do you remember the children's book "frederick" by leo lionni?

the good feeling i've been riding took a dip last night and i'm worried it'll run away and i still won't have pinned it down at all. it's so hard to even believe it enough to say it, or if i manage to find the words, they'll become only that, and the feeling will fade. but now that it's a question it's better to just do it... right?

i can already feel myself overthinking this. that is the last thing i want to do. what do i have? i have these fast fast fingers and i can type my brain better than i think! i can write the words my mind makes up! i can sound like a real me in text! (i know because laylee told me that 15 years ago and rex told me so today and so i have to BELIEVE or what if i lose it or what if there's something important i could be doing that i miss because i haven't done anything about it. you know.)

it's so hard to believe. it's so hard to let myself remember what i'm good at.

BUT after xmas after snata craws and rodent carols and another round of GREAT GROUP i was near convinced, i clowned for myself in the mirror and i was able to get there which surprised me - but why should it? donna said not to look at ourselves to practice our turns and i totally understand that advice. but so often when i look at the mirror and i see this strange face and i think this can't possibly be me or be real or be anything at all, and i just shut down. for so long i have turned away i have pushed my nails into my palms to unsee i have gritted my teeth and pushed breath through to see to be anything else. now i find that in the times in the late night in the mirror i can explore and see what this body can do. i can see how to find the biggest expressions of the face, i can elasticize.


FORGET FORGET FORGET

i forget. i forget who the body belongs to. i froget we frog together. the mirror thing, with the perfect dissociative cocktail, surprises and delights. the mirror thing becomes elastic, electric, fantastic.

the thing that hurt to look at, the thing i could never understand how to belong to, i find this thing, when stared down, goes wild. it can't behave and doesn't want to try. it wasted a lot of toilet paper.

this is only partially a new discovery. the feeling is in the body, some of it is already memorized. it's burning embers in there all the time, even though i forget.

i guess i'm rambling now. the important part is -- i have gotten so tired of beating myself up for being bad at stuff. of course that sounds very reasonable written down in such a way. but the things i'm bad at are things that many people find necessary to function - eating, sleeping, organizing belongings, remembering information, simple math, wearing clothes, forming words, etc. i don't really want to care about being bad at all that mess. it happens or it doesn't. i can't remember the names of important people or pretty much anything i learned in school. i can't remember why i hate mother teresa until i look it up on wikipedia (and promptly forget the facts again, but i remember the feeling).

i remember the feeling i remember the feeling i remember the feeling

i am toying with the idea of applying to physical theatre school. i am considering how to make my body into a rubber band or flower. i want to be able to squeeze everything out of the present moment and explode it out of myself. i want to roll around and jump and shriek and freak and confuse the fuck out of people. i want to present another way to be.

if not me, then who? if not a someone with hardly any logical memory but great arches, then what am i even around for? surely someone out there is gonna do it. surely they could stand some company.

this was all made abundantly clear, several times in fact, right around the winter solstice. as it turns out, that was right when i was completing my first saturn return - and perfect timing to say fuck you everybody, i don't care what you think, i can see so clearly what is important. (reminder of what is important: friends, love, art, magic. this is an incomplete list but you get the idea.)

morgan got back in town for the holiday and wanted to go out to the bar with friends. she picked the so-called irish pub, not knowing that a bunch of us had gone there for trivia the night before (don't worry, we lost) so many of our group didn't come along this time. and it ends up me & brett (& later kat) in the weirdos corner with morgan's most type A segment of friends all crowded into the booth on the other side and all i can say is "YEP here i am again indeed, oh and what now? i'm doing an in depth study of mental health, now that i'm back from the loony bin" and there's nothing like a night like this to remind me how much i don't want that life, with the husbands and the babies and the business casual luncheons. UGH writing that is so obvious i could just spit on myself but no no that is most of the world and i think i can be allowed to write it down occasionally. the important part here is that i maybe felt a little embarrassed at first and especially trying to explain wtf i'm doing with myself, yes back in memphis, yes living with my folks, yes again, but more than ever, i feel like answering this questions is more a nuisance than anything else. i don't really care if they judge me for the answers. i don't really give a fuck what they think, truly. are they judging me for being practically unemployed and living with my parents at 30 and oh ordering another drink this late? yes they definitely are. and am i judging them for being salaried breeders who always vote democrat? yes i definitely am. so we're even.

i'm tired of the waffling shuffling pretending i can play for both sides. when i lived in baltimore i felt like 2 people in 1 body-- a demure, polite, if slightly eccentric, part-time librarian with sensible shoes and nothing but patience, and a barefoot feral drunk at the local anarchist commune / urban farm (except not even totally that because i still had to make sure the bills got paid and be The Sensible One which is not me at all and was boring as fuck).

i'm tired of fucking around with that world pretending i can play along. i just can't hack it.
i know i know i don't have it. i'm far from it. it's been six months now since i got out of the loony bin and came home. it doesn't feel like that long but i know my folks are getting antsy for me to figure my shit out and get a move on. meanwhile i don't want to rush making a decision because that is what keeps getting me into messes, it seems like. but i think i'm getting somewhere this time. maybe.


when i was a kid we lived in a small bungalow house in the artsy neighborhood of town, before it got gentrified. the dining room in the center of the house had 8 walls, branching off to the front hallway, our bedrooms, the kitchen, the bathroom, the back yard. "the octagonal room" was the true center & the heart of the house. at that table, my mama accidentally served us inedible cake decorations at the table. at that table, we grew crystals for SIX WHOLE WEEKS on plastic toys & charcoal for a science fair project. and under that table, most importantly, we made our own world. no fort could compare to the one on the persian carpet, table cloth on all sides, and pillows snatched out of beds. what did we do under there? i'm not quite sure but it was all magical, always, because it happened there, in the secret sacred space.

that's the space i want to create for people. if i am not here to take people under the table, i'm not sure what i am doing at all.

