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[ website | passion flows through her like a river of blood ]
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that's what you get when you let your heart win. [Jan. 23rd, 2015|01:21 pm]
[Current Music |Paramore - That's What You Get | Powered by Last.fm]

another time when i realise my life is beyond fucked up. it's weird how i suddenly find my way back to this realisation, over and over again, only to block it out because it's far too painful and fucked up to know. everything's always about her, i wish it wasn't. i wish i was stronger than i am. i wish i didn't care.
rich is working in chester, missed opportunity. he's going to historical places today, wanted me there with him. he's so, so tempting me. why can't i just do it? it's not as if i'm scared of love... is it?
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running from the people who could love me best, and trying to fix a world i can't change. [Jan. 21st, 2015|11:13 pm]
[Current Music |Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness - All Our Lives | Powered by Last.fm]

something's calling me to be the bravest, truest and kindest i've ever been. i can finally do this thing called life, i think.
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budapest. [Jan. 13th, 2015|12:11 am]
[Current Music |Bob Marley - Everything's Gonna Be Allright | Powered by Last.fm]

i'm miles west and all i can think of is the days and nights in that beautiful city, budapest, surrounded by history, hungarians and healing. the numbness in my body from the icy cold winds, the walking for miles on hardly any fuel, the discovering and learning and being and breathing; the loving and experiencing and seeing. the kindness of strangers, the breathtaking views, the memories i never want to lose.

don't forget.
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i've been charred and i've been scarred. [Nov. 18th, 2014|12:56 pm]
still feel like ending it, but it's only because i'm not around good people who help me grow. i need to find a way of getting away from here, seriously. i've tried everything but ...well...

anyway, i gave in and talked to him, and he will never not care about me and that's annoying but something that keeps me alive.

it feels like a day of early spring today, lovely sunshine. it was peaceful when i was out earlier. calm and nice and beautiful. i wish days like today came more frequently. i wish this feeling would last.

but that's life, fleeting and endless for a long time till you die.

i'm gonna go enjoy more of my time feeling okay.

i'm actually feeling okay today, it's fucking weird.
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nothing's ever going to be okay//it will be okay someday, won't it? [Nov. 13th, 2014|10:25 pm]
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aaaaaannnd, breathe. [Nov. 13th, 2014|12:16 am]
i can't stand them and i have so many thoughts, raging thoughts that by the time i want to write them down they've gone. i don't hold onto rage. just looking at them. observing them. like i did when i was a kid. it makes me feel disgusted. and then i feel shit about myself. am i a bad person for not liking them? for their very being to cause me to feel like something's crawling underneath my skin that i just want to rip out?

i can't stand their toxicity. the way it's normal to them. the way that's their life and the way i wish i'd had outsiders help me as a kid but still, no one sees how sickening the sight of it all is. people are oblivious. no one understands the negative impacts, the unseen forces, the tragic monotonous being.

i feel like a raving madwoman at times. i'm sure i'm not though.
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it isn't some creepy haunted doll, just showing up. you packed it. [Nov. 11th, 2014|09:50 pm]
things have been mad the past couple of days. i wish i could just deal with the issues i have to deal with and move on from here. i wish it was quick, clean and easy. but it's not. it's really fucking not. applying for voluntary work again, it's a fucking headache. i wish MIND would be simple, precise and efficient with their shit. i wish i could have a permanent job with a decent-ish enough income to afford rent, bills, food, and basic things then i'd be fine. i don't understand why i'm always fleeting through temporary shit. maybe because i'm used to not belonging anywhere, or maybe i'm scared i have to make the decision to settle somewhere. and if that's the case, then i've always said that it'd be out of this country. but then being here and existing is hard as it is so i don't know how doing it in the places i really want to be in is going to help -- it may end up ruining a future i once thought i could have.

