Temptation

I don't feel like being pretty.
I don't feel pretty.
I don't feel like being poetic,
I just want this to come out of me.

I want to cut,
I hate myself for having these urges,
but I'm still debating whether I would
hate myself more for doing it, or for not.

I do hate the scars I still have;
I'm ashamed;
they're ugly, and I hate having to make up stories about
why they are there.
But, I close my eyes and I envision me making more;
I can almost hear my skin sizzling under the razor's teeth-
the hot water going in for the kill-
it burns so bad.
It kills so good.
I'll cry and scream,
and know that I've hurt myself...
which in that moment puts a smile on my face.

Hurt

It's really sad that in my life the only person that I think I've ever truly hurt was myself. I treat randoms on the street with more respect and generosity than I do for my own body, my own soul. I try to love myself; I try to cater to interests, needs and desires; sometimes it works, but I seem to be the most happy when I watch myself cry in the mirror, and I can't help but laugh; I look so ugly, I feel so vacant; I get such joy out of the thought of watching myself bleed, especially after a long period of being clean; watching myself try to explain how I "fell" outside the library, or to a lover as to why i have cuts on my upper thigh.

I really am trying to improve; I guess I am, because I went from having suicidal thoughts and cutting several times a week to not cutting for two months straight, and having less frequent urges. But I just hope that one day I lose all of my self-destructive tendencies, but I just don't know if that's a reality. It just scares me, because the golden saying is "no one can love you if you can't love yourself", so, I guess I'll never be loved.

Celibacy

I think this summer I'm going celibate, so far it's been two (long) months... but I really don't think I should be having any more casual sex. I really need to just spend the summer living with myself, making positive decisions and not having added distractions and conflicts (aside from my current feminine misfortunes of course).

So here's my list of positive things about not having sex that I've come up with so far
1) I save money not buying Cosmo at CVS (who needs sex tips when they're celibate?!)
2) Shaving less... well... actually no it's summer so this doesn't really work
3) No herpes, the clap, etc.
4) No babies

That's about it. Ugh this is going to be a long summer...
Something tells me I won't make it three more months, but if GaGa and Lenny Kravitz can do it... then so can I!

Piecing Together the Puzzles of Romance

You and me.
We are those puzzle pieces, when you have about 15 left.
So completely wrong; different shades of green
One is round, the other end is pointed,
but you're convinced that they belong together.
So you twist the pieces, and jam them into each other.
You turn your head, and lick your lips;
you're determined.
If they could talk they might be crying,
or yelling, and they want nothing to do with the other one by this point.
Things may get quiet,
because then you sigh and laugh, that soft kind that tickles your vocal chords;
you suddenly spot another piece that has the same shade of green grass,
and you can see that the yellow from the previous piece was part of the sneaker
of the boy on the playground.
This new piece is sharp, just like the one in your hand.
So you put down the obviously incorrect piece,
and you slide the puzzle pieces into place.

Then there's you and me.
We're lonely, we're horny, we're both single-
so we go back to each other.
But it either ends with a disagreement, or a sexual glitch.
We're so wrong for each other,
but until we find more suitable puzzle pieces,
we won't know any better.

It hasn't even been two weeks.

It hasn't been two weeks and I'm already dying being back in this house. Who am I kidding thinking that things had changed, someone literally had to die for things to improve during a visit home. Being in this house for so long is mentally toxic for me; all of the progress I've worked hard to make with myself just seems to be irrelevant, and I'm back in high school mode; judgmental, hovering parents, immature people that I'm forced to see (including my brother and his lame friends), and I find myself fighting the urges that I've been trying to overcome for years. How could Lori think that we would ever REALLY be close, and I could confide in her? I could never forget her reading my diary for god knows how long... or for her e-mailing my guidance counselor behind my back to tell her about me giving a blowjob. How could I ever really be close to my brother after he used to tell me he didn't care if I died, and (not personally related to me) but that he wishes her could put all the gays on an island and bomb it. And how could I REALLY be close to my dad for letting Lori wear the pants, and for not defending me countless times when he knew that he should've.

And then there's my mom. I saw her last week, and the lunch was so painful that I told her I had to babysit an hour early and that we had to go. I tried so hard to have a good time, but she legitimately looked me in the eyes, and gave me one of her distorted monologues that she often does- "my mother was toxic, I had to get out. But you're so lucky, because I love you so much. I have never abused you. I have never neglected you". I wanted to throw my sushi at her. Okay the abuse was only mental and verbal, but never neglected me? Is she joking? And now she's trying to see me again this week. I don't even know what to say. Ugh.

I know that I don't have it the worst, and I know that I am loved (by some members of my family at least). I know that if I wanted or needed something they would be there, but I'm one of the least materialistic people that I know, so this means nearly nothing to me. I'd rather live in a one bedroom box and not feel the emotional burdens that I've felt for as long as I can remember, than be in this big white house crying as I blog; I know that when I told my Dad that after college I might want to stay in central NY his heart broke a little, but I'm not going to let my guilty ways lead me back here in two years. The old, self-destructive me would maybe, but not the new me, the one who is learning to love herself, and not put the world before her.

