A Moment of Desperation

I unknowingly consumed PCP and..well needless to say I'm not feeling like myself.


I was also on the verge of developing the flu at the time...

Yeah, see I should have definitely stuck to DAYQUILL.









Fuck.

Exhausted. Frustrated. Inexplicably envious. Not looking forward to work tomorrow.
10:33 PM Apr 12th from web

I was in the midst of favor when I realized my mouth tasted like blood. I pulled away and discovered I was bleeding internally.

He was lean, soft-spoken, and was perfectly proportioned.


He was the one that I regret letting go of.

I accidentally drank from an opened water bottle that has been fermenting for about a month or so. I don't understand how I could be stupid enough to not recognize the taste of bacterial sludge. Oh, I'm sorry I forgot that I am an active narcissist and I believe the proper spelling would be "recognise". Because I think so highly of myself, I have to follow U.K spelling in order to keep up my cool/edgy persona. Wow, I almost fucked up on that one.

Bottom line is that I'm full of food, feeling an anticipated bout of lethargy, and fighting off anxiety that has been building for a few hours now.

I'm becoming more obsessive and less productive by the day. My friendships are no longer valid, and I am not feeling any satisfaction from my relationships. We're bound by our inconsistencies, I suppose.

Perhaps one may appear less attractive when placed in such a painful juxtaposition. Initially I thought he was the slightly enhanced version of you, but now I realize that...SHIT..realise that you two are complete opposites. I can't do this anymore. Perhaps this is the result of my nonexistent self-esteem, or maybe you've exposed yourself too quickly over such a small span of time. I often imagine his exterior placed with your mannerisms/affection and find myself less attracted to him. Are there any limitations to this preset masochism?

Jesus.

I want out but I'm missing the backbone to leave.

Too demanding.



You need yourself another inventive retard.

In the midst of all of the insanity last night, the rational portion[or what's left of it] in my brain realized that I am completely alone. Without him, there was no one I could possibly go to with my sorrows nor was there any spare fucking mouth to console me.

Initially I thought my gradual loss of "friendship" was due to an isolation that I had perfected throughout the downfall of my relationship with him. In time I realized that I was growing and could no longer stand the company of my former accomplices; I needed to move on. Despite last night's blow-up, I still believe that my progression has been a steady and productive one, and I also believe that even the best qualities of anyone that I've considered apart of my life no longer suffice.

Having no friends is a terrible disadvantage because they don't come easily at this age, and much like pursuing a romantic relationship if aggression is an issue due to a deeply rooted desperation, whomever you were going after will be put off and flee. There is no obligation to befriend anyone at this point.

I really don't have anyone and I'm not sure of how I really feel about it. I don't know if I feel sad, but I think that's because I'm not able to discern whether what I'm feeling is mourning a loss, or realizing the extent of my loneliness.


Ah, well. There's always comics.

kekekeke.

no longer able to hold a post for more than a few sentences.
I can't properly structure sentences anymore.


Ah, shee.


I'd prefer this to lengthy egocentric posts chock-full of misguiding flattering self-portraits any day...

Somewhat envious of such a "carefree" lifestyle
yet very happy that I'm not such a pitiful waste of flesh like you.



Though, your thought process is not the least bit complex and regardless of any misery you may experience, your brain will not be able to process such a deep emotion.




[sigh].

I'm always going to be second everything.



Fuck.

A physique materialized
binding the illustration
An image so strikingly lucid
The tips have formed you precisely
a distinct curve that leads
to your continuation.
It would be selfish of me to deliberately
form an existence
an extension of myself
a reflection of the possibility
of desertion
Without you I’m nothing
My passion
No longer tangible
those lovely bends would be nothing more than
deep crevices within a stale mold.

I need you as my mirror.
I could never do this..

It's a lovely thing to see our own output sort of take on a persona and develop parallel to our own strife.

Dreaming- Extremely lucid as of late. I've never had the privilege of my dreams becoming synchronized to my pre-slumber thoughts, and I'm finally beginning to embrace it. I find that my dreams have become an absolutely frenzy of thought, and have epitomized everything I've ever wanted to see within my personal/sexual/artistic aspects of life but lacked the clarity to do so.
Breathing-When aware of doing so my pattern becomes thrown off. Damnit!
Sleeping- Due to a recent bad habits my sleep has been thrown off so I could actually do 12-15 hours at a time. I'm becoming useless.

