Always

It's always at the times you need people around the most that you shut most of them out
Or is that just me?
Probably just me.
Is it their worth, or is it your own worth that you are measuring in order to shut people out?
(have you ever noticed that when a situation becomes uncomfortable for any person, you stop using "I" and start using "you", as if it were a hypothetical situation? Human instinct I guess)

Anyways.
The general respect I have been getting from people as of late is lacking.
Do you really think that just because you don't say it in my presence, means that I don't hear it?
Unfortunately, I hear everything.
Lexie, Lexie, Lexie.
She acted just like that.
Held no moral weight for her words, her actions, and how they affected other people.
All that really mattered was her enjoyment in the moment,
and never how that enjoyment affected her friends, her family, her outward image;
I've never understood how a person could just not care about any of that.
Trust, trust, trust.
How are you supposed to trust anyone, when everyone is genuinely interested in their own well being and nothing else?
You can't blame them,
but you don't like it either.
So what is one supposed to do when there are words both said and unsaid,
that points favoritism in a direction
(that is neither fair, nor unfair)
but still gives off general ideas of whom should be used for what.
Both images of a person, used for sexual purposes
(what else are people for of course?)
But one more than the other.
One image, genuinely used for conversation, for the release of emotions, for feelings and of course the occasional release of invading sexual frustrations,
can arguably become no longer an image, but a tangible, living breathing thing.
The other image though, hard to get close to, always seeming like the bad guy,
is an image used for the sake of releasing sexual fantasies and nothing more.
These two images are one and the same,
so how is it that one can be treated so differently?
The chicken or the egg.
The chicken or the egg.
Treated like nothing but a sexual object, so a close off from the world results?
Or just so closed off from the world that no one can view this "thing"
as more than just an image?
Which came first. Which came first. Which came first.
Just an image.
Just an image.
Just an image.

I just can't think anymore.
The poetry I used to love to write stopped flowing.
One of my few outlets has abandoned me.
I had my Rhyme and my Reason,
But now I have neither....
I have my old hospital bracelet in my hand.
It's practically an antique at this point.
Only the last few letters of my name haven't faded,
Along with the dreadful name of my poison.

Box cutters, box cutters box cutters.

Constantly in my possession.
I would think it ironic if I were to die by the blade my work provided me.
Such a sign of hope, an era of living out of financial hardship while attending school.
But still....such a temptation.
In the end it is kind of funny though.
Everything is just a laughing matter in the end....

Words, words, words, words.
Nothing hurts more than those dreadful things right now.
Runner up is being physically touched.
Another ironic thing.
All I ever wanted was to be held when I was younger,
Now all I want is to be left out of physical contact with anyone.
It opens the flood gates.
It hurts. All it does it hurt.
Al they ever do is hurt.

Be myself?
I've trained myself for a long time to do the opposite.
I would carry a knife on me at all times.
I would kick and spit on my boyfriends.
I broke an ex's nose once...
There was no allowance for having friends that were girls.
Kick and scream, threaten, kick and scream,
Until all their friends were gone.
Physical fights were a daily thing,
The funny thing is....
I only feel that type of rage with the guys I fall in love with.
Damn my head.
Good for nothing, good for nothing, good for nothing.
I don't think anyone wants a girlfriend who will slap or punch them for no reason.
It's just impulsive, and although I've trained myself, not to do it,
The feelings remain the same.

It's disgusting how honest I am being.
It's disgusting how I want them to hit me so I can hit them back...

