backyard crowing



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conflagration

i feel like when i talk about suicide it scares my dad, he never seems to want to talk about it. obviously i can see why; but talking about it is like ridding myself of it. instead of just thinking about what might happen if i died, or how i would die, or what music would play in the background, i'm saying something.

cleanse me, oh ancient flame, burn away the soiled pain
tear apart this lifeless flesh, desecrate this loneliness
frantic licking up these thighs,
burning through

these fiery eyes
turn this body fast to cinder
i to you my life surrender

and as the conflagration grows
my scent will waft across your nose
and soon you�ll see
what you have sowed:
a fire girl, a low of lows

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it�s a strange sensation, when getting ready for my day is a serious hassle. When brushing my teeth, washing my face, combing my hair, getting dressed and putting on deodorant seem like a giant chore.

I�m starting to think that this is part of the depression, the not wanting or being able to get out of bed in the morning. The difficulty is going through the rituals necessary to go out and see people and study�I really do have this avoidant personality disorder.

I can study whilst in my pajamas, but sometimes I adopt the idea that to be truly mentally prepared I need to be clean and ready to see the world, even if I�m just reading. I don�t know why I adopt this�I think it�s the same idea that my high school�s football coaches had: make your players dress up during school on game days, and they�ll feel more confident all day long. Then once they get their helmets on, they�re high on the flirtation or admiration they received that day.

It�s a common thing to think we�re more confident when we�re dressed well, isn�t it? And there�s certainly some truth to it�at drum major camp, they told us to sit up straight and smile. �See? Don�t you feel better already?� the guy would ask.

It�s 5 pm and I haven�t left the house today. I haven�t brushed my teeth, washed my face, combed my hair, or put on deodorant or clothes. I got a few things done, but they�re minor in the long run. I need to grow up�to grow a pair�to be different.

But the truth is I am different, I am z. I undertook a major thing today, not a minor one. I told teenie and the new roommate off in a polite manner. They have to pay the fee and sign the papers, or no dice. It�s unreasonable for them to expect me to breach my contract with the realty office. I know they�re trying to guilt my dad and I into changing our minds, but they�re in the wrong. I hate saying it like that, but it�s true. I�m sick of thinking about this situation.

And I�m not terribly behind in the reading, or terribly behind otherwise.

I�ve just got to start again, and start I will, right now. Here I come, bathroom.

But one more note�

My psychologist wrote in the report that I prefer to be alone or in small groups. Since I�ve never known whether or not that�s true (only suspected it), I feel relieved that somebody else has figured that out for me. While there is a huge part of me that loves being lost in a crowd, that lovely crowd (in my mind) is always of people I don�t know. Sometimes it�s easier to be alone and not lonely when you�re surrounded by strangers. They don�t have a right to judge, and you can be whomever you want�it�s beautiful. You can melt into the mass mob or reject it entirely�it�s all up to you because again, who are they to judge? What are they going to do about it?

And I like being who I am, disliking crowds of people who I am familiar with, because writers generally have that characteristic. They turn into recluses, hermits, they simply can�t be bothered by the outside world.

Granted, I would never want to do that�but I am happy being alone much of the time, and I�m glad dr. z identified this trait. At least now I know for sure. She�s right, I can�t trust myself to know myself sometimes. Often I don�t know what I want, and I can�t express what I need.

My dad says don�t go looking for trouble, and I haven�t been. Abbie says go pursue the guy at the hookah bar. While he�s not trouble, he might very well hurt me, and I don�t want to be hurt. I can�t pursue him because I�m woman and that drives me crazy. And I don�t know that I know how to take it slow in relationships. I just want them to start, and NOW�I would probably walk in and be in emotional pain the whole time, wishing he would just ask me out.

I�m not that desperate, but I am lonely, like the rest of us. Admitting loneliness is so difficult, so shunned, so ridiculous. But when acceptance and understanding follows the admission, I think a great weight is lifted from the confessor�s shoulders.

Oi. I�m getting weird and philosophical. Do my words make any sense anymore? I�m not sure that I�m communicating well today. Written word, be my friend. Pretty please?

I don�t like logging onto AIM anymore because:

-I�m tempted to unblock Marcus and wait around for him to IM me, which he won�t, and if he does, I�m putting myself in emotional danger

-I�ll see that Matt #2 is logged on, and be upset that he isn�t IMing me

-I�ll feel bad that I�ve been ignoring or blocking a few of my �friends,� like natalia, William, and probably others

What�s the point of aim anyway? It�s the devil�s work, I say.

I can�t wait to go to slam poetry on Wednesday�and therapy tomorrow. I need something real, and those two things (along with postsecret) are the truest things in my life. They make me feel connected to the world, its pain, and myself.

- monday, jan. 12, 2009
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