I wish to someday understand the masochist within me.

To understand exactly what it is that possesses me to write
like I used to when I was sixteen.
[but in a manner that is much more condensed]


Without merit.Degenerate. Depraved..




Yet, the self-mutilation sets in
and here I am
wasting my effort
in typing
this.

I recieved my first tattoo removal treatment yesterday.

I've fallen down flights of concrete stairs, endured the pain of pregnancy, and have been beaten by a Chola extremely high off of god knows what, but none of those even compare to the pain of the laser.

My neck is bubbling up and there are so many blisters. I'm not good with routines, so it’s unfortunate that every website I've visited recommends that I wash the area 2/3 times a day followed by a thick slab of breathable lotion.

Fuck it, I'm getting Keloids.

Blah Blah Blah. I didn’t think it would be possible to produce a Reggae rendition of Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B Good”, but Peter Tosh has proved me wrong. I don’t understand why people can listen to Reggae and ONLY Reggae. Perhaps they find comfort in it’s repetitive nature, or maybe it’s because being high humbles you.


That's a good word for today: humble. Stephanie, how about you digest something through that thick misshapen head of yours for once? Your inability to let anything complex or beyond your comfort zone soak in is ruining everything.

I promised myself that with every entry I would make a note of everything that is keeping me sane at the moment. Okay, well- I'm thankful for the fact that I get to spend extra time with my little brother because he came home from first grade today as a result of his fear of using public bathrooms. Yes, that’s right- he totally pooped his navy blue uniform bottoms in his little seat.

Anything else? I'm thankful that Isaac left me. I'm thankful that he can move on and find someone that is the refined version of me. I have my good qualities and everything, but I'm nowhere near relationship material at this point.

WEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Over and out.

I can’t pull a single momentous thought out of my head.

Too many fragments of notions and feelings are circulating within my fucking skull.

My inability to reflect on my former self is setting every important connection in my life up for a heart-wrenching failure. I could easily construct a romanticized description of myself as a young girl based off of memories pieced together through my own bias that has developed over the years, but I would rather accept the fact that all of my negativity and anxiety issues have been around since the initial development of my traits. Maybe I’ve always been insecure and anxiety-ridden, and perhaps my goals in life have always been based upon material accomplishments and a productive, high paying ‘career’. I don’t remember my goals as a young girl, and the only thing I wanted to focus on as a young teenager was writing. Obviously my writing skills have become rusty with time, and writing narratives/poetry does not fulfill me anymore.

Have I surpassed the outlet that writing once had to offer? Have I developed more, needing more intricate hobbies to alleviate a restlessness that I’ve had residing deep within me that surpasses my memory? When did I become such a piece of shit yuppie scum? When did I make a career my goal, and place discovering myself through my surroundings second? I shouldn’t care about what it is I choose to do in life, I should only care about the positive aspects in this world that I’ve been so lucky as to get to discover and explore them. All I want to do is learn more about myself through my output, and for some reason my brain has had fun conforming to society’s idea that a “set” future consists of financial stability and a large variety of fixes.

At this point, I don’t even know what my passions are NOR do I know what I am fully capable of. I’m thankful for the creation of Amancio, and from here [which is the absolute lowest point I’ve been in terms of awareness] all I can do is develop his life along with my own.


I wouldn’t mind the struggle. I wouldn’t care about a struggle. Fuck financial stability. Money is the very thing that has been distracting me from my happiness DESPITE the fact that I’ve never considered myself to be the least bit materialistic. I’m going to live my life that way I never thought I wanted to. I don’t care about any one’s idea of ‘success’, in fact I don’t believe in it. Fuck the airforce. I’ll travel on my own terms, and I’m not going to sacrifice anything just to adhere to some bullshit idea that a productive young American should fit a certain look and life style. I could be a cna the rest of my life and be happy. I could be poor and be happy. The happiest moments in my life were when I had the least amount of restrictions and when I had little to no money.




