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2016-02-16 22:49:19 (UTC)


"We Used To Vacation" by Cold War Kids

Still things could be much worse
Natural disasters on the evening news
Still things could be much worse
We still got our health
My paycheck in the mail

I promised to my wife and children
I'd never touch another drink
As long as I live but even then
It sounds so soothing
This will blow over in time
This will all blow over in time

February 16, 2016 Tuesday 9:51 PM

Me: So how's the west coast treatin ya? [side note: he's currently in Washington]

Isaac: it's t-shirt weather

Me: same here??? it was raining and my pants r still wet

Isaac: ur welcome
Isaac: ba dum cha, dirty joke



Sometimes I really love Cold War Kids. I like that they sound sort of like stumbling.




My dad bought Keeko this toy thing. It's basically one of those scratching posts but with a little bed on top of it and she's in love with the thing. I am pleased with this. Now I get to see her little chubby face receding into her own fat every time I sit on the couch (it's in the living room).

I love my kitty.

Dirty, dirty, dirty world. Sometimes, I get this urge to pull out a bottle of windex. Wipe it down. Can't do that, it's impossible.

Still. I wish, I wish, I wish. Maybe all I need to do is wipe my own eyes, rinse my entire occipital lobe or something.

Keep my eyes clear and clean. Maybe that's it. Maybe they're just stained.


I sort of like the word "jaundice."


I am confused. So absolutely confused.

The other day, my sister mentioned that she might like to go into art therapy and I was like, "HEY ME TOO!" because it's true. Two weeks ago, Lily's mom was driving me to the YMCA and mentioned something about art therapy since she knew I was interested in art and psychology. I really fucking appreciated that. Lily's mom... is lovely.


That would be nice. I've always wanted to understand human beings, and I've lately taken in interest in child psychology specifically. Children are so mysterious and weird. Plus, art. I love art a fuckton.

Maybe that wouldn't be so awful... Maybe I can go to school for that. Maybe I should stop feeling like art isn't a respectable field. Don't think I'll ever quit thinking I'm dumb though.

Sometimes I wish I was born a guy. They have it harder in some ways (HAH, that was funny, please laugh – c'mon, dick jokes), I know that, but at least they tend to be raised with a sort of confidence that girls... are not. It's pretty obvious in school at least. Girls, unless you're one of the really confident half-genius ones, rarely raise their hands or volunteer to answer questions. It's mostly guys who do that.

Maybe that's not true, it's just my observations. I'll pay more attention and report back to ya.

In my head, guys are encouraged to believe in their intelligence or something. Not that girls are called stupid. I dunno... Actually, even if I were a guy, I think I'd believe I was stupid. It's more of an internal thing, a weird habit meant to protect myself. That seems sort of dumb since obviously it's not really "protecting" me, but I can explain:

If I think I'm smart and later find out that I'm not actually very intelligent at all, it will break me.

If I am constantly aware that I am just normal at best, then I can never be disappointed.

I hate my elementary/middle school school self. I am going to throttle her.

HAVE CRUSHES ON BOYS (hah, that sure didn't happen for like... a long time. Okay wait... my first crush was in third grade... and my next was in 9th grade. Jesus that's six years. How have I only had two heavy crushes in my life? Maybe that's normal).

(I still feel bad about being mean to my 3rd grade crush. He's in my school again and he's STILL really nice. How. How did he survive with that sort of kindness. Okay, whatever.)


I. Have. To peee.


The sky was weird today.

I went out at half past five and it was getting dark. The clouds – the low, pregnant kinds – were this weird, pale pink. Not the nice, carefree pink that you see in the early mornings. It was just... It was almost purple. It tinted the whole world, which was kind of really great.

Annnnnd then it started pouring. That was kind of nice too though. About thirty seconds into the rain storm, my pants were literally soaked and my thighs were tingling with cold, but it was... relaxing. So much white noise.

Vernacular. I like that word a lot too.

There's something beautiful about cold rain walks. I think I'd spill my heart to whoever was walking beside me during the storm.

It kind of worries me at the same time, though.

I mean, yesterday night it snowed like three inches and was less than 20 degrees out during the day. Today, it's suddenly in the mid-forties? Fuck.


I sort of finished this short story I've been writing. Finished, except I need to completely edit it and shit. Ughhhhh. I hate editing my stuff. I always read to fast since I just wanna, like, post it already.

I need to be patient.


Why do I suck at piano?

I'm going to go play now. Later. It's 10:22 PM.


