the only solution?

I used to have so many things to say. Without hunger to anchor me down, I'm just dropping endlessly, without a purpose, without a grip. I need to get a grip. I need something real, something that's inside me and can't be faked. Something that depends on me and me only. Something I can control.

It's so obvious now. Textbook. Crystal clear.

I just really don't want to do it.

the vertigo

Can you tell me how to make it go away?

I feels like I'm constantly falling but I'm not so there is no end to this hell.

I am exhausted.

sleep

When I was a child and sleep eluded me, I remember praying to an unseen, unknown force for slumber. Sometimes I was scared of creepy-crawly monsters; sometimes, it was the stomach pains. Often, it was just the vertigo, the fear of fear, so discomforting it's almost painful. I cried and begged and pleaded for magic sleeping dust; I made offerings; I prayed to a christian god I've never believed in, the moon, the stars, my dead dog and cats, the trees, the sky and the creator of the universe. I clenched my body and pressed my eyes shut and prayed so hard that I shook. I would find sleep, eventually, exhausted from a night of true terror.

Sleep was my refuge. Insomnia was my nightmare.

Me, tired

I keep eating chocolate instead of meals. I keep crying myself to sleep. The holidays are not doing me much good.

I ran away from another party. If I don't belong with my friends so I belong anywhere at all? Cried in the driveway, cried in the car.

My father keeps letting his wife hurt me. He used to be the one person who'd never do me harm. I feel betrayed. Cried in bed, in the shower, outside in my meadow.

I don't know where I'm going, who I am or what I'm doing anymore. I don't want to see anyone. I want to sleep for a very long time and maybe read a little. I don't want to eat anymore because it makes me nauseous. I don't want to think this is a good reason to starve, I don't want to even have a reason to starve, but I do.

Please please please just let me sleep in peace

can't be with anyone

Can't fall asleep.
Can't study.
Can't stop the vertigo.

Sometimes my life is more what it isn't than what it is.

I am sinking, sinking, sank, sunk.



Not sure where I'm headed.

I can't be normal because I refuse to be normal. I wish I wanted to be normal.

I'm not sick I'm just stupid.

PS

Long bouts of isolation punctuated by failures in communication. That is what I meant to describe. Four books in one day and everything is very blurry.

disconnected (disinterested)

Reading too much, sleeping alternatively too much and too little. Nothomb, Sarraute, Zola, Stephen King, Edgar Poe, human anatomy, I make no distinction of the genre, time or space. My fix : intellectual stimulation of the senses.

My dreams are more vivid than reality. At night, I'm a champagne junkie and I wear real pearls ; I'm alone and it's fine. I eat fruit drizzled in balsamic vinegar. I lounge. The champagne flute is ice-cold in my hand.

In the words of Amélie Nothomb herself : « Le champagne est si froid que les bulles ont durçi. On a l'impression de boire de la poussière de diamants. »

My eyes are too dry, but I don't need to see anyone. When I walk outside, my legs feel like lead. Maybe it's the cold. Maybe I'm dying.

I never want to leave this place.

written in the dead of the night

Dear Nobody/Anybody/Everybody/You/Great Void of the Internet,

How can I be seventeen and full of regrets?

When I'm lonely and hopeless, I wish I hadn't become what I am today. It seems so much easier to be like the other girls, to drink at parties and sometimes be ditzy and meet boys and enjoy being around people

I am stuck in who you conceive me to be, this empty, boring shell of a person. You use my pride to keep me here and now and thus, in a state of blatant imperfection and marginality. I cannot change without giving up any pretense of sanity: you will not allow it. Are you my friend? Is this what you want?

I really do wish I could be a part of people. Rather than an outsider looking in.

I gave away my youth for my future. But I'm scared that I set myself up for nothing but failure: if I hit rock bottom, what will I hold onto?

My only hope lies in the tomorrows and the elsewheres. Please, I don't want to be a screw-up. I want to be happy and I want to be me, improved. Not this sad, inadequate loser.

Really, in the dead of the night, I just want to be anything but me right here right now.

How NOT to self-motivate (if you are even moderately sane)

I need to deserve to be alive. This isn't happening right now. I'm faced with the greatest decisions of my life and all I do is sleep and waste time and watch freaking television even if I've never liked it. Why why WHY

Get a move on you worthless, pathetic excuse for a human being GO

or I'll make you fat and lonely and lazy forever

it feels good to be

Alive! And healthy, finally, after four long, long weeks of disease and weakness and self-pity. Free at last to do whatever it is I do, that is, nothing important.

I feel like fasting forever. I feel like running around and going to school and reading for hours. It's been so long since I've felt like doing anything at all. Just for the sake of doing it.

On days like these I'm just invincible. Nothing can stop me unless I let it. Even when every plane of my existence is crumbling at the edges, I can prance around like it isn't happening because no one really knows and I don't really care.

I want to go some place new. I'm suffocating again. There are too many people in my life, but it's mine, so get out, get out, GET OUT! Away with you all. Let me read and breathe and be. Let me laugh because everything you think you know is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Amaris Starshine, your name says it all. You were meant to shine, and you do. But if you hide in a forest forever, you will grow dim and ordinary. And what shame it would be for all those with whom you could have crossed paths... We love who you are. With all our heart.

Maybe we shouldn't be disappearing. Maybe we should be growing brighter, our minds exalted at the expense of our shrinking bodies! For everyone else to see and love and fear.

"Play the man, Master Ridley; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out."

to wonder

When I can't fall asleep, I like to make plans for the future. Simple, superficial plans, or enormous, life-changing plans, or fantastic, impossible plans.

That's the one amazing thing about human beings that nothing and no one can change: we have so much potential. As a group and as individuals. Sometimes I feel like I could change the world. Or take it on.

Isn't it amazing that I can do anything I want? Anything!

But why I am still here and now and this? I am not who I want to be: I am who I do not want to be. Am I free? Am I capable? Or just some dillusional dreamer who will never amount to anything

Failure is not acceptable in my worlds. In any of them.

And now I'm nowhere where I used to be everywhere. I cannot write. I CAN'T WRITE

(can you sense the frustration?)

just dropping in

I'm going to have to come back to life someday. But right now I'm too busy shoving my head down the toilet... unwillingly.

It's hard to see the positive side of contracting the flu ten times a year. Even my twisted little mind does not think the weight loss is worth it (at least while I'm still sick).

I think my body is saying that I'm not ready to return to the land of the living. If you can call all of this living.

I'm sorry. I even bore myself these days. Pity.

having nightmares when i'm awake

A girl was murdered at my school this week. I can't sleep or stop crying. Everytime I try to put into words the screeching in my head I get the shakes. I am creatively dead for the time being... but still reading you diligently.