***there are other worlds there are other worlds there are other worlds* and they are all around us**

now i've got 3 glasses of wine in me and i still haven't packed so. i'm annoyed bc i dont think i even said what i was trying to say. or it all come out wrong. fuck all. the point is, i am frederick. (or i wish i were.)

a cigarette is a standin for a moment where i do what i want. as long as i keep sitting outside smoking the world is mine. this is how i've turned the smoke into self care.
and i love to see the smoke.
and i love to love the drink that comes with.
once the moment is mine it's hard to give it up. keep the time, bring out another somesuch to consume.
you look out you i'll write you out the room

once i get to this point it's so hard to stop. by hard i mean - it's why bother why stop now? we might be getting somewhere! like i am still believing there's a place my brain will travel on alcohol and nicotine that's new or at least insightful. maybe sometimes it is. but i've been forgetting, for years forgetting, that i can go there without all that. and i'm letting myself im remembering and it's okay. tonight is an exception and i can't let this become normal again. let this remain the weird stuff. (there's weirder stuff to be had and i need to be "sober" to see it.)

and just one more okay just one more becomes a sneak attack becomes why am i still here becomes a trick against myself

maybe tomorrow no beer is best.

today i was in an okay mood. not super happy persay but confident and ready. i beat myself up a lot for not being good enough at one thing or another - my memory is garbage for one thing. i can't seem to remember all the world things other people do. but i can remember my friends and my own personal history pretty well and that makes me feel very self involved. so last night, today, i was saying, so what?? maybe i can't remember that stuff because i'm not living in the same reality as everyone else and maybe there's nothing wrong with that. maybe that means i'm egotistical on some level but it doesn't mean i don't care. maybe i just need to embrace that i'm comfortable over here and i don't need to try to memorize all the same facts as everyone else just for the sake of conversation. maybe it's okay to make faces in the mirror and try to be in my wiggle body.

i had been excited about the concept of dell arte, then i looked again at the curriculum and the tuition and quickly became intimidated and overwhelmed. then i got settled into this new years mood and felt like so what? why should i be worried about having to perform something new every week and my ideas not being good enough? why am i already putting so much pressure on myself? can't i for once become some silly puddy? haven't i always known what to do? that i could do it bigger, better, more more more? i can see it so clearly sometimes. sometimes i forget, sometimes i remember i've already been doing it all along. i can be allowed to do more. i love to overdo it. i love to make people laugh. i love to be as stupid as i can. i love to forget and reinvent and remember and forget. i want to make it happen. i don't know what else i can do. if not me, then who??

and then and then it falls apart. i don't want to write it now bc writing the first part made me feel better and i want to hold that while i sleep. maybe tomorrow. maybe not. (short version - family is hard.)

debacle

i was already anxious about rodent carols but now it's completely bungled. it feels like everything i'm part of goes horribly wrong. like i'm obsessed with collaboration but i'm potentially the element that is always complicating destroying everything. there's almost something clownish about it. like i really really want to make it work but my wanting creates the complication. is it better not to bother? or does goodness come from the effort? i'm not sure which at the moment. but leaning towards the former.

jumble

let's be real. i have always been a feelings person. my strength comes from my empathetic side.

why has it been so hard for me to find my way ?

some of it i'm blaming on adhd. especially now that my head is more clear and i'm not so depressed i can see patterns better. i focus intensely on something or fixate on an idea for a few days and then move on, for whatever reason. i have not focused long enough to specialize in anything.
it's not only adhd of course but i think that definitely helps with the quickness and the forgetting. what do i do? even i don't know. but it means i'm good at hyperfocusing and concentrating super hard on one specific thing for an extended period of time - and then also being able to shift my focus quickly to something else. some of this maybe is just keen perception. i see all the things. i see the choices that make sense. (in simple logistical situations anyway. other times i'm a dolt.)

the point is.
the point is everything i already know but always forget.
i am a feelings person. i am an art oriented person.
i might be interested in things like sociology and herbal medicine and animal behavior but i have never had the drive to focus on those things long enough to really learn them. could i if i wanted to? sure but then i'd have to actually choose a thing. that is the hardest part.

but when i think about learning something like clown or performance or dance i am just sure i could do it. in terms of my excitement and my confidence i'm all in. it's only REAL WORLD garbage thoughts that crush me. i should be doing the other thing. the real thing.