anycase, yesterday it was like ww3 again in this house. BAM, it felt like my entire life in this place all over again. he boiled to the point of almost violence. one thought it triggered again though, was the fact that they don't even know how to talk. literally, everything is shouting and rage, and bubbles boiling and rabid foam frothing from the mouth. and it made me feel how i always used to feel. to want to intervene and stop him. to tell them both to stop. please, stop. but my brain stopped my feet from moving an inch, i stayed well away in the (un)safety of my room. it's weird, i always remember being terrified that they'd bring me into it like they always used to. fight about me, fight against me. then team up and be abusive together. i hate all those feelings and memories coming back. i wish they'd leave me alone. i wish i could physically cut out the bad shit. he always used to take out his stress on us. i remember making excuses to people about his behaviour. "he didn't mean it, he's just stressed out." fucking hell, i can't believe i said that to people. last night he was like "i have no support, if you want to be supportive then do it fucking right or don't bother. you just make things worse for me." blahblahblah. it's his birthday coming up, and on the same day one year since i graduated ugh. today it's like nothing ever happened. civil. normal. the fuck is wrong with these people?!!?!? it's the same patterns, same stupid shit. forever and always and i wish i didn't want to leave them behind but i really, really do. i don't want to have to painfully peel myself from everything and everyone but it's got to happen, now.

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combat baby. [Nov. 6th, 2014|05:55 pm]
it's strange it took me this long and this many triggers to get back to this place in time/mind. it's fucking awesome. i'm at a breakthrough. it's this fucking environment that's shredding me to bits. i was never meant to be back here and now i understand the very reasons why. it's not that i hadn't always known (for most of my life) but i just always seem to forget/block it out. i can finally fucking breathe. i'm ready to leave this place for good. fucking hell, i have missed this feeling/the strength and determination in me. instead of planning negative shit, i'm sticking with things that'll get me out of here. i can't believe i got lost in their shit. i am not them, i never have been and i never will be. listening to my own way of doing things is better than following blind pigs to the slaughter. i'm not into her shit over money on EVERYTHING. MONEY IS EVERYTHING to some people. i'm not responsible for taking care of people who aren't right in the head. they brought me into the world, they surrounded me but i escaped. i should have stayed gone. it's up to me to find a way to permanently leave. this can't happen again. i'd rather kill myself than let this happen again. i'm fucking awesome and the world needs more awesome people like me. even if i'm mostly alone, it's better than being around these fuckers.

suddenly i remember how i got the kindness and compassion i have. the patience i used to have. i'm the fucking saviour to my own hell. it's not that i haven't been over this a million times already, i just needed to remember it again -- and go through all that pain to remind me again. what the fuck happens to me to make me have to go through all of this shit again just to remember, i don't actually know. it doesn't hurt anymore though, and that's the main thing. now i can focus on something properly before SAD and depression kick in. even if i start something, it'll lead me to eventually get out. whatever i have to do, i need to do it now.

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we're not bad people, we just come from a bad place. [Nov. 3rd, 2014|11:46 pm]
something triggered me deeply and i don't know what to do. in crisis, and i need to talk to someone. shit.

i don't know why i'm still alive.

i wish i could fucking write.

i'm too fucked up for anyone or anything.

paramore (bxtch!) on repeat. all we know is falling, it   f
                                                                                                     l l
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they're trying to make me be someone i don't want to be. [Oct. 30th, 2014|01:49 pm]
[Current Music |MS MR - Fantasy | Powered by Last.fm]

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i need to hear some sounds that recognise the pain in me. [Oct. 28th, 2014|02:06 am]
comforting airwaves, remembering the things i once was, the elements of my being that saved me. it's all interesting, i managed to watch 3/4 of a horror movie that was creepy. i started drawing last week, and now i've ended up drawing on myself. this is the kind of behaviour i went through as a teen, then again, the songs are from my childhood/teens. am i regressing? drawing on my skin was a better way of coping over cutting though.
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but the only soldier now is me, i'm fighting things i cannot see. [Oct. 14th, 2014|10:35 pm]
[Current Music |Suzanne Vega - Marlene on the Wall | Powered by Last.fm]

things are going to be okay, one step, small steps. even people who ruin lives have hearts (in most cases.) things are never what they seem, no one gives less in a sense. whatever bad i've been going through has come to an abrupt end. I can actually sort of breathe, maybe it's because that pressure is no longer on me. And I have a plan of sorts, and things will be fine... someday.