I'll be back when I get a handle on reality.

quotes; because others have better things to say

The virtually unknown Edgar Allan Poe: romantic, mystical, analytical... Pieces of genius.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee- and their will
Sall overshadow thee: be still.

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds
Are lips- and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words-
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrin'd
Then desolately fall,
O! God! on a funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall-
Thy heart- thy heart!- I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy-
Of the trifles that it may.

Mysterious star!
Thou wert my dream
All a long summer night-
Be now my theme!
By this clear stream,
Of thee will I write;
Meantime from afar
Bathe me in light!
Thy world has not the dross of ours,
Yet all the beauty- all the flowers
That list our love, or deck our bowers
In dreamy gardens, where do lie
Dreamy maidens all the day,
While the silver winds of Circassy
On violet couches faint away.
Little- oh! little dwells in thee
Like unto what on earth we see:
Beauty's eye is here the bluest
In the falsest and untruest-
On the sweetest air doth float
The most sad and solemn note-
If with thee be broken hearts,
Joy so peacefully departs,
That its echo still doth dwell,
Like the murmur in the shell.
Thou! thy framing is so holy
Sorrow is not melancholy.

Deep in earth my love is lying
And I must weep alone.

Shout-out to Paper Thin: we can't comment!

i just don't want to eat ever again

I weigh a thousand pounds and I'm as wide as a house. The walls look like they're breathing. I can't even take baby steps anymore, I'm just leaping all over and I don't know where my head's at.

But that's fine because nobody knows because nobody cares because it doesn't exist because I don't exist.

there is nothing happening in any of my worlds right now

Take a second and breathe. The rest will come naturally.

a lot of things to say

I've never been one to scream on the rooftops that music is my life. It isn't: my life is much more than what I conceive as music. It bothers me that so many people would say that, because they almost never live up to it (I can, however, think of one notable exception). My sister says music is her one passion, yet she'll spend hours on Facebook or playing video games and not play or listen to music for days. But Music is cool, and Everyone needs to be cool, and so People are Fake, and People defile beautiful things.

So, without pretending that music is my water and bread, live music makes me a different person, to the extent that I'm so much fuller, more complete, more myself, than at any other point in my life. It's like every sense, nerve, emotion, thought and dream rush through my body and radiate through my skin to create the ultimate feeling: euphoria. You're alone in a crowd, you're one with the crowd, you're one with the base line and the drums and the melody, you're still you but bigger, better, more. You're in love with every sound, object, person and part of your body that allowed this moment to come into being. You're a blur of excitement but you've never been more defined, more true to yourself, essentially. Concerts are not what I live for but they're when I live most. It's the complete opposite of reading an amazing book: it brings you out instead of pulling you in, it makes you enormous instead of expanding the world until you're nothing but a speck of dust. If I could feel both at once, I don't think I'd live through it. Wonder and euphoria. Wonder drives me, pushes me to see and be all the beautiful things: euphoria allows me to live it out, to feel everything that I am, was and could be.

And it is said that scientists are unphased by art. If it is true, I will be the beginning of a new breed. But it can't be: a true scientist, to me, is someone that aches for knowledge and truth, and aims to use his or her brain to its full capacity, knowingly. Consequently, an artist, by definition, is a scientist. I really do think art comes from the brain, from human reason. It isn't because art conveys emotions that it isn't rational... Right? I am a scientist too.

My mother isn't a monster you know. She's just sick, more so than myself. She does everything she can to be a good mother. She's worked all of her life: even now, she has two jobs in order to pay for this huge house in this beautiful town. For me, and for my sister. I don't hate her, not at all. I love her. She's given me all the opportunities to expand my intellect. She isn't trying to hurt me, I don't think. There would be so many better, easier, more efficient ways. She sees things her own way and she's obstinate not to change them: this allows her to ignore what she makes me go through sometimes, and can make her hard to deal with when we disagree... But I'm a grateful daughter. Most have it much worse than me. And you know what? I think that, though I have my moment of weakness, I'm strong enough to fight her until I leave.

Finally, Harry Potter was amazing, as usual. A concert and the movie premiere: what a night. A lot of things that I like with people I love.

more about her

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl with flaxen hair called Jillian. Jillian had a mother and a father, like all the other little girls. She also had a little sister with eyes as blue as the sky.

One day, Jillian and her father climbed up a tree. Once they had reached the very top, he told Jillian that he had to leave. Jillian slipped off the tree, all the way down to the very bottom, and scratched her hands and knees on the twigs in the dirt. She saw her father waving from the treetop, but she found him always out of reach.

Jillian went to see her mother and her sister. They had made her a dress. When Jillian tried it on, she found that it didn't fit quite right: it was too tight around her ribcage and too short. Her mother made her stand still on the stool while she mended the dress: when her mother pricked her with the needle, Jillian pressed her lips and tried not to cry, even if it hurt.

When it was time to undress and go to bed, Jillian could not take the dress off: it was stuck on her too large body. The only way to get out, she thought, was to shrink until it would slip off. She couldn't ask for help, because she didn't have many friends. She had to do it alone.

And so, on that day, Jillian crept into a corner until she faded away.

my mother

My mother told me today: "Chubby isn't cute you know... You should work out and lose these extra pounds."

This. Is. Unreal.

You can't tell me I'm too skinny and then tell me I'm too fat. The doctor said I was skinny, she said I was unhealthy, she made me go through all these tests. You agreed with her. And now you tell me I'm fat. I weigh the same fucking thing. I'M 5 FOOT 6 AND I WEIGH 105 POUNDS THAT IS NOT FAT YOU'RE A LIAR AND YOU WON'T LET ME GROW UP

You're killing me. Won't you let me be normal? Why have you instilled this obsession in me? I CAN'T ALWAYS BE FAR BETTER THAN AVERAGE IN EVERYTHING JUST TO PROVE HOW MUCH BETTER A MOTHER YOU ARE THAN YOUR OWN. YOU SCREWED ME UP AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW/NOTICE/CARE AS LONG AS IT DOESN'T SHOW

I am a failure and a loser and socially pathetic and fat. How can you even be proud.

Let me go let me out of this body, of this house, of this town, of this world. Clearly I don't belong.

i've cracked

this is it i'm done i can't do this anymore

i can't deal with rejection i can't deal with people calling me healthy when i know they mean thick and heavy i can't be happy and normal anymore

why is everyone saying i've gained weight when i haven't. it's like they've finally noticed how huge i am it was about time i wish they hadn't it's worse when the think it too its real

every bite i take, someone thinks of me as fat and nothing more only this distorted body

if i think this hard enough i will never eat again

i will count calories and pounds and discard them i will melt away fade away they won't know me anymore and oh this is terrible i don't want to go through this anymore but i don't think there's anything i can do i can't ask you to save me from myself

not this time

i want out

Everyone is waiting for that moment: the inciting incident, the catalyser, the big bang, followed by the invitable leap of faith towards the achievment of our innermost desires.