HOW IS IT that i am still having this thought process even after being brought up on the value of art? how is it that my parents taught me that and yet they scoffed at every nonacademic artistic dream i ever had???? it's driving me bonkers that i'm just now realizing the full weight of this. i feel like other people's folks tend to swing one way or the other, like kat's parents consumed by their research or alice's music teacher folks. mine are some in between with my dad as collector/hobbyist who finally decided to try his hand at writing in his 50s, and my mama hinting at some vague dreams of writing or storytelling or some wisp of a memory of a dream so incomplete it is just dust, but still she's passing it off, urging us to write, to publish, to create, except no don't go to art school bc you need a job.

oh it's just a mess it's a muddle. like the world like all our brains.
and me always in the middle why ??
does everyone feel that they're here?
outside in the middle
not right. not center
caught between options until you're nothing

this must be what everyone feels.
but still for some reason everything is so hard for me. it all takes so much time. i can hardly get anything done. my days disappear. here i am still. driving my parents crazy. no more of a plan than i had in july. where did the time go? everyone tells me i'm doing so well, it's so good to take my time to heal properly, except my mama. why can't she let me do this ?

i'm up too late. at this rate i will want to skip the social shit tomorrow but i guess i'd better not. damn. rot.

riled up write

EVERYTHING IS RUN BY BUREAUCRACY. PEOPLE ARE TURNED INTO ROBOTS BY THEIR JOBS, INTO CYBORGS BY THEIR SCREENS. EVERYONE IS TRAPPED IN THE RAT MAZE. we know this we know this we know this. we know we know we know.



i am sick of being made to feel bad for not being productive.
i am sick of the stigma people assign to "indecision" and being "wishy washy."
i am fucking sick of the "natural" trend telling us that medication for our mental health is evil and unnecessary.
i am so so so fucking sick of cliche statements about "this is exactly where you are supposed to be" and "everything you are is perfect." shut the fuck up. first of all, i am probably looking at my phone when i am reading this, which should be the first clue that it is a damn lie. second of all, reading that while enduring an abusive relationship is toxic. reading that while at my worst makes me feel like i will never be better. all these "self care" words on my screen about being loving yourself and being one with your body and i'm even more full of shame.
chronic pain and trauma force us to separate from our bodies, even from our own minds. reintegrating can be a long and painful process. cliche self help demands that we "connect with our bodies" in order to be truly happy, healthy, good. i say, fuck you. i say, we don't have to. or i'm gonna do it my way, hopping around to punk music alone in my room, not yoga posed on some gorgeous green hill in brand name exercise gear. (these pictures always make me wonder - do these women make their friends/partners come with for the photo shoot? or do they carry tripods and fancy cameras with timers? can you really be "one" with your body and the earth while you're thinking about the shutter click of the camera? and it seems each one of these photos begets ten more. their number is unfathomable. i am beyond ready for this healthy wealthy white lady appropriation of yoga trend to DIE.)
i am ready for many things to die. i have an evergrowing list i'm writing of things that have become intolerable. does this make me hateful? no. shut up telling me i'm negative and hateful because i have strong opinions. there is nothing hateful about having a vision of a beautiful better world based on egalitarianism and love. my world has no room for cultural appropriation, labor exploitation, or a gender binary. our current culture/existence is deadening, it's already destroyed us. every piece of it is harmful, is hateful. if you're offended that i say i hate hollywood, heteronormativity, breeders, you have to understand that i hate the harm they're doing, have already done. what have we created that we can point to and say "this is nothing but good" that is a common and sanctioned element of our culture? I CAN'T HTINK OF ANYTHING. 
here is a list of things i can think of that are purely good--cats--trees--community gardens--books--honest and heartfelt communication / sharing feelings--friendship--love--curiosity--collaboration--i want to say "art" but that is a slippery slope because our definition of art has become so fucked that it's become conflated with entertainment and capitalism and it's a huge mess. i will have to work on creating a list of GOOD ART. this is a big project.--CLEARLY THIS LIST NEEDS SOME HLP.
the point is that society does not value any of these good things. and yet i can't think of any thing else that actually matters???
on the other hand, my list of things that have become intolerable is growing and growing to the point that it is clear that i am simply for the abolition of all institutions, especially the government. if you take a few steps back and look at our political system in the context of the last few hundred years, you can see what a backward mess we have made. our country was founded on oppression, exploitation, and genocide, and it has no intention of changing that model. laws will change just enough to give the appearance of evolution, but the structure just shifts and settles into a different kind of oppression. same old shit with a brand new look. if even that??? and the laws only change at the point in which the people have become riotous, have demanded that the government uphold their rights. things change juuuuust enough to keep us quiet for a little longer until we see that really nothing is different. (a great example here would be the movement from slavery to indentured servitude to second class citizenship to post-civl rights prison-to-pipeline to capital punishment). 
meanwhile the only real change is being affected by grassroots groups and non-governmental organizations whose entire deal is pretty much just cleaning up the messes the government makes. i am always in awe of the amount of labor that goes into the work of putting out (figurative) fires -- think of what we could accomplish if we didn't spend all this energy working on ending homelessness and hunger, if everyone had access to abortion and healthcare, if people had any kind of sense of autonomy over their own lives & bodies and didn't feel like their worth was dependent on their productivity!!!!!!!! WHAT A WORLD WE COULD HAVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
it seems so simple to me, so clear and obvious. dismantle the systems, kill the patriarchy, smash the state, etc. done deal, wash our hands, move on. (in fact, i even feel silly writing all this down because these are all things that i assume everyone thinks about & knows already.) however the more i talk to folks the more i am made to feel TRULY INSANE for holding these ideas. and why???? because it's "not realistic" or i'm being "too negative" or even just "it'll never happen so why bother." WHAT THE HELL PEOPLEEEEE WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL. WHAT. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH YOU.
blaguhhhhh
but for the rest of us, if you're still with me, i have a new strategy to avoid mental meltdowns and total burnout. our culture is killing us. the way we live and die is a line already drawn, we are given the illusion of choice but everything has already been decided. everything about the way we exist comes out of a place of hate, of exploitation, of the death of spirit. we have no options. we are already dead. THEREFORE we have become ghosts. now that we are ghosts, we have the liberty to do everything we wanted to do when we were alive. we can be our true, free selves. we are made of magic. literally anything is possible.
do you get me? i'm still having a hard time putting this into words. when i had this realization, i may or may not have been slightly manic. i have described it to some people who said they followed me to a certain point and then got lost. i have other friends who screamed "I'VE BEEN A GHOST FOR YEARS!" or told me other stories. even my therapist had a story - she knew a veteran who said the only way he was able to make it through the war was by telling himself he was already dead, gone, a ghost. the point is, this is not a new strategy. it works! we just have to spread it, and believe in the ghosts of each other as well as ourselves!
i asked my ghost buddies to help me flesh out these ideas by offering their perspectives and i will include those HERE HO HO HAVE TO DO THAT.

