Monday, December 20, 2010

i want this little buddy all to myself


May you have very cute and cuddly holidays.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

thank god for bing crosby

I'm leaving because my inspiration left me. I thought I was crazy but maybe I'm just too tired. I might come back soon.

Happy Holidays, ladies. Don't forget to appreciate the sparkle of snow, the warmth of your bed-nest, books and music and maybe people too. I love you all.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

the dog days aren't over yet

I love Christmas: it's my favourite time of year. Christmas makes me peaceful inside, it makes me contemplative and satisfied and dreamy but in a good way. The smell of pine trees and cinnamon keeps the monsters at bay and the sight of snow in the branches of the trees and the Christmas lights (they make me feel safe and loved: I wrap them around everything in my room and I am happy) whisks the crazy away. Even the crazy-books can't disturb my quiet happiness. And God knows I need the crazy-books.

It's during the holidays that I know that I love you and care about you and everything is going to be okay. And that I love a lot of people just like that.

And then, when Christmas is over... The happiness dies. And it's so ridiculous because I know I will make myself unhappy and I don't do anything to avoid it... But I guess if anyone will understand be that's you, my faithful readers.

Friday, November 26, 2010

don't stop

I won't stop listening to music because my head pounds. Music is worth the pain.

I won't stop reading because my eyes burn. Books are worth the pain.

I won't stop dreaming because reality stings. Dreams are worth the pain.

I won't stop living because my heart is hurting. Life is worth the pain.

Isn't it?

are you happy?

Have you heard anyone but a child ask if someone was happy? Not just in a given situation, but generally, globally? Maybe only sweet, innocent children can handle the truth, because adults prefer to avoid any potentially awkward situation or have to do more than just appear to care.

Am I an adult or a child?

It snowed today: I am so glad and relieved. It felt like the clouds in the sky were accumulating snow and building up pressure and I thought they might pop and the tension in my head was palpable... And then I wonder why I imagine things to make myself uncomfortable. Like when I try to look into the eyes of my reflexion in the car window- no, i am not only staring at the passing trees and fields- because I think I can read something there, but they are empty, hopelessly empty and void of shine or beauty, staring back at me and making me feel just as empty and worthless, and I start to feel frustrated, and there's a lump in my throat and vertigo in my stomach and why do trivial things affect me so?

What I meant to write was lately your posts have been a bit of a guiding light for me: since I cannot live my own life- lack of strength/lack of talent/lack of interest/lack of everything- I am living yours and your beautiful words are soothing. Yes I am a horrible person because yes you are sick and unhappy at times and yet I still read, passive, not reaching out, when I should jump on a plane and give you a hug or some flowers or maybe a really big and soft blanket you can wrap around your body thrice. (Blankets are always too small- netherless they are essential so only my fingers are icy while I type)

It's been an eventful week. Not my own life, of course, which is as dreary as ever, a reflection of the one living it -ha- but in the lives of the people who surround me. My father is got engaged, but I don't believe in mariage anymore. Or having children really. I don't want to blame my parents for my so-called insanity (really it's only a pretention- but it is truly sick to pretend to yourself that you're insane... right?) but I can't put anyone through this. And I can't be responsible or consistent or selfless enough to be a good parent. I know this now and I accept it. I am looking forward to a life of studies and work and books and maybe hopefully helping some people.

Something happened to me last weekend. I was peaceful. I spent an entire day browsing in a bookstore and playing hockey with my, let's say it like it is, step-brother... I was so calm and confident in the future and serene. I thought I was getting better somehow and that life was great but I had to make the effort to appreciate and maybe I could do more things for the people I love... but the feeling is gone. The energy and the optimism and the perfect serenity, gone the next day like it never happened. Is there a secret recipe for happiness?

I am not happy... but really it must be entirely my fault.

bones bones bones
get out of my head
(i know i want to be skinny again)
(but i don't know if i will)
(ever)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

not enough

I listen to Our Lady Peace on a loop because it makes me think of you and it makes me cry.

Why I want this I do not know. It's like everything else I want. Pointless and petty.

the doctor said i'm anorexic

In a strictly physical way, of course. I still eat way too much just like everyone else.

Just so you know, I was right. I was dead and you were alive because

YOU CAN'T BE DYING IF YOU'RE DEAD
DYING MEANS YOU'RE ALIVE

You're alive

Saturday, November 6, 2010

weighing less than 50 kilograms

Makes me feel like I'm going somewhere. Which I'm not.

I'm thinking of studying quantum physics. And russian litterature. And moving to Norway. Possibly. Taking up martial arts, and maybe writing again. Maybe.

But we all know I'll never do any of that. It's like days come and go, and then they're gone, and nothing has changed. Everything is stagnant and I can't wash the foul odor of rot out of my thoughts. I could say it's time for a revolution but it's not; I don't have the drive for it anymore.

I guess maybe you're right and it's not my fault and we are going to be okay. But somehow I can't believe it, and you never even said that we would be fine. I guess we never have been.

Is there something I'm supposed to do with my life right now? I kind of want something new but the opportunity isn't there and I'm too scared/stuck/angry/confused to reach out for it. OR I am too busy making excuses for myself. That's more likely.

But there is that insignificant part of me that still wants to write lists and achieve things and meet people. It's there and it's a timid little thing. Maybe I can start by getting off this computer and reading that 700 page book. Or find inspiration in your lovely blogs.

When I feel like someone's listening, things just seem better. I am sort of peaceful right now, a little bit blue, but a little bit hopeful. Thanks for reading ladies.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

i am edgar-allan-poe mad

My entire life seems petty now. How can I enjoy myself, get angry or be scared of anything at all after this. How do you fucking get over this. I guess you don't. I guess this is karma. I guess this is what I get for being a terrible person.



