Showing posts with label fucked. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fucked. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

fucking today why

saw on the calendar that today is the new moon. it's june. which means that today is the one year anniversary of chris cheating on me (to my knowledge) and also leaving me. no wonder i have felt like hell all day. and now my heart is racing and my mind is fuzzy and all the other stupid shit that happens when i get triggered. my throat closing. my eyes blurring. the whole deal. i just want to lie down but i have so much to do. i guess it's better to stay busy than to wallow.


also my cat has been gone since before the storm last night and i'm very worried.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

man i'm having another rough day. i've been trying to sort through papers and finding a lot of intense writing from this past year. i'm kind of leaning into the feelings and doing a lot of looking back which might be dangerous but i am telling myself it's important to piece it together and process it. like if i let myself fully feel it now, now that i can actually look at the past without having a panic attack, i can just get it over with and put it to rest for good?? is that how this works ??? 

everything you are is a lie.
i've gone invisible. i'm back down the well, i'm going all the way.

Monday, November 06, 2017

a text after four months of nothing

"I've barely scratched the surface of how you must have felt and I feel like giving up."

oh good.
go for it.
you have no idea.
you don't want to know.
i don't believe you.
i don't believe you.
i don't believe you.

giving up on understanding? i thought you already had.

giving up on everything? what's that got to do with me?
first of all, i know it isn't true. second of all, you already claimed this with your last faux guilty message four months ago. "i don't deserve friends. i'm gonna be alone." bullshit. i sometimes wonder how you (or anyone) is capable of flinging so much bullshit. you'll say whatever you need to get your way. you're barely passing as human.
don't you think i've caught on by now? don't you see that the veil was lifted, burned?

why do you suddenly need to feel absolved? why on earth would you pretend to care now? your actions proved that you never did. you knew i went to the loony bin and you never checked in. you don't fucking care and you never did.

what do you want from me?
what the fuck do you want?

you will get exactly what you deserve.

Friday, August 25, 2017

the problem where it's in my head so it's already true. being bored with everything. nothing being good enough. i see it with clarity how it could be better, should be. so why am i not doing it?

but how can i do it alone ?????
everything i want is dependent on others. i thought maybe i could make it work here but clearly i can't. this has been the problem all along. i couldn't find the support among my friends, so i sought it externally and i crashed + burned. dependent and dead.

i thought i had some good ideas over the last couple days. i was so fired up. i needed anyone to fuel the flames. all responses (except rex my love) were lukewarm. i was shattered. i broke apart. i became again dumb, useless, unimaginative, incapable, etc forever. i don't know what's true. i don't know what's real. i'm so busted apart with self doubt and dissociation that i don't know even about reality.
i want to talk about it but i'm a pretend artist working without a practice. my mode has been to instigate others or to glom on later. i have no solo. i have no way to know. i consider being alone in my bedroom trying to "work" and i throw up in my mouth, i can't eat for hours. (do i eat at all?) it's as if i'm supposed to have seen everything already but actually not, oh it's better if you don't, just be yourself. it's as if i am supposed to know how to funnel this brain crash through a gold pan and discover my own secret brilliance, eventually. elsewise i guess i'd better sell my (l)eggs to go to school and have them tell me how to be. i'm at a loss. i'm done for. i want to move to a new town and die. i want to disappear or explode.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

someone pinched my neck. thought it was you, wrong. bartender laughed at how disoriented I was.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

you can see the shape of the fist in the wall 
and the twist of your wrist in my hair that's your call 
how can I not respond 
how can I not try to touch you 
when all you want is the silence of the highway jump 
when all you want is no response 
when all you want is get the fuck off
after the pulling pushing difference 

I have to remind you it's a meeting 
the door is open 
how you shove and show 




you can see the fists that you fit between the frames that we fixed on this old dirty name 
what could we have done 
how do we stop it 

donotdie
do not die 
donut die 

(( why can't you write 
why does everything feel permanent when it's typed 
why can't you say here ! it is ! I called it now ! and how ! 
it's time to die and die and die ))


it kills that sound and you can't with that sound and you can't begin 

how they sit and try but it's pretend 

Monday, July 04, 2016

I don't know how to be in a relationship in which I am consistently questioned, mistrusted. 
I don't want to be constantly on the defensive. 
earlier tonight you knelt down to look me in the eye, to say you would take care of me, and I believed it so fully, I thought, has anyone ever loved me this much? wanted to take care of me so fully and earnestly? 
but then you got distracted, it's okay, so do I. and then instead of finding promised food, you questioned my fidelity, all over an empty jam jar. how can I possibly respond?? if you can't trust my actions OR my words, where does that leave me?
I've told you: I want you. I love you. you're sexy. I'm not interested in anyone else. I'm not seeking anyone's attention but yours. you're so good at just being you, you don't have to be anything else. 
I just spend the last 30 hours rescuing you from south Virginia. I don't know how else to prove any of it. I'm exhausted. 