One Day The Sadness Will End.
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Consciousness Quotient Inventory. [Oct. 10th, 2014|09:31 pm]

Your Consciousness Quotient: 75.2%

The Consciousness Quotient (CQ) is a composite psychological construct based on a list of traits, skills and abilities that describe conscious experience. The CQ Inventory (CQ-i) evaluates the frequency of various behaviours and the usage of specific skills and abilities, providing a detailed description of conscious awareness experiences.

To be conscious means to have a degree of witnessing awareness and a degree of freedom of choice when thinking, feeling, sensing and interacting with people and the environment. An important element of conscious experience is intentionality, being the mind-set that allows a person to deliberately choose what behaviour to enact and what attitude to select. ‘More conscious’ (a higher CQ) means a higher degree of witnessing awareness and being less automatic in thinking-feeling-sensing, together with a higher degree of choice when initiating a behaviour. The witnessing perspective, which leads to the ability to observe the inside and outside worlds without engaging with them, is one of the key factors of the CQ construct. ‘Witnessing awareness’ is usually described as the ‘I am experience’, ‘the observer experience’, ‘just being’ (as opposed to ‘doing’), ‘awareness of awareness itself’ and ‘no-mind’. ‘Mindfulness’ is a related the construct, but in terms of modern mindfulness – as it is promoted in the West – being mindful does not go beyond being a cognitive observer.

The everyday CQ is described by Ovidiu Brazdau as “the level of consciousness (or the level of being conscious) that is experienced in the morning, one hour after waking up and after having had a refreshing sleep, without being exposed to any significant stimulus (coffee, TV, radio, music, talking, psychological stress). In other words, the consciousness quotient is the general level of being conscious/aware throughout a day, in regular life conditions.” This level of being conscious can change during life through the process of personal development.