I apologize

I’ve confined my mind, soul, and entire being into a box with dusty, dark walls for too long. I let myself sleep in forsaken barracks with messages written on the walls that explained that cutting was the only away to cope, and that I didn’t need anything better; I didn’t even deserve better. I gave myself no other alternative, and so I continued to believe that this way of life was acceptable. I saw smiles on my friends’ faces, and I watched them skip as I dragged. For years, as the seasons changed, I remained stagnant at best.

And so I want to apologize, to the daydream-believing girl who saw the world in technicolor; who was on the right path, and had no desire to take another route to getting to Today. I apologize for asking her to slip into the kitchen once her step mother had backed out of the driveway; I apologize for telling her where the knives with teeth that bite were located; I apologize for convincing her to take the knife and relieve her confusion and depression on her own flesh. I apologize for suggesting that she carry a razor in her purse “just incase” at thirteen, and at fourteen for asking her to carve “Mom” into her thigh in the desperate hours before the sun rises, it took so long to heal. I apologize to her at sixteen for allowing her to relapse, after finally learning to live cleanly. I apologize for convincing her to love it, to crave it, and to let it swallow her for years.

I apologize for letting her listen to hundreds of her mother’s nasty voicemails, and for allowing them to become the soundtrack of her life; on loop, every day, “I never had a child, the past thirteen years of my life have meant nothing to me, forget my phone number, never contact me again”. I apologize to her for not understanding her mother’s sickness sooner, and for taking the estrangement and the cruel words personally. I apologize for asking her to believe that she has no other fate than to resemble her mother.

But apologies, no matter how poetic, or sincerely sculpted are still only words. It’s time to set her soul free, and watch her run with a new state of mind.

After 7 years I forgive myself, and I’m ready to feel alive again. I refuse to be bound by my past actions, by my mother’s sickness, or by the expectations of anyone but myself. I deserve better.

Friends with benefits?

I thought the purpose of a fuck buddy was to just have sex... not to fight, and not to be in a rut with that person. Just sex; fun, free, unattached in every other way. How have I have managed to find one that fights with me like a boyfriend, but keeps all romantic labels removed from the equation?

We are legitimately having a fight right now about whose excuses are better when we cancel on each other; apparently following the few rules that my Dad has for me while I'm home is not a legit reason to not see him, but yet his mother is. He actually told me that I was TOO LOUD to do it when his mom is home. Well maybe I wouldn't be so loud if he didn't make me fake it after a while. If I only orgasm 4 times instead of 5, he competes with himself from the previous time, and won't stop. This is the most ridiculous fight I've ever had, and he's just making me want to reconsider what we're even doing. Last summer it was fun, it was sexy, and it was perfect. Now I feel like we're beating a dead horse, and we're stuck in a rut; and when I do see him my options seem to be: no condom, or condom and have the worst sex of my life. I don't like either, and I think I need another option, entitled New Fuck Buddy.

Can't be tamed?

I'm beginning to believe that I'm too complex, and have too many sides to just be tied to one man. Tonight my friend Dan texted me because he was outside my house, and I haven't seen him all year since he's been in Ireland. Dan and I grew up together, and we never liked each other, and we had so much confidence in our friendship, that we slept together in a twin bed at after prom, and ended up hooking up (while he had a girlfriend). That kind of hurt our relationship, but enough time has passed (and they broke up), that now we just would never even want to mention that night.

But tonight when we were talking, I realized I have a major crush on him. Just like Lou, the kid I lost my virginity to, "Andrew sex panther", and Brian (ha). Some of them are more significant than others, but they all satisfy one part of me whether it's the literary, cutesy, sexual, emotional, literary, psychological, musical, retro, etc. How am I supposed to settle down with one person later in life? Sure I can hope that I meet that "soulmate", the one who is just as twisted and complex as me, who manages to satisfy all of me, but I have a hard time believing that such a person exists. Maybe this is why people cheat, get divorced, whore around into their 60's; even my friend said it tonight: "I can't picture you in a relationship".

I don't ever need anyone to validate me, but it's just nice to dream that one day I'll go to bed in the arms of someone who loves me with their whole heart; they'll want to protect me, make me laugh, turn me on, and stay until the very last breath I take, despite my many imperfections.

Blowgun?

Auto-correct makes dirty texting really funny.

Me, Myself and I

For someone who's not alone, I'm so lonely. All the time. I guess I do it to myself; people are constantly fighting for my attention, and my time, but when they turn around I sneak off, and I don't want to be found. I'm constantly contradicting myself; I want to be held, loved, appreciated... but at the same time, I shy away from commitment, people coming too close, and verbal declarations of sexual urges with my "lovers". Where did this come from? It's things like this that terrify me that I'll turn into my mom.