I'm shaking again. Can shock affect your neurological system?

I feel like I have no one to turn to. Who will sympathize with a monster? This I must face alone.

So many words and emotions. Sometimes my brain pops out of the english language and I contemplate it all from an outsider's point of view. They are just sounds. Sounds and symbols. But they can hurt. They can kill.

--

Seeing you makes me want to shrink into the corner of my bedroom forever.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

i was so dreadfully wrong

I made a terrible mistake. I am not dead, I am very much alive.

If I was dead I wouldn't feel like this.

Conscience. Guilt. My fault. Vertigo vertigo. Falling down steps.

Dear God what am I going to do?

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

today i saw you everywhere, but was it you?



I kept seeing you at the corner of my eyes. A ghost, a GHOST! But you are not dead. I am.

Monday, October 25, 2010

in the blink of an eye

Part of me wishes I could take it all back. I feel guilty, I feel hurt and I miss you so much. If only I was completely selfish. Or completely selfless. One or the other, not both. It wouldn't hurt so much. And all the whining in the world won't change a thing. Why is it everyone I love leaves me? Worst, that I make them leave me? What is wrong with my head? I thought I was in control; I am not in control. I am sick, I am sick, sick... Dear God what will I do...

I will be selfless.
I will be selfless.
I will be selfless.

I will lose my self. I have already lost myself. These are only words, I only have words. Words that hurt and betray. Words can't only bring people closer they can cut you off. They are the deadliest weapon, and they are so easy to use, it's so easy to hurt you and I gave in... to my good side?

This is a mess. How can you resent something you did to yourself?

--

It's taken away even the words.Words are rivers and thoughts are oceans and my head is dry and coarse. Desertic. November is here.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

but i found the tell-tale heart was mine


« I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. » Will I smother my own heart to quiet its mad beating?

everyone has a secret, can't i keep a few?


When I was twelve years old I found pornographic pictures on my father's computer. I cried for days and days. I didn't understand why they would be there. I deleted them. I found a video tagged XXX, mixed in with my sister's cassettes, I threw it out. I saw the school counselor and she made me burn a letter adressed to him. I never wrote it, I didn't tell her, the enveloppe was empty, I couldn't find the words.

Ever since, I've been writing. Ever since, I've been burning letters. At school, I learned that destruction was a way to cope with your problems.

I still do not understand.

and please don't forget I'm a terrible liar


and half the things I say aren't true. You probably will never read this but I still do need you. Alive and well and happy. Not tortured, not turned into flimsy ashes that can't withstand even the weakest breeze. I am no good for you, damn it. You know it's true. You know the crazy comes back stronger when I'm around you; don't lie to me, because I feel that way too. Now your ghost and my guilt will haunt me forever, but I'm hoping you will get on with your life. Maybe one of us can be saved.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

and i hope this warning will save you


I don't know what I'm hoping for- if I am still capable of feeling hope- or how you will react to the changes in me. Maybe you'll be annoyed by my antics and finally give up? Maybe you will realize the futility of trying to salvage this soul of mine, that is bent and torn and sown together with large uneven stitches and scraps of recycled material, an image of the body which contains it? Or- even better- you'll see me for who I am, and watch me sink into the hell I knowingly and willingly created for myself, waving a handkerchief, whispering "bon voyage", sickly-sweet? This could happen if you had even the smallest crumb of a desire for self-preservation, but you don't. Or am I being conceited or boastful, thinking the affection I have for you and that which you claim to have for me is strong enough to have a fatal consequence? I have too many questions and you are seeking answers. I am a spark and you seek water, and you've found its softness in the caress of its delicate waves but part of you is still burning, you are so very combustible, so very influenced by those you love, and I have taken advantage of this to lodge the flame of my fury in the cracks that run through your soul. You are burning inwards, the damage unseen by your forgiving eyes. When the smoke begins to billow out in soft tuffets of greys and browns it will be too late.

I tell you to beware of treacherous seas but they are your best refuge from fire. It will be dark without its light but you can close your eyes when you're underwater. Let the swift currents be your guide, you who are blind and delusionnal.

so many things I hadn't broken, shattered


I don't mean to hurt you. You just need to go away, leave now. There are too many things that I can break. Too many people I can betray. Please do not be one of them.These impulses are inside me and I know they are stronger than I'll ever be. I am scared!

I so desperately want to escape to my dreamland of books and music and open spaces. But now they provoke me because I am not worthy of beautiful things. You have always given me words and sounds and beauty, and the harder I try to get away from you, the more I receive. Furious I am left with the burnt pages of printed-out messages and the clippings of what used to be my earphones. I can't stand the things I love anymore.

You're next.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

i wish i had somewhere to feel safe

I know I haven't posted in a while. Things have been, well, hard. But the kind of hard that just seems like a constant struggle, that hides behind forced laughs, false apologies and smiles that don't reach the eyes. I am so tired, I am so weary of fighting everything. I can't find the energy to explain what is going on. You understand, right? I don't want to desert you. But there's something wrong, terribly wrong.. I'm stuck, don't you see? I am trapped, a wild animal in a cage, hysterical. You tell me, there are no walls, there are no iron bars. But there are. You are my wall, my bar, my cage. You and all of my friends and my family and my acquaintances. I am trapped in this body, in this personnality, in this life because of your conception of me. Can't you see? I can be anything I want to be. I could wake up tomorrow morning and become someone else. Become me. But I can't. You won't let me. You and everyone else, you want me to stay the same, always. Tell me, what is wrong with inconsistency? Why can't I be two, three, ten people at once? Why can't I be invisible when I want to, or the center of attention? Why can't I cry, and then laugh, and then scream? Why is that wrong? If I want to cry, and laugh, and scream, why would you prevent me from doing so? You can't tell me how to be happy. Maybe that isn't even what I want. You can't tell me what is right and wrong because I am all-powerful in my mind and I live by my own moral rules. Why am I stuck in this iron-cast mold, with my future poured in the dullest concrete? Why do you expect so much of me? To walk into a room, greet the people I know, join in the conversation, smile politely, be interested? Why can't I kick in the door, sing at the top of my lungs, then hide in a corner and think out loud, and say things like they are? Why would acting like that land me in a nuthouse? Maybe you're the nut. And I love you, but it's killing me, being trapped. The real me, not the one you've conceived in your mind, the one that makes you feel safe and loved and important, she doesn't exist, it's all in your head! Only what's in my head matters to me! But that isn't true. Because if it did I wouldn't care about your feelings. And I do. But I don't need you anymore. I don't need you to hold me up or to tell me what to do. There is something building up and it's going to be big. If I am stuck for too long, I am going to break out of this place and I won't care who gets hurt. That is what I'm becoming. Insensitive. Unforgiving. Selfish. Hateful. Furious.

