wait - what's this a metaphor for again? I'm not good with this.
Digressing, when the remote decides to work and my emotions come back, it's too much too quickly and I'm suddenly in hysterics because I sneezed the other day and no one in the room had the decency to say "God bless you." and OBVIOUSLY this means there is nobody in this world that truly loves me. It's a hot ass mess. One time I spilled a bowl of eggs in my boyfriend's dorm room and he had to hold me up so that I did not fall to pieces in a floor full of yolk. I've looked into facilities for diagnosis and treatment in my area but the truth is that without proper insurance it's sort of impossible. I'd like to know if there's anyone out there suffering from BPD or any emotional disorder and is getting adequate treatment at a fair price. And by fair I mean as close to free as possible. I hate poverty. I hate ruining the lives of those I love more, though.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Well Don't Just Stand There..
This photo is beautiful, devoid of color, and completely unrelated to anything I have to say. That is how this works, right? God, I'm so cutting edge.
A girl's first post is always so awkward.
This is my personal blog now. Squee.
I live in the capital city of Virginia, and it is excessively non-eventful. My life is redundant. I'm never focused on the task at hand, because nothing is ever important enough to warrant my actual attention. I am 22 years young and have no absolute plans for the future. No degree to get my foot through any proverbial doors and no real knowledge of anything useful. I like words. I use way more than is necessary to get any one point across.
I won't bother too much with introductions because the truth is I don't know myself well enough to elaborate on the subject. I blog to find out more about who that person is. Maybe I'm hoping that through my disjointed thoughts and annoyingly depressing rants you might be able to tell me who it is that I've become. Maybe I'm hoping to connect with like-minded individuals who are also mid soul-search. Maybe my words can help you. Probably not.
Either way, here we go.
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