"Thanatophobia"

A very dark title, I do realize.

But the subject of death and the afterlife is something that very often occupies my mind and gives me no ease from stress and negativity.

When I was younger I was raised in a very Atheistic household.

Both of my parents were resentful Catholics whom did not bother with matters of religion and it's teachings, especially when it came to passing on any hint of religious moral and the questions about the afterlife to their children.
I was always a very anxious child.

I would cry for no reason and oftentimes feel like the walls were closing in on me and that I couldn't breathe.
I don't really know where my anxiety stemmed from but because of it, I found it hard to sleep at night.
I would often sleep with my hand over my heart, just to make sure it wouldn't stop beating.

This pattern started around the second or third grade, which resulted in a great amount of sleep deprivation and increased my anxiety further.
Why did I think about death so much?
Why did it scare me so?
Where was this all stemming from?

I honestly think this is why young children should be raised with at least some form of belief so they may put their minds at ease with life's big questions.
I would go to my friends in elementary and ask them if they felt the same way.
(yes I was that little morbid girl going around asking people what they thought about death hah)
Alot of them shrugged and went off to play handball,

and then a few of them would say things like "Heaven" or "God"

What was this?

Something with such a simple answer?

Even back then I thought it was a form of brainwashing.
Up until about the 8th grade, I continued to have anxiety attacks about death and would sleep with my hand over my heart.

What would it feel like?
How would it be to never say "I love you to another person again?"

How would it feel to be completely forgotten?
To really have no way of escape?
To me it just felt like an eternity of suffocation. 

Absent of self-expression, love, light, feeling.
But these anxiety attacks stopped in the 8th grade because I met a person who became a very heavy influence on me and my mental stability.
This person was extremely religious and quelled all my worries when it came to all the questions I held.
Every one was answered with some sort of passage, some sort of relief. Finally I was able to sleep.
Unfortunately for me though. I am simply too logical.
All the "answers" provided only a temporary fix, my "soma" if you will, my drug.
And now I find myself at a cliff again staring death in the face.
I have moved past any sort of answer in religion. It just isn't something I can believe. It feels to false for me.
But now because of that, I am faced with these questions once again.
What will it be like to never wake up again?

To never be able to kiss the lips I love again?
To never hear music again, to never play the piano again?
To never be able to look into the eyes of the person I love again....to never hear "I love you" again.
Just emptiness.
Why is it that we are raised on the notion that everyone of us can control our destiny

when really, our only destiny is to be eliminated from existence?
Why are we given this false hope?
As long as I have been asking these types of questions, I have come across no one else who thinks of these things.
Am I really the only one who is so heavily burdened by this? Am I really the only one who thinks of these things on a daily basis?
How is it that people can go through daily life without having anxiety attacks and falling over in the middle of the street from these thoughts?
Am I really the only person who nearly topples over when these thoughts start infecting?
For some reason it seems that way.
I believe this is best described as
"Thanatophobia"
http://phobias.about.com/od/phobiaslist/a/thanatophobia.htm
I honestly cannot understand how so many people go about daily life without being inhibited by this...
I am supremely envious of them.
I want to enjoy life to it's fullest. But it is hard to when I am constantly worried about my car erupting in flames or some sort of ailment taking my life. I cannot remember a single day in my life where a scenario about my own death hasn't popped into my head.

Can I hide it? Yes, very well in fact.
But I wish there was nothing there, so that there was nothing I had to work at hiding.

Photography by
http://casualitiesoflove.webs.com/phobia.htm

Blogger Award and Other Things Meant For Pondering

So a lovely young lady has nominated me for the "Versatile Blogger Award"
as to what this means? Well to be honest I am not really sure.
But I am honored none the less.
So.

                                             According to these written rules, I am required to:

                                            1. Thank and link the person who nominated you.

                                                2. Share seven random facts about yourself.

                                       3. Pass the award onto fifteen of your favorite bloggers

                                     4. Contact your nominees to let them know about the award.

So first off

Indeed, I give thanks to
http://lace-and-drippingribbons.blogspot.com/2011/04/versatile-blogger-award.html

For nominating me.

And now for some seven random facts. hmmm what can I disturb my lovelies with...

tee hee

1.) I am a mutt. I consist of being: (In order from most to least)

On my mother's side: Japanese, Spanish, Mexican
On my father's side: Irish, German, English, Cherokee Native American (<- that one I just found out about)

2.) My absolute dream job is to work in the LA crime labs as the head serrologist.

For those of you who do no know what serrology is, it is blood spatter interpretation and analysis on crime scenes.