I'm sitting here. Thinking. Thinking of what is to happen to me.
Even in my busiest days, when I have no thoughts left to occupy myself with, there you are; just a ghost in my life.
Awake. Wide awake.
Once again, I hate being touched. It hurts, unbearably. It's backstabbing affection.
A drink? Maybe two? No...I can't even touch the poison, I can't even find the strength to put it to my lips.
I remember. I remember. I remember.
I can't even imagine. No. I won't imagine, it is too heartbreaking.
You are wandering the streets, alone, with no home, a dying body, and no friendly face.
Can I do anything about it, no, because I don't know where you are.
The suffering I saw you endure, I cannot even imagine how much it has escalated in your poor health.
I watched you, cough up the rotting blood from your lungs.
I watched you, as you spat teeth out as they were rotting, infecting your face, making it swollen and horrible.
I watched you, pull out small specks of cancer and cry and scream as you carved them out of your arms.
I watched you, as you would pass out from the relentless dry heaves that would leave you with your rotting face over the toilet, screaming in agony.
Sometimes you would pass out in the shower, sometimes for so long when I was young, that I had no choice but to urinate on myself.
You compared me to the likeness of a cat, and told me that I had to use the litter box from now on.
You told me that the only sound I was allowed to make was a "meow"
You passed out again, but this time locked us in. Forcing us to drink from a toilet. Before the sun came up. And long after the sun went down.
You sat me on a couch, wouldn't let me leave, your horrible swollen face just a couple of inches left from mine, and a tight grip on both my arms, stench of rotting flesh and alcohol. I wasn't allowed to sell chocolate for my school drill team you said, it was belittling to you for some reason I could not see. I threw the chocolate away and got suspended from school for not being able to pay for it..
You threw my things away, you sold my things, you took all the money from my college funds.
You told me that I was good for nothing, after I had spent an hour putting up Halloween decorations to impress you, to gain your approval, to have a sense of accomplishment.
You then tore them down.
Why then am I still so overwhelmed with the fear of you dying any day now....I can feel it in my everything; my heart, my soul, my bones. Just about everything aches, just about everything wants to escape me, and just about everything is restless and delusional.
Approval. Approval. Approval.
Will anyone really know how bad it got?.....Can I ever really express my fear of losing that chance of approval forever?
I don't even know if you are alive.
I'm stuck between life and death, because I don't know.
I can't decide anything. I can't be sure of anything.
The biggest uncertainty in my life is looming over my head.
Will I only be able to continue when I know for sure?
When I have your death certificate in my hands?
When that chance of approval is over, when I no longer have to be in limbo?

I just don't know....

Sexuality, again?

Once again, a peculiar sort of madness has invaded my head.
Whilst working, I started thinking about my past and how my sexuality had developed and/or the way in which it was discovered.

I began thinking

"Has anyone else experienced the same confused feelings that I did?"
I know I have had quite a few troubles compared to your average person when it comes to knowing their sexuality.
I hope that there are plenty of people who haven't had nearly as much trouble mentally dealing with who they are.
For me, it has been a constant struggle and fear to know that the possibility of falling in love with the same sex is completely there and real

and that it is possible I may have to confront the world, my family and myself if that were to happen.
Being out to your close friends is one thing,

being out to your family and living and breathing in your sexuality is different, unfortunately.I have gone into panic attacks at the thought, and in a time far more confusing than now, have prayed to my dead god to be what I am not, if only for the sake of keeping my life as simple as possible.

I know that I am not a simple person though.

I have tried on for size the label of "straight"
Have had boyfriends tell me that I am,

and have had close friends analyze me and tell me that I am,
even though I knew they were only telling me such a damned lie in order to sooth my conscience.I have even pushed so hard as to get therapists to try to tell me that I am indeed straight, just for the sake of concentrating on other issues besides my sexuality.

(seems logical, right? Tell the girl having identity issues that she's just like the majority of the world so they can move onto the next subject)

But "straight" almost seemed like backtracking.
It always made me feel MORE guilty, claiming that I am just like the majority, especially when most of my stolen breaths have been a result of my child hood next door neighbor and her bright strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes; coming over and swinging on my swings in elegance, while I would timidly stay close to her, but never too close.

And so I want to take a turn in this subject

from dreary to nostalgic.

Even til this day, I cannot say that I have seen a creature as beautiful as my childhood friend.
In the midst of abuse and confusion, I guess it was my time with her that made me realize, that these feelings were no longer being forced upon me, but instead, I was developing my own sense of longing for another.