Because fury is the only thing that will keep me alive. Strong. Willing to live and exist and be. You've noticed, you've seen the change in my eyes or in my words. Soon it'll be the only thing that drives me. An animal that is trapped and scared will lash out at anyone. Madness. My compassion is dying. I don't want to hurt you. Won't you stop pulling me in?

Sunday, September 26, 2010

why is everybody

SO CALM? How can everyone be so contained, and rationnal, and BORED? We are breathing and the air is cold and it rushes in and out of our lungs and it feels like opportunity, the leaves are bright reds and yellows and still some greens and we are BREATHING little leaf particules and we are BREATHING the crisp fall air and everything is being redefined. In the instant of a breath we are reborn, the edges are sharpened, my vision is sharper, my goals are sharper. I want to run, run, run, not away but towards you. I want to want and I need to need and I live to live. I am starving to starve. I am everything twice over and how can one NOT be overwhelmed? Colors and shapes and smells and feelings, they are all there, so vivid, so innocent, unscathed, how did I not see them before? In the fall I become an explorer. An athlete. A whirlwind, sometimes, a thunderstorm, maybe. I wouldn't mess with a thunderstorm. I need this now. I need to not be on the computer except to hear from you. And maybe tell you a few things. I need to stop erasing and start racing and it's not a race against time, it's only going as fast as I can to be the most I can at once, it's a race against immobility, it's a race for being a lot of things at once; a race against ce qui est immuable, because I do not know the english word for that. And I should! And I will. Race, race, race. Run, run, run. I haven't done this in a long time. And I don't remember why.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

a guilty conscience

it eats its way out from your heart and you collapse into yourself.

i want to fade into the background. i want the ground to open up and suck me into some other dimension where i can count flowers or draw clouds for the rest of my existence.

i want to get out. i want to be alone.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

let's give this another shot

You know what? I've had enough. I don't want to be "sane", I don't want to be "happy", I don't want to be "healthy" anymore. Screw your misconceptions. I am allowed to have my own conceptions and my own vision and my own perspective. You are not allowed to qualify me or anything in my place. I qualify what I want how I want to. You cannot choose what I call thin or fat or beautiful or wrong. You can't. I have my own mind and my own subjectivity. You call what I want dying, worse, killing myself, you define me as more beast than human, but you are wrong. YOU are killing the human in me. This is so much more than just being myself. It's just being. And I'm so fucking tired of hating myself for being. I will live by my own standards. And if you don't think I can, just watch me. I am taking a stand. I have my own dreams, my own expectations, my own priorities. Subjectivity is what makes me a person. I am allowed to be different, to see differently, to laugh at things that are "shocking" or cry at things that are meant to be "pleasant", or "entertaining", or "practical". I want to be thin, I want to be MY thin, just like you want to make eighty grand a year and live in a mansion and drive some fancy sportscar. And if you think I'm ridiculous, just imagine what I think of you. You won't make me one of you. I will NOT be average. I will be above average by all of my standards. And maybe, when you'll see that I've beaten you all, when you see that you don't have your own standards, when you finally come to realize that you are living a life defined by mediocrity, when you find your own skills and dreams ridiculed and beat down and thrown into a sewer by those you thought were your allies, maybe you'll understand. Not that I care, hopefully I'll be long gone by then.

I will live by my own standards and no one else's. Try and stop me.

Friday, September 10, 2010

right now

Right now I am at school. Right now I should be happy, because the sun is shining and there's a cool wind blowing through my hair, twisting it around my face. I should not be bothered by my reflection on the screen. But I am not happy. And it does bother me. School was like liberation to me, it was freedom to speak and think and learn, and now I am stuck in this mess, and I don't understand how I feel, or why I feel it, all I know is that it's wrong. It has never been easier just to give up living than it is right now, I am fighting a losing battle, because I am on both sides of it so no one can win...

I know somewhere in my brain that I am losing brain. I register it, just a fact, like so many others. But sometimes it creeps up on me, when I am startled by my reflection in a window or by the sudden heaviness and thickness of my arm. Everyone and everything seems so mundane and it makes me feel all alone in the world, which is why I come back crawling to you, as always, my fellow bloggers. I want to stop feeling again. I want to stop THIS feeling. School has driven away the anxiety, a little, and the pain, a little, but it has amplified the violence inside me and it has amplified this feeling that I am not meant to have. I am usually driven by this strange combination of thought, logic and instinct that is common among us teenagers but now none of those can help me. I am stuck, I am frozen in terror, I am freezing in ice. It is getting colder and colder and I want to be active and I want to be cold at the same time. I don't know if you get what I mean. I don't. I say things and I don't know what they mean or where they are from.