is it the alcohol? what makes your brain go there? I wish you would believe me but maybe you can't and if that's the case maybe you don't need me in your life in this capacity. I'm not done, but I'm done with either of us feeling so bad.

Friday, December 25, 2015

actually, though, why is it so hard to be home at christmas?

we don't know what to do with each other. everyone is looking at a screen. everyone is miscommunicating or misunderstanding each other, either because we were looking at screens when we were trying to make a plan, or because screens have killed any communication skills we maybe once had. we don't know how to talk. we don't know how to listen.

your parents have the same problems that you do and it's hard to watch.

papa can't hear anymore so you don't know how to talk to him. you can talk nonsense with grandma, but she doesn't know who you are.

all your big dreams shrink to fit back inside the old house, back into your dark heart. they smolder there and you expect to be embarrassed to talk about them, but no one asks you anyway. you've already been written off. the dreams die without a fire.

you thought you could understand the world out there, but that mess of trash and war seems like a far-off thought and you're the only one worried about wasting paper on plastic presents and not being able to compost the potato skins. if they talk politics, your words will leave you and you fail your cause entirely. what words are left in times like these?

there is a blister on your mouth that rots all your words.

you ask your mother when you began to hate everything. you guess college but she answers "middle school" and probably she is right. she says she felt this way but she hated hating and the world was too much so she gave it up. but she doesn't tell you not to.

just from watching doctor who with the family you love, the family you crave, you know that something is wrong.

you almost cried, to recall the brilliance of Lucille ball. why can't we all? why can't we? what stops us? strips us?

the moon is full and the grass is wet and it's 85 degrees on Christmas.

the world is dying and broken and full of plastic. you know you're either dead or fighting.

you aren't going to win by crouching behind a bush, sucking down fire, calling desperate to a foreign moon with nothing but your dead self and cold toes.

inside there is light and laughter and you've never been its partner.

you are the broken dream of people who wanted better.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

NO ONE likes a depressive, despite what they tell you.  no one wants to hear about your trouble feelings, so don't say anything. you can write it down and talk to the cat. no one wants to hear how you cried when you dropped the syringes, cried doing laundry, cried for no reason except: this is the true you, wading through the sick sludge of sadness, unable to laugh or eat, cannot pretend. the fine line between the pill and the promise, the place where you will find your ultimate self and death.
retreat.
retreat.
retreat.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

1. I hate myself.
2. I self destruct with smokes and whisky. 
3. I have a problem with overdoing it. 
4. I get so gone that people are forced to take care of me. 
5. I'm lonely. I forget. 
6. I fall into the pattern of getting carried away. 
7. I hate myself. 

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

"Forgive yourself for not being at peace. The moment you completely accept your non-peace, your non-peace is transmuted into peace. Anything you accept fully will get you there, will take you into peace. This is the miracle of surrender."
tonight, walking back with the groceries, i thought of this quote, in the parking lot between the car and the door. i was thinking, “i cannot be happy. i have tried and failed too many times, it hurts too much, i give up on happiness,” and the resignation was such sweet relief, and it was so familiar, having thought this so many times, and i want to just feel nothing but that feeling, that empty low that owes nothing, that hollow in between the trying. and i thought of this quote, and i felt so calm, and of course reading it here now, it seemed better in my mind, though i couldn’t quite say just what is missing. and that rather neatly drives the whole thing home, doesnt it, though i hate to point it out.
remembered this quote tonight, walking from my car to the apartment, desperately hoping that the grocery bag wouldn't break. that would have just been the last straw. (i wonder what really would be the last straw, at this point.) thinking: i want to go home, but there is no home. i want to be somewhere else, do something else, but it won't help. i want to be happy, but i don't know how. i'm not capable. i have known this for a long time, but remembering my resignation tonight with the groceries, i felt such a burden lifted, and i remembered this quote. i don't want to jinx it, but so far it seems to help. or maybe it's just really late. today was terrible. this week was terrible. every time i see a bit of silver lining, or have a little moment to smile, it all goes black again. i am overwhelmed and undone by everything. it's leaking out now, without my choosing. laylee had to see me cry tonight and i felt like such a pathetic baby; i didn't want her to know. coffee, brett phone call, egg in a basket, car phone calls, craigslist, nothingness, shower, getting off x3, hash stash chills, look for place to live, couch on the car, hit the other car, crying, grocery, beer, tv, sleep. why i cling to other people: i have nothing to live for on my own. why i stay up so late: i'm allowed to be in my own world, a nothing place.