These feelings have confused me, scarred me, and have lead me into dreary periods of darkness,
but for some reason,
I can look back and remember her bright hair, and feel a bit more relaxed about who/what I am, and stop the worrying for a bit.
I was 9 years old when I realized, and also 9 years old when she left.
I guess in a way I'm wondering, what made it so real for everyone else?
Was there a moment?

A person?

A far off, and recently recollected memory?
How old were you?
Did it confuse you as much as it did me?
Are you like me?

Even while being caught up in a happy, selfless, loving relationship, that side of my questioning never ends.
I am grateful to have someone who supports me in answering my questions the way that he does.

<3

Our Asylum

There is one passage that I cannot stop reading over and over again out of Emilie Autumn's 

The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls
The entire book has a sarcastic tone, but sarcasm is used as a mirror to be held up to reality and oh...
I'll just quote her already so you can see what I mean.
This comes out of a fictional letter from a fictional asylum in the Victorian age, but the things in which she talks about are all based off of historical records of the many horrid things that went on in these asylums, where often times, the only prisoners were women.

"Besides falsehood and treachery, there are reasons enough why any female may be thought insane by the medical community, her family, and society in general. Opposing an arranged marriage, for example, expressing ambivalence towards motherhood, being melancholy after giving birth (or melancholy at all), choosing to follow a differing religious persuasion from her family or husband, being too high-spirited, too low-spirited, mildly disagreeable or simply 'moody', caught exploring her own body, the body of a man who is not her husband, or, God forbid, the body of another girl...any behaviour thought aberrant by the impossibly narrow standards or our day is attributed to the inherent weakness and waywardness of the female gender. But, sisters, never fear! There are many methods by which female 'insanity' can be treated. For example: A girl who engages in intimate relations before she is married, even if such relations are entirely against her will, is branded 'promiscuous' and is thus insane (insanity being the direct cause of promiscuity in women), and yet, a common treatment performed on our girls suffering from fits of what the good [doctors] have termed 'hysterics' is, in fact, forced intercourse, or, as we like to call it, rape. Is there not some irony in this? It is thought that the supposed hysteria emanates from the girl's reproductive organs having nothing useful to do, and, by putting these idle organs to good use, the problem shall be solved and the lady restored to sanity, which would seem perfectly rational

if it were not so utterly absurd."
(page 127)

Autumn's point in all this is, how far have we REALLY come since the Victorian era. 

Yes, the examples she gives are strong, and thought of as being rather extreme compared to what goes on today.