alternately do you ever have this thought train ? i'm getting old and my body is falling apart. my [insert part of body] is hurting/breaking/sick and soon it will be totally useless and then gone. and next my [another part of body] is gonna go. and then, and then, and then. it's all gonna fall apart and there will be no point in continuing when my body doesn't work. i might as well die. but i'm practically there already since my [body part] is messed up, so i should save myself the trouble and die now. i'm basically already dead. BUTyou can stop yourself from having that thought train all the time if you admit that YOU ARE ALREADY A GHOST ! maybe you're having some phantom pain from back when you were alive, like amputees who can still feel pain in their missing limbs. don't stress about it! take a deep breath and treat the symptom like a living human being would - think of someone you really admire, and what they would do, and then do that. and then you can get back to your ghostly business!



i was born with a rare genetic mutation that has rendered me physically and mentally "different." i have chronic depression. i have social and general anxiety. i have attention deficit disorder. i have experienced abuse and violence. i have post traumatic stress disorder. i have experienced chronic pain that i often ignore because i am so used to it. i have been dependent on alcohol and relationships to cope with the trauma of existence. i am not my illnesses but it is impossible to be separate from them. before i had the diagnoses and the names, i had the symptoms. sometimes others saw before i knew them myself. i was teased from a very young age because of my appearance and because of my mental differences. 
at age 5, i was already committed to making friends with the class weirdo - a baby "bully" (as my mom remembers) named rio. i couldn't stand the idea of anyone being ostracized or made to feel "wrong" for being different; i already knew those hurts. 
have i been a great friend? no. i have been bossy and demanding and selfish and mean. but i hope i'm getting better.
i was born in the 80s to two librarians and raised in a world of gorgeous images and fairy tales, surrounded by shelves & piles of books in every room. in our house, magic was real, pizza was a vegetable, stories were worth more than money, and love was the only thing that mattered. it really was a beautiful little fantasy land my parents built for my sister and me. but of course things got darker and harsher each year as we became more exposed to the realities of the world beyond our block. i learned very quickly that my experience was not a "normal" one. i constantly felt judged and ashamed. by 1st grade i had altogether stopped speaking in class. when it became mandatory to present papers or projects to the class, i would skip school or take a 0 rather than open my mouth. if i couldn't avoid it for whatever reason, it was a huge source of anxiety & stress. i could focus on nothing else. i was consumed. this lasted through undergrad and is probably the main reason i will never go back to school.
THUS BEGAN MY UTTER HATE FOR INSTUTITIONS! the public school system was set up for me (and many many others) to fail. the system didn't care about the way i learned or thought or created. it crammed me into the square of the scantron anyway. i became a silent fury, constantly filled with rage at everything that was wrong with what was happening and how easily it could be changed to support students like me. the further i sank into my silent feelings, the more i became targeted by "the popular kids" aka everyone's favorite bullies. i learned that i was ugly, smelly, stupid, gay, loser and that nobody likes a loser. thank the gods that losers come in packs. i gathered us up together and made new realities for us. obviously we weirdos were the actual "kool kids" (quote by me, 1996-1999) and we would not let anyone control our world or dictate our feelings. i wanted to take us as far away from their ugliness as i could, and keep us joyful and united. i wrote songs and made my friends learn them at recess (because we were a band whose instruments were sticks, trees, and voices, duh). i got dan ying and jenny luo to watch sailor moon and then hosted trivia at our lunch table. i found the lyrics to all the best disney songs online and printed them out so we could sing them together, loudly, to cover up the voices that wanted to hurt us. i led games of tag and four square where we made up our own new rules. i wrote ridiculously silly stories in secret notes passed under tables, try to read that one without laughing and getting caught. at our after school program, my friend circle combined with my younger sister's for the first time, and i now had a whole cohort to play with. we somehow co-created a mythology about a sacred cow who had sacrificed herself for us, the cheeses, and now we roamed the country in our RV (a jungle gym) singing her praises and converting new cheeses. i was cheddar, the leader. we were fully committed to our characters. together, we weren't afraid for the other kids to see our silliness. when i was cheddar, i even found the courage to stand up to a playground bully. i suppose i didn't recognize it at the time, but i had found freedom and power in the act of being something other than myself -- in order to create & believe the new identity, you have to kill your self (even temporarily). somehow all at once i had become a performer, a clown, and a ghost.
by the time we got to sixth grade, the teachers had sussed us out and the four optional classes were divided by type, which, as are as i can tell, are as follows: Ms Sullivan got the brains, Ms Ward got sportos, Ms Buck had the populars, and Ms Spain's class was "Other." we were ally sheedy in the breakfast club. we were the wastebasket of the school and we loved it, and we were hilarious. we were poor students, kids from trailer parks, immigrant kids, bad spellers, mess makers, and jokesters. it wasn't just us - 6-04 was the bottom of the barrel every single year, just as the other kids were sorted into their appropriate boxes. i like to imagine the conversation between the 5th grade and 6th grade teachers as they divvy us up, separating the alphas from the betas, and what name must they have used for what we were? "creative" types? were we supposed to be good writers? (since after all, Reading was Ms. Spain's subject.) or maybe she just waited it out while the others picked teams, and she just got whoever was leftover. 
i have kind of fallen in love with identifying as a leftover.
but even in that environment i was too shy to be a jokester with the rest of the class. maybe i hadn't quite realized yet how we had been sorted so i didn't feel as free as i could have. our class put on a play based on the myth of Hades & Persephone and i was cast as Farmer's Wife with a total of two boring lines, "oh no all our crops are dead" and then at the end "grass and leaves!" this was one of the first times i can vividly remember wishing that i was allowed to switch roles - literally and figuratively - and show everyone how good i could be. "see? when i'm not myself, it's easy!"
then middle school happened and everything fell to pieces. i had zero friends at my new school. i had horrible acne and a frizzy triangle of hair that people liked to put staples in. i think i was developing symptoms of ADD by this point and started doing horribly in school. i was hugely miserable. i became suicidally depressed for the first time. i retreated into words and wrote pages of emo poems that i shared on my art website with about a dozen other poets.
i can't remember why i'm writing about that. i think i've gotten off track. maybe i'm trying to get you to relate to me. (it feels really good to lay it all out in a timeline like this. even if no one else will ever read it. i feel like there was part i was gonna say but i forgot what it was.)
the point is it was all very soul crushing and i started to feel like there was truly no way out. looking toward the future became increasingly impossible. by the time it was time to apply for colleges i had lost my grip on "reality" thanks to the hell of high school, the side effects of hormonal birth control, and a long distance romance, following my first experience of sexual abuse at 17. i was doing the thing people always tell you to do when you're struggling - just take it one day at a time - but i never figured out the next step. the feeling of  "how did i get here? how did i survive this long?" has never gone away.  
in some ways life is much harder now because the institutions are so invasive that their lines get fuzzy and their shapes aren't clear. it's easy to talk about their problems but much more challenging to physically resist them, as opposed to being fenced inside a cement brick called school and every act can become resistance -- playing with the boundaries of the uniform, hugging "too long," lingering in the hallways until the last last minute bell, kissing girlfriends & grabbing each others' tits, unshaved legs in the locker room, sitting in the grass as far away from the building as possible at lunch, developing handwriting so absurd that no teacher could read it, simply NOT LISTENING to teachers. our group never got into any  "real" trouble, though. our grades were fair to middling which made us essentially invisible -- not good enough to pamper, not bad enough to hassle, we just didn't stand out.


