In the absence of writing...

I like the city. It's big and lonely, and people here are cold, sounds horrible, but it suits me. Back home where I grew up, I have the pressure of my family to be their savior. To be the child who saves them, who makes all the money to cure all their unhappiness's, and to be classy and beautiful the entire time. To have faith, but to be strong. To keep love, but never let a man hold me down. Here in the city I can make my own dreams, to not have my mistakes blown up at Kinko's on a poster board for the entire town to gossip about. I don't even know these people I graduated with, how do they have time to gossip about me. It's depressing to go out in your hometown. The same people every night. The only people left from your class are the ones who have had children, or that have done so many drugs they can't move anywhere else for fear they won't have any "connections" for pot, or worse. I blend in up here, I'm left alone. I like being left alone, to have my own thoughts, and my own emotions. To have my own dreams, and have room to make mistakes.

Everyday when I come home I walk past the first apartment on the first floor, and I smell the coconut from her home. I couldn't pinpoint the smell, until Scott assured me it was coconut. I've always preferred the smells of foods to the headache that I get from floral scents. The woman who lives there makes me sad. She had a black eye last week, and her boyfriend looks like the type to have done it to her. He's bald, likes to have a beer constantly in his grips, and looks as if he thinks he's the "big man on campus". Men like that repulse me. Usually when you have doubts and insecurities it's a sign you're human, and humanity is hard to come by in the world we live in.

My cousin got into a car accident two weekends ago. She had just got into nursing school and was starting a new job on the Monday after, so she went out with her friends to celebrate. She got extremely drunk and ran into a tree. She has been through several surgeries since, and her and her mother have to go into physical therapy. I haven't always been a fan of my cousin, and she hasn't always made the best decisions, but she was TRYING to turn her life around. I know about mistakes, and I also know about trying my hardest to go forward and being pushed further away by the current. Ever since I've heard of her wreck, I have been tense in the car, worried that one wrong turn or one idiot not looking when he switched lanes would leave me paralyzed. I don't know if my cousin will be able to walk, but I do know she will get through it with the help of all her loved ones. I couldn't do it, my mind would check out, and my body would never recover. I pray for her healing, and that her daughter will be taken care of in her absence.

Dreams

Another one of my oh-too-real dreams. It's never the dreams you want to be vivid, it's the unlucky horrible, dying, falling, teeth falling out kind of dreams that seem to get published in my mind. In my dream we were all in the same house all these bad people in one house, and then Scott was there, occasionally trying to save me. My unconscious knows how to hit me where it hurts. Day turned to night in my dream world and he crept into my room while no one was looking. He dragged me by my foot, out of the room and my REAL body felt all of the tension and horror. Scott came in several times putting the monster back to his room and putting me into my own, but he kept reappearing until   morning, trying to take the last ounce of good inside of me and replace it with more of the nightmare memories. I got through the darkest night inside of my dream, and when I "awoke" I was surrounded by these skeleton dolls and figurines. Why did he leave these behind? Reminding me that he succeeded in destroying me,and that I will always have these skeletons in my closet? Scott wasn't there back then. I had no protection.

I'm awake and uncomfortable. I feel stiff and sad. Usually my active imagination has no effect on my day, but this is doing a number.

"I need a daddy" syndrome

I was rotten to the core in my late teens. I had just moved out for the first time, and no longer had my mother controlling my dating life. So of course I went through a strand of meaningless, incompatible relationships. When I was nineteen, I dated a man from New York, he was a sports doctor, and very much Italian. His, what can only be described as a mansion, was on the same street as the guy who invented the Nintendo. My first time meeting him, he had a limo pick me up at the airport, and answered the door with another fellow doctor. I remembered thinking "Who the hell do I think I'm kidding? I can't be with a man who has ACTUAL lion statues in the front of his house!". He was always very kind, and very much a gentleman. He would take me out to these dim, fancy restaurants with a group of different people every time, no one ever asked for my ID, and he would always order for me. I have to admit, even as I'm getting older and bitter, it feels nice to be paraded around and catered to. Alas, like most things, my guilt got in the way. I didn't love this man. He wasn't ever going to be around, he was older, smarter, stronger, and wealthier. I couldn't do this to him. Not only was I just not interested in his slight arrogance, but I am a complete mess that he'd never be able to keep up with mentally. Our little fling lasted about two months tops before he started talking about marriage and I walked out the door.

