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.

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)

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

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.

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.