But if you look closer, the underlying ideas have not changed.
"...any behaviour thought aberrant by the impossibly narrow standards or our day..."
This is a sarcastic stab at the modern standards given to us by society.
Before this statements she gives a list of acts that were looked down upon in the Victorian age,
but aren't most, if not all, of those things STILL looked down upon by the majority of society today?
"caught exploring her own body"
I know a few girls who have gotten beat for this simple act in their youth, namely because their families had a strong religious background and decided to beat the sin out of them.
"caught exploring the body of another girl"
I know, many more still, (including myself) who have been chastised, put down, bullied, and cast out by their friends, families, and lovers.
What I find in California, is that there is this mindset that these things don't exist anymore (being out casted for being a lesbian) which is a great reflection on our state's mentality (woooo!) Most of us, just don't care.
But most of America, sadly does. And there are Lesbians who are beaten, killed, and driven to suicide because of this.
Also, I must mention, there are many camps that exist where homosexuals are placed so that they may
"straightafied"
Am I the only one who is horrified by this notion?
"too high-spirited  . . . too low-spirited"
Did you know that out of all the people who take medication for depression, bipolar disorder, etc,
the majority are women?
Not only that, but the majority are women who are not of legal age yet, and are forced onto drugs by their parents?
So yes, being different from your peers, or family, or lover, is just enough to be branded as crazy enough to be put on drugs against your will. Even if what you are feeling (sad, happy, angry, depressed) are all perfectly NORMAL emotions. And in connection to that, has anyone ever seen you be moody, or upset, and then they have the nerve to ask you
is it your time of the month?
People still have this notion in their minds that women are automatically crazy because their sex organs drive them to crazy.
Now combine, is it your time of the month? with, did you take your pills today?
and perfection! You have a double wammy against your emotions, emotions that may have logical, legitimate reasons, emotions that are automatically taken for granted, because it must, MUST, be your hormones making you act this way.
And now on to the bit about rape.
Did you know that a girl is raped in the United States about every two and a half minutes?
And that just goes for all the ones that are reported, which, more than half probably aren't.
What is the usual excuse given?
She was asking for it, someone told me she was easy, she did him, him and him, so she had to do meand believe it or not, I have heard all of these excuses given many times.
There seems to be this thing called, "the rumor effect", in which, if a girl is thought to be promiscuous, then men automatically see her as a target only for sexual activities.
This "promise of promiscuity" seems to be what many guys are after, even if what "promiscuity" translates to is
a fucking history of sexual abuse.
One of my closest friends was thought of as a slut by her own family. Why? because she was raped at 13, she went to one of her only friends, who started spreading rumors about her around the school, and boys ended up sneaking to her window, cat-calling her from the outside, and leaving condoms all over the families yard to make fun of her.
Horrible? Absolutely. Limited to Victorian era where women were thought of as nothing more than property?
Unfortunately not.

I just thought I would post this in order to get people to think a bit.
I know I hadn't seen the relations to today's society in that paragraph the first time I had read it,
but then I read it again,
and again,
and again,
and once more,
and it wasn't until Emilie Autumn had made such a sarcastic stab at the times we live in by writing from the point of view of a fictional character, sentenced to live in an asylum in the Victorian era under these circumstances for attempting suicide,
(which was common back then)
that I realized it wasn't just a story, the entire fictional part of the book is a metaphor for all the things that have happened to her, and all the things she has seen happen
and I wasn't able to put my finger on why this all seemed so damn familiar until the second time reading it.

Our society IS The Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls.
 
 

Understanding

Oh, hello there dear prince


Supposedly, there's this
Thing
I don't know
I can't have
Patience

Do thorns weigh in heavy on your head?

How are you saying this?
I want those bones to
Shatter
Aren't I subjecting to
This? Why?

Your subjects are waiting to hear

To your power?
Sure, go ahead, take
Advantage
Of my sweet compliance
Docility reigns the white dove

About your wife's execution

Kingdom
Shining so greatly
It is you know,
All because of
You

And the new taxes


That the roses gained their
Thorns
And willingly became
Hostages
For "civility"

....And Your Point Is?

I sit in my sister's computer chair at the moment in a state of listlessness, fog, confusion, and apprehension;

yet, I am well aware of my epiphanies, and my emotional eustress.

A cultivated stem of independent thought is starting to vine around and drain all previous thoughts which were heavily influenced, and even drain the thoughts that were not mine own as well.
It's doubtful that full details can emerge just yet, as they are newly budding after years of fertilization and tedious garden work,
but,
an intense feeling of success is finally welling.
The larger ideas are clear and cold as ice.
Grudges, mental happiness, success in my own terms, not being held down by another,
they are all gathering up in a single file line, waiting to be called upon and complete their duties as full fledged paths, leading me to a higher grace and call than I could have ever previously imagined.
Perhaps it will lead to the demise of all other things that once made me happy, who knows.
Nothing is ever certain.
I am not certain.
You are not certain.
Nothing is forever.
And Murphy's law exists.

"What can go wrong, will go wrong."

But "wrong" is a form of change,
and change brings about new learning experiences along with new ways to discover who you are.
Change is good.
Let change prop it's head up and enter our lives.
Let us strike a match of change to fuel more scattering embers which will set ablaze the forests in which we are lost in.

But let is forever be lost.