We want to be surprised, bothered, shocked, forced out of our comfortable life, of the hole we've dug ourselves into. Bravery is a thing of the past: we are often moved by fear, sometimes by discomfort, occasionally by greed, but hardly ever by courage. Decisions are too difficult to make: as atheist as some may have become, we still look up to some greater power, willing it to will us to move, to change. We want to be without becoming. No, no, this we cannot do by ourselves. But the time will come, surely, we will wake up one morning to find ourselves changed, effortlessly, finally able to do what we wish. It will happen, it must. We are different from the others: we will succeed where they have failed. We have faith, it will happen.

But things don't just happen. They must be willed and acted upon. And yet, we wait.

In the meantime, we live ghosts of lives, redundant, empty things, until at last we are left hopeless, dreamless, dead.

Death is the only thing which will happen. In truth, death is all we are waiting for.

safety

I drank broth from my special alphabet mug for dinner. Nothing will attack me tonight. Sleep is calling and I'm all too willing to go.

i am a dead weight

Defining myself is unpleasant. See why I prefer my fantasies?

i am not made for other people

I am made for loneliness and tears; anger and anxiety; darkness and monotony. I love the whole wide world except for everyone that's in it (you know this isn't true)

a simple truth

We speak in metaphors because reality is too much to take, or not enough to live for.

my latest miracle

I have seen something new and grand: I have seen my future.

Do not be mistaken: I have not acquired the magical gift of Sight, tampered with a crystal ball or played with tarrot cards. But I have seem a future that belongs to me and only me.

I used to think I would die at the tender age of twenty. Not only could I not see past that age, but I could see my death by disease or by accident. "A sweet, bright young woman, full of potential, mourned by her friends and family" A born cliché.

But lately, now that I'm approaching twenty years, I've had glimpses of what I could be were I to live: a professor, alone in a Ottawa appartment, bathing in a crisp, white light, drinking tea, reading. I don't think it is a future I will share with someone special, but I don't mind. Teaching physics, doing research, and pursuing my career as a student: a bacchalaureate in political science, in English litterature, in linguistics (ethymology in particular), in French litterature, in Russian... Forever learning. I cannot die: I have not learned enough. So many books not read, classes not taken, people not met. Not that I like most people- I assure you, I don't- but some people are worth the stressful acquaintance.

This means a lot to me. This future is not only possible, but also probable, and delights me. At last I have something more to look forward to than an untimely and gruesome death.

At last, I hope and dream to live.

back from the dead

Or almost. I've been reading far too many books to be considered one of the living (I like the dead better anyways, or the fictional, I should say). The Brontë sisters make fine company.

I'm not sure where I'm headed right now. I've been out of school for a week and I already miss the schoolwork. I've been doing a lot of tutoring and shifts at the Bed and Breakfast, learning Spanish, playing guitar, reading, cleaning... Everything is so very easy and relaxing. Today I took a long walk downtown with a friend and we talked about parents and jealousy and literature.

I haven't cut since that night. I probably would have, had the proper instruments been available, but I didn't. I don't think I will do it again unless something disastrous occurs. And when you're as dramatic as I am, that isn't entirely unlikely.

My grades were less than satisfying this session: my average has slumped from 92% to 90%, but I think it will pick up next session, if I'm not sick as often (though that doesn't excuse anything!). School is important to me, so this was rather disappointing.

I saw a skinny girl today and I felt massive. But I'm too tired for anything to affect me much, I am still recuperating from last session (stupid stupid under-achieving immune system) and this heat is keeping me awake- it will be the death of me.

I can feel it coming though. The panic. The anxiety.

Can't it wait?

I don't think I could take it right now.

it's nothing

Nothing at all, really. It's just a boy, with whom I was stupidly infatuated. In the (approximated) words of Artemis Fowl: "Damn those hormones."

Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.

So said my friend the philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre.

This man also said that freedom is what we do with what has been done to us. I think this applies to me, to us: though some of us may have been born with morbid obsessions, uncontrollable hatred for the body and in painful solitude, all of which was out of our control, we are free to do what we want with what we have become. We are not determined by our past, by our genetic heritage, by our upbringing or by others' expectations: we are determined by our choices and our actions, presently.

Of course it isn't all that simple, or we wouldn't be here. Our minds are prey to constant conflicts of interest, so much so that making consistent decisions- or making any at all- is quite a difficult task and often deemed impossible. Are we rational? Can we be free and irrational? Are we prisoners of our innate inability to reason?

Are we prisoners of society? Of our family, our friends, the people we love, respect and admire? Jean-Paul Sartre wrote in his play Huis Clos that Hell is other people. Without others, there is no right and wrong, no morality: one could even argue that there is no consciousness. However, the people who surround us pass constant judgment on who we are and what we do: since morality and the values promoted by society do not always go hand in hand, the people who surround us can sometimes alter our development as healthy, happy individuals. They can imprison us in their expectations; their weapons of choice are our emotional attachment, our ideals, gratitude and guilt; our executioner, disappointment and the subsequent sense of failure.

Sorry for all the philosophical nonsense: this consists of my humble views on life and achievements, clumsily supported by a few well-thought out quotes by my existentalist friend. I encourage you to learn more about Jean-Paul Sartre, he is an absolute genius. At any rate, I will try to spare you in the future, promise. Unless you somehow enjoyed this, or if it was in any way thought-provoking.

My exam session is over. I am done. In more ways than one. All the exhaustion from the past session is starting to catch up to me: I am off to some well-deserved rest. More of the usual strangeness to come, of course.

I love you all. Take care, please!

i miss you

I miss blogging. I miss writing about how I feel and what I think. Only five days of school and three exams to go: after that, I am all yours.

i pull gravity

My cousin told me my thighs were tiny and for a second I believed her.

But I am not tiny, I am fat. I am so massive that gravity does not pull me: I pull gravity. I will be launched into space and galaxies will revolve around me.

Survived a week-long flu from hell. I will try to write more soon. If I can get Wi-fi at the other end of the Milky Way.

ladies and gentlemen, the rant of the century

This is Quentin Mytosis Stallone. Yes, he's totally over the top.

..Or not. At any rate, this hectic week has left me exhausted and completely uninspired to do anything even remotely more creative than written complaining, so here you go! You lucky, lucky ladies.

It was like this week would never end. Long story short, following last weekend's panic and neurosis, I became sick and weak. I ate very little. Which made me sicker and weaker (and two pounds lighter: highest point of my week). Which made me sleep more. Which made me spend less time doing homework. Which made me rush the entire time I was awake. You get the picture. I also got my worst exam grade in my college career... in math. I'm supposed to be good at math. And out of the blue, while the pain from my mathematical failure (69%... eek) is still lingering, my french teacher announces that I've been picked for this special college program. Basically, instead of studying French during my fourth session, I will be taught how to teach French. This is cool, especially since I'm a tutor in math and french, but very confusing. Science is supposed to be my thing. Not french, not grammar. Aaargh.

