September 28th, 2013
i mean you have to be ok with who you are because if you give people the space not to be they'll take it
August 30th, 2013
base housing in cheyenne with the back stairs and the school room and the attic bath tub for mixing potions
none of these are my actual house, but are pretty similar, i can't find the exact row of houses we lived in. everybody's house was exactly similar, but just a little different (you know, as long as your dad was roughly the same rank) (just for proximity reasons though, we probably weren't friends otherwise, anyway). it was always the best adventure, for this reason, to get to go inside friends' houses, or on a base ghost or historical homes tour.
there was this huge field in front of our house, which eventually got a playground (which is actually the setting of one of my most embarrassing / painful guilt-inducing childhood memories), but before that just had a dirt path around it and a bunch of antelope that would run through. i used to ride my bike around and around and around that path (living on bases lead to lots of biking around and around and around things - i still remember "breaking off base" to a secret bike path in germany - the thrill of that, of riding straight into the unknown). when my grammy came to visit, she went for a walk with us on our bikes and was terrified the antelope would chase us, or worse, i guess. that field also had a basketball court on it (i think always, but maybe eventually, with the birth of the playground) which is where i heard "quit playing games with my heart," and the backstreet boys, for the first time ever.
i've been having this same dream, or piece of dream since i was 8? i'll open a door and go up this stair case to this secret or at least unused part of my grandparents house. 3 floors - 2 huge floors of bedrooms and bathrooms, all feel kind of eerie and old and very empty and then a staircase straight up to an attic, full of things.
i could be having any dream, about anything, and all the sudden i'll end up here. sometimes i'll try to bring someone in the dream with me, to the attic, to show them all the stuff, but if someone's with me, we can never get past the first two floors (today it was because actually the secret floors are rented out by someone over the summer, and they didn't tell us, but they rented it out to someone else, an elderly women, who scared me when i walked into one of the bedrooms and she was unpacking there, unexpectedly).
sometimes, instead of those 3 floors, i'll go into a behind the wall attic room off of my grandfather's bedroom to look through my grammy's old things.
i'm sure i disappear to these places for a reason, something in dream must happen to make my brain go there, i wish i knew what.
in real life, i guess, there have been a lot of secret places. my grandparents did have behind the wall attics in their house - two of them, off the bedroom my uncles shared growing up. on one side they kept luggage and practical things they still used. on the other, larger side, my grammy kept all the toys my mom and her brothers and sister played with growing up, and she'd go in with us and help us find things and let us pull them out to play when we would visit. and after she died, my mom and i did find some things of hers in that attic, i forget exactly what though, but i remember my mom made it feel like we were unlocking a mystery (she always makes family history seem that way).
also, when my grammy's dad died, my mom and i and my sister went to his house to look through his things (he was a collector of "stuff", other people's junk which he made things out of, his own junk - he had a lot of things to go through). he had an entire apartment above his house, that i never knew about until he died. i remember, i must have been only 12? 10? i actually have no idea how old i was, but before my grammy passed away, before high school. but i remember wishing so badly i could live in that apartment, i thought it was the very best. it was old, like the house, and small and secret, i never even knew it existed or was part of the house at all.
and when i was 9 and 10 we lived in a huge old base duplex in cheyenne, which had multiple sets of stairs, one in the front for the family, and one in the back for the house staff. the front one only went between the first floor, where the front door opened into the living and dining quarters and then upstairs to the four bedrooms and family bathroom. the back stairs went from the basement, to the back door and then all the way up the house to the attic - which had 3 more bedrooms, one which was gutted and full of bats, one where our computer and all my dad's books lived, and then my favorite one that i used for a school room, with a closet with hooks and everything, and then a bathroom, with a tub that didn't work, where i used to mix old perfumes and make up into potions. on the first floor, there was even a secret hallway that connected the dining and living quarters to the kitchen.
but i'm not sure what makes my brain goes here, mid dream. every once in a while, like the first time i opened the secret attic, the dreams are kind of a nightmare. but mostly they end too soon and are enrapturing in that it really feels like i could uncover anything, even just the thing i need.
maybe i will tell my mom about this. i think she bred, but would also be pleased to hear about, a lot of it.
August 25th, 2013
revisit the old haunts burn to the ground anything that no longer suits or serves you
August 8th, 2013
i do not know. i have been thinking a lot about the ladies in my life. i accidentally (accidentally?), unintentionally? i guess against my better judgement recently checked up on some of the old people in my life and it was terrible they are terrible they were unsupportive and it's so strange to me because currently in my life Not Hating Girls is pretty important, (at least theoretically, because in practice i guess i'm not particularly active about Liking any of them, but i am just bad at friends / people in general, it's not a Girls thing) but really i don't feel like this is even a thing or a concept i would be so attached to and find so much strength in? without a lot of the girls in my life who are in it now and who especially were in it in 2010, when really i didn't feel or think theoretically anything except bad all the time. now i feel great and grown and i guess arguably detached but it is not without some sense that i wouldn't be here without some of these girls - not saved by any action in particular, but by attitude and by proximity i guess. i feel pretty lucky actually.
i've talked with maria bunch about, you know, the sister or sisters you choose, and i am feeling pretty sentimental about that right now. not for any particular reason, except that it's an important thing to think about from time to time. i have found comfort and acceptance and RECIPROCITY (god, most importantly reciprocity, i feel like that is always such a Missing, even in my closest relationships with Boys) in some of my current girl friendships, and i feel pretty grateful for that right now.
