bathtub

(no subject)

HI, I am alive. Most of you follow me on my stupid tumblr. I don't have internet at my apt, otherwise I think I'd probably still post here as a form of self-care.

I don't remember how to do a cut, so whatever.

I've gained about 25 lbs since July/August. I am the heaviest I've ever been by at least 15 lbs. It feels pretty good. I mean my body feels good. None of my clothes fit anymore, but that's okay. I've been with my girlfriend since... September? I think? We've been basically cohabitatin' since June, so it's a little hazy. I am still in massive debt, but oh well. I am dying for a new job, so this week I'm making a fresh resume and sending it out. I'm trying to do more self-care things because I've been kind of running on fumes for the past three months.
Have some pictures from 2011:

April




May (our air conditioning broke, we were broke, drank tons of whiskey)






June (still broke, still no a/c, still tons of whiskey, Baltimore Pride)




July (visited family in Ohio)


August (sweated, turned 24, hooked up with some guy who looked like hipster Johnny Depp, the girlfriend came back from Prague)


October (back to work, got bigger tits, took the girlfriend to a fancy party, was generally a bombshell angel princess)






November (worked too much and went out only one night)





HAPPY 2012 AND SHIT





THAT'S IT. OKAY LOVE YOU BYE.
bathtub

(no subject)

I'm pretty happy.

Money is the tightest it's ever been, but I'm surviving so far. It'll be fine by September.

I want to talk about two people I've met recently.

The first (either first or second, I can't tell) is everyone I've ever dated. Does spoken word and rap. Looks like and dresses like one ex. Listens to the music of another ex. Has all of the emotional and social issues that I'm familiar with. Is everything I've known for the past five years. The first time I got a visual, there was spoken word on a stage and I was working and I had a panic attack because it all reminded me of the one person I hated so much at the time. I ignored the situation for six months. I avoided eye-contact. It wasn't hard. We never saw each other. Then one night, I was invited to watch a performance. I went. We met officially. I didn't know it then, but the girlfriend was there, throwing dirty looks toward me and my friend. After formal, we spoke again, exchanged numbers, and said maybe it'd be cool to hang out. Later, I found out the girlfriend was dumped a few hours after we spoke. I know it didn't have anything to do with me, but at that point I knew I wanted to make it an issue. Like, now I know who you are. I've dated you before. I've been the girlfriend. I want to fuck with your head because I know you want me and I know how this works. We hung out casually twice and then I got pushed to the side in favor of a straight girl (no surprise there -- I know how this works.) A month later, I'm staring at that face at a party. It took a minute for smoke/booze to clear enough for you to recognize me, but you did. We met up at Pride and at the end, we passed each other in a doorway and you grabbed me and kissed me like I haven't been kissed since... her. We met up a few days later. Watched films, drank, smoked, and talked shit for a few hours. You were forward for ten minutes and then stopped chasing for biological reasons. I think you thought I was uninterested, when really I was just letting you take the lead. I always think a certain type enjoys that, but they always end up enjoying it more when I'm in control. (I admit, I enjoy it more, too. Topping a top. Dominating a dominant person.) I remind you of a lot of people. I realized, through hanging out with you, that I've changed an incredible amount over the past year. Even over the past six months. I am not as impressive as I once was. I am not as mysterious because I am not as insecure. I am less desirable because I care less about what you think. I cannot hook you because I am not the same as I was. I cannot have you because you need more of what I used to be before you have me as I am. So now all I want is to have you for three days and then I will turn you loose because, hell, I know better. I just know that you're gonna be a good fuck in a very specific way and it makes my mouth water. You'll find yourself through hurting these girls and you'll feel fucking awful for awhile. You'll come out a better person. I'm just glad that I'm not one of those girls anymore.

The second will be spoken about later.
bathtub

(no subject)

I want to write about all the good things that happened in the past two days. Maybe I will on Monday.

I am writing lists and drawing useless things. I wish I could listen to music in my bedroom and I wish I were asleep now. I mean, I'm glad I'm not, but it'd be nice to get a full night's sleep.

Everything is going to be alright.

I hope you are all okay.
bathtub

(no subject)

I am worried that I am suicial/am going to be within the next three months.

I am concerned that I won't be able to deal with it this time.
bathtub

(no subject)

In a surprising turn of events, it turns out that the internet is the worst thing to ever happen to me! Also, I am emotionally unstable!

I'm sure you could probably guess within three tries.

It's always the same and I always react the same way, so why bother talking about it?
This time there was one small step forward, I guess. But blah blah blah.

It is getting harder and harder to be on my own side about being a person with a mental illness. It is getting harder to extract the pieces of me that are mental illness from the pieces that are simple personality flaws. It is getting harder to tell which parts of myself I am allowed to hate and which parts I am supposed to defend. I feel like I need to make excuses for myself. I can't tell when I am feeling sorry for myself and when I am not. I don't know.

I'm going to take more pills and somehow, eventually, have a life someday.
bathtub

(no subject)

Everything that I ever wrote about Amy sounds like everything I ever wrote about everyone else who ended up not being good for me.

I will figure this out eventually.
bathtub

(no subject)

Oh apparently I haven't updated on my life recently.

Officially moved into the apartment! We're painting this week and I want to post picture when we're done!

I have off a month for xmas break, so I'm going to MONTREALLLLL for New Years!! HOLY SHIT!

My hair is different and I am growing it out, kind of.

Have decided (between Elly, Jenn, and I) to do more stick-pokes, which is very exciting.

Elly and I have also decided to start a zine next week since I've moved all my art things into the apartment.

I have no money for another month, but I've been getting good produce from work, so I can still cook! I even got fruit the other day and made some fantastic sangria.

I've been rolling Elly cigarettes in exchange for smoking them, so I don't really have to buy them anymore.

IT'S COLD ENOUGH TO WEAR TIGHTS AND SWEATERS. WOW.
bathtub

Nothing but hate, nothing but rage.

I don't feel like I should have to preface this at all, but I probably should because sometimes I don't realize how little you all actually know about me.

Erica posted this publicly on the internet and I found it without really expecting to.

Drunk rants that have potential.

[[Thursday, 8 July 2010]]

We hug. A goodbye. We were always bad at goodbyes.

Take one breath of me. I take one breath of you. We’re gone.

My hands tighten around those hips I’ve grown to memorize. I know that 270 degree angle with my fingertips in the air, like a guitarist without her instrument.

Your hands in my hair.

I don’t wear the same cologne. You don’t wear the same perfume. But I smell the blue in you. The sadness and confusion and rage and sex. We breathe in each other. Breathe in the confusion and rage. And sex.

You’re up against the wall and I know exactly what to do.

That back haunts me.

Those leaves.

I knew they would turn with the seasons. But I tried to fight them.

Muscular motion distorts the colors, greens and purples and browns.

Don’t look at me.

Don’t look at you.

We know where to go but we don’t want to let the world know we remember.

She’s so heavy.

I will fuck you until you forget.

I will whimper into that soft olive skin, speak love and lust to the follicles that dance on your epidermis.

You will always be mine.

I close my eyes. Squeeze my thighs tight. Take a deep breath. And trace your hip, your spine, your hairline, your calves, your ribcage in the air.

And a couple hundred miles away, as she’s asleep beside you.

You’ll wake up with chills. Clench a nearby pillow. Bite into it. Grind the air. And think.

What the fuck happened?


If there were better words, more intense words, to use in place of "FUCK. YOU.," I would use them.