I'm trying to study, but I can't stop crying. Well, trying to cry, but my roommate is two feet away, laughing. I'm so awkward... and I don't have to be. I feel like if I just followed the arrows that my life has provided for me, I'd be solid. My parents live comfortably, I'm considered a happy and social person, I get good grades, I receive male attention; but it's never that simple. Not when you factor in all of the thoughts in my head, the confusions about who I am, and why I'm so sad all the time. Does clinical depression exist? I don't think even I'm creative enough to imagine this.

When I was 13, I thought I cut just because of my mom. I thought I got sad the few years after, because I was in high school; we're all supposed to either be sad or angry, right? But then I got to college, and had thoughts I've never had before. They stopped thank goodness, but here I am now. 20. Not where I thought I would be. I'm guarded, crying, resisting destructive urges, and making life a lot harder than it has to be for myself.

I wish I could stop it all. But this will never end, not until I know the answers. Who am I? Where am I going? I can't be the only one who feels this way...

Another Mother's Day

Mother's Day is such a bittersweet holiday. It's beautiful, meaningful, and gives me purpose, because being a mother is one of the things about my future that excites me the most.

Mother's Day however, is just always somewhat depressing for me. Right around Mother's Day in 7th grade, my mom threw onto my lawn everything that I had ever given to her (including her wedding dress that she told me she was saving for me just incase), letting the sprinklers drench every item. In 8th grade, it was the first Mother's Day that I spent knowing we were estranged, and thinking we might never speak again. Or in 10th grade (the first Mother's Day after I called my mom to make amends), when my Mom briefly disowned me again, because I spent most of Mother's Day with my Dad and Lori instead of her.

I used to cry over her, and cry over Lori, because we it really got bad between us for the better part of my teenage years. Mother's Day has since gotten easier, because Lori and I have gotten a lot closer, and my mom is (somewhat) present in my life. But it's just not easier thinking about past Mother's Days, and seeing how almost every single one of my close friends are best friends with their Mothers. I know I have things that they don't, and I'm grateful for that, but it doesn't make this day any less sad. I sometimes call my mom, and act excited and treat her as if we have the relationship that I've always longed for, but I know that really helps no one, because I can only fool myself for so long; in reality, I'm 6 hours from Lori, and my mom isn't answering her phone.

Vicious Cycle

it hurts so bad that at the end of every day i feel this way. no matter how the sun had hit my face that day. or how many compliments i received. the people that i had touched, or the ones who had touched me. the richness of the lava cake i ate at dinner, or the laugh lines that formed when i heard a funny joke. none of it matters, because now i'm here. like i am every night. hurt. crying. empty. wanting to cut, but tortured by the weight of this urge; do i give in, and succumb to the demons that reside inside my mind? disappoint my friends, parents, counselor, and even myself? or do i make them proud, and in turn just hurt more inside. it's like sexual tension, the feelings just build and build, but there is never a release. i need a release. not writing a poem, or calling a friend. i need one that bleeds and that hurts me. one that spells out in the most obvious way how i feel inside. or even how little i feel inside. how little i value myself, and then i just want to cry until i fall asleep, and begin the whole cycle again. "maybe today will be better", i say as the morning sun hits my face again. or maybe i'll just find myself here, again.

Perfect Day

today's been such a lovely day. warm with a cool breeze. everyone's happy. lou described it as the perfect "sex on the porch day". the best thing about days like this is that i almost feel like the old me. before this horrible year occurred. the me that was genuinely happy, running around in sun dresses, having a sex drive. i can feel a change coming though, and i couldn't be more grateful.

conflicted.

i've reconnected with the dude i dated in 8th grade....and i just found out he has his NIPPLES PIERCED! oy... what do i do? if he takes his shirt off in my presence, i might throw up. just the thought of something going through a nipple makes me shiver. this is no bueno! ='(

new day

today was a great day; i went to my final two interviews, which made me happy, because now i can stop torturing myself. i know that i won't get a position, so each interview kind of felt like i was just allowing myself to freely walk into a failed situation. aside from the interviews, i had a great counseling session today. we talked about my lack of interest or pleasure in several areas of my life over the past few months, and i really sounded like a new person; more wise, mature, in control of the situation and of my own life. but i know this has happened before, i know i'll have temptations to cut, and i'll probably give in; i know that my depression will come and go, for a day, week, month, year. this is me though, and all i can do is appreciate the days that i'm feeling blissful, and know that the tougher days will always end. i'm working on it.

When I fly solo, I fly so high.

This quote couldn't describe me more accurately; who knows if this is really true. maybe i've just trained myself to believe it, because i don't think that i deserve or can mentally handle emotional intimacy. generally speaking, i'm just best at the physical intimacy, because it's safer- sure they may see all of me, but they can't see into me. they don't know that i'm flawed; that i cut; that i cry. it's easier to just be mine, than to give myself over to another soul; another beating heart; another pair of staring eyes.