August 3rd, 2013
i had a dream last night that i went into my closet, and ran my fingers over the last few items of your clothing in there, your boots. "there was more in here, last time i checked" i thought. a black turtleneck, an orange and blue sports jersey, a tan backpack, some brown lace up boots. "you used to live here" i thought. "you disappeared, you didn't say anything, you're gone now, you're not coming back i don't think"
in my dream, the past few nights i've been scared in bed alone. i keep hearing creaks in the empty attic above my room. in a dream a few nights ago, i sleepwalked up to the attic and saw you there. you lived there. you had a bed and you were wearing orange. i saw you. you sat up in bed and told me i was dreaming. i believed you, then. i woke up thinking what a weird dream it was. but not tonight. in this dream, after i run my hands over your remaining things in the closet, i walk up the attic stairs - and there you are. life as usual. watching tv, eating food - living in my attic. you apologize. ("you sneak up here every night?" i say "the creaks you make when i'm in bed alone have been keeping me up nights" you apologize again, you really feel bad).
i bring you the leftover spaghetti dinner my parents made from the fridge two stories down, and i worry the whole time that you might disappear again by the time i return, but you don't, you are there, real as ever, you are back. the spaghetti is hard to find because my dad has it in a pot that is the size of a pool in the backyard, but has no utensils large enough to get the noodles on the bottom. the fridge is full of some appetizers my mom has half made.
i bring you spaghetti, and a drink, i think. you apologize again. i am chewing gum and looking at your bed, and imagine spending the night with you in the attic. am elated at how real you are, how you have been up here this whole time. i am about to ask you about the night i dreamt that this was happening - if that was real, if i knew somehow that you were up here all along. but before i can, the dishwasher breaks. we try to fix it, but the whole top rack falls out, or is about to, is frozen, about to fall to the floor. and you dissipate. you become the mist you were before the dream.
i just. you know. of course.
August 2nd, 2013
don't you ever unblock the blocks. not for a second. not even the least bad one.
July 26th, 2013
oof some days the pain is so sharp. some days i make the pain so sharp, so acute, i make myself feel it so much. i'm not sure why, except maybe to prove that i still can, that i still hurt, in the name of love and out of respect for the things i have felt and the things i have been through. i am not sure, but i do know that i have mistaken a lot of things for love (and some days you know, abuse isn't even the worst one), and i think kind of that's what hurts the most. because it dissipates the root of my pain to nothingness (or at least to Not Love), but it still doesn't make the pain disappear. it is difficult to grapple with how that could be. it is difficult to not yell, well then the root cause of this pain must be love if it is nothing else that i can name.
June 17th, 2013
nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess i'll go eat worms
June 5th, 2013
also i saw between 5-2,000 mini-coopers today (but definitely more than 12) (really). please help me determine just exactly what kind of sign from god this is exactly.
April 29th, 2013
fuck i think a certain forever open wound is finally closing and i am having feelings about it i just don't know i am just having feelings
April 18th, 2013
things get hard when yr hearts not there
and if u die u never know why
and maybe u dont care
im givin up hopin' i will get the things i need
life is a bummer
wish i could give a fuck but im too broken
life is a bummer
i had a dream and u were there
i woke up feeling sad
fell asleep to try and find u
got lost inside my head
sit around and wait to die
while nothing happens, no one tries
pull this trigger on my mind
cuz life's a fucking bummer
life is a bummer
i might literally get swallowed by this song
April 17th, 2013
"The victim who is able to articulate the situation of the victim has ceased to be a victim: he or she has become a threat."
oh it is just beneath the surface, latent volcano, waiting to envelope you in a firey sea of lava. it won't matter if you are sorry because you will be dead. it won't matter if you are sorry, because i'm not going to tell you until i've already killed either you or your memory, my memory, it doesn't matter, whatever, you won't exist anymore, you will think for a split second that you do and then you will see the sea of lava and realize that it's over.
March 19th, 2013
i used to think about ex-bfs and ex-friends and ex-everything i liked once and don't like anymore, "well i will always like that thing a little bit, because that thing is a little bit a part of me, or changed me a little bit, and i really like me and i am really happy where i am, so i guess i am happy ex-bf / ex-thing / ex-friend was part of my life because they're part of how i arrived here, and that isn't love love but it is a type of love, i guess"
on i-95 north at 65mph in the rain i claw at my own pale hands until blood trickles down my dress sleeves and just because you are part of me or changed me a little bit does not mean i love you, not even the way you love things that happened to you or made you who you were, because listen buddy, i don't even love myself anymore, not even a little bit, i am not that girl.
you don't believe me, and lord what i would give to shed all this skin that makes it so hard to convince you and anybody else otherwise.