Physical CQ: 72.07%
The Physical CQ refers to the capacity for awareness of one’s body and of the actual elements of the environment (environmental awareness). This factor includes various traits, skills and abilities, such as interoceptive awareness, body posture, tone of voice, awareness of senses (e.g., smell, taste, touch), psychosomatic connections (how the body is influenced by emotions and thinking patterns), detecting automatic movements of the body (e.g., automatic eating behaviours), awareness of the bio-energy of the body, and a connection with one’s physical surroundings.
Your score on the Physical Consciousness subscale is in the upper-intermediate values range, meaning that you are aware of what happens with your own body and of the changes occurring in your environment. It is easy for you to describe your body and various physiological changes while acknowledging at the same time your own needs.
Emotional CQ: 78.65%
The Emotional CQ refers to the capacity for awareness of one’s emotions and feelings, and their development and interactions. The Emotional CQ include traits, skills and abilities related to the emotional world, such as empathy, emotional validation, openness, vulnerability, recognition of people’s emotions, detecting the automatic patterns in emotional life, mirroring others, emotional acceptance, emotional intelligence, the ability to select among emotions and to sustain positive emotions, adapting emotional responses to various social contexts, and acceptance of any emotions that appear in you.
Your score on the Emotional Consciousness scale is in the upper-intermediate values range, meaning that you are aware of your own emotions and feelings. You are capable of assertive behaviour adapted to the environment and your own person. You are empathetic and able to acknowledge at the same time your own emotional changes.
Cognitive CQ: 70.22%
The Cognitive CQ refers to the capacity for awareness of one’s own ideas and thoughts, of the cognitive flow in general. The Cognitive CQ is related to thinking, reflection, judgment, patterns of understanding, ways of meaning-making. It includes specific traits, skills and abilities, such as systems-thinking, intuition, awareness of cognitive filters, metacognition, self-reflection, detection of cognitive biases (e.g., jumping to conclusions, labeling, projection), accepting indecision, flexibility in thinking, critical thinking, present moment awareness, awareness of the limits of words (construct awareness), attention regulation, an ability to act with intention (choice), decision-making, mindfulness (not judging the inner experience), acceptance of multiple perspectives, cognitive openness, creativity, the ability to have a panoramic view (overview) of a specific topic or situation, and the ability to manage the flow of thoughts.
Your score on the Cognitive CQ is in the upper-intermediate values range, meaning that you have a large number of the skills necessary to observe and manage your own thoughts. You are a person with a high level of awareness of the thinking process and you have enhanced abilities in regulating your thought process.
Social-Relational CQ: 79.58%
The Social-Relational CQ refers to the capacity for awareness of the relations and connections with the people around us and the communities we are a part of. The Social-Relational CQ includes traits, skills and abilities related to parental relationships, close relationships, social interactions, perception of others’ communications styles, detecting social deception, cognitive empathy, social intuition, flexibility in social behaviours, outrospection (a means of getting to know oneself by developing relationships and empathetic thinking with others), awareness of in-out groups stereotypes, cognitive openness when discussing matters with others, detecting the hidden agendas of the people we listen to or talk to, and conversational skills.
Your score on the Social Consciousness scale is in the upper-intermediate values range, meaning that you are very much aware of your relationships with others. You can easily identify changes in the dynamics of close relations and you have good interpersonal skills that allow you to connect with people.
Self CQ: 78.4%
The Self CQ refers to the capacity for awareness of one’s self and one’s own ego (identity). The Self CQ includes traits, skills and abilities related to identity, the self-system, one’s image of life, self-awareness, connections between emotions and thinking, an ability to see one’s self as objectively as possible, flexibility in ego-related thinking (e.g., the ability to make and appreciate jokes about the way we are), self-compassion, self-kindness, post-autonomous ego-development traits (goal in life, ego awareness), awareness of sub-personalities, multicultural self-awareness (e.g., recognizing how cultures you interact with influence your worldview), and autonomy.
Your score on the Self CQ scale is in the upper-intermediate values range, meaning that you have a good ability to connect with and observe your identity. This is why you find it easy to manage your own inner life and to talk about yourself. You gave a good recognition of the multiple facets of your personality and you experience yourself as something more than the sum of the parts of your personality.
Inner Growth CQ: 80.83%
The Inner Growth CQ refers to the capacity for awareness of the process of personal development, transformation and growth. The Inner Growth CQ includes traits, skills and abilities related to the evolution of personality, paradigm shifts, unlearning and learning (through pain or by open learning), openness, the language updating process, accepting criticism, abandoning old perspectives and embracing new ones, noticing resistance to change, learning after peak experiences, detecting the cognitive biases related to learning (e.g., confirmation bias), resilience, awareness of one’s level of development (e.g., using spiral dynamics theory), and an ability to sustain new patterns of thinking/feeling while old patterns slowly lose their grip (awareness of the process of neuroplasticity).
Your score on the Inner Growth CQ scale is in the upper values range, meaning that you have enhanced skills for sustaining your own personality development. You have developed the ability to be open, to accept new experiences and to learn from them. You quickly notice when a situation has the potential to teach you something, and you have developed the ability to see how other people mirror your needs and desires. You are open to criticism and welcome difficult situations, as you see that they can make important contributions to your personal development process.
Spiritual CQ: 75.42%
This factor includes specific traits, skills and abilities related to human connectedness, meta-awareness, witnessing awareness (non-attachment) and acceptance of experience, present moment awareness, the connection of humans and nature (environment), mindfulness, and non-reactivity to inner experiences. Witnessing experience is a key factor to the Spiritual CQ: the ability to look at your own body, thoughts and feelings, and your own awareness as a neutral witness, from the outside. This is the experience of an ‘I’, of an observer, of watching one’s self doing things.

An important part of the Spiritual CQ explores post-autonomous ego development features, including serving others, compassion for the self, transpersonal experiences, Ego as object/construct, detecting the limits of words (language as object).

The Spiritual CQ factor was developed by including the participatory understanding of spirituality: the spirituality of persons is developed and revealed primarily in the spirituality of their relations with other persons (regarding spirituality primarily as the fruit of individual meditative attainment leads to the gross anomaly of a ‘spiritual’ person who is an interpersonal oppressor).