So, here comes the rant: while I was in the shower having an allergic reaction to yet another brand of hypoallergenic shampoo (curse you!), I thought up a little rant against haters. I know it sounds lame, but hear me out: this is something that has always bothered me. For the sake of this argument, I shall use my beloved Canadian compatriote, Justin Bieber, as an example, along with Twilight. I remember the first days of Twilight... Such promise! I don't want to be all "I read Twilight before it was cool"... but I did! I actually enjoyed the first novel. I thought it was an interesting idea, the whole concept of vampires drinking animal blood and falling in love with human beings almost repulsively ordinary. And then BOOM it exploded. It was everywhere. And so were the Twifreaks. And the concept of vampires got real old real fast (read that with a South of the US accent for super bonus points!) But this isn't the bad part: I have nothing against Twifreaks. If you like Twilight, be my freaking guest. I can't decide what you guys like. Same goes for Bieber fans: I don't care for his particular brand of music, but that doesn't mean you can't. The kid's got some talent. Sure, he's way overrated, but get with it people: all celebrities are. You can't say he's a fake and turn around and listen to I dunno Kesha (I am NOT going to spell with a dollar sign. Sue me.) It just makes no sense. What I really despise is the hating (wait.. doesn't that make me a hater hater?) Haters are an abomination. You're fully allowed to really despise things. That's okay. I really hate Kesha's music: her voice makes me cringe. I also hate automatic cash-outs, and that's just fine. Sometimes bus drivers creep me out, and there is nothing wrong with that. But making hating into some kind of hip culture (makes me think of some kind of bone plantation where you can grow hips and skulls and kneecaps) is just lame. If you're a Twilight/JB/Kesha fan and you want to spend 30$ on a T-shirt that says Team Jacob/Bieber fever/I don't wash my hair EVER (maybe Kesha's allergic to shampoo too!), that's cool. But spending 30$ on a T-shirt that says "Team Twilight-Sucks" is not. If you buy that shirt, if you actually take the time to drive to the store (and pollute the atmosphere), look for the shirt, struggle to find your size (there is always plenty of all the other sizes), try it on and deal with the people at the cash, well, you're a pathetic excuse for a human being. Don't you have anything better to do? (says Jillian, writing about people wasting time..) "Look at me, guys, I hate Twilight and I want everyone to know I'M SO COOL" just makes me want to ram my face into a concrete wall. Until I make a dent. (can you dent concrete?)

All of this brings me to anorexia haters. You've all had them come around to your blog and write some stupid comment about how "not eating is not the fastest way to lose weight" and "i'm fat and beautiful!" and "you people are evil". Sure, there are some actually well-intentioned people who just don't know much about anorexia, want to help and just aren't sure how to do it: they'll say things like "you're hurting yourself, this is really dangerous, you should get help" like we don't have a clue, and some of them even get angry at us for hurting ourselves which is understandable. However, if you are just surfing around the web looking for blogs written by sick, unhappy people so you can put them down, insult them and bask in your adipous, hydrogenated glory, you are a LOSER. Get a purpose, get a brain, get a heart, and get the hell out of my life. Thank you.

This may be the longest, most boring post I've written. Ever. So I'll dedicate it to all the haters out there: this is just how much you're worth. Zinger!

that which cannot be said

It's the F word. Not the one that's unholy, but the one that is vile and soul-sucking.

I cannot say it. I cannot say: "I am ---". The word will not come out. Et pas plus en français.

I am so ashamed of this body, of this weight, of this load, of this addiction to synonyms. Like moving around reality, on its outskirts, is going to change anything.

What happened to the girl who was ashamed of nothing? She has been consumed by guilt and shame. By people. Guilt and shame cannot exist alone.

L'enfer, c'est les autres. So said a very dear and cross-eyed friend of mine whom I hope you will meet someday. He's the one who said that existence preceeds essence. That we can be whatever the hell we want. I sure hope he's right because I will NOT stay this way forever.

there are no words

To explain how much I love you girls. Though I'm sure you spoil me (I'm basically getting away with murder here), your support is such a positive factor in my life. Everytime I see a comment needs to be moderated by whole inside world brightens, just like when you say you're happy. You have no idea how much you mean to me. It's kind of scary but mostly it feels good.

Turns out we acted rashly. We're always biting and clawing at each other and though it's distressing at times it's worth it. He's back to stay, unfortunately (I've always argued he'd be better off without me). But I'm basically extatic. I'm so selfish. And evil. Mwaha.

I think that's all for tonight. I'm all written out. Bleh.

More soon. I promise! Though I've been bad at keeping promises lately. Hmmmm.

You girls make me so happy. Maybe I should be better at making non-virtual friends. Hmmmm. Scary thought.

jillian did something wrong again

This morning, the only real person I could talk to decided to leave me. I guess I need you girls more than ever now.

I could stop him from leaving the world, but I can't stop him from leaving me. It isn't fair that I should be a burden to anyone. I just wish I knew why, specifically. I never get closure and that's what keeps me up at night.

I am not hungry. I am too disgusted with myself to even think about food. But I'm not doing this on purpose, in case YOU are checking up on me before you really do leave.

I isolated myself from everyone except him. I guess that was kind of stupid. Now he's gone and I have no one. Oops.

---

I just threw up. This is gross.

I may not come back for a little while, or I may post again within the next hour. Who knows. Anyways, don't wait up.

confessions of a monster

Amaris Starshine is dying inside and there is nothing I can do. She needs a savior and I am only a spectator.

We are all sitting in our own corners of the world, hidden behind our computer screens, crying, wishing we could hug one another. We write words that cannot overcome space and loneliness and despair.

I read your blogs every day. I listen to you hate yourself, insult yourself. I let you cut and purge and scream and poison yourself. I am letting you starve to death; I am a murderer. I know it's what you want but you are dying (aren't we all). And I read about your suffering that is infinitely greater than mine, your heart-breaking stories of betrayal and solitude, and all I do is sit. And maybe comment. And maybe cry. I am not doing anything to help you even if I love you.

Because I do. And that's part of my problem. I fall in love all the time. I am always worried, often heart-broken and it breaks me. Each one of you is special to me. You're all so beautiful in so many ways and I'm letting you die. I don't know what I'd do if one of you died. Would I even know?

I will never be able to sleep in peace until you are all well. And you are not. And it is so unfair. I feel like I would give you the moon, but why am I not jumping on a plane to Durham? For the same reason I did not fly to Paris, to LA, to Colorado, to all these places where I've scattered pieces of my heart. Because I am a monster. Am I void of any sympathy and selflessness, or am I intent enough on hurting myself to let you suffer?