Monday, July 22, 2013

last night again you were in my dream

but thank god i don't remember it. somehow you floated into my mind while i was brushing my teeth, and i remembered you had been there. even asleep, i ignored you. two rows over in the theatre, and not a word. but you just followed us around and didn't say anything, so it was easy. and saying it like that sounds like the living you, but the dream you pulled and twisted, and glowed and hummed. brushing my teeth, i laughed at how the reality is flat and cold and easy to ignore. (and yet this dream.)

"the days go by like butterflies...." the days move abruptly from coffee to beer. my head aches with a constant tender worry, my skin feels thin and useless over imagined/probable ills. i can't shake this damned cough, after being sick ever since the vagina overkill/amy oelsner show (almost two weeks ago now) and then chainsmoking at bobby's going away party (though he isn't yet gone away). it's a wonder i haven't infected anyone. mostly i just want to know what the hell is going on, and why i can't choose, and how i ever fell this stagnant. who is driving this contraption, who calls the shots, and what do they want?

maybe it's not all bad. there's drinking an appropriate amount of beer, the bartender saying that you have the best laugh -- the bar folk don't bite every night. tipping off your stool, leaning and laughing, canoodling all night, a dozen poses at his place, and tiptoeing home at dawn before the long drive to see your grandparents in georgia. the audiobook narrator's voice makes your head reel, but it's almost puss in boots, and you will live through this. it has often been worse.

your goals fluctuate wildly, from grand and wild to status quo to suicide, depending on the time of day and how much art you're absorbing. versus how much media. some nights it's okay to watch bad movies with your parents, play unblock me, and believe that having a 9 to 5 job would be the greatest thing that could happen. (from there, imagine the range of other possibilities -- it feels like sacrilege to write them down.) mostly, obsession is the thing, whether fleeting, ongoing, or recurring. you will consider every relationship, exhaust yourself over a moment or a text message, wonder and analyze and reconsider, all while knowing what a goddamn waste of time. but when you're not alone, how the time trips on and the thing takes over and you don't know who you are anymore- how much you change depending on whose company. how you seem so unsure of what you really want. how well you can pretend. how you never can stick to the plan. or the designated curfew, the number of drinks, the amount of money. you are sickened by your privilege and indecision, this rotting, waste. you don't know how to change.

like clockwork, your grandma wakes up between 2 and 3 every night to let the cat out (or in, apparently). "you're still awake? are you working on your.....?" she doesn't know what she is trying to ask, but no, of course you're not. you really don't deserve any of this; you're too lucky to have fucked up this bad. you should have done so much more.


listening to: joanna newsom - go long

Saturday, June 22, 2013

the season will destroy you

on the longest day, i did not see the sun. i meant to plant a tree, take a walk, make a plan, clean up a bit... i barely managed to make a call. could not take any. 

even doing this is impossibly difficult. 

half an hour later... (longer? time doesn't move right anymore. what have i even done?)

another half hour. music finally chosen, the cat sick and restless in my lap.

where did it go? the last solstice still seems so close, maybe even the freshest thing. because i wrote it down? or because i was full of fire, more inspired and empowered than i had been in months, before or since? because i had a plan, or because i didn't? because i thought i would inevitably die on the highway? OR BECAUSE I HAD GOTTEN TWO HOURS OF SLEEP AND WAS CRAZY FULL OF COFFEE AND FELT LIKE A GOD FOR GETTING OUT OF A SPEEDING TICKET? what a bunch of shit, what a fucking farce. everything has gone wrong since then, and i'm sick of pretending otherwise. i don't understand how everyone can float through all these strange social labyrinths and somehow know all the rules and make it look so pretty and beautiful and boring at the same time. why am i bothering to try?