3.) My forensics teacher from highschool, Elizabeth Devine, was the previous head of the blood department and is very well known in the forensics world and also was one of the writers for the show CSI.

(When I say writers, I don't mean of the sucky lines the actors had, but rather the true stories from which most of the episodes are based off of)
My best friend and I also graduated being her favorite students.

4.) I am a bibliophile.
My favorite works being that of
1984, Brave New World, The Divine Comedy, Interview with the Vampire,Servant of the Bones, Wuthering Heights, Vitorio the Vampire, Shadowmancer, The Canterberry Tales, Hamlet, As I lay Dying, Sense and Sensibility, Macbeth, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Candide, Alice Adventures in Wonderland,        The Asylum (duh)
Beowulf, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Faust (Absolute Favorite!)
The Satanic Bible, and selected works from the Bible, especially Corinthians and Revelations
There are tons more but those are the ones that immediately come to mind.

5.) I am obsessed with my Irish blood. It has been traced back I believe to a couple of different tribes. From where specifically, I do not know, but I believe that my ancestors spoke Gaelic and Gaulish from what I have been told. Since Gaelic isn't completely dead, I someday hope to go to Ireland and be immersed into the language and culture. Unfortunately only 1% of the people in Ireland still speak it as their first language, but that still leaves many people to learn it from.
Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Gaulish. Most records of the language have been lost.
But this band still has some phrases in their songs that are sung in Gaulish. It is truly beautiful.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msRy4vcSX4k

6.) I have a love for all music, especially choral music.

Although I have never considered myself good at singing, I am still very proud of the highschool choir I was in.
A small clip of me singing is here
http://www.youtube.com/user/amindofmyownhere?feature=mhum#p/u/37/PX6m15zDAlM
It's not very good but it's a song I still like singing

( Im a sucker for Disney movies )

7.) And lastly, I have a bra that is signed by Emilie Autumn.

I have it hanging on my wall, her handwriting is beautiful.

Now as far as tagging goes, I do not follow all too many blogs that fit the category so I will post which ones I think fit the description.
http://gothincollege.blogspot.com/
http://adorabatbrat.blogspot.com/

http://cheshiredevine.blogspot.com/
and once again thankyou
http://lace-and-drippingribbons.blogspot.com/
I have tagged you back out of affection
<3

 

The things around my room and other fun stuff

As a proud little fledgling of the night. I decided to share some of the things around my room.
Personally I think they are absolutely awesome and do a great job in defining me!

First of all. My collection of Victorian pocket watches. Most of them are antiques, the newest one being from around 1915 or so. I inherited them from my father who had an obsession with clockwork.

My hectic bulletin board.
It is full of drawings, lyrics, a bra signed by Emilie Autumn, a valentines gift from a fellow plague rat

A victorian influenced poster about tea my boyfriend made for me,
and of course, Rob Zombie tickets for next month!

This is my poster section amongst other things
Here I have a Deathnote print out from Anime Expo 09
Signed Finntroll poster
Emilie Autumn poster and a rat poster painted by Emilie Autumn
And a signed Captain Maggot poster.

Here is my chandelier. It is an actual antique that we refurbished. Its pretty isn't it? Especially with my skull hanging from it. Also, the notes behind it next to my bulletin board are all articles about different serial killers. Yay!

Here is the area above my bed. The chains connect to the chandelier, then my pretty hand made coffin box along with a bloody sheet and knife.
My favorite of course being my beautiful fallen angel wings.

Another little section of shelves filled with candles, roses, and tea pots.

A Victorian key necklace made by Veronica Varlow

Now this may look like a book but it is something much more.
Since it was my birthday just recently, my very sweet boyfriend got me a tea box so that I can remain organized while adding decoration. Isn't he thoughtful?

Here it is open and filled with ecstasy!
(From top left to bottom right)

Scottish Breakfast tea, Orange Spice tea, Mint Green tea, Cinnamon Apple tea,

Vanilla Rooibos tea, Lady Grey tea, Chamomile with Lemongrass tea, 

and of course Earl Grey.
(unfortunately this doesn't even fit half of my collection of teas, but I was able to stuff my favorite ones in here)


I hope this quick little blog was of interest to you. I know I love the things around my room and didnt include many things such as my huge collection of books but perhaps another time.

Vampirism? Romanticism? More so just confusion.

Every day.

I get up before the sun rises, start preparing my tea, and play my morning music full of 

Emilie Autumn, The Birthday Massacre, Nightwish, Siouxie,

Amongst other things.