So, to counter this excess of self-deprecation and regrets and guilt, I write to you. I admire the foliage of our might Canadian trees, all vibrant greens and yellows. Soon the forest will be alight with the colors of fire and I will get lost in the woods time and time again. I will walk and walk and walk and think and admire and walk and panic because I don't know where I am and find my way back. eventually, covered in mud and leaves and needles and sap. That is my element, nature is my element. It is beautiful here.

Maybe if I focus on writing and reading and music and trees and wind I will forget about feelings and violence and hatred and love. Maybe if I fed on the smell of dirt and decomposing leaves, the pollen in the air and the words from my books instead of fat and hatred and pain, I would be a healthier person. But then again health is only a perception, it is subjective, like beauty. Can't I have my own standards of thin and beautiful and healthy and pure? Who are they to tell me they are right and I am wrong? Who are they to say they are sane, and I'm not quite insane, I'm too dull for that, but just unusual and peculiar. Enough to alienate but not to be interesting. Oh joy.

Why are so many opposed to thin? Why is it worst to be thin than to be fat? Why are the obese victims and the anorexic villains, and then the obese evil and the anorexic innocent, each in turn, however they like? There are so many misconceptions in the world and those who keep them alive know how to use them to their advantage. I think we are all victims somehow. The overly obese and thin allow the average person to feel better about themselves. The obese are irresponsible and helpless creatures, and we are vile, superficial beings who try to suck others into this fatal vortex. God forbid the average person should be condemned for anything at all.... Wow, I'm really just rambling here, and my English is terrible today, my apologies.

School is boring too. If you're going WAAAAAH?!?! impossible! then you are a nerd like me. Yay! But seriously, the people in my classes are morons. PLEASE all join me in my philosophy class! I honestly don't know how many more moronic answers I can take from these overgrown apes. You'd think I was exagerating but I'm NOT. It's so bad that I can't even exagerate! My imagination is litterally bouche-bée by the idiocy of my class-mates. Aaaah life is weird sometimes.

This is my resistance. I always say ours because it feels safer, but really, it is mine.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

why are withered flowers beautiful?

My skin is dry and my lips are chaped, but it feels like home. My hair and my nails are brittle, I feel my health is failing, slowly, I envision myself caving in, receeding, shrinking, disappearing. Fall is coming, whimsical fall. Spring is to birth as fall is to Death, but only Death is capitalized. I am not eating and not hungry, then eating and nauseous, too very nauseous. I am so close to that one-hundred-pound barrier, so close, and even closer now. I pretend not to notice, I pretend it isn't on purpose, but I am edging ever closer to that fine line between health and disease, between sanity and insanity. More and more I think of it, I can already taste it, barely touch it, I am almost there... Some things aren't important anymore. Mother, not important, her feelings are not to be considered, because she wants this as much as I do. Friends, not important, they have their own problems to tend to. Driving, not important. Happiness, not important. I am losing everything I hold onto; either it leaves me of its own accord, or I turn against myself, and the splendor is gone, the interest is gone, the attachment is gone, and I leave it. Under the guise of modern poetry I can get away with everything. Books school running thoughts writing music, important. Must resist the attempts to guilt me into breaking down. Must resist the nighttime panic attacks. Must resist this loss, this new-come loss, must survive the mourning, must find a way around the pain, around the fear, around the past the future the now, around my body, around what is wrong, and it is so wrong, and around the loss. This is my game and I play by my rules, what I say goes, and if I say truths are lies and lies are truths then they are. I don't need to believe in anyone but myself, because I have my own world and no one needs to know. No one needs to know anything at all. That is the key. The stillness and the frenzy and the panic and the violence and the hatred they will all blend into one simple desire, the desire to end all desires in the most beautiful way. I want to know why withered flowers are beautiful. I think this might be the way.

Friday, August 27, 2010

when did health become a product?

When did beauty become a sin.

When did time become a luxury.

What kind of world is this.

A world in which you starve to find the truth?
A world in which you starve to never conform to it.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

brain activity

I am still alive. Only busy. At school. Which is the best thing of my life right now. And that's a good thing, even if it sounds bad. I'm a nerd! I love being a nerd. I would write more but right now I am ALL OVER the place and frantic and my brain wants to do physics and calculus and philosophy homework and I'm ECSTATIC people. I feel like I had a million coffees, this is absolutely crazy. Working makes me happy, clearly.

Well, I'm off to do something productive enough to satisfy my brain now. Also, I think boring you to death might put a damper on my good mood. Which would be unfortunate, since they're pretty sparse nowadays. Bwaha I just made an immature remark in my head. Wow I need to get rid of this energy.

Toodles! I love you all to bits and pieces and shreds and crumbs and OKAY THAT'S ENOUGH

Sunday, August 22, 2010

tomorrow

Tomorrow I start school at what we Quebecers call a "cegep". I can't wait. I am what some would call an intellectual, and others a nerd; I love school and learning and anything that allows me to use my brain constructively. During school, everything is about studies and sports and socializing sometimes and I am RID of this dreadful spare time. Summer is too long a season; constantly I yearn for my vacation to come to an end and for cooler temperatures. Today it is cool and I feel fresh and alert. If my knee will allow it I think I will start running again. That would make me a very happy person.

Something about pencils and highliters and lined papers and schoolbooks makes me nostalgic and optimistic. It's the start of another great year, I will work very hard and I will be proud of what I've achieved, even if it will never be enough. I love the challenge of school: it's beating yourself every time, and going further than you expect. It's dedication and tuning up and paying attention to every detail, learning a little more every day. Every class is interesting in its own particular way if you think of nothing but the knowledge itself; forget the teacher if he or she is boring, forget the classroom if it is drab or a sickening hospital green, and only has one narrow window. Forget the boy drooling on his desk, fast asleep, and the girl who polishes her nails, and the students who turn to look at the clock every ten, five or two minutes. They are nothing. There is only you and the knowledge and the process of learning and the feel of your bones.

