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 youíll see
what you have sowed:
a fire girl, a low of lows

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itís 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.

Iím 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 studyÖI 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 Iím just reading. I donít know why I adopt thisÖI think itís the same idea that my high schoolís football coaches had: make your players dress up during school on game days, and theyíll feel more confident all day long. Then once they get their helmets on, theyíre high on the flirtation or admiration they received that day.

Itís a common thing to think weíre more confident when weíre dressed well, isnít it? And thereís certainly some truth to itÖat drum major camp, they told us to sit up straight and smile. ďSee? Donít you feel better already?Ē the guy would ask.

Itís 5 pm and I havenít left the house today. I havenít brushed my teeth, washed my face, combed my hair, or put on deodorant or clothes. I got a few things done, but theyíre minor in the long run. I need to grow upÖto grow a pairÖto 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. Itís unreasonable for them to expect me to breach my contract with the realty office. I know theyíre trying to guilt my dad and I into changing our minds, but theyíre in the wrong. I hate saying it like that, but itís true. Iím sick of thinking about this situation.

And Iím not terribly behind in the reading, or terribly behind otherwise.

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

But one more noteó

My psychologist wrote in the report that I prefer to be alone or in small groups. Since Iíve never known whether or not thatís 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 donít know. Sometimes itís easier to be alone and not lonely when youíre surrounded by strangers. They donít have a right to judge, and you can be whomever you wantÖitís beautiful. You can melt into the mass mob or reject it entirelyóitís 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 canít be bothered by the outside world.

Granted, I would never want to do thatÖbut I am happy being alone much of the time, and Iím glad dr. z identified this trait. At least now I know for sure. Sheís right, I canít trust myself to know myself sometimes. Often I donít know what I want, and I canít express what I need.

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

Iím 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 confessorís shoulders.

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

I donít like logging onto AIM anymore because:

-Iím tempted to unblock Marcus and wait around for him to IM me, which he wonít, and if he does, Iím putting myself in emotional danger

-Iíll see that Matt #2 is logged on, and be upset that he isnít IMing me

-Iíll feel bad that Iíve been ignoring or blocking a few of my Ďfriends,í like natalia, William, and probably others

Whatís the point of aim anyway? Itís the devilís work, I say.

I canít wait to go to slam poetry on WednesdayÖand 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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