Your score on the Spiritual Consciousness scale is in the upper-intermediate values range, meaning that you have good skills that allow you to experience the interconnectedness of people and nature and that you are open to spiritual experiences. You have well-defined ideas about your purpose on Earth, and you find it easy to talk about religion and humankind in general. You have the ability to witness, observe and accept all experiences, positive and negative, and you often find yourself contemplating the complexity of life.
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frack this, yr an awesome person. [Oct. 2nd, 2014|12:31 am]
[Current Music |The White Stripes - The Hardest Button to Button | Powered by Last.fm]

turned my mind around?

october already, but i'm not feeling cold from my insides yet. there's hope.

i'm a strange creature, lonely feeder, amazed seeker. hellooooooooooooooooooooo there, you've found it again (it's only temporary though.)

i wanna give the whole world a hug and listen to the dreamiest songs and eat my damn pillow of marshmallows.

stickin' it.
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hello world, i'm yr wild girl. [Sep. 28th, 2014|10:57 pm]
[Current Music |Joan Jett and the Blackhearts - Cherry Bomb | Powered by Last.fm]

lately i've been constantly crying, part sadness, part grief; and probably a lot of something else. my moods go from angry to sad to calm and content. i dunno, all of this is pointless when i've always and always will want to die. i miss whatever i had found, knowing me i'll probably never find it again. i just really, really want a hug. the kind you can lose yourself in arms forever and just be calm and breathe and feel okay. restoring hugs. bleh.
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good girl, bad girl / good girl gone bad. [Sep. 23rd, 2014|08:22 pm]
[Current Music |Crystal Fighters - Earth Island | Powered by Last.fm]

darker waters and the depth of the oceans at night. with no moonlight to guide you, you keep hiding, waiting for something that may never happen. and you're scared, scared of the bloodshed, of the way you have to bite and really sink your teeth in like a carnivorous whore to take control. make yourself known or they will make you surrender, creep up on you while you slumber after expelling your last will of might to stay awake. nobody knows of these dark times, dark nights in the silence, and with your howling pain that you keep in so deeply that it's now a part of you. sadness is a part of you and you just want to let it out, but no amount of howling can rid you of your blood red fading to blackness. you're alone, alone and very unknown.

you can never be who you were, it's all changed and you still want to be that little child inside of you. you're broken and burning and still alive. you don't know how you're still here but you know and understand why you're so complex. for every psychic connection you've felt, you've known your strangeness to be your only point of calm. a distant bright star from the depths of the tunnel you've fallen down in. strangeness is everything, and you want to hold onto it for as long as you can. they're trying to pry it away but your last grasps unsteadily hold it firm.

let go or stay stuck?
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i'm not sad, i'm almost happy//my life story. [Sep. 20th, 2014|01:18 am]
[Current Music |Portishead - Only You | Powered by Last.fm]

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i am doomed. [Sep. 16th, 2014|09:30 pm]
life's a pile of wank. doing something i don't wanna do to get away from somewhere i don't want to be. but then, i don't see the point in completely changing everything and going alt. because i don't even believe in crazy spiritual/psychic healing things even though it keeps coming back to me. like, if you don't believe in something, why do it? but then, why am i being drawn into it? like there's no one at all to talk to, people are either deeply into it or deeply sceptical. i've always been on the fence. borderline on everything. fuck me. i don't understand, why i've experienced crazy shit, not just read about it/heard of it throughout my life, and i still have no clue what i'm doing. i feel like a complete idiot, 'cause i'm more fucked up than i ever was, i just wanna go back to being fucked up in the right ways. or at least in less complicated ways. i don't wanna be fucked in the head anymore, i just want to be dead. or dying, or, something that involves sleep for 70 yrs.

intuition - what yr doing is wrong for you
rational response - no, you've gotta get away from here however you can
intuition - yr harming yrself, not healing
rational response - getting away will place you in a better position to heal
intuition - fuck it, yr on yr own
rational response - yr fucked, bye

i wish i could write how i used to, maybe then i'd get something from this. i wish something on this fucking earth would help me in some small way. it's only 9:20 but i'm gonna go to sleep. there's nothing left here for me. there's nothing, there never was. i wish i could stfu and get over myself and get over this life thing. whatever it is. i just want it to stop. stop telling me to get my shit together, because apparently this is the yr i'm meant to make it change. fuck do i know how i can go about doing that. i read something before, the more you felt like you were intruded on in early life, the more you seek isolation/keep to yourself for fear of others intruding on you, which leads to low self-esteem, which leads to lots of shit stuff.