How I wish it were thus all the time... If that even makes sense. Pouah. I need to back to school. :)

Happy, happy, happy. This feels good. I love you girls!

Friday, August 20, 2010

this is so fucking wrong

Pardon the language. But I can't believe what I am doing. I belong in a freaking soap opera, some teenage high-school drama.

I am in love with the wrong person and it's driving me crazy. But what can I do?

Listen to Fiona Apple. Read the Illustrated Man by Ray Bradubury. Even if it makes me anxious and panicky, because it's beautiful and that's what matters. Keep up with my fellow bloggers because I love you so much. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I am confused and scared and lost and hurt. I don't know where I am and I don't know where to go. I am like a child in a supermarket but the aisles contain only the weapons with which I will hurt him. And I am scared as I slip one into my pocket, unnoticed, and leave.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

it's mickey.

He ran away, I think he's dead. I think it was the coyotes, in the rain, in our backyard. I think it was the loneliness, and the confusion, and the fright.

Mickey is my friend. He was. He isn't, not anymore. It's hard to accept that I'll never see him again. That I never said good-bye. That he lived a life so short. And Mia and Casper and Jake, they will miss him. And I will miss him. He was special, smart, incredibly devious. I was his favourite. His favourite human.

It was my fault. He went missing and I went to look for him and I gave up. Because of the rain. Because my wrists were swollen from the banging. Because I was tired. I could have saved him. It's my fault, my fault. Mickey, it's my fault if you died.

Mickey was my cat. If he is dead, may he rest in peace. If you aren't.. please come back!
I love you.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

the anxiety



How do you know that things exist? Can one define existence? Is there even such a thing? Can existence exist? Does non-existence exist? You see, when you say the same word time and time again, it loses all meaning. Exist, existence, exists, non-existence, exist, exist, exist. Five silly little letters. No. Sounds. No. Ideas. No. Nothing.

When I am asleep, I have dreams. I see and hear and feel and think and care. Why is that not living? Why is in not my life? Why is it wrong to say that two nights ago I was married to an ordinary stranger? That I was in a library, that shifted into another? You might be thinking, it is impossible, but how could it be if it happened? When I am dreaming I do not know that I am dreaming, maybe I am even deprived of free will, but maybe I am not, because in my dream world free will may be something else, in the dream world things are everything at once and why wouldn't that be? In my dreams time stretches and compresses and five seconds go by, and then a century, but things no longer have speed, they are not slow or fast, they just happen, they just are. Just like in our world. Things happen. Or they don't. And that's just fine.

And the thing is, I could be dreaming right now. And I wouldn't know. Because it is just the same as living. And if you tell me dreams are unreal, only figments of my imagination, meant to please the senses while my body replenishes, then this is also unreal, since I cannot distinguish it from my dreams. How much of what I do or think or feel or perceive is my own creation, unseen by anyone else? A tenth, a fifth, half, three quarters? If I say a dresser is a tiger, how can you prove me wrong? It may be a dresser to you, a tiger to me, a tree to another, and something we aren't even conscious of for someone else. They are only ideas after all. And do ideas exist? Are we only ideas?

If words only appear when I set eyes on them, people only speak when I am within hearing range, just like thoughts and ideas are born spontaneously in my mind, how can I not be anxious?

This is the anxiety. It is knowing I am nothing but an idea. Nothing but my mind. But what if my mind is poisonned and mangled? I am in a cage and there is no way out because there is nothing else. My mind creates the fear of the future and the pain from the past. In the present there is the anxiety. In the present I am me and I am the anxiety.

This is what makes me still, my eyes wide-open, staring into nothing. This is what makes me shudder during the day and squirm at night. This is knowing that I don't know what can save me. This is knowing that I don't know. This is not the lack of faith, this is the faith in nothing.

This is the anxiety.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

How much I ate today.
What I should have eaten today.
How I feel right now.
.
I have 24 books to read in seven days. They're about physics and mathematics and inventions gone wrong and the food industry and people at sea and capitalism. I will read and not eat, like I did in February.
.

Let's take it up a notch.

jello for brains





I cannot wait for college. Why? My brain does not live on food, or fat, or whatever it is that it's supposed to need: it lives on what I learn. And even if, during the summer, I can read a book a day, easily, it's not enough. My brain is turning to jello and I can't take it! I am not craving brownies or bread or pasta, I am craving mathematics and physics and chemistry and litterature and this silly class on the influence of the media in politics that I picked at random. When I am at school, I am a student. I am also a girl, a teenager, a friend, a lunatic, but mainly I am a student. And loving what you are is nice for a change, isn't it?

This is one of the reasons why I want to become a surgeon. I love school, I love learning, I love challenges. I guess I'm okay at it too, not the best in any of my classes, but definitely over average. I want to study for years and years, and then have a job that keeps me insanely busy and on the brink of exhaustion. Until I want to have a life of some sort. If I still even have friends by then!
Oh and, incidentally, I believe I have fallen in love with the wrong person again. Ha. I wish it was only incidental. Gah. It's terrible.

It's about being thin again. It's about the lack of food and sleep and dreams. If I always run on a deficit there's no time to be crazy. No energy. Is this really what I want?