i never had my senior picture taken, so i wasn't in the yearbook. i like to think i became a ghost in the minds of most of my classmates - if they remember me at all, they wonder, "did she even exist?"


i still have to remind myself that "myself" can change. i start to feel so trapped about who i have become and what is possible and if only and blah blah. it's hard to remember to allow myself to play, but i'm getting better at it.
some things that help: --close your eyes and visualize yourself as the ghost you want to see in the world
--feel yourself filling up with infinite possibilities--put on a hat or other garmets that helps you to feel you've transformed--go to a shop or restaurant by yourself, in character, and see what happens - it helps to start off going somewhere you won't run into people you know--change your voice, or try not talking at all--give yourself a prompt or a mission, like "what am i bringing to my ghost friend's birthday party?" or "find 3 ghost amulets in the next 30 minutes" or "make someone smile" or anything you want--try not to question yourself. don't think. just do.
actually i try follow a lot of richard pochinko's clown rules, including "GO TO YOUR FEAR" and "CARE ENOUGH NOT TO CARE"

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.

what a mess what a mess what a mess. skipped out on being social again. didn't go to yoga. bligh. just feeling awful. on purpose?? can't be good to stay in and watch sexist tv. starting to feel so stuck so stuck. but also some wild thing in my brain is screaming "it's just that you're a visionary!" that's gotta be it. why i can't seem to find words for any of my thought processes or explain what is wrong with everything to my dad. i come off as "disdainful" mama says. i'm paralyzed by judgment - of myself so i can't do anything and of everything else so it's overwhelming and defeating. how do i kill it ???

i want to make myself a schedule and stick to it, as dorky as that sounds. i really think the ADD hyper focus thing is real.

why is there a car idling in the middle of the road right across from me here on my porch? you are not my uber. you aren't for anyone. sounds like a door slamming and it drives away slow. am i paranoid or ???? maybe less so after the incident with kat a month ago, where in my driveway the man banged on her window and demanded a ride or else he was gonna get shot. my paranoia made me say no. we drove around for half an hour and then she sat and wouldn't leave me until 4am just in case.