I bring this up, because lately as I'm struggling, and hurting, I think of me being unhappy with him, but physically taken care of. Isn't that already fifty percent better than I am right now? I'm not saying that I would ever consider dating someone with  money again, but the reason I broke up with him, is that he didn't have the time for me, and didn't understand my emotional needs. But I realize now that no man will support me emotionally unless he is gay, or an IT nerd who doesn't leave the house even for groceries.

I don't support it, but I understand how women could be lesbians. Women listen, women struggle, women hurt and deal. Women get abused, and discarded. Women Care.

I'm sure there are men out there who care, but they are few and far between. Men get confused, assuming that women want a Latin lover, a muscle man, or a wilderness explorer...But they are wrong. I could care less about your muscles, or your new polo. I'm not going to drool over your big truck, or latest catch, and I don't find it impressive if your number one in the random online game you play. I care that we can fight for the same beliefs, I care if you treat me with care and see when I'm hurting, and most of all I care about spending time together, conquering the world together.

I fight the world alone.

This is what Hell is like

My whole life I have been told that every wrong move I make puts me one step closer to Hell. Guilt and fear are why I started cutting to begin with. I cut myself to escape real Hell, but was taught every time I made a cut I was putting myself at the top of the Devils list.
I can't wait to meet God and ask him what I did to deserve the life I live. I still wish I cut, I would cut two to three times a week if I could. You know the only thing stopping me? The one thing I fear more  than death, than failure, than weakness or shame. Being unattractive. I guess I can add shallow to my list of faults. I never understood why I put so my stock into my looks, every problem I've ever had is due to not being taken seriously because of my looks, or being taken TOO seriously because of my looks. I can't even put into words how much pain I'm in.
I bring up hell, because I often wonder(being a person who believes in God and the Devil) how hell compares to real life. You work your ass off,  just to barely get by, you hope that your hobbies, friends, family, and materials can keep you happy long enough to survive. But they never do. All I ever want to do is be some one worth while, succeed, be a role model for women and children. But I take one step forward, and when I finally think stability has sunk in, I fall down a flight of stairs. I went to a Christian haunted house in 2008, and walked through a scenario and saw what Hell "might" be like. It was sad, scary, and overly painful. Most of my days are the same. I don't know if I was born cynical, or just a realist...but WHAT IS THE POINT?
What do we have to look forward to? Your memories won't matter when you die, the sex you had wont matter, your paycheck won't matter where you're going, and neither will my wardrobe. So why do I go to work? Why do I smile for the people I love? Why do I pay my bills or go to school?
Because I fucking have to.
Because suicide will lead to your family and friends having a harder time, and resenting you for being so selfish. I have no choice but to live out my life and die trying to succeed. And...I, I just don't want to. I don't want to be in pain anymore. I don't want to worry anymore, it's a slow suicide that will age me quicker than my addiction to cutting.
And if you think I'm crying out for sympathy, please don't respond with it. I don't need someone to feel sorry for me, because there is no reason, lots of people have much worse lives. I just don't have a strong heart, or undying faith. I've got a tiny thread left of my nerve, and there is a rock weighing it down.
I need a friend, but I don't trust anyone. I need advice, but I've heard everything from "it will pass" to "pray". I need drugs, but won't be another statistic. I need a hug, but hate to be touched. I need therapy...but could never afford it. I need a strong drink and a dozen sleep inducing pills.