All I can say is: I LOVE YOU. It's true. I am putting every ounce of emotion I can into those words. I care for you. You are BEAUTIFUL individuals. It may be my own definition of beautiful, but you are grandiose, wonderful, inspiring things. You are what I live for because beauty is what I strive for. You matter. To me. And in my world, I am everything, so that's a lot.

It's not because I say I LOVE YOU all the time that it isn't meaningful. I really do feel a lot of love. It's part of who I am, it is part of how I appreciate life. The love I feel is strong and overwhelming. It makes me feel invincible (but I know it's exhausting me).

But please, don't die. I don't know what to say or what to do. I am meaningless to you and to this planet, how can I possibly change how you feel about yourself? What is my love, not to me, but to you? It's time like these when I wish I believed in God.

I will never stop crying over you, my heart will always be broken. But I think it's worth it, if only I can make a single person smile even for a second. And when I hear you are happy, my heart soars.

I love Will, Bella, Belle Armed, Kemper, Anise, Io, Nikki, Katerina, Ana's Girl, Gracie, Amaris, Elk, Wren, Yum, all of my followers, and so many more. My heart is beating too hard, I can feel it in my throat and in the pit of my stomach. There is too much acid travelling up and down and I am not hungry anymore. I am heartbroken. And so, so sorry that I'm such a terrible person.

--

I am shivering. I think I am going to be sick. I'm so sorry.

spacing out

I had a lot of things to say but now all I can think of is lion paws. My brain functions in mysterious ways. I think I may need to put this crazy amount of energy inside me to better use... as in anything BUT thinking about lion paws.

GAAH stop obstructing my thoughts.

finally i'm back!

Good morning ladies! (Or good afternoon, or good evening, or good night, depending on where you are, I suppose) I am in a TERRIFIC mood today! Why? Because I was so very productive yesterday! I attended three classes for a total of five hours, did a math exam, had a lovely conversation about art and fashion, tutored for an hour, babysat for four (made 55$ in total!), memorized the bones of the body, learned about the parts of the brain, prepared for my analysis in French class today, read a 300-page book by Ayn Rand, watched my second Star Wars movie ever (mostly unimpressed..) and walked my white german sheperd. I was awake for 17 hours and used almost every moment I had and it was great!

I have ascertained the fact that there is a strong correlation between my productivity and how happy I am. Well, off to do some more things now! Also, 56 followers? That's 4 new followers! I love you already! Feel free to introduce yourself in a comment and even leave a link to your blog if you want me to follow you! (this goes for everyone here, obviously)

Also, haze, thanks for your support in my time of need. You made me smile when I thought all I could do was cry. Merci!

I hope you have a wonderful day because you deserve it! Oh the joys of living for ONESELF and no one else! I'll write again soon.

this is what happens when I don't get enough sleep

I feel like everyone is watching me. The light is attaching to my faults. It is a cruel, unforgiving light. I'm in a cold place right now. I am stuck between two lines of action: in inaction. There is a low whistling in my ears and it's making my head too heavy for my neck. This is silence in disguise.

I may have hair the color of the sun but I don't feel radiant at all. I need some time to retreat into my head. I can't express how I feel anymore, more and more I find it impossible to find the words. I'm becoming illitterate. Once again I feel like a stub. No creativity. No energy.

I don't have the time. I'm too busy being a whole bunch of things I don't want to be when there are so many other things I do want to be.

Winter is dragging on and I'm cold.

at least I have ms. apple and mr. poe

I'm feeling lonely. I'm feeling repulsive. Everyday the incidents accumulate and I felt more inadequate.

Mostly I am alone. I wish someone would reach out, unexpectedly, just because they enjoy my company or admire me or love me. If this person exists. Oh the pains of appearing self-sufficient.

winter sloth, angry spring, summer frenzy, lonely fall

Panic today at school during my martial arts class: "we're calculating fat percentages and BMIs", the teacher said, "and don't you try to escape the scale!" Everyone had to do it. I was so scared. Don't get me wrong, I know exactly what my BMI is (16.7) and how much I weigh (105.5 pounds). But I couldn't do it right there in front of EVERYONE. No one is allowed to see how much I weigh on a scale, no one except for me, and I felt everyones' eyes upon me though I'm sure no one cared and my hand started to shake and I curled up in a ball and tears were trickling down my face and I realized just how far deep I am in this nightmare. I couldn't let anyone know just how much blubber and how many lies and and how many vile, vile things are wrapped around my bones. Because when people know it becomes real and I can't face that reality not yet not now.

Please please please just let me disappear. I am a waste of food and paper and oxygen. I want to be so small, so insignificant that I won't even be human anymore, I will be much more. I want to shrink on the outside so I can grow on the inside, be rid of these fears and this pain and the panic, oh the panic is coming back even if spring is the season of violence and explosions and summer is the season of mania and panic and frenzy this ISN'T the right season and they're all melting together now (fall is solitude and insecurity, winter is sloth and depression) and I don't think I can't take ALL of that at once, it's too much, it's too big, it's too heavy just like a body.

Bring on the mania. Bring on the explosions. Bring on the violence. Bring on the insanity. Being angry all the time is the only way I can cope with this. Do you understand? Please understand.

I just want thin I just want beauty. I'll never be ANYTHING if I'm not thin first.

artificial intelligence and space-bubbles

I'm at school right now trying to take as little space as possible, trying to be invisible, but it seems like everywhere I go there's someone I know; there is no escaping the past years, I am tied down to my past and I am not free. I really would like to go somewhere where no one knows me... And maybe not get to know anyone. Or find someone more like me, more like you.

Earlier this afternoon I was at a conference on articifial intelligence and cognitive network. The human mind is truly amazing, and the possibilities of applications of our brain's cognitive processes to technology are endless. The more I learn about computer science the more it is interesting to me: it really is more than just coding. And even that looks crazy (have you seen The Social Network?). I don't want to work in that domain... but I would like take a few classes in computer sciences later on. College is killing me: everything is so slow, the classes, the students... I feel like I'm wasting my time. The tenor of the classes is relevant and valuable but it is transmitted to the students too slowly. I could obtain this diploma in half the time if they only let me. It's ridiculous.

University will be that opportunity I'm searching for: new city, new school, new people. I'll study physics and math and computer science and litterature and languages and maybe robotics and it will be great. Almost no one will know me... Or think they know me. Because really that's most of it. People here right now think they know me. Which is what is so annoying. Maybe we all go through life thinking we know a lot of people but really we are all strangers. It is so easy to generalize and categorize and make the wrong judgements.

I'm starting to feel invisible again, which is great. I'm receding into my own little space-bubble and my heart will slow its crazy beating. My space-bubble is warm and quiet and silky. I will forget where I am, what time it is and who I am with and I will think about cognitive networks and university and beautiful people.