i've been kidding myself since i was 9.  there's no way i can not be like them, there's no way i can break this cycle. especially without people/support.

i'm literally a void within a void. a blackness, an abyss. i'm empty, staring back at empty, stretching beyond a horizon of nothingness.
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shiiiiiiiit. [Sep. 8th, 2014|08:39 pm]
Aries: It’s okay if you don’t know what you’re doing yet, this week. It’s okay if you don’t know where you’re going. It’s okay if you don’t know the shortest path to the life that you’re trying to find. Look at yourself in the mirror and think of all the different haircuts you’ve had, think of all the different faces you’ve worn. Float on your back in a lake, in a pool, in the sea, and think of all the time you have to keep learning how to live.
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everything, always. [Sep. 6th, 2014|01:54 am]
CONFESSION: On Being An Orphan, Using Men For Comfort & Ending Codependency
Luna Luna Magazine September 24, 2013 Confessions, Love, Sex & Love, Staff Picks
By Anonymous
I was an orphan during my teen years—but you’d never know it.I kept it a secret to everyone—my high school, my friends, strangers. I never told anyone we were poor, or that my parents weren’t really parents, and I’d act nonchalant when class photos were taken because we couldn’t afford them.
“Oh, I don’t need a photo to prove I was here.” I was a “rebel.”
Everyone told me I was strange and lovely and beautiful; my skin was white and pure and my hair was dark. I was known as the poet ever since I began to write. Because of this, people were mystified by me.I was shy and broken and so vulnerable people saw beauty even when none existed. I was living through some sort of cinematic version of my life, only it was very real and painful. I didn’t feel magical.
I was 15 and had no home. I had essentially lost everyone close to me—not to death, but to something else. My parents weren’t able to take care of me anymore, and though I understand them now, I didn’t then.I remember perpetually asking myself: how could even beautiful things fall? My mother had bright green eyes and a wide smile, but she found safety not in her home or her children or herself, but in that quiet, drip-drop of drug and bad men.
Once, she dated a younger man who slept with a pentagram beneath his bed. Other times she dated men who stole new clothes from me so he could return them for money; this man also snapped my long pre-2000s curly phone cord so I couldn’t talk.Later, the man who became my step-father would break in to our home from the attic and talk to himself, making beaded necklaces he’d try to sell on the street. Then, he robbed a bank and was sentenced to jail for years.
But before all of this, my Mother was beautiful.
In the 60s she wore flowers in her strawberry hair and danced a life in muted yellow and green. She wore desert colors and people called her “Legs.” Men loved her so much she drove them mad, I’ve heard. The truth is: my mother was born a Broken Woman.
Window light
And when my father saw her spirit, his energy crushed it. Then they both sort of disappeared.
Everyone around me just seemed to peel away and vanish. They left a light I kept almost clutching and chasing, and that light informed every year going forward. I became a ward of the state around 2001, right after September 11. It was a year of quiet tragedy and change.
I eventually moved into a stranger’s house because they were the only people that would take me. My family members–the ones near me, near my high school, just weren’t there—later in life, they apologized for this. When my social worker brought me to this new place, he stood on the doorstep, the light shining from behind him, and he said: “Is this OK?”
I stood there in a long white gown and said, “Yes, this will be fine.”I lied.The house was big and blue and the lawn was trimmed and kept. There was an absence of life and sincerity. I went up into my strange new bedroom and opened the empty drawers. There I saw scented yellow floral liner. A rotary phone sat on the table, and the white sun fell in as if to photograph the moment. I will never, ever forget that bright, dead bedroom and I will see it in my head on my death-bed.
My foster mother stood in the doorway and told me unpack, and then she opened the drawers to show me the space they’d made, as if it were some feat. She was as nervous as I was.
They taught me to eat well and do my school work. They told me my hair was too dark and that I should lighten it. They told me to be calm and quiet; and when they got tired of trying to make me into their Perfect Daughter, we’d connect for a rare moment and I concluded that we both just wanted to be loved, but we didn’t know how.