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

there's a reason she's called apple

I don't know if I have a fever, or if I'm having some sort of anxiety attack, but tonight I am jittery beyond anything I've ever known. I'm tearing at my hair, at my skin, at my lips; my eyes dart to shiny objects, sharp corners, frightening heights. I need to hurt something. Anything. Does anyone know how to make it stop? I listen to Fiona Apple so I can learn to word my insanity, but it has no words, which is why it's impossible to stop. Am I crazy? The anxiety is crawling in and I have no where to hide, no one to turn to... Oh please oh please make it stop I don't know what to do anymore even the music won't help even the writing won't help maybe if I hit my head against the wall? I can't stand it, the jitterness, the jumping, the inner screaming, the vertigo, oh the overwhelming vertigo, it's everywhere in every bone and every joint to the point where it hurts and my head feels like it's going to explode. It's the pressure point of my body and the only thing holding me together but all I can think of is how great it would feel to drill a hole into my skull and remove of all the darkness, the dark matter, it's pushing at my insides, at the seams of my mind, and it's oh so tattered and I don't know how long it will hold. This is insane. This isn't even about being thin anymore. Or beautiful. Or even normal. It's about surviving, it's about stopping the pain and the FEAR. I'm so scared oh what is happening to me, but even more so of what will happen next, it can only get worst, it always does. It gets worse and worse every year and every day and I don't know how to put an end to it. HA. That is a lie. I know many many ways to put an end to it. But I'm hoping I won't resort to such drastic measures, will I? Am I even hoping? I just don't care anymore, I'll do anything for the pain to stop, for the fear to cease, I don't even know where one ends and the other begins, they're just this huge entity that's devouring my soul and I don't think I will sleep tonight

help me save me make it stop
i'm alone

Sunday, August 8, 2010

have you ever


Have you ever thought the sky was a black cloth, and the stars were holes? That the light from the stars came from beyond this cloth, beyond the holes, from a different place, something larger? Have you ever thought the stars were windows giving on another world?

Have you ever wished to disappear? Have you ever thought about what it meant to exist? If no one knows I'm alive, if I am part of nobody's conscience, do I exist? Can I be conscious of the world without it being conscious of me?

Have you ever found yourself unable to accept that you existed? Have you ever realized that you would keep fighting, if for no more reason than not understanding it? Have you ever noticed how existence is larger than life, and that dying is not disappearing? Because of conscience.

Have you ever seen that you do not belong anywhere? That you are ageless, yet always too young or too old? That you are both unique and ordinary, like nothing else and just like everybody? Have you ever noticed that your thoughts have become like a book, and that they have cut you off from what you used to think was life, society?

Have you ever gazed at the stars and wondered what could be found beyond them? Have you ever wished you could be there, instead of here, instead of now? Have you ever been unsatisfied by time and space? Have you ever wondered how they could determine who was insane?

I have.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

just to prove I'm still alive

And reading every one of your words. Mine are too tangled up to make any sense.


I know I'm basically INVITING hainous anonymous comments on my hugeness. But now you know I exist. Which you probably wish you didn't know now. HA. Weak attempt at humour. Gotta love 'em.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

apologies

I know my posts haven't been very interesting lately, nor did they contain any information at all. I'm stuck in a rut, and I'm not quite sure what to do about it. Lately, my days mostly consist of reliving the past, both the good and the bad times (mostly the bad). It's completely useless, mostly depressing, and it's making me restless with grief... What I wanted to say, is I'm trying to move on, I'm working on it, and I'm sorry if I don't comment or post as much any more. I still love you all, and read all of your posts, religiously. And I will be back to my former self, soon.

This isn't a good-bye or anything, I will still post. I just wanted to make all of this clear.

Food-wise, well, I haven't been focusing on food too much lately. Mostly on self-loathing. Yech.

But I don't loathe you, haha!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

self-deprecation, or the proper use of synonyms

I am not fat, I am abdominous, paunchy, pot-bellied, blubbery, chubby, embonpoint, plump, buxom, zaftig, zoftig, corpulent, obese, weighty, rotund, double-chinned, jowly, loose-jowled, dumpy, podgy, pudgy, tubby, roly-poly, fattish, fleshy, heavy, overweight, gross, porcine, portly, stout. Adipose, buttery, greasy, oily, sebaceous, oleaginous, suety, superfatted.

I am not worthless, I am
chaffy, good-for-nothing, good-for-naught, meritless, no-account, no-count, no-good, sorry, manky, negligible, paltry, trifling, nugatory, otiose, pointless, purposeless, senseless, superfluous, waste, drubbishy, trashy, valueless.

I am not cruel, I am
barbarous, brutal, fell, roughshod, savage, vicious.

I am not unhappy, I am lovesick, miserable, suffering, wretched, dejected, discontented, discontent, dysphoric, distressed, infelicitous, joyless, sad, sorrowful, depressing, cheerless, uncheerful.

I am not polite, I am a liar.

I am not realistic, but I am sincere. I am no longer passive, I am static.

Get me out of here.

" I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true. " - Dorothy Parker


Sunday, July 4, 2010

guilt, or the sudden movements of my conscience

I thought that maybe, if I loved enough, if I listened to enough people, I could be worthwhile.

Was I ever wrong.

How have I not seen this before? How mean and selfish a person I am? How I keep people close and push them away, ever pushing and pulling, always crying because they leave me, when really I am the sadistic manipulative one. When really I am leaving them, I am hurting them. Only because I can. I bite and I snap and I hate, and I wonder why nobody likes me, I pretend I am a martyr, but really all I hate is myself, and I'll do anything to deny I am a failure.

If I killed myself right now, would the people I've sucked into the blackhole that I am be blamed? Even in death, which would be the greatest justice, I hurt those selfless and wreckless enough to care.

I am everything I don't want to be. Especially, I am alive, while other, better people, are dying. Clearly there is something wrong here. And simply being too small for my size zero jeans isn't enough. There is so much more that needs to be done, if I want to be worthy of anything at all.

Don't try to be a hero and save me. Don't. Because I am selfish enough to pull you down with me, I am, I will.

---

What would I do without you girls?