today i decided to give up. again. maybe it'll stick this time, now that it's words.
stay inside. don't wonder what you did wrong. the dance won't be worth it. the mess is too much. they don't actually like _you_ it's just beer. they won't call. no one will choose you except your cat who will die. get some kind of desk tech job and quit kissing and pining and puking.

what did i ever think i was doing, all these years? why did i never plan? somehow it never seemed necessary. i didn't believe in anything involving goals or plans. why bother? probably won't live that long, and if i do, i guess i'll have done something right. i guess not.

boy is this ever hard to write tonight. i just wanna spit. what a fucking disaster. although it doesn't matter since no one will read this.

i've fallen into a trap of cycles, a bunch of really meaningless stupid short time-disappearing ones. probably it's gotten a bit obsessive.. not too sure how to get out of there. because i'm always "about to" do something else, then three hours later... i get up and do the dishes and then get sucked back in. how?! oh misery, so embarrassing.

now this low, i saw this one coming on, but i didn't know it would be such a hard fall. now, from the bottom looking up, i see that i've just come out of probably the longest manic period of my life, and it's taking its toll with a vengeance. it was fairly steady with only bursts of total crazy - a month of panicked online booking, three weeks of lunatic touring traveling nonstop communicating and floating and attempting to entertain (another story entirely), and the whole next month riding it out, mostly solitary mellow with spurts of restless social energy and the urgent need to be out out out. how much i needed people! and why? the whole time i kind of can't stand them (mostly) and i don't know even know what the purpose is, why am i there. just to use them? for distraction, or....? add in my newly recovered (discovered?) libido and jesus what a mess. just to be on the pulse, to ask the questions, to be wanted, enjoyed. still, they never do catch me. (haha what am i saying, they never try.)

maybe i am getting somewhere to be able to at least remember that charged place so clearly, even from all the way down here. have i pegged this before? morgan seemed incredulous when i told her my theory, but after i explained, she said, "yeah you do go through this barhopping phase a lot." and i could feel the switch starting, when i sat in the corner at the p&h drinking straight from the bottle and trying not to make eye contact, and when i showed up at lauren's cookout not knowing why i had come except to bring the charcoal. clinging to each little mission. the next drink. the next smoke. the next person through the dark of the door.

maybe i should go work at a bar, that's what i was thinking. why not? and then there's this spiral, and i can't stand anyone, and i can't do anything, and that's all there is. even typing that feels so useless and stupid i can't believe i even did it. but this whole thing has been a struggle, so no point in stopping now, three hours later.
this is where 4pm coffee gets me.

really it's not as bad as it could be.... so probably will get worse before it gets better. this could be the slow buildup after such a long decline. a blank staticky expanse stretching on and on and on... potentially toward some much more tumultuous oceanic death-ridden thing, i'm sure. i don't see another option.

lord how does it ever get so late (and where indeed does the time go) and why am i even writing this here. TOO LATE NOW HAHA and dont bother editjng


listening to: matson jones - spring fever

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

two lives lived in distant lands

ugh this sonnggggg



listening to: the magnetic fields - strange eyes

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

you don't even own your own violence

​when i spill a full glass of water across my antique dresser and remember that nothing is mine, or good, i find your clover, dry and intact, until i try to touch it and its leaves disappear, crumble useless in my fingers. ​​
there will be no nonsense.
​how many times i tried to make you feel this. how even now i am slipping, how hard i am missing. i tried pouring it out for you, a silver stream from the cup -- how even then you missed it. not again. how my stomach still sings, toes tingle. it is all glamour, the imagined beauty of it all. ​​
it's been long enough that i can smile when i think of the park, the beach, the wedding. but at the thought of your face, my teeth clench, the truth of it makes the vision go sour.
But you don't even own your own violence
Run away from home-- your beard is still blue

Friday, October 26, 2012

BECAUSE I COULD SEE THAT YOU DIDN'T NEED ME
BECAUSE YOU MADE A CHOICE THAT YOU DENY
BECAUSE I SAW IT COMING
BECAUSE THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY IT COULD GO
 BECAUSE IT WAS THE ONLY GOOD THING
BECAUSE YOU LET ME BELIEVE

because i don't deserve good things
because unbelievable joy is never real

 i couldn't believe you loved me.
i shouldn't have.

because i never felt special to you
because i could have been anyone
because i was the last one standing
because you get what you want
because you mold the world to fit your desire
because you act for yourself and revise later
between ten moons i could not give you what you wanted.

ten moons
nine lives ???
eight women, the ones you call girls, the notches in your belt
seven years since the livejournal posts
six years since our band's first performance
five more days of sun on earth (six technically)
four a.m. and i hate myself for writing
three - the men who once loved me
two it only takes two. i thought we made a pair but we were never alone in here.
one chance. one choice.