I learned young to make Life into Art.
I sat in my new room writing poems. I cried a lot at first and then stopped altogether, as if I’d never been left alone. I stole flowers from the garden and made wreaths. I sat with a tiny puppy and took photographs of his paws and face. I found a Chopin record and played the pieces on repeat.
No one was ever home.
They worked in theatre and left me for hours. So I walked around and looked at their art; Degas. Degas everywhere. So, in that instant, I decided I’d become a ballerina, of course. I stood in class in my white tights and, too curvy even at 16, failed.
I felt too much fire to be contained. This was a pivotal moment for me: I knew it then—I felt too alive to stand rigid and straight. I found my home in other things: I didn’t want to be good enough for ballet. I wanted my body to be soft and alluring. I wanted to break the rules.Wildness, I thought, was beauty. In this moment I learned something about myself: I am too fucked to follow any rule about my body—in dance or not.
I was living the cinematic cliche of youth. And so I surrounded myself with everything lovely, and at the end of the night I sat on my daybed with it’s ivory wrought iron twisted into something elegant and innocent, and I felt the coldness of being alone.I stood in mirrors and took down my hair. I applied dark lipstick and padded my little tits. I bought perfumes and poured them down my chest. I decided to fuck it, I’ll become an adult, because I can’t have my childhood anymore.
I wanted to cover up the gory truth of everything, and looking back, my insincerity was sincere.
While living in this new house, I was dating an older guy. He was an angel—even his name was an angel’s name—and he saved me by being the one I could call at night.But I was 16 and he wanted me to beat him up in the bedroom, so I tried, and I failed.What 16-year-old feels “too weak” for her man? What 16-year-old goes into NYC every weekend to beat someone up? I just wanted him to love me, so I thought, “I’ll hurt you if that’s what it takes.”He begged me to be mean to him, to choke him, to file him down to the little boy he wanted to be. But in my head I just needed someone who would hold me.
So I left him for a new, nomadic life. His devastation fed me; I wanted him to grieve as badly as I had for years; he wrote me choral arrangements that I’d play on repeat because they were beautiful, and I sucked down his heartache as though it were a transfusion of my own life.
Soon, I met a new boy and we sailed to Bermuda together. His parents were rich and we had our own room. I was 17 or 18 then, and we stood on the bow and looked out at the black, silent sea.Between us we found a comfort. He was always the ugly one, he said, but he had completely changed in adolescence. Now he was newly tall and handsome. And in me, after years of rejection, he saw a girl who would actually love him. I took my heartache out on his cock, and he worshiped me. I felt safe.
On deck, we shared a bottle of mandarin vodka, taking shot after shot, hoping to get rid of whatever our fears were. I felt I was blossoming. It was the first time I’d ever gotten black-out drunk, and I fucked him dirty that night and learned he was a virgin.In the morning as I sat nude in the mirror and braided my hair down my back, and felt a new, dark power surge through me.
Later in life, someone would call me an energy vampire.
As we made way to port, we slept in bed well past noon and drew stars on one another’s shoulders. We kissed for hours until we were around his parents. Before them, we sat wet in blooming—no, exploding—exultation and lust. We pulled our hair out of our heads with just our eyes.
And then, coming back to the Northeast, we made promises to love one another forever, and said:
“These coves of turquoise water are ours.” We kissed against the jetty, and I let him cum inside me. I was stupid and wild and I felt free.
“We will return to Bermuda when we are old and ugly,” I professed.
“You could never be ugly, ” he said. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
I ignored him.
Back at home, we wildly fucked six times a day. We got drunk and drove fast through the night; he was an alcoholic and almost killed us on Route 78 in the pouring rain. I’d beg him to stop, slap his chest, and force him to let me drive. I’d cry as I drove, wondering why I always ended up having to take care of someone. Why did they need saving? Why did they need to get beat up? When would someone come and take care of me? Pity party.
We screamed and cried and life went on this way; we felt sane-or alive-in our madness. Or, we’d just learned it.