Blogger has become my safe place. Reading your words makes me feel alive and important and even loved. I hope my words bring you some comfort too.

---

I went for a run this evening and it felt GREAT. I'm so glad I'm done with this stupid cold. I'm also planning to kick ass at my 10K in March. If I don't decide to run the half-marathon. I only did run two miles tonight but I only stopped because of a stupid pain in my calves... Fortunately this is probably due to some martial arts injury and shouldn't be a problem in the future.

Running is like flying. Try it. Not walking, not jogging, running. It's amazing.

(My English is sketchy today. Sorry.)

it's the colors, isn't it?

Tonight the sky was screaming YES. But now it's dark and quiet.

Sex pisses me off. I mean sure, it's great and all, but what annoys me is that some consider it a basic need. I think that is absolutely ridiculous. I think it is ridiculous that couples can break up over sex. That people are rejected and become depressed and even commit suicide because they're pressured and uncomfortable with their sexuality.

So I have an issue with needs. Sue me. You can tell me what to do, but don't you dare tell me what I need. I still think it's ridiculous. And absurd. A despairing, soul-sucking kind of absurd. Like animal cruelty and child abuse and drunk driving. I can deal with what-the-hell-am-I-doing-on-earth absurd, or wow-life-means-nothing-absurd, or even WTF absurd, but not that absurd. It's like.. ripping wings of butterflies. I've done it before. Without thinking. It was like ripping cardboard with lines of thickey fiber. I didn't even kill it afterwards, I just left it there writhing.

I don't have an issue with sleep. Sleep feels safe, even with the nightmares. It's warm and it makes me happy. If I had to be in one place for the rest of my life, it would probably be my bed. Maybe I'm fundamentally lazy, but it's one of my favourite places.

I had a lot of things to say, beautiful things, but they aren't coming out right. I forgot my notepad today so I couldn't write things down or doodle. Such-a-pity-we're-truly-missing-out. Right.

I feel a little insane right now. I read for too long yesterday. Insomnia, by Stephen King. Reading makes me insane, disconnected from the world, looking at things from a completely different perspective and considering things I would never in my normal state of mind. Like cracking my hand open with a hammer to see what happens. Or climbing the highest tree in my backyard as fast as I can, maybe with my eyes closed. Jumping off, maybe, into the snow, or onto a boulder, it doesn't matter. It's an amazing feeling. But you need to be normal sometimes... right? Mostly I just want to scream, and I feel like I'll see colors and shapes tumbling out. When the emotion builds up. And I want to run far away, but not run away, run to something. At times like these even the things I'm scared of are enticing.

But every day it's the same routine, swept into this machine of a life. At least it isn't so boring in my head.

sugar and spice

And tears in the night.

je suis à moi

Here it goes.

I want to explain (mostly to myself) why I need to starve right now. First of all, I would like to warn you, not you the bloggers, but you, you know who I'm talking about, that this will be a personal post about female issues. Ok? Ok.

I am scared of aging. I am scared of physically becoming first a woman, then middle-aged, then really old. I am not afraid of wrinkles or responsability or disease: I am afraid of expanding. I am afraid of looking like most twenty year-olds, thirty-year old, fourty year-olds. I am horrified my hips and stomachs and thies and rolls. Especially rolls. And the older I am, the closer I get to these carbohydrate nightmares. Baby fat and mom jeans and stretch marks and cellulite.

It isn't that I don't want to grow up. I just want to grow up by my own standards. I see pudgy middle-aged woman and I know I will never be happy with that kind of body, ever. Maybe I'm just to conscious of my physicality. I can feel every part of my body all the time and they are too much. I can't deal with more expansion. I can feel the weight of my body pulling me down and it's exhausting. I'm already so aware of everything around me, I don't think I can't take much more! Sometimes I hate every inch of my body. The more inches there are, the more I hate. The more pounds, the more meters cubed.

I am scared of summer and tee-shirts and bathing suits and short shorts. I am scared of spring because spring brings back the hatred, the desperation and the self-inflicted pain. I love spring dearly but it scares me so.

I am scared of people dying and people leaving and people forgetting. I am scared of being stuck in one place forever and of never finding a place where I feel safe. I am afraid of chocolate and ice cream and well-intentioned grand-parents with fragile hearts. Of over-bearing mothers who make snyde remarks. Of falling apart again and losing a few more pieces never to be found. Of venom and poison and jealousy. Of putting on a mask to have it slip off at the worst possible time.

And I am terrified of losing my will to live, to be, to defeat and to conquer.

----------

In my effort to conquer boredom I tampered with the blog layout a little bit. What do you think?

oh my my, oh hell yes

I've slipped up. I started restricting again. I needed something real to hold on to. A resistance in my muscles when I walk. Restricting makes me conscious of my body in a better way: it reminds me of how strong I am, how much I am capable of doing. It puts things back in perspective. I think I needed that.

But now that I know how easy it is to start, how will I prevent myself from doing it day after day? How will I return to normal?

I am hungry and I am cold and I am tired but this is so much better than what could be. Because I'm sort of happy and everything is so sharp.

Open Fire
Angels/Losing/Sleep
Beautiful
Black Star
Cancer
Fast as You Can
Fences
Never is a Promise
I'm so Sick
Ghost of You
Get Gone
Ghost Town
Red Song
Valentine's Day
Nothing Else Matters
Misguided Ghosts
Mr. Gaunt Pt 1000
Perfect
Tired Eyes

Voila. I am now an accomplished poet. Or not.
Me voilà désormais une poète accomplie. Ou pas.

This post is a little all over the place. I need more sleep. I have so many thing I want to say and I promise I'll write soon, the post is basically already written in my head, I just need to type it out. Sometimes it's like I'm talking to you in my head. Thinking of what I will write, how I will write it. You've become a part of me, ladies. Hopefully that isn't too creepy.

Good night. Don't forget that no one can prove that dreams aren't real. Our perspective is all that counts. Isn't that grand?

will you ALL be my valentines?

It's a little late to ask, perhaps. But what the heck.

I know I've been gone for a little while. I wanted to write, but I had a bit of a breakdown and I needed a break from this insanity. I've been reading your blogs diligently, but without commenting, because I needed to receed from the world for a little while. I'm still recovering (this is absolutely ridiculous) but I will try to write more soon. My manic panic (heh) exhausted me, which caused me to contract the flu, which basically just sucks. Interesting story, I know. Hopefully I will be back in action very soon!

I had to write today, because it is, as you all know, Valentine's day, which is a good day for me. There are horrific amounts of chocolate and sweets involved, yes, and some panicking due to that, also, but mostly it's a day about love and I have a lot of that to give out! I wore a skirt and a cardigan which I had altered myself, it was a sweet and innocent little outfit with pleats and a bit of lace, because I like dressing up and pretending I'm someone else, at least physically.

