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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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.