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

trust, or how to calm a grieving heart


There is something very peaceful about holding the hand of a boy for whom you feel nothing but the purest friendship, the most intense sympathy, the greatest care. I leave you with this, I will be back on Saturday.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

hiatus

I have been in this dreamy state of mind of the late. I'm am mostly tired, sometimes manic, rarely excited. I am living change like a break-up, never straying from my comfort zone. Everyday I hope I'm getting stronger, but really it's only this inertia digging deeper into my mind. I am embracing the same passiveness I usually abhor and avoid at all costs. Where am I? I think of a million things to write to you, but I forget them instantly, left with only a slight twinge of frustration. But not even this will free me from sloth. I usually choose jealousy.

Where am I now? Where am I heading? Constantly, I make what I think are brilliant allusions to french playrights, and they go unnoticed. Why do I bother? I usually choose to ponder upon these questions, but now, I find myself annoyed and slightly bored. Somebody needs to get me out of this. No. I need to get myself out of this.

This is going nowhere.

Friday, June 25, 2010

this is a little funny

Would you like to hear something funny?

When I do not do as I am told, my mother forbids me to eat. Isn't that grand? Isn't it hilarious? Oh the irony!

Truly I have gone mad.


Sunday, June 20, 2010

abysmal, or the infinite capacity to feel for

Yesterday I purchased The Collected Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. This morning, I woke up with a knot in my throat and needles in my knees. Presently I am in hiding, in my nest, contemplating the beauty of nature as I watch the kitten sleep.

Last week was the end of an era in my life. So many people look forward to change.

I can handle change. But not when I'm leaving. Not if what I love becomes a memory. I can't handle memories. It kills me to see them fade.

I was born with a hole in my chest. Maybe we're all born this way. Or maybe I am a mutant. Who knows.

I fill this abyss with people and places and words and dreams. People who leave me, places I have to leave, words that lose all meaning and dreams and desires that turn to venom. I am constantly falling in love with a million different things; a tree, a bird, a lonely face, a sentence, a scent, a tense, a twinkle, a speck of dust. Always I am in love, because it gives meaning to my life and purpose to my achievements. I need those things to live for. Because I cannot live for myself.

Some people live selflessly, and that is why they care for others. I am selfish to the core, because I care to save myself. It's natural for me, a reflex, instinctive.

What if I feel too much compassion?

What if I'm only crazy because I need to feel everything for everyone?

What if I

Monday, June 7, 2010

sickness, or how my body is poison(ned)

My body is poison, distortion, contusion, implosion. There are too many drugs rushing through my veins, racing through my arteries and clouding up my mind.



I am too much, I am more than I can handle. Yet I am not enough to matter. After 100km of biking, my body failed me, again. I cannot follow anything through, am I a dead end?




I pretend I am fine, I pretend I am whole, like so many of you poor broken things. I pretend I am sane while I read 6th century english poetry, in a tree, sucking on bits of ice. But really I am trying to lose myself in the beauty of what I read. Really I am only smiling because I cut the inside of my mouth on a shard of ice. To hurt yourself is not passive.


.
We are all sick, Humanity is sick. Now we can choose to deny it, to become limp, mindless lumps of bones and adipose tissue. I have chosen to confront my reality, my existence, and feel the poison in me. It is what I do every time I post. And it is what you all do when you choose to confront your inner demons, to admit they exist. Admitting is not accepting. Isn't this admirable? Isn't this right?


Yes, we are all poison(ned). Poison for ourselves, poison for those we dislike, and poison for those we love. But we are still human, and I am still human. Because I still think, and question, and write. Because I love you all.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

mortuary, or how the world is only death

That is a fallacy. The word death implies some sort of action, whereas existence is passive.


I live in a world of corpses. Of still-borns. I am the only person on earth.
.

Today I saw a bird run up the roof of an abandonned house, and I thought, how odd. It was the most pertinent thought in the last week of my existence. Because really nothing else could be more true. Except for the rain.

I don't want to exist. I don't want to be. I don't want to starve. I want more than this passiveness.

And they wonder why death is so alluring.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

anything is better than this

even starving.

I've never felt so alone... It was expected to happen.

Ladies and gentlemen (mostly ladies), Jillian will be back soon.

Wether this is a good thing I am unsure. All I know is I missed you all so much!

Saturday, May 1, 2010

why don't you just bind my hands and shove me into a well

I thought it would be possible to recover, when they told me I was sick.. That it wasn't because I wasn't eating, but that if I didn't, I would never get better. I thought it would be possible when they told me I may not be able to walk, ever, if I didn't get better. I thought I could recover when they told me it was the only way I would have anything close to a normal life.

How can you NOT starve when, at five feet six inches and 117 pounds, your mother tells you you're overweight? How can you NOT fast when your little sister keeps bragging and reminding you she's more toned, slimmer, curvier, pretty AND lighter than you? And that there's fat on your thies and on your stomach? When all of this happens the same day?

I thought I could be crazy but without destroying myself. Somehow I thought the crazy would just fade away.

There isn't much light at the bottom of a well. I try to keep my head above the water but my weight is pulling me down, and I'm not even dying, only drowning, forever drowning.

Au secours, je me noie, je me noie, il y a de l'eau noire dans mes poumons, dans ma tête et dans mon coeur. Je ne suis qu'un cadavre qu'on a possédé d'une force sadique qui cogne dans mon corps et rit à chacun de mes gémissement. Mais on ne veut pas me libérer de mon bourreau...

Alors je le ferai moi-même.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

obituary

It has been confirmed following an in-depth autopsy that Picture Perfect has died from neglect. Its owner, Jillian, has been convicted of premeditated blog-slaughter.

I love all of you girls. But this isn't working out. I am still following. I am still starving. I am still fat. But my words are choking me.

