Ad 2:
2017-08-17 00:45:00 (UTC)


"The Loop" by Mimicking Birds [the concept of quantum entanglement, which I of course do not understand—but bits of it stick, like the idea of two spheres on opposite sides of the universe, as far away from each other as they can get, spinning in the opposite directions]

Soon now her star will swell
Bloat up, turn bright red
At least that's what we said,
might happen to it

They're all gone, she'll begin
as just elements again
Tumbling in the solar winds
In and out they'll spin
in a different direction

Somewhere else a similar situation
Some random formation,
occuring in the same equation
Building new destruction

August 17, 2017 Thursday 1:48 PM

My doctor put me back on the Lexapro except at a higher dose to "cushion" me from a "relapse" at college.

Twenty-four hours ago, I was drunk. I remained drunk until sometime after daybreak.

Sometime during that night, I actually told Adrian, his friend, and Alexis about how Stephanie stuck a pencil up my vagina when I was, like, who knows how old. Probably five-ish? Or not. I get the feeling Steph was under 12 and she's got 5 years on me.

She woke me up in the middle of the night during a sleepover. I remember the warm glow of my sister's nightlight, the same nightlight that later proved to be a fire hazard when it burned through her friend's overalls. But the point is, Stephanie woke me up, was all, "Do you want to play a game?" except I promise she didn't say it in a creepy way.

Obviously, looking back, it's easy to see that as young as she was, she knew whatever she was doing was wrong. That's why she got a kid to do it, someone who would listen to her because she was older and therefore cooler. My concept of "cooler" consisted of not being left out of games. Anyway, yeah, Steph knew she was being weird. She coaxed a kid awake in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep.

She stuck a pencil in me, told me to push like I was giving birth or whatever. Afterwards, I remember she made us go to the bathroom to wash our hands. On the landing at the top of the stairs, she sniffed her fingers and made a face and then shoved them under my nose. I remember that smell, lol.

The whole thing was just suuuuper weird and uncomfortable and I'm pretty sure I sort of just forgot about it until middle school, but I can't say for sure.

Anyway, so Alexis and I were playing a drinking game, which eventually Adrian joined in on, and the other kid was sort of involved except he opted to just drink juice (until later on in the night). I told them this particularly story because, in my state, I thought it was really funny! Sometimes I just suddenly remember this happened and I ponder on it for a second and then I move on. I dunno. This time I decided to tell them. I mean, I was laughing, I think everyone else was laughing, but Alexis also said, "Guys, I don't know if this is funny!" And then she went on to say that I blocked it out of my memory until middle school. I don't know if that's true. Like, the phrasing, "blocked out." Did I really block anything out? Or did I just forget and then remember again like people do all the time?

I tried to defend Steph, which only made the whole thing funnier because I kept saying incriminating things by accident, like, "No, Steph has always been obsessed with kids!" I just meant that she's always been interested in motherhood for some reason. Whatever 'game' we were playing was weird, but I don't think it was sexual.

Later on in the night, Alexis and I took a cab back to her house. We passed a bottle of mixed alcohol back and forth for a bit, giggling and talking. I liked that part better than any of the others. Adrian is a stupid drunk person. He is clingy and just... extra. He always is. Alcohol magnifies that. Ugh. Point is, being with just Alexis was nice. Towards the end of our conversation, I asked her, "Do you actually think there's a problem with the whole Steph thing?" But she never finished answering that question.

I regret bringing it up in the first place because now it is at the forefront of my mind? Like, it's not a priority or anything, but I have an urge to dissect the whole thing, figure out if it was really traumatizing or just weird. I mean, to be honest, I was one of those kids who was traumatized whenever an adult raised their voice in my direction. Sensitive. That's why I cried all the time. Everything hurt. So I guess I'm not sure how to approach the problem of this memory.

I don't think I should approach it anyway. I spend too much time trying to decode myself. I mean, I have already gone down the path. Years ago, I was paranoid enough to think maybe, just maybe, the inappropriate touching counted as molestation. Ugh. No, though. These days, I don't think it was. But I know if I try to prove to myself that it wasn't molestation, I will achieve the opposite effect. I will scour websites for symptoms of childhood molestation and I will project myself onto the screen. I've done it with this, and I've done it with a million other disorders and traits and incidents before it.

No. Please, no. I don't want anymore doubt. I just wish I hadn't randomly remembered it again. I will forget again, and it'll be fine. Wait, does it count as forgetting if it always comes back? It's not like a memory can hang out on your couch. It's in there, all the time, chillin' even when it ain't lit.

I'm only writing because I was listening to this Mimicking Birds album. I mean, I've listened to it many times before. I found it last year I think. But this time, I have a deeper appreciation for it, I think. I do love descriptions of space, which is kind of a running theme in the music.

My true desire is to do the pointless.

I want to play Temple Run 2, the dumbest game Ever, while listening to this 40-minute album. I want to restart the album every time I die in the game. I want to get excited when I make it farther into the album than I ever have ever. I don't want to write about it later. I don't want to have something to show for my efforts. I just want to be content with playing an easy game to perfection for no fucking reason. No developed expertise, no insights into myself or the music or the graphic art of Jungle Temple. I want to

Do it and be done.

I am not the kind of person who does things without having something to show for it, though. I need some proof that I've lived, learned, that I am someone who someone else might wish to be.


I swill swell swollen. Burst open on the point, insides sloshing over and out when the taut skin breaks and snaps back. I'm thinking balloons and ripe blueberries. I'm thinking the sound of thick liquid hitting a solid at high speeds. I'm thinking my skin, peachy, contrasted with the red and white and whatever else of my guts, the varying consistencies of my body. Skin, smooth—hard white bone, tough organs, solid and heavy, and then shapeless blood and bodily fluids slicking up everything else.

I like this image. Feels real, feels accurate. I am not upset in anyway, but I do feel sort of Not Human today. I am recuperating, I tell myself. Recovering from the stupid things I did last night. Do I regret drinking? Not exactly. I need those experiences as references for future stories. And I had fun in the moment. But I started to slide down the curve, started to feel sad. Honestly, though, I haven't been great in awhile. It's probably a good thing I'm getting back on the pills.

I am pathetic. I don't hate myself, but I do sort of... pity myself. Ew, is that self-pity? Whatever, I'm fine. But I'm just saying, what a dumb wreck I am, to rely on pills and stuff. What.

Just yesterday, I hugged Liv and told her she was gonna have to rely on someone someday. I said she was letting past experience make her feel guilty at the prospect of reliance. She said she knew, but I think she needed the reminder.

Here I am, talking about my own reliance on medication. This isn't the same, though. And suddenly I don't want to talk about it because it's boring.

So goodnight. I'm going to leave behind more unfinished thoughts in the future.

Let me know if you can teach me how to live life without the constant need for validation. 'Cause that would be awesome.

And with the following, I leave you:

"I'm sure it's not me,
I'm too small
How could I affect anything at all?
I'm one of six million
can't be at fault
How could I affect anything at all?"
Pixels, by Mimicking Birds