my left breast has been hurting bad all day. it's been tender all week. is it just a weird period or something else? googling this shit doesn't help.

i'm pretending again that i'm cutting down with smokes but i'm kidding myself. i have a few good days then some event excuses me.

roll herbal smokes goddammit
work on the papers

lord so many other things on this list i can't remember. where the fuck do the days go ??????

last night i stayed up too late angry and drinking and finally wrote that call out about gratz on halloween. today i had to wake up at 9am bc apparently i'm slow as business at doing anything so midday dog visits on five hours of sleep. i felt hungover and grouchy but i still sang to them. i got home at 1245 intending to nap but i read chris mccoy's write up in the flyer and my energy was restored. spent the rest of the day trying to figure out the wordpress mess i made of the concrete website and whether it's fixable before finally dad stopped it with pizza and netflix. what a grouch i am. but it's still true that steven universe is the only show on tv worth anything. except adventure time. okay.

mama was ridiculous today, probably not on purpose. cracking me up all over the place. my number one clown mentor for sure.

gotta read that clown book
guided mediation and that other body stuff

make a fuxking schedule that includes reading time
i can't stand this nothing nonsense

rage share

i went to my favorite cozy dive bar on halloween bc i didn't feel like being around a ton of people (still in recovery and feeling social anxiety constantly lately) and we were having a great time in the practically empty bar. after a while a bunch of folks showed up after a concert ended, the vibe in the bar changed a little but it was still chill, singing with the jukebox and making fun of horror movies on tv. then the door swung upon and i heard a voice i hadn't heard in years... i tried to convince myself it was someone else. i looked my bff in the eyes and said "please tell me this is not happening" but it didn't click instantly for them. it wasn't until the dude sat behind my friend at the bar next to us that they realized it was the person we used to know so well, who dated and cheated on more than one of my best friends, who violated my consent over 10 years ago, whose friends and crushes stay the same age as he gets older, who is now apparently happily married and childrened. oh lovely. i could leave, but i will not let this person ruin my good time. i continue to clown and laugh and make merry. it's halloween and the veil is thin and i'm feeling good. suddenly a hand on my shoulder, a towering oppressive presence which is DUDE, pushing himself between me and my buddy, with, "i know we aren't really friends anymore, but i just wanted to say happy halloween" or some shit. the words become fuzzy in my mind as i try to comprehend what is happening. autopilot kicks in and i'm clinking beers "happy halloween!" attempting to smile, not making eye contact, just hoping he will go away, which he finally does. but he's still there at the bar behind my friend (and mind you, this a tiny fuxking bar the size and shape of a hallway) so i can see when he glances at us and whispers to his date, and when he's surrounded by so many young friends in his crossdress costume. whatever. i don't know this person anymore. he could be anything. i tell loud jokes to the tv and make a fan at the other end of the bar. the night skips on in stops and starts. some moments i'm fine, i'm glorious, and others i'm staring into the ash tray, begging my friend, "please talk to me, just say anything" trying not to fall into the abyss i'm dancing the edge of. staying is dangerous territory. when the night is near done, me and my bud are counting our quarters and trying to remember how many beers we had, when the bartender says "oh don't worry about it." we don't know what to do but stare at him. what do you mean? "oh DUDE just paid for your beers, don't worry about it." i don't know what to say or where to look. my friend starts to try to argue but i think i must've told them not to worry about it bc i didn't want to draw more attention to ourselves. i'm just blank, gone. i can still feel DUDE in the room. i know i'm being weird. to leave would mean walking right past him. plus i'm still finishing this beer. it feels like forever, we're all just sitting at the bar in silence. some part of my brain is telling me, "just smile, just say thank you" to cut the tension, but i know that would be a lie and i resist the urge to "make things nice." finally finally finally his date comes out of the bathroom and they leave. IMMEDIATELY the bartender asks "what was that?!?" like we've done something wrong. this is a hard question. i'm still shaken up. i start about how i don't know him now but many people had issues in the past, and i'm interrupted. "you know, the way i see it, if it's been over a year, unless it's rape or murder, there's no reason to be upset anymore." i'm turned into a blustering fool trying to validate my reasons. i reiterate that i don't know what dude is doing now and maybe he's way cool BUT he has violated the consent of many women i know, myself included, and never taken accountability for it. the bartender keeps pushing me to be specific, tell him more because it's "his bar" and he has to "keep people safe" and therefore i "have to tell" him what happened. this is a lot. this is so much. each time i start a sentence, he interrupts me. i tell him i'm speaking slowly because this is hard but he keeps interrupting me, "just tell me!" and i finally crack. i can't take it. i am present enough to say something like "i really shouldn't have to say this but apparently you won't believe me unless i tell you that i was recently diagnosed with PTSD bc of shit he did to me even though i've told you he hurt me and my friends in the past and no i don't know what he's about now so i'm not saying you need to kick him out of the bar forever, so i don't know what more you need to know." and i get some response like "see that's all i was asking for" like it was so easy and i only made it harder on myself. it gets pretty fuzzy. i feel like hell. i get home and keep drinking not to think. i feel like i can't ever go back there. i am afraid to go out at all anymore, either bc i will run into the DUDE and also bc it feels like people are so unsupportive of survivors. blahhhh. do yall have suggestions for how you handle these kinds of encounters and feelings?

a text after four months of nothing

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.

paper piles

I'm deep cleaning my old room again and I've gotten to the hardest part -- the papers. Years of artifacts have collected into bags and baskets and piles around the room. I try to sort through them - I tell myself to keep it simple this time - but before I know it, the piles are multiplying (as Brett would say).