I've never had a comment. My blog has zero incidence on anyone's life but my own. Oh well. It's over now anyways.

This post sounds like a letter of resignation. Completely void of beauty or feeling. This was meant to be a love note.

I love my 26 beautiful followers. I love Anise. I love Ana's Girl. Little Dandelion Girl. Kemper. MJ. HUSH that doesn't come around as often anymore. I miss Bella. I believe that every meaningful sentence you read changes your soul. You have all changed me for the better. Thank you so much.

Adieu. Je vous aime. Et je pense à vous, toujours. Vous êtes belles!

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

motion sickness

Really, Jillian? Two stomach flus in five weeks, really? This is getting old. I can't even walk without getting motion sickness.

Ugh.

I should really write more, but I think I'll go shove my head in a toilet for another half-hour.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

nothing but goo

Today I am nothing but goo. I will melt into a puddle of organic substances and drip down the cracks in the hardwood floor. There will be nothing left of me but piles of books, a guitar covered in fingerprints and a few lonely scraps of paper covered in mathematic equations and written fragments of my soul.

Today I realized there is true pleasure in swallowing food. It is bliss.

Friday, January 22, 2010

come together, ana community!

I am watching Global's Hope for Haiti Now show, and I had this thought: I'd like to encourage all of my followers to send help to Haiti. It is truly a great cause and the victims of the quake really need our help.

Why the ana community? We are people with feelings. We can't compare our lives to the everyday struggles of the injured and the starving, but we know what it's like to be hungry. We know where the line between need and luxury is too well, and we know what side these people are. But most importantly, we know the tru value of support. We know what it's like to be alone and how amazing it is to find support in other people. We are a strong community and we know the value of solidarity. And isn't the world one big community?

And so, boys and girls, young and old, all disordered included, I invite you to donate to Hope for Haiti Now at www.hopeforhaitinow.org and give the support you wish you could have. Because you know they need it.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

pretend you don't see her

Do you see that girl, in the frosty, white dress?
The one who sits in the corner, gazing at the sky through the window,
Through her tears, with her bloodied eyes?
Do you see the bony girls in her books, in her mind?
Do you see the cuts on her neck, the teeth marks inside her mouth?
The ghosts inside her head?
Do you hear their voices whisper? Do you hear them howl?
Do you smell the blood that drips from her wrists
and the knife in her back?
Do you see the empty space around her? The empty space inside her?

Don't you see?
Can't you see?

Now there's blood on her teeth and knives in her eyes.
Now she is not still, she is frantic, she is blurry.
She is scratching at your face.
Do you see her?
Do you know her?
Now she shatters the windows with her bony books.
Now she tears her frosty, white dress
She wraps it around your neck.
Her bloodied white dress.
Can't you see her?
Don't you know her?

No one knows her anymore.
Just pretend you don't see her.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

need to get out of this rut

I have committed the crime of binge.

I can't stand myself. These hundred-some pounds of myself. In the morning, I have water. At lunch, hot water. For dinner, two helpings of whatever I'm havin plus bread plus crakers plus carrots plus plus plus. What is wrong with me? I know I've taken my working out up a few notches but this is ridiculous.

I ate a bowl of crackers half an hour ago. For breakfast, an orange. And a slice of banana bread. And a bowl of cereal. For lunch, vegetable soup. So much food. So much fat.

And worse of all, I learn today that one of the friends I thought I could trust blabbed to her circle of friends about my eating disorder. I was so stupid to think I was morth more than some juicy gossip. I don't deserve friends. And friends mean food.

All I have now is school. And books. And starving. And if I can just stick to that maybe I'll be happier. Someday.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

feeling like a vampire

I so so desperatly need to cut right now... It's ridiculous and useless and reckless and I haven't done it in months but this thought is looping in my head and I can't get anything done. It's like I've convinced myself I won't get skinny or successfully fill in my college applications or do any schoolwork until I cut, until I see blood.

I noticed something else: ever since I've dramatically decreased my calorie intake, my hands, which have always been a little cold, are freezing. My fingernails, on which some white spots have appeared, keep turning blue, then grey. It's a little disturbing. Does this happen to anyone else?

My thoughts are all over the place today. Blood. Cold. Dream.

I had this beautiful dream last night. I dreamt that, during an ice storm, I slipped on a blue satin dress. I was very thin and snow white and my hair was flying in the wind. I walked into the forest barefoot, and my skin started turning blue, my lips were purple, and each breath like a dagger in my lungs. Eventually I lay down by the creek in a bed of snow, and fell asleep in my dream... It felt like I was reading a poem.

Blue. Red. White.

Cupcakes. Water, water!

Have you ever experienced these flashes of beauty and thin? I'll be doing whatever and suddenly I'll catch a glimpse of my wrist or my ankle or my knee and it'll look dreadfully thin. But afterwards, in the blink of an eye, my body returns to its original, flabby state. These moments drive me, they are my thinspiration.

People staring at me, through me. Neon lights. Invisible.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

"Why are you even doing this?"

You HONESTLY think YOU are qualified to tell me I'm doing this for a reason? Willfully? That I even ever had a choice? Do you think you know what this feels like? Try waking up every morning hating every bone in your body. Try screaming inside every time you see your reflexion. Do you think it's pleasant, when everything you do is a contradiction? Do you think it's nice, when every move is a struggle between your body and your mind? When every second of every minute of every day, there's a voice in your head that whisperscreams you're a stupid, gross and fat loser? Have you ever had to deal with the constant urge to drive a knife through your chest, watch your blood drip to the floor, and step out of your skin? Is your strongest desire to feel your bones rip through your skin and to fade away until you disappear? I didn't think so. But once you live all of that, and you have someone whom in some crazy dellusion you thought you could trust come up and ask you why you're doing this, then and only then, come and tell me I chose this.