Soon, I moved to college and left him for the next boy I met. I just needed the love. I just needed the false promise of affection. I could make it mean anything I needed: Mom will come home. Dad will remember me. I won’t feel so lonely. I won’t feel so thrown-away.I was addicted to new love because it strangled the memories.
I was the sea after the shore.
And, because the moon pulls and tugs and dictates, all I ever did was ebb and flow in and out, always watching the water line as I rolled away. All I ever did was roll in and out and take a new boy with me. I made him worship and love me, and when they left or when I left, I’d cry and curl up into myself and wear long gowns and seek new beauty.
Somewhere along the way I really did fall in love, and I stayed with him for maybe 4 years. My friends would say this was the Winter Of My Life. I agree.
This was the most dead I’d ever felt because I was dating a ghost. I don’t think I ever felt at home here; I adopted the idea that being with someone—anyone—was better than being alone. I was constantly crying. I had developed a fear of death and endings. I hated being alone. I got sick and developed an auto-immune disorder. And he had his own issues, so together it blossomed into something terrible. I don’t know who was at fault first; I just know I lost myself. I turned into a beast and became violent and broke Christmas trees and flower vases.
When it ended, I lost myself and ran away. I sat in a church and prayed. I made love to men thirty years older. I cried every night for two weeks and ran away to the Colorado mountains and met an old friend who was broken-hearted.
We rode with the top down and drank red wine and made love over and over. He grunted like an animal and I smiled on my back; we both had nothing and wanted the world and felt a silent agreement that this was temporary pleasure.
We went camping. I wore slutty clothes in the mountains and flipped my hair in the sun. He’d watch me and want me, and took me into the tent and I’d conquer him. We held each other when night fell and I felt safe.
That last night the temperature dropped and we had to hold one another to stay alive. I knew I needed to go home and undo what I’d learned about safety. I knew I needed to be alone.
I knew it then: I would have to sit on the end of my bed and there would be no phone calls. I would have to struggle. I still had books and a desk and some dried flowers. I had some empty wine bottles and a pile of poems. I had a little record player and strands of pearls. I still loved muted green. I still loved wrought-iron. I would wear white lace and rep lips.I would have to be alone.
I swam in the middle of my bed and remembered the blue sea and the many loves and the long drives and the immortality of youth.
I remembered my hunger and the anger and the grief, but this time, the memories morphed:I wasn’t actually trapped by my foster parents. They were flawed, but they just trying to love a poor, sad kid. I hadn’t been a vixen because I broke boys’ hearts. I was a wretched thing, flailing and reacting to the hurt I’d experienced.I hadn’t kissed boys on train tracks and fucked in cherry blossom fields because I was whole. I was just young and searching for an answer.I hadn’t been abused into being a monster. I made a choice to be a monster.I hadn’t run away to Colorado to heal. I was condemned and imprisoned by my learned responses.Men weren’t the answer. Bodies weren’t the answer. Sex wasn’t a savior.But it was a nice try when you’re young and hurt.
I never knew how to belong to something; I still don’t. I never knew how to re-appropriate sex. Sometimes I still don’t. I struggle to believe it when someone says, “Here, take this that I have to give you and let it make you happy.”I will never be perfectly at ease. I am too heartbroken. I have too many memories. I am fatalistic. I am not used to good things or love. I don’t celebrate happy Christmas dinners anymore. My mother is still broken, and my father never came home. I don’t have a normal life. I am an unusual girl who tries to blend in. I always expect someone to leave. I always want to get in trouble in order to win the war inside my head. Distractions. Lights. Hands. Sounds.
Despite it all, and despite the flaws, I have decided to just try to let things be beautiful and let people love me. When I get scared, instead of hurting people or using a body, I surround myself with beauty and cliche—because it’s OK to find safety in soft yellow light and Montepulciano and double exposure.It is okay to let my hair out in the wind. It is OK to see my life as cinema. It is okay to wear flowers and mix perfume and read old books, because my entire life had been too real and too bloody and I deserve it.
Everyone does.

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