Most importantly, I love each and every one of my FORTY-NINE followers (WOW!) and bloggers I follow oh so fervently. You are beautiful, inspiring, talented individuals that make me laugh and cry and smile. How can I ever be lonely when I have all of you? I am the luckiest girl on earth!

If you ever feel lonely and rejected and stuck, remember my love for you as as deep as the ocean and as wide as the sky. It isn't much, not nearly as much as you deserve, but I like to think it's a little something to maybe brighten your day. Just a little. Maybe.

only because of this, only because of you

I've peen picking at my arms, scratching the skin away, scratch scratch scratch, flesh and blood. Four oval-shaped welts ornate my arms. They burn. I've smothered them with Polysporin because I am terrified (yet strangely fascinated) by infections. Scratch scratch scratch, make it look absentminded, when really it's all your thinking about and you feel it in every nerve of your body.

I am really tired. I need a break but everything has just begun and there's no taking breaks in real life. Yes, Jillian, this is real life, when you get hurt and you hurt people and everything you do counts. This isn't a figment of your imagination or this fantasy world where you can give in to every single impulsion and desire. You should probably realize this soon.

Is it wrong to give in to desires? I mean I'm not giving in because I wasn't fighting beforehand. Is it wrong to do what you want, and to not do what you don't want? And I don't mean this in a childish "I want no work and all play" way. I just want to be myself.

angry, or it's never really over is it

I know it was my fault. I know the first crevasse was of my own making. But I built over it, a fragile wall of snow and paper and tears and ideas, put together piece by piece. All by myself. I finally depended on no one. I finally relied on no entirely destructive power.

I told you I built it to protect myself from you, and mostly from me. And now it seems that all you want is to break me, again.

How long, do you think, before you push me over the edge?


How's this for DIRECT? How's this for a message intended ENTIRELY for you?

There's something in that crevasse and it's pulsing and thrashing.

and they're all jealous of me

Why? Because I have super-blogger friends. Ha.

I'm in an okay mood right now, even if today was

upanddownandupagainleftandrightandallaroundrollercoasterrific...

Wow. That might just be my new favourite word. Anyways, yes, a rather moody day. Which is just fine, because I appreciate the variety. This beats the hell out of zombie-december.

I've been thinking some more about how I've been feeling lately, about eating disorders and insanity and death. Have I reached a conclusion? No. But it's nice to think nonetheless. Makes my day feel slightly more productive in spite of mood swings. And my tired eyes.

Sometimes I try too hard to be beautiful, I mean not just physically, and not in a typical beautiful, but my own perception and opinion of beauty, fresh, fragile but still standing, cold and calculated, collected, severe but intense and explosive and breathtaking... I don't think I can describe it with words. I don't think I am very beautiful; the only thing I appreciate in myself is my intelligence, which isn't amazing but still over-average when it comes to academics and perception and reading people and understanding things. I think intelligence can be beautiful, if it's used right, don't you? It's something about knowing what you're doing and why and thinking about the grand things in the world, and knowing enough to have pertinent thoughts. Beauty is what I strive for: I try to be beautiful, I look for beauty in others and in my surroundings. I want to devote my life to beauty, a kind of spiritual beauty, though I don't like the connotation that word has. I am going to work my hardest, because man can make beautiful things, and effort is beautiful, and complete devotion and exhaustion are too. And I think it will be great, because really, what can stop me from shooting for the stars?

Isn't amazing, knowing that we can create beauty, with some effort or affection towards those we love or words or a smile?

Then why is it that I feel like a stub? Like I'm completely sterile? Like I will never have children or write beautiful things or change something with a smile?

--

I've been refreshing my dashboard for hours. Reading every post the second it appears. I am a little lonely.

flash

When I'm looking at your blogs, or writing on mine, or clicking through pages and pages of authors and books on Wikipedia, I get flashbacks from when I didn't eat. Sometimes it's an internet page, sometimes it's Fiona Apple or Silverchair, or a movie, or a particular book. And it's so tempting, it makes me hungry, but a good hungry, a hunger for hunger, I'm starving to starve!

(until it elevates to a place i can't breathe)

I know it will make all of my problems melt away. It will help me shine on. It will help me meet my goals and feel better of myself. But at what price?

(laughter and sharpened nails seem softer)

(Though dreams can be deceiving
Like faces are to hearts
They serve for sweet relieving
When fantasy and reality lie too far apart.)

And nothing is stopping me, because I don't need you anymore. Or anyone. Excep tfor my blogs and books and school and beautiful faces, I am no longer dependent of anything. That's the problem, you know. I don't need you anymore. I've found a new source for my intensity and it's in my head. I have the fuel and the prime mover. I want to shoot for the stars.

(qu'un moulinet de ses grands bras vous jette dans la boue... ou dans les étoiles!)

Really it would be easier if I was lighter... no?

(Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair.'
So sung a little clod of clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
'Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite.')

fiona apple... again

Please note that this entire post does NOT relate to anyone that is reading this blog. If this is adressed to you in particular, you'll know. Anyways, just appreciate the lyrics. They aren't her finest but this song just feels right at the moment.

How many times do I have to say
To get away-get gone
Flip your shit past another lasses
Humble dwelling
You got your game, made your shot, and you got away
With a lot, but I'm not turned-on
So put away that meat you're selling
Cuz I do know what's good for me-
And I've done what I could for you
But you're not benefiting, and yet I'm sitting
Singing again, sing, sing again
How can I deal with this, if he won't get with this
M'I gonna heal from this; he won't admit to it
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out
It's time the truth was out that he don't give a
Shit about me
How many times can it escalate
Till it elevates to a place I can't breathe?
And I must decide, if you must deride
That I'm much obliged to up and go
I'll idealize, then realize that it's no
Sacrifice, because the price is paid, and
There's nothing left to grieve
Fuckin go-
Cuz I've done what I could for you, and I do know what's
Good for me and I'm not benefiting, instead
I'm sitting singing again, singing again, singing again,
Sing, sing, sing again
How can I deal with this, if he won't get with this
M'I gonna heal from this; he won't admit to it
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out
It's time the truth was out that he don't give a
Shit about me

I just feel angry and alone and tired. Please let me be.

« Stricken with grief, it beat its head against the stone as long as its strength held out, and finally lay there dead. If the little girl had left the crown lying on the kerchief, the snake would probably have brought her more treasures from its hole. »

It's dead now.

i still hate sales clerks

The sky is blue and the sun is out and the snow is SPARKLY (I must let my inner blonde out at times, or she causes major brain cramps at the most unconvenient times, like during exams, conversations with intelligent and interesting people or- and this is the worst-case scenario- when I am obliged to interact with strangers, which makes for extremely embarrassing situations (ref: my hatred for automated cash-outs) and makes me crawl into a corner for days at a time). It is still minus twenty hundred degrees outside but, thanks to the brilliant inventor of windows, I can contemplate my shimmery backyard whilst avoid the loss of several toes and fingers.