It follows me. I don't know how I feel about that. At least it's dormant for now. But still. I think about the rest of my life and I think about how... it's there. Always. Right under my skin. An uncomfortable wedge in my brain. Always. Always, always, always. It'll follow me.


I wonder if Lily is okay. Sometimes I think something is wrong with her. As in, I think she's sad or something. But we don't discuss things like that anymore. In middle school, we talked about it all the time. Then shit happened and we stopped. I have letters up in my room that she wrote to me while I was in the hospital. I've mentioned those. I think that was one of the very last times we talked about it.

Since then, nothing. We don't mention her scars or my eighth grade experience.

But she really does seem sad sometimes. Quiet. A couple weeks ago, her, Laney, and I were talking about something to do with friends and Lily said (in an understandably bitter-ish sort of way), "YOU guys have new friends. I don't. All I have is you two."

She withdraws. She can't help it, probably. I withdraw too. But still, sometimes I want to shake her out of it, but trying to do that would be like trying to rip my own head out of the place it's been living.

It can't be done. I can't do that for her, can't even know that it's necessary.

I wonder if I'll ever tell anyone – really – about this stuff. I mean about how truly and deeply this disease runs. I don't even do that on HERE. I'm kind of scared.

People always react the same way and it creates a bad taste in my mouth. They do, though. They can't help it. They tell me to feel better and to stop thinking about it and I get all confused because half the time I think they're right (and I beat myself up for being self-pitying) and the other half of the time I want to scream that I'm trying my best and it still won't leave me alone.

I don't know. I don't know. My hands are cold and shrunken.

Also, I'm not even the slightest bit sad right now. I'm just getting all reflective because I just read this story and one of the characters suffered from... yeah. Okay. Anyway, it pretty much described most of the emotions I wrestle with on a regular basis. It captured all the panic and the fear and just... the pure, burning self-hate that comes with that sort of thing. Which I ignore. Plainly ignore. Or try to at least.

I dunno. Things are just always weird for me. A mixture of hope for the future and... And I don't know. That invasive dirtiness. It's always under there, waiting for me.

Like today. Today was a good, happy day. I was pleased. But then, I couldn't help but feel wrong at the same time???? And this is what I mean. It's just an inexplicable feeling of disconnection, or disorder, or... misplacement?... that is just there all the fucking time. I think I used to describe it as my skin not fitting right.

I don't expect everyone to understand. In fact, I know some people are the type to say "get over it." That's cool and all except for I am over it. Trust me – I'm over it. It's still frickin' there though, it doesn't go the fuck away. It doesn't control me, but it's still a matter of brain chemistry. Maybe. I don't really understand the whole thing. This is just what they tell me. They being doctors.


I went to my psychiatrist the other day. She fucking sucks. She's a nice lady, a very religious lady, but she's just a terrible psychiatrist.

She asked me, "So is your medication working for you?"

I guess to an outside that question would seem alright, but??? You can't... ask a patient if their meds are working. If you're like me, you won't even be able to tell. Plus, I've been taking these meds since last June. I can't remember what I was like before that. I can't remember if much changed.

This is what happened, I guess (vague outlines of my emotions):

June: my dog died. fuck you.

July: kind of okay but also not really because fuck the world you've killed off the things I love

August: sink into a weird, persistent depression why doncha. the second half of august was actually lovely though

September: frickin so fucking happy what the fuck

October: happy for the first half, sad for a bit after??? maybe????

November: sad a bit at the beginning. okay after that. sort of nostalgic and weird and missing Elise around thanksgiving, that I remember

December: i have no fucking idea. i felt suffocated around vacation though

January: this whole month was overall shitty. there were good moments here and there but when I look back on it, I was mostly just really stressed and upset and hating myself

February: so far, kind of good. the first week wasn't awesome, but after that was okay. Last week, there were like two days in which I was weirdly sensitive, but that's about it. So far so good.

The issue is my moods fluctuate like a lot. And I think I mostly spend sections of a week in a funk. Sometimes I don't write during my bad times either, like for a bit in early February. I didn't want to write because I was – it was just bad. It was bad stuff.

So in other words, I don't know if my meds are working. I don't know if this is any different from how I've been in the past. Maybe I just have more willpower. Maybe they give me more energy, enough energy to fight against it. I hope it's not the pill's doing. I like to think I can survive without them. I don't want to be medicated forever.




C ya. It's half past 3 in the morning so I should definitely be doing the sleep thing.