1) Trash, 2) Recycling (for the curb), 3 Recycling (for at-home paper making), 4) notes and drawings from friends, 5) personal writing, 6) receipts/ephemera, 7) programs and brochures, 8) stickers, 9) collage supplies, 10) fortune cookie fortunes, 11) WILAC movie detritis, 12) Thigns That Might Look Cool Photocopied, and 13) Things I've Had So Long I Should Probably Keep Them.

I debate whether to have a new pile dedicated specifically to Mental Health. The piles will become files. I'm simply cataloging. I tell myself this to release the lump i my throat from old love notes. I carefully unfold each scrap, read each receipt looking for a way to weigh these papers against the one where a man who assaulted me had written his phone number (how I had forgotten), and a pink pamphlet from 2006 - Understanding Your Anxiety - in which some forgotten counselor had circled "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." Before my mind can spiral into the HOW? and ALREADY? and WHO DID THIS? I laugh and lay it down, there's another mystery waiting its turn.


Thousands of papers. Hundreds of scraps. They begged me for a home.


For years, for miles, I've carried them. It's not easy to let go.


Moshe C----- I had forgotten you entirely.


It's comforting to remember that forgetting is possible. Maybe not the best revenge, but still it's a healing thought.



I had forgotten you until I read your name on the page, some venue, some date, your number.



I would never have remembered you if I hadn't read your name on this page. It's hard to write this and I'm trying to find rhymes in it as a way to dissociate.

It doesn't hurt as much if you make it a game.
Now the paper's in the trash and I'll never think of you again.


The moment is hard enough. The writing is harder. Or I tell myself that as an excuse to have a cup of wine.

I'm going to start drinking less - I'm already working on it - but specifically to stop using alcohol as a coping mechanism. I say it will help me process (I think sometimes it does) but really I'm just cloudy and lost.





Mama asks and I have to tell her, yes I finally got diagnosed at the Athena Project. Han said she'd write it up for me, and I can pick it up next week, but basically they think I have PTSD, general anxiety, social anxiety, depression, and some alcohol dependence. Mama says, "It all makes sense to me ecept the PTSD. Is that from the breakup?" I know she doesn't mean to cut me but she does. "Well no it's from earlier stuff in that relationship mostly..." I'm flailing. "Mostly? What else do they think it's from?" I can't place her tone exactly, but it feels interrogative and intense, like I will never have the right answer. "Stuff from a long time ago. I dont' really want to talk about it." She lets it go. Hours later I'm wondering if I missed an opportunity to connect - I've never understood why we are so distant from each other, why it's so hard for me to be open and vulnerable with her. (It's hard for me to be vulnerable at all, in a real way, in person.)

I wonder why she's never told me about her own trauma, why I only know about it in such vague terms from an unsent letter, and finally got more information from Morgan last year. Is it that she thinks she's told me already? She does that with lots of other things. Or is she purposefully not telling me? Or is she just not ready or available to talk about it with me? Was she trying to get to that place by talking today? If that's the case I don't understand why I feel so judged, misunderstood, scrutinized for my feelings, my diagnosis, my experience. Or is that just how all mamas are?


She told me recently that my first grade teacher told ehr she was "too intense" (is this right? or was there another descriptor?) and that's why I was afraid to talk in class. She said she cried so much and felt so guilty.
When I was in second grade she started having panic attacks.



I'm sorry, Mama. If I had been better they wouldn't have blamed you and you might not have felt so bad about yourself. (I know you feel bad and you hide it, like me.) But it can't have been your fault. As early as preschool I was judged, laughed at, and ostracized. I wish I could remember why, but I know it wasn't because of you.


I wish I could remember why you had to give me my first safe word (but I already wrote about that.)


Why sometimes do I have to have my hand held, when I can't stand it when people don't fill in context clues and ask constant questions? I guess I think save them! There are bigger questions! Like how do I fix this hole in my ceiling?

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.

Things I Like To Do

• sing
• stretch
• read out loud
• read!
• puzzles
• write

LIST OF DEMANDS

• always pen + paper
• only clothes with pockets
• good art, better art

hex

I cut the cord. I take back everything I've ever given you. My time, my energy, my love, all of it is flowing out of you and back to me. I give myself these gifts. I deserve my own kindness. I have the power to heal.
You have none of me. You will feel cold and alone. You will find yourself left with nothing until you do the work of healing. Your silver tongue will turn to stone. You will get exactly what you deserve.

