The original text by Zoe Leonard

16 12 2016

PDF for print in English

Source: The original text by Zoe Leonard

“You Can Always Call”

1 06 2016

It’s hard to feel accomplished when everything seems to be falling apart in a week’s worth of the wake of graduation. 3 1/2 year relationship over, in a way that one might expect a month or maybe six month relationship would be over.

I’m exhausted. and kinda glad right now to be alone. He wants or needs to be alone so bad, fine, good for him, but it’s very shitty to like essentially say good bye to the person you still profess to love as if you’ll see them next week. He claims it isn’t that far. Yet when….Oh I don’t care right now.


My head hurts.

Stale champagne

30 05 2016

On the occasion that you find yourself in a mostly packed and emptied house with nearly all of your possessions sitting in a parked u-haul van while your (ex?)(current?)(significant other)boyfriend? (former[or current] Partner) is away working over time trying to finish up a project because his boss’s brother in-law just OD’d on heroin and died. And his boss’s debut solo show is happening in four days with at least a week’s worth of work to do and so said former or current boyfriend is going to work through the night to dutifully figure out how to mount/frame the photos of the aforementioned boss in the complicated way that even the incompetent yet some how talented boss doesn’t know how to do. ON this occasion, where not knowing the actual state of the three and a half year relationship, that you did not realize had meant as much to you as you thought. Or perhaps that good ol’ patriarchal Christian monogamy still some how haunts you more than you realize. It is on this occasion that drinking the stale champagne that was meant for celebration mimosas, which ended up being merely sad lonely mimosa that you didn’t even finish because you have shown a recent self harming impulse when drinking too much.

This occasion in which you find yourself, baby-sitting the beloved elderly dog of said former or current boyfriend in the mostly empty house surrounded by said former or current boyfriend’s things, because you both deeply love the elderly dog, and some how are still not quite ready to face what your life has become. Sure you finished graduated school, and yes that is awesome. But when you have a meager amount of sanity left, and the relationship that now you realize you are willing to work on is probably ending, but definitely feels like limbo. And you’re having to strongly consider going into some kind of intensive therapy program, oh and you’re broke, while so many around you seem to have their dreams being come true….

It is this occasion in which drinking that stale celebration champagne is acceptable. Check your bank account and order some fucking indian food for yourself and try to not be so fucking sad. Salty stale champagne is just too pathetic, even for you.


6 05 2016

Here I go falling apart again. I wonder what configuration I’ll glue myself back together in this time.


Hopefully I can find some fucking glue, fast.

Where will I land after graduate school…McLean?

4 05 2016

Sooo, my therapist is worried about me again. Worried that I don’t have the support system that I need in order to do the things that I need to do to get better. I’m starting to feel like perhaps he is right.

He said that I might fall on the BPD spectrum. I feel like a failure. I feel like I will always be broken. That I am a terrible person. I know that isn’t what that diagnosis means, and that he wasn’t diagnosing me exactly. He said that he was trying to give me a heads up for when I checked out the McLean website.

I think I’m going to give up drinking. Well, I think I’ll start with giving up gin, vodka, rum, tequila, sweet red wine, and PBR. I’m going to limit myself to two drinks. Currently I am too depressed and stressed to drink. I get to a really dark place really quickly. And then apparently I do things like: send sexually charged texts to people other than my partner, and slash my arm. It’s already scarring over. And as far as the sexually charged texts….there’s a kind of mutual understanding that nothing will ever happen beyond that sort of thing, as we live super far apart, and other reasons.

Ugh… I wish I could take back so many things. I wish I could take back cutting my arm. Take back sending a photo of it to my best friend and thinking in my psychotic state that I had to share something beautiful with her. For thinking it was beautiful. For being honest with any fucking psychological professional ever.

I probably have C-PTSD not BPD, Borderline is such a grasp at straws of the mind.

I am tired of my bullshit getting in the way of my life. I wish I could figure out a way to at least make money off of it like the Bloggress. That is not shade. I think she is amazing. I have no idea how she has managed to stay in Texas. Seriously they have some seriously fucked up mental health practices down there. Or maybe that’s primarily Abilene.

I want to be better. I know I need patience with myself. But come on! I’m about to finish graduate school and I am barely hanging on.  Like I can get an MFA, but I can’t not sabotage my life? No. That’s bullshit. I’m sick of my own bullshit. I don’t stand for other people’s so why should I listen to my bullshit. I’m done with it.

No more. Starting right now I will do the things that I KNOW help me better myself. I will exercise more, dance, yoga, ride my bike, and swim. I WILL write every day even if it’s one fucking sentence. Every fucking day. I will draw every single day. I will paint every single day. I will cook for myself. I will clean myself daily. I will not be smelly. I will not over shop. I will not pick at my skin. (I just stopped myself when I realized I was doing it! That’s a new thing for me. Usually it takes at least 10 min or more of scoring my body before I notice.) And I will FUCKING kill it at THESIS.

Cuz if I don’t I may end up in a residential institution. I mean I guess I could pick up Yayoi Kusama’s torch. But Ii’d prefer to travel.



Why I’m cool with GRRM taking his time; today at least.

23 04 2016

I can’t kill myself until I read the last A Song of Ice and Fire books. That will probably give me another….20 years at least.

No more pretending.

3 12 2015

The truth is, I can’t get it out of my head: the image of my arm splitting open and gobs of blood spilling out like warm molasses.

I don’t think any one who actually knows me reads this anymore I’ve been so sporadic, so I think I can speak freely here.

I want to die. I want to die every single day. At least once I think of death. I think of it as an old jealous lover, some one who will one day catch up to me. A tear and a smile.

I can’t stop feeling how warm it is. Seeing how red it is. It’s just some days I’m better at ignoring it.

Not today. Today I know that I belong in a hospital. I wish I could be more selfish and just do it already. I’m so very tired.


All day I pretend. But it’s not like when I was a kid, where I pretended I was a magical creature of my own invention. Instead I pretend that I’m okay. That I can do it. That I am Sisyphus happy. That I am doomed for eternity to fight. But the truth is I’m tired.

Funny thing is I’m not even that tired of being sad. I’m tired of being afraid. Fear makes me angry, makes me sad, nervous, excited, impulsive, and it makes me freeze.

I hate being frozen. I’m a fluid person. I come alive in water. I’m meant to wander. And wander requires openness. I try to be open. But really I’m a vault.


More than anything, I’m tired of all my walls.


1 12 2015


I am the sobbing determined mess
struggling up that hill
The mountain cliff
With sun, sweat, and tears in my eyes
Blindly– I push forward
Hoping to see just for an instant
The view from the top, before I fall





And try once more,


Styrofoam matters

19 11 2015

I feel like I’m drowning. the tension in my neck is making my body so stiff I feel like I am barely moving. I’m hovering above myself, close by trying to keep moving, but too afraid to be grounded. Because the ground isn’t going to stabilize me it’s going to knock me on my ass and make me choke.

Everything is a blur and I feel like I can’t hold onto a single thing. I don’t understand how this has happened, where did my agency go? Where has my mind wandered off to? Why can’t I just be myself?

But who is myself? Am I the capable person I thought I was. Or am I more consumed and affected by my mental health than I’ve wanted to admit. Am I doomed to periodically have to have “rests” in the hospital? This time I didn’t even really loose my mind, I was just very sad and wanting to get back on medication.


Sometimes I wonder if I ever found my mind again after that hospital visit. I feel like everything fades away, so what’s the point?

Why bother? Nothing that matter’s lasts.

Styrofoam lasts. Maybe that’s what matters.

21 08 2015

Blah blah blah blah blah, fuck.