Yesterday I gathered my courage and went to Fabriville to buy, well, fabric, to make simple cotton skirts which I can't seem to find anywhere in any store. Seriously, fashion has completely disregarded my taste in clothing in the past few years- I can't even find a decent ugly sweater anywhere anymore, they're all dressy and chic and clingy... Not that I have money to spend on clothes, because who would by a sweater when one can buy a BOOK? Or a Daria DVD. I love that cartoon.

At any rate, I'm in a terribly good mood right now, for several reasons: the weather, the schoolwork, the fabric, my cats (see picture with freaky hand above), my schoolwork, my Cyrano de Bergerac, my SCHOOLWORK: I am incomplete without school and books. Without school, my brain starves and starts feeding on itself and REALLY I'm not that intent on auto-canibalism. And without books, how could I fall in (and out of) love with various fictional characters and retain my faith in the human mind? Falling in love with fictional beings is actually quite lovely. Except when they die. I never really get over that. I am still grieving numerous deaths, including that of Eddie Willers in Atlas Shrugged, (SPOILER ALERT) Rumeus Lupin in Harry Potter and Kira in We the Living (a little girl-crush). Especially Eddie. Ugh. I am a sucker for intelligent strong-willed characters, but also the smart but sweet ones. Oh, did I mention they had to be smart?

Well this is going absolutely nowhere so I will take my leave. I need to write a introductory essay on Karl Marx for my philosophy class and determine wether Evie's poem in The Colonel's Lady is a work of fiction or of truth. And prepare for my biology lab. (Honestly college work still feels like high school to me... sigh) I also don't have physics this session... how will I go on? Thank god for Stephen Hawking's brain, it is my hero. Okay, okay enough.

I love you all! Also, more followers? I should ditch my blog more often. (gotta love that casual slang). Have a beautiful day!

show me a woman who sneers at the body of a model

And I'll show you a girl who is ashamed of her own.

I can't take this crap about healthy weight. You aren't allowed to say you're happy about how you look and who you are, because I see the envy and the shame in your eyes. You can't hide your ineptitude, your laziness, your self-loathing behind claims of satisfaction and self-acceptance. You've made a "healthy body image" nothing more than an excuse for the unflattering curves of your misshapen bodies. You can't call your addiction to fast-food, lazy-boys and day-time television not only a norm, but something everyone should strive for, on the sole basis that you can say you're happy about your body without being jeered at and scorned. But there is no wonder in the eys of the onlookers, only pity and discust, and no pride and yours, and I will pick the scorn of society over living your lie anyday.

Or maybe I'm just angry because I gained two pounds. I don't even care how it happened anymore. It just needs to go. Now. I really don't want to go back there... Anywhere.

numbers

I am very particular about numbers, which isn't surprising considering how important math is in my life. It seems a lot of people share this same obsession but all have their own preferences and quirks. I, for instance, like round numbers (french expression- sorry), but I don't like zeros (ex: 250 is much better than 300 or 20o) especially if the first number is a 1 (I abhor 1000, 10000, 100000, etc). I like 25 and 75 very much, and I'm okay with 15 and 85 just because they're pretty. I love the number 4 because it's all even and humble, but I hate 44 because you THINK it's going to be even because of the two identical digits but then it has 11 as a factor and I despise 11. My favourite number in the world world is 1 048 576 because it is a power of 4 and I am obsessed with them... When I am nervous I calculate them in my head (which probably makes me look either dumb or completely out of it- zoning out is an essential part of my everyday life), 4, 16, 64, 256, 1024, 4096, 16 384, 65 536, 266 144, 1 048 576 (my mantra)... It's 4 to the power of 10, which is a number I don't like, but it doesn't bother me because it's like the 4 is dominating the 10, and anyways I don't mind zeros too much as long as they aren't at the end of a number or forming the majority of the digits.

This makes me think of other strange habits I have. I cannot start a song anywhere else than at the beginning: I don't mind interrupting a song, but I can't restart where I let off, I must start over. For this reason changing stations or turning on the radio makes me nervous, and I really dislike people who flip through the stations and hearing little excerpts that are so strange and frightening when they aren't part of the whole! I am TERRIFIED of loud sounds: if for some reason my iPod is on full blast and I put my earphones in and hit play I will probably scream, hit people, and have the shakes for a few minutes/hours/days. People with loud voices scare me. Did I mention my sister is a drummer? Oh the terror...

I hate having chapped lips which is why I'm addicted to lip balm. Forgetting my lip balm makes me moody and jumpy and very unpleasant. I am scared of social interactions with strangers: cashiers make me very nervous and shy and clumsy (but I am more scared of the automated cashes at the grocery stores- everytime without fail the machine will assume I'm stealing something and start bleeping away and everyone is looking at me and it's just scary). I don't like people looking at me when I'm driving. I cannot stand to be in a crowd unless everyone is looking in the same direction and doing roughly the same thing. Also I don't like loud breathing. And I find bodily functions repulsive in the extreme. And wow this post has developped into some kind of boring, pointless rant... Sigh.

Initially I planned to tell you I've found a few creative outlets to let out my frustration which was causing my writer's block. In other words, I'm back. (Pretend this is good thing. yaaaaay Jillian's back. wow I need to get out more...) I've been knitting and making random costumes for my sibblings and writing some random poetry-ish stuff (mostly words thrown together haphazardly) and I feel a little better. Tomorrow I'm going to a museum and it will be great!

Eating has been... Well just the same. I haven't gained or lost a pound. I've been 105 for a while now because of my "normal" eating habits... I may have to kick it up a notch. Or not. Gaah. I don,t even know what I want anymore, except maybe running on emptiness until I collapse. Maybe it's the only reason I don't want to eat right now. Or maybe I'm trying to convince myself I'm healthy again. Or maybe I'm just kind of insane.

my new year's resolutions

I didn't believe in them, and I still don't think I do. But at this point, why the hell not try?

In 2011 I will

produce more
create more
learn more
read more
write more
try more
blog more
run more
see more
hit more
care more
stand more
love more
drink more
listen more
hate more
start more
finish more
move more
aim more
plan more
imagine more
express more
do more

sleep less
waste less
complain less
talk less
sit less
lie less
break less
eat less
cry less
rest less
stop less
close less
ignore less

I am still as tired and sick but this cannot go on. I will be productive and I will exist even if I run my body down to the ground to do it. 2011 will be a meaningful year, a year of achievements, no matter the price. In the end I will be less physically, maybe, but I will be more in the light of my effort.