(sloppy words found on an envelope, some time during or after clown class, spring 2017)

i always stand there thinking I COULD DO THAT so why not?

it must take a massive leap. no more pretending to be REAL, no more faking.

i'm tired of being the Responsible one. ugh

kiss them up dearest touching (????)

kiss face to wind to sip or spin

kick up the dirt that isn't dancing

if i can't go now, i never will go

if i can't know (?) now, who will fucking tell me?

no one will mourn nor remember you

it's already too late

oh to write the things that think

before the thoughts are formed

BUT how to be so quick?!

somehow all this bland shit is just
pressing the pause button
in between what is surely
the greatest show on earth or ???
I'm craving (?) to get out of
this version of myself.
NOTHING I WANT is allowed.
is that me? or is that just
totally pathetic. i'm tired
of feeling totally pathetic.
i want it all to be a rush (?????)

i have a lot of work to do.
realize these notes will never be read.
even you will not read them.
become as indecipherable as possible.
you are not made to last.

i want to make everyone believe in magic
that is hard + true + dissonant.
i want to be bugs + dirt + children +
death. how can we bring it.
it's not here in this place with these people.
you didn't find the thing you thought.
it's not your fault. you had to try.
it's not a place, it's a feeling + a purpose. you
know that. you can't rely on a new location.
how is it that you feel more bright and
alive now that nothing is real, no one is
awake, and you've got four drinks inside?
not even blurry silly, just convinced. This is
not the hovel you're looking for. the right
answer is not gonna come in a flask. there
is no right answer. but you have to kill the
feeling that something is wrong + find out

today

gojis had so many buds, including some of the new implants. 

also pruned them and the grapes and wlberberries. griff is great. tarryn brought biscuits with amish butter. 

meanwhile thursday sent messages from afar that sent me spinning. where do we go?

farm alliance meeting was awkward. i'm just not the same as these people. even before the third beer. bff isolated itself a little but mike was cute and outgoing. 

i started feeling really sad about my grandparents and the ways i've failed them - their expectations as well as my own. i should have collected more stories, memories, sayings. i hear myself trying to say their words and it just hurts. 

told katherine that i want to be funny (again) and how i miss her (again) and that i've been thinking of stupid fake stand up jokes when i wake up in the morning. she wants to hear them for some reason.  but i'm not sure if they're translatable without the laugh track and funny faces.  

i started getting really sad and crying because i don't belong here, as much as i try. nobody saw it. i'm a great actor. i bought a pack of cigarettes to help me handle it. i bought a whisky ginger to help me handle it. i said "can i get... a.. um..." and he said "'may i'? that mught help." i must've given him a look but he brought out a menu anyway. i explained that we'd had a misunderstanding. i thought he was in teacher mode telling me to use 'may' instead of 'can't' but you can't explain the joke after it's happened. at any rate he didn't charge me for the drink. he was cute and young (dani type) and i think he was trying to convince coworkers to come to karaoke at the crown after shift. 

but after that i still went to the bathroom and cried because i'm missing all the things i care about. i don't know how to talk about it. i'm depressed that my therapist stopped contacting me. i'm depressed that i'm surrounded by farmers and i don't share their knowledge- how much do i want to? i'm depressed by all the books i haven't read and jokes i haven't said. i bought smokes. i told morgan at christmas that i smoke because i hate myself and she made me vow to quit. i was doing okay but i haven't stopped the hate. what is the source? i've explained that i feel less depressed when i'm busy and doing things and have lots of projects- then comes anxiety but it's different problems. i'm still avoiding the root of the problem. i'm still in hate with me. and having urges that i can't fulfill, thinking of writing or joking or whatever. thinking of myself in some other schemes but there's no time to dream with all of these other plans on my head. whose plan? whose dream? where do i fit? nathalie told me to see this pattern. i don't need to go where o think i can help. my help is not the solution. how fuxking selfish even am i?? the neediness of feeling other. the demand to be understood. the feeling of never holding anything. 

they've replaced our old streetlight. it was yellow and faulty and perfect. now we have a constant white dawn over everything, to prevent breakins i expect. the light is cold and familiar and unchanging. i sleep with the blanket over my head. 

i miss my cat. dear gods i miss her more than anything. how i have failed. 

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

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 

travel dream

impossible spaces/portals like subway platforms, train stations, airports, a pointed tower and a sometimes bar in the middle of the ocean

family is flying away to Japan with all the little dogs In a bag. irie hops out at the gate and poops on the floor. jangly and colorful.
is this where I run into emy? she will become my sidekick through the travels
I think we're even playing Pokemon?!

I know we end up at this impossible bar in the middle of the ocean that only sometimes exists. we drink to get drunk and somehow make it home (a water train??) where we proceed to make out in the bushes. a lot. super hot. this part is a real blur but not a short one.
I think even there's more... I remember a diner where emy is blurring into Bekka.

later I realize I left something at the bar and I'm trying to get back. I'm trying to find Thursday but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I'm standing on a tiny open platform, atop a tall tower, in the middle of the ocean. I have a card in my hand and I open it. it's blue with bubbly wavy letters. at the bottom you can scroll through different music options (classical, soothing) which are paired with different flowers. I play with this for a moment before I realize this is some sort of death letter. an official notice from his employers (military??) that thursday is drowned and gone. I refuse to believe it. surely he just dropped his phone in the ocean and that's why I can't find him. why no one can find him. I'm not giving up.

I get a phone call and now in my head it sounds like mike's voice but I think it was supposed to be emy. or maybe mike is relaying the message for her?? I'm asking how I can see her, contact info or something. I hear him saying "too indie" and I start to spell it back, oh this is her email address? you're saying i-n-d-I-E? "no you are too Indy, I-n-d-y." I'm crushed.

back to business or this may be another dream after the car woke me up. thursday? someone drinks my sun tea prematurely. I was making plain and some other weird infusion thing that was gonna mix in. I'm frustrated.