I prepare my face and pull my clothes out of the closet, start mixing and matching,
(Trying to find something that matches my mood every day can be a bit of a challenge)
Sometimes its pink, sometimes its stripey, sometimes its foofy, sometimes its full of one inch spikes and chains.
Then I apply my white powder and sunscreen. Glitter, jewels, hearts, whatever I can find to decorate my face.
As you can probably tell from my morning routine, I tend to look a bit different compared to that of your "average" person.
In middle school this brought much alarm amongst my peers.

I believe their fear of me wearing blue lipstick lead them to defend themselves with offense.
I kept to myself, but often would have sandwiches thrown at me, be locked out of classrooms, and was often sent to the principles office for even standing up for myself.
All because people could not figure out how to react to the way I looked.
Why is it such natural instinct to shun what we see as different?
Why is it that most people would have to be educated on these matters to know that these things are wrong?
(I for one, was always on the other side of the fence so I learned respect for the unknown and different fairly quickly compared to those who were always on the higher spectrum of the "popularity ladder")
Years have passed since middle school and now I am attending a university and my morning routine of decorating myself the way I do has not changed much. Perhaps I have grown out of the blue lipstick phase (kinda)
But in general my wardrobe has remained 

Stripey

Spooky

Lacey and

Spikey
Full of Victorian influence and influences from favorite artists, novels, friends, and other things of the like.
What HAS changed though is my peer's reactions.
Let me explain this a bit further because this natural phenomenon I find a bit surprising and entirely entertaining.
Of course one would expect the maturity level to increase between the time of middle school and university.

But other's reactions speak of something quite a bit more than just that.
Stares remain the same

but now stares are a bit more lingering

Often greeted by a smile, or a shy look away and a blush.
I do not act much different compared to most students

(on the outside that is)

But I do look a lot different obviously, but still....

Apparently looking this different harbors reactions such as
A girl walking up to me in my music class with practically star struck eyes and quietly admitting
"I love your hair...I love your outfits...you always look so amazing every single day. How do you do that? Where do you get your....EVERYTHING. I wish I could dress like that.....I wish I could be you...."
This is not any exaggeration on my part.
I was dumbfounded by the whispering of that last phrase.

All I could do is smile (although I probably looked confused as all hell) and say Thankyou as enthusiastically  as possible.
I can understand a compliment.

Compliments are always nice to hear, it makes you feel you must be doing something right with your wardrobe but....

I wish I could be you?
That is taking it a bit far me thinks.
Especially since I am a complete and utter stranger to this girl.
Oddly enough though, this strange occurrence has been happening more often as of late.
Specifically during the time I have been going to a university plus my late highschool years.
In fact, in my speech class, a young gentleman gave an interesting speech that actually applied to something in my life. As any "normal" person would, I struck up a conversation with him after class to go deeper into the subject he had presented.
When I called to him he looked completely in awe and looked around a couple times and pointed to himself in a confused manner as if to say ".....your talking to me? really?"
I think I attacked the poor lad with words though. ( I talk too much sometimes, I really do, especially with more tea than usual in my system)
But after the conversation he was looking at me for a moment and went
"Wow...."

To which I repeated

wow?

At that moment he explained that he had not expected me to be so friendly and polite
To which I replied "Oh sorry if I look unfriendly or evil most of the time"
He nearly stopped me in the middle of my sentence going
"No, no, no, I'm sorry, that is not what I meant. I didn't mean it in a bad way I meant it more in a sorta, you look too mystical and mysterious to just start up conversations like that."
Once again I am left with a bit of confusion as we part and go to our separate classes.

Mysterious? Mystical? As far as I am concerned, I am just me.
There have been other accounts of this as well, with younger children (theres a highschool connected to the university) that follow me and stare, and will randomly compliment me after days of them lingering just 20 feet behind me.
So what changed?

Between fear and (dare I say it?) admiration?

