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.





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.





Confession: I’m gross

8 07 2015

The persistent itch on my left foot is something that causes great debate within myself. To cure or not to cure? I would probably greatly appreciate a nice calming cortisol lotion on the patchy skin, but that would mean that I could no longer scratch till the foot is red and raw. That would mean the sting would leave and my fingernails would be clean. I would have to put away the razor blades that I use to pop the under the skin things I swear are causing the itching. That would mean that that clear liquid that I swear actually spreads the itch would never be release. That would mean no more scabs on the pads of my foot. That would mean soft pink skin that knows nothing but smoothness.

Dreams infect my sleep with far more grotesque than what my current foot condition is. The blisters all popped, blood and puss ooze, and then that scene from Lullaby begins to blend and I’ve begin to pull gangrened model house parts from the meat of my foot as if it were Mary Poppins’ carpet bag.

This dream moves me to get that good sweet lotion that promises to soothe cracked feet. And it does, for a little while, but then that itch, itch, itch, comes creeping back and starts the whole cycle all over again.

My fondness for razorblades is a fairly recent development in my beauty regiment. I find myself using a straight edge blade to do all sorts of things I probably shouldn’t, like pop pimples that don’t really need such force. But alas, this is probably my biggest gross weakness. Cleansing my pores. This year I met some one who had no visible pores on her nose and we were having this very intense conversation and suddenly I had to fight the urge to scream at her, “HOW DO YOU NOT HAVE ANY VISIBLE PORES???” I was both deeply fascinated, jealous, and felt sorry for her, for as I said one of my favorite hobbies is shrinking my pores and removing my blackheads by force. It has been since I was a budding teenager. Back then I was somewhat insecure of my large “man hands” I was told in fourth grade, by a friend, who didn’t realize that made me feel awfully uncomfortable. I wonder what happened to her she was so nice, we were running buddies and had a healthy competition for who could run the most laps.  Anyway, because of this insecurity I grew my fingernails out long. My nails were very strong and came in handy. I frequently had to use them as a weapon in Junior High, but too often I used them as a weapon on my face. I would take all my rage I was feeling out on my face. And end up coming to school with large scabs on my nose. Biore strips I probably did too many times, and they probably contributed more to the problem than the solution. My mother would yell at me to leave my face alone, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t be bothered it was such a rush to see how they would break or burst. Some of them would just suddenly jut out and it would be so surprising, because it was as if a small pellet had been lodged deep inside my skin. Others would erupt and sort of bloom with puss, and still others squirt some clear liquid, others would appear to just sprout hairs.

Now I know how to better clear my pores. Baking soda is my friend, I use it for nearly everything. Cleaning counters, my teeth when they need an extra kick, face, and body, even hair when I can’t remember the last time I showered. And as far as blackheads go, super short clipped fingernails are far superior than any half inch crazy nail. Short finger nails aren’t as quick to break the skin and draw blood, so less scabs. I still make myself look like Rudolph or that boulder hat wearing guy from Pop-Eye, but the swelling and redness go down far quicker than scabs take to heal. I also got one of those dermatologist tools that help you pop zits, but it’s not super good for black heads, it’s far better for the other more difficult zit.

I think it was way back when I was in the hospital and got put on all those different anti-psychotics and stuff that my skin started getting cystic acne. I didn’t really have a problem with that until after that lovely stay. I know it’s been years, but I swear it fucked my shit up that good. I know that my acne is still nothing compared to some, but it’s the worst it’s been in my life. Well it has been until recentlyI think I’ve finally found some things that really help, aside from Baking Soda, I mean. I use The Aztec Secret: Indian Healing Clay with Raw Apple Cider Vinegar, Tea Tree oil, Acure oil control facial moisturizer, Clean and Clear Salicylic Acid acne spot remover, and sometimes almond oil, or bio oil. I really want to try Philosophy’s lactic acid product line, but I mean… it was a struggle to purchase the Acure stuff and that was only $16. Well, maybe after grad school and you know I have like a job or some shit. But at least Baking Soda and Apple Cider Vinegar are cheap.

Speaking of Vinegar, ACV is my favorite shampoo/conditioner now. It makes my hair soft without being greasy and it seems to help with dandruff. But I have to be honest, showering is a struggle for me. I don’t know why. This is again, something I think I picked up from being in the hospital. But I think I might save that for another day.