OR three is a crowd. count me out.
two men, cancers. the only loves i've known.

in some ways i blame our familiarity, our set patrerns of communication. i had learned cautiousness, distance: dont ask too many questions, never expect direct or detailed answers. i looked forward to drawing you out but i saw no rush. i fretted over not being able to ask even the simple stuff: are you seeing other people? you never helped, you never said anything first. you never asked me for more. you never even made me come. you threw it away before we had begun.

i'm sorry i was not so easy. not simple. that it was taking time to rub down these callouses and that i was enjoying taking that time. i'm sorry i was not worth the wait.

when you flew me to your parents' house for the wedding, i thought your family was rude, i was hurt by how they didnt make an effort. now i see it was you that was rude - why should they have to bother again with another one-time girl? they knew your ways better than me, they were smart and stayed detached. why didnt anyone warn me? god i loved you so hard those nights, so unapologetically open wide. it was not enough, my love fell flat, you took yours back. i cant believe i was going to write a letter to your parents singing your praises, showering them with thanks. now i'm tempted to do the opposite. you didnt tell your parents about my love, but i told mine. i always believed.


i move through these memories and letters, replacing each swoon and vow with its opposite.
this is your way, it's only fair.

I dreamed you were so sorry.


the love doesn't go away.
the love dies at the wall of lies.
all these words unravel off your forked tongue.
do you even believe yourself?
this last letter tries so hard to be convincing, but i don't buy it any more than you do.
what a fool



i'm trying to unlearn your love
after realizing you meant
nothing you said.

if everything is true, then
what's left?



i've been running over all these words trying to find one thought
one phrase that might be a clue
it's killer
i can't find anything
it kills
you said you really loved me
that i didn't need to be worried or scared
that you just wanted to give life a shot
with me at your side
you made me believe
you told me to trust
to let go of what i held so tight
to breathe and open my tight fists
unwind in your arms and heart
i did it and i lost it all
why should i ever have believed
someone like you?
every small disagreement we had
rooted in this:
you only care about yourself
you live in the moment of your desire
you place yourself above the rest
you see yourself as better, deserving
you won't agree with any of this because
that's part of the game.
you can talk about the universe and
love all you want, but when's the
last time you put someone else first?

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

however

however happiness is never. the time it comes is the same that it goes.


the restless feeling makes me run to the bars, to the people, to the substance something. 
there is nothing there. that is not where i needed to be.

instead i'm trying this old tack: jam jar gin and tonics, a rollie on the porch out back. 

this isn't it. 
it isn't anywhere.
the only thing is the cat in the drawer.
the only thing is never, more.


i pretend this isn't right, that there's another place for me.

it's nowhere. 
it's nothing. 

cant even complete these sentences. all i hear is wrong.

Thursday, October 04, 2012


how i see myself: fetal, constant screams and tears, gouged, heart hanging out, hanging on by a blood thread, all exposed, undone, over.

the reality: the bright monitor blurring through misted eyes, hoodie pulled up all the way, burning through queries, mark as unread mark it undone


how does the heart break? how does it all still seem the same?

this is how the heart breaks: silent and still.
try to keep pumping, working, breathing.
try to pretend there is still a living thing in here.
pretend there is a purpose.
try to pretend you will make it.
pretend to try to get better.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

say, honey i am not sorry

every time you look, you get sick to your stomach, feel nauseous and dizzy, the cavern cracked in your chest, gouged. you need to lock up all the offenses in a box and get it out of sight, burn it if necessary.

don't forget: last night you felt nothing. thirty minutes on the phone, and nothing. the drop in your gut at the predictable typical "hello?" multi-tasking at the party, the ugly silence. how flippant to your low note, how ungrateful and spoiled for a charmed life.

you drink, and dream of women: cale's birthday a circus of pierced nipples, rooms full of bathtubs, and balancing acts on floating balloons. waking up is not real life, but you have a better memory of what it could be. you just want a 19th-century romance with a woman in a field.

GOALS:
--acrobalance
--herb garden
--sublet/house-sit cabin
--animate with morgan


You are Eeyore. 


listening to: joanna newsom - kingfisher