The only explanation for this I find a bit sickening

*waves angry fist in air*

Romantic vampire and goth novels, along with the widespread plague (and not the good kind) of sexual vampire television shows.
The change in attitude is very distinct and noticeable amongst people from their early teens to early twenties.
Suddenly people are having fantasies about the mysterious person dressed in black in the corner of the room, thinking that this person is going to sweep them off their feet and bring them some sort of adventure and lust.
Although I admit, I am a romantic fool when it comes to the classic vampire novels.
But todays stuff? It is all junk novels, and they hold no deeper meaning than the want of lust.
And as far as television...well I don't watch it. It bores me.
But don't you find that a bit disturbing?
That it changed so quickly from fearing people clad in black because of incidents like Columbine and other things of the like

to wanting to date people clad in black because to have a person with dark hair, pale skin, and victorian outfits latched on to your arm (not in the vampiric way) because to have that almost serves as a trophy

a big fat

"LOOK AT ME MY SEX LIFE IS GREAT CUZ IM DATING SOMEONE WHO'S INTO BITING"
*shudders*
I am not sure if I should be grateful for this sexual vampire connection movement or not.
It brings compliments, yes, but it also makes people act a bit brainwashed and creepy.
(coming from someone who bathes in creepy)

Anyhow, on a lighter note, I do look a bit mysterious at times. But I often forget the way I look because I have become so comfortable in my own skin I forget I look any different compared to everyone else around me.

Perhaps this is why I get so many scares

(just kidding, I only look like a corpse on special occasions)
Oops did I say "scares" I meant stares... Ha!

Fathers....

A rather odd subject that is never very far from my mind at all times filled my head completely today while at work. It brought tears to my eyes to remember, to feel my fear, my anger, my loneliness come back to me when I had been trying my best to hide it away for all these years.

It went like this.

While folding the motley colored towels at work, I over heard a father, talking lovingly and incoherently in baby talk to his daughter, holding her and smothering her in kisses.

The mother was walking behind the two pushing the stroller and just smiling and shaking her head at the sight.

This guy, must have stood over 6 feet, had a shaved head, and looked as if he had a Harley parked outside.

I imagine his wife had never seen him act in such a fashion before.

She kept on suggesting that their child be put back in the stroller,

but he kept on refusing going "No, its fine. Besides, I want to hold my angel" and kept talking incoherently and kissing her.

This made me think about all the relationships I have been in and the one thing all of them have in common without fail. 

The fact that if it ever came down to it, they would make a good father.

That whether or not I would want a child, or that it was something unplanned, every guy I have dated, I know would be there for their kid, loving them every day, even if things between us did not last.

I suppose I find this extremely attractive in a male figure, namely because I know what makes a horrible father and because of that, I can avoid those traits at all costs.

Thinking about this, watching that young new father at work, thinking about my past, it made it hard to keep working and not just break into tears, sit on the ground and hide my face in my hands.

I started wondering, what it is going to be like for that little girl, growing up with a dad whose love you could see emanating from him.

I wonder, why was I robbed of that? I know I must have had something like that at one point, didn't I?

If I did, where did it go? 

And then came the question that always came into my mind when thinking of things like this.

"Am I ever going to experience that?"

That is a sad question for an adult woman to be asking. It is almost as if I revert into being a 5 year old. I just keep continue hoping that someday, I would have a dad like that. A dad who gave a damn, a dad who knew what was going on his daughter's life, a dad who would be there when I needed him.

Then I started thinking to myself....about the situation that my father is currently in and how it is very possible that he could be dead tomorrow....that I don't even know if he is alive now.

Would I be brave enough to confront him on his death bed? Would I say the words he never said to me if I knew his death was eminent? Would I forgive him....? Could I even face him?

It is kinda funny, this reminds me of an episode from Metalolcalypse, when Toki's dad is dying and he has to face him, despite the horrid past with his dad.

(who the hell finds morals in metalocalypse episodes??)

anyways. The point is that he eventually goes and confronts him, even though everything gets fucked in the end and he actually ends up killing his dad, he atleast tried.

That is more than I can say for myself.

I remember what days used to be like for me when I was in elementary school.

I was always late because I would have to wake my dad up from a hangover, then I would go to school and feel alienated because I didn't have very many friends and would get made fun of because of how often I would cry.

Then I would come home, and feel very alone because my father would be passed out drunk soon after picking me up, I didn't have anything to do, and I wouldn't have anyone to play with because the only other person in the house was my baby sister whom I had a very hard time understanding since she is mentally disabled. That was my routine 5 days out of the week. I would wait by the door like a puppy for my mother to come home (and she always arrived home late) because she was the only other human contact that I had who would talk back to me, or hug me when I hugged them.

So for most of my childhood I was alone...

I remember one day swinging out side on the swing set challenging an imaginary friend (my simba doll) as to who could go higher on the swings. Of course he was just sitting there so I proceeded to try to challenge myself. Eventually the chain rope broke and as I fell, the end of the chain, which was shaped into a sharp hook now from breaking, hit me straight in the eye.

I was bleeding.

Deathly afraid that I must have blinded myself, I curled into a ball and started sobbing loudly.