I need to be grateful for every day that I’m here. I don’t really understand death, nor so I have an idea as to what I believe comes after this life, but I know that I need to be excited for every moment regardless of what I’m doing. I’m happy to be here. I’m happy to be sitting at home at 2:15 PM in my pjs looking completely disheveled while typing this.



Thanks,Isaac.

I can feel it.



Hello, Ulcer.

Cut the ol' fringe.

Not much to look at but I feel like a sumo wrestler these days and I found it to be an appropriate addition to the large bun on my head that is not pictured.

I think I may have developed a lovely case of stomach ulcers. I put Tabasco sauce on everything and have a terribly slow digestive track. I won’t feel satisfied until I find another 19 year old female who can down two orders of adobada fries every other week and maintain a weight of 100 pounds. Ah, adobada.

It’s liberating to be able to indulge in whatever food I’d like after such a long struggle with Anorexia. Lucky for me after I began eating again I only had a brief increase in weight that eventually evened out when my metabolism caught up.






….Nothing else to say. I’m just very ashamed that I find the new 90210 to be interesting.

I am extremely angry, but I suppose I have no right. One day I will train myself to stay away from any natural responses/urges.



Ah yes, that day will be glorious. Glorious.


So, I'm letting go for now. There's this amazing thing about time that numbs you and at this point, it's all I can rely on.


Suh-weet!

I’ve always developed at my own pace, [a pace which includes countless acts of backtracking and moments of a complete stop], but nothing has been more tedious than this fucking transition into maturity. Up until last year, I had always considered myself far more developed [mentally] than most girls my age. That assumption was not conceived from any type of egocentrism or narcissism, in fact despite having that assumption my self-esteem remained cripplingly low. Recently I’ve realized that my inability to relate to another human being did not signify in any way that I was beyond any other person’s level. I was far behind in many ways, and until months ago I believed that I was truly without fault. My beliefs have been developed, and now I definitely feel separated from most BUT this separation is an entirely positive one.

I realize that my grammar is incorrect and that my English in general may sound as though I’m more competent at speaking another language, but the only way I can properly express myself is through all of these grammatical errors and the oh so dreaded monotony of repetition. I don’t consider myself to be intelligent but I’ve finally reached a point to where I don’t care. My only concern at this point is developing myself and reaching maturity. I will remain comfortable with my artistic output/writing as long as I fully express myself.

I don’t know. This was supposed to be some sort of introduction to my recent development, but I feel as though my ideas are scattered. Though there are some strong thoughts/ideas below this entry, I no longer associate myself with the inane young girl who composed those pieces. I was an emotional wreck.


Waltz #1 just came on and I’m feeling pretty content.

I have not witnessed such a pleasant day in my entire nineteen years of life. There is not one cloud to lessen the severity of the sun, and in addition to that there is a consistent flow of Santa Ana winds that do not carry the least bit of moisture. Such appropriate weather to compliment the confirmation to my extensive list of insecurities regarding failure. I never thought that I would fall short, but despite this I was still able to passionately conduct countless acts of stupidity as a result of my immense fear of not being able to suffice. I don't know, it's just such an enlightening feeling to know the only time in my life in which I received the only bit of true affection was because the person who donated it was terribly mislead and was under a false impression of me. Once this individual had finally found his way out of any dispair regarding what I had done, he freed himself of me effortlessly and came to the conclusion that the "love" he once felt for me was nothing more then a false impression and a strain of headaches. I've never felt so terrible about myself. I'm at such an all-time low that my situation is nearly laughable. I can't stand the thought of being left without a distraction, so I have been utilizing SD transit to help escape the severity of all of my self-loathing. I've lost the only thing that's meant anything to me. The funny part is that I didn't lose him because of my actions, but I lost him because I really did not fulfill him. Whether this was out of my hands or not, I would just like to stick to the belief that someday he'll realize what it is we shared despite my "inability" to fulfill him.


I've never felt so raw in my life, yet I'm handling it surprisingly well.



Which comes to my next point.....when am I going to reach the point to where I can fully understand whether the individual has the right to define oneself, or if a majority under the same impression can make this call...