I was curled up in that ball for at least a half hour....continuing to cry outside my dads bedroom in the backyard where he was asleep.

I soon realized that he was not going to wake up, he was not going to help me up, he was not going to fix me up and cheer me up.

It is a very devastating realization to a 7 year old, that you are the only one who is going to care for you. It was me who had to pick me up, clean me up, cheer myself up.

I got up and went to my bed and continued to sob....not because I was still bleeding, not because my face was bruising up.

But because of what was running through my head.

"I could have stayed there til nighttime and he would have never realized, I could have really blinded myself and he would have never noticed, I could walk outside right now and keep on walking and he wouldn't get up to find me.......I could die right now and he wouldn't even know"

These are rather alarming thoughts for a 7 year old to have, I remember it was the first time I thought about dieing, and the first time I thought about killing someone else.

I knew where his guns were, he's showed me thousands of times when hes drunk, I knew what they did, I knew I quickly went from being depressed to being horribly angry, I knew he wouldn't wake up from his drunken slumber if I creeped into his room, and I now knew that there was no point in actually having him around, if he wasn't actually around.

That was the first time I pointed a gun and my dad's head, I wanted him to go away so badly. All he ever did was yell and scream and curse and threw things and broke things and smacked me upside the head when I told him to stop. He wasn't doing anything else besides that and sleeping. What was the point?

I knew at that moment that I hated him. I didn't even know how to use a gun, nor did I know if it was loaded, or how to cock it, I just knew that it would end him.

I aimed....I pointed.....

And then once again I burst into sobs...

I couldn't do it.

I can't count how many times I have tried to, and how each time something inside me couldn't do it if my life depended on it.

Today at work I realized what that something was. What that something is that still lives inside me, refusing to die.

Each time I pointed that gun, I was secretly hoping, that would be the time where he would wake up...

Where he would turn around....

Where he would hug me while I sobbed,

and told me that I was important,

that I was wanted,

and that he loved me.

That hope stopped me each and every time, and now, even as an adult, I'm still pointlessly hoping.

Hoping that I could get back what I never had.

Even now I break down into tears when I think about all I ever wanted from my dad....

It wasn't much to ask for, but still....I never got it.

I suppose this is why the people I date, are really just people who would make excellent dads. 

I guess I'm still hoping to experience the love of a father in someway, to see it, to know it.

But the only way I will ever know anything like that is if it is coming from the father of my own children.

I may not be able to face my dad, or receive from him the love I was always seeking,

But I can make sure that a good father is in my future.

It is a comforting thought, yes.

But still, on nights like these,

I still cry myself to sleep with the lights on because I am still that little girl, holding a gun in her hand, cuddling her simba doll in her arms,

and just hoping that my dad will come in and say

"I love you....goodnight...."

What just happened?

I need an outlet

Something

To set up my mind in a cage

Lovely containment

But no

No bars are thick enough

Everything seeps through and through...

Through and through and through and.....

Please! Give me back to myself

I need to know who I am....who I could be.

I never could imagine it. You never let me in...

Please say I will get better

When everything is hopeless

Once everyone is gone.....

I need an outlet.

I don't want your comforting touch!

Or that sweet smile, or even that

Deep forest behind your eyes.

I don't want your love!

but please...never leave.........

All I itch for is an object to attack.

I never wanted you to be the one getting hurt.

Give me back? 

So that I may be okay when you leave?

.....Never.

They all leave......physically they disappear.

But....I know you can't leave my soul. 

So sick....I'm branded....

It burns.......

Fuck......

9~27~10

I don't quite remember what was going on while I was writing this.

But all I know is that I was not aware of what I was writing.

It still bugs me that even though I am the one who wrote this in a frantic state with nothing else to turn to....I still do not know what it actually means.

When I am having a mental breakdown the words just flow, and come out as a sort of code to what is driving me to insanity.

The underlying reasons....

My father? Past relationships? My friend? Even myself?

It is almost as if I am my own riddle...

I've always sucked at riddles

Tearing apart the tears of crying angels

Maybe a bit of this and that shall cure it.
Destroy it.
Remedy the rot.
Seduce the soul.
And clean up the putrid leftovers.


Diamond rivers, the flood gates released.
Choking me.
Without reason.
Without thought.
Why can't I sleep until it is over?


Pop, pop, pop, goes my brain.
Slushhhhhhh and shhhh goes my blood.
A flutter of eyes
And a siiiiiigh goes the breath.
. . . . . . goes the silence.