Wednesday, December 19, 2007

just words, just speeches

Blog about it, he says. if it were only that easy. it has to be easier than discussing it in his office. there's a major trust factor here and i'm getting angrier by the moment. the violence is eating me alive. i will dominate.

i feel fat. ate something unwanted and can't escape the anxiety. the head throbs and aches and pounds.

she is shrinking. i grow taller. i assert myself and allow her to drift into the blackness till she is needed again. her anger is needed but dangerous. it's unfair to say i feel the sorriest for her; comparison equals tragedy. but Tina is so damaged that to be angry at her anger and provocation is defeating. her job is so difficult and demanding. at all times she has the littles with her.

Randy talked to ME at the last session. i found it amusing. ME is the typical teen.

whatever that means! true. i did see the hottest, i mean crazy hot! guy on MTV. it was sick, he was too good looking for his own damn good.

focus. we read the previous posts and that is always forbidden because it scares us to see what others have written. it aggrevates others more because when the words are read it seems so whiny and desperate. i have always kept my feelings more or less confined so i wouldn't be seen as needy, desperate, and have people think i am disingenuous. why do other people's opinions matter so damn much? That's it! I found it again. it's off on a tangent but i remembered the other reason i hate randy's speeches. his speeches are neatly packaged and always prepared with positive, psuedo-encouraging, and overly generous suggestions about our accomplishments.

the head hurts!!!!!!!!!!!

what i'm trying to get across is that his snippets are so contrary to the reality that it almost seems like he is ignorant of the suffering of those inside. and this is where the whining and complaining comes in. it rakes me over the coals for him to know how bad things are, but...there is no "but." would it not be unprofessional and a little bit reinforcing to acknowledge that we are drowning? And would it not be almost helping us to dwell in that which kills us?

even so, it is antipodal for him to sing our graces while we perish in our affliction. it seems diametrically opposed to nature. either he's ignorant or, worse, a guy!

ha ha

i still can't get out the words i want and it does't feel like i'm expressing my abhorrence for his discourses on our progress. It doesn't feel like progress and I can't bear hearing the GD words with out them having some merit and steadfastness in our life. it goes against the laws of mother-fucking nature!!!! I'm getting angry again and i can't afford it with this headache. however, even if we went in one day and he said he could see the misery written on our face and how desperate we are it wouldn't be what is needed or wanted. it wouldn't make me feel any better. i don't know that anything can. i don't want sympathy but, when all is said and done, i want us to be greived and i would like people to say it is a waste of a life full of potential, even though potential was never established.

ironic how we want people to say the speeches and epithets after our death but definitely not during our "life." it hurts too much to hear it so it can only be said when it doesn't count. it will only matter when we're dead. i realize this makes no sense. nothing in this life ever did.

i understand the irony even more when i speak that some of this non-sensical jibberish centers on the need to feel loved and special. notice i didn't say "be" loved and special, only to feel it. no one is truly loved, they just dupe themself into believing it's happening. nevertheless, i wish we could allow ourselves to be deceived into feeling loved. and how egregious is it to admit, let alone feel, that one would like their therapist to consider them special. be careful what you wish for, because what drives you on will drive you mad.

suffering is found in the inescapable fact that what is needed in a home is uninhabitable and we were evicted long ago. staggering, wanting, and empty. it's all a spectacle now. how i wish it would go away and the true identity of the words, feelings, and emotions could pronounce themselves. it's all trouble. and i want someone to hear and see and KNOW KNOW KNOW the suffering of everyone in here, especially the littles, and yet it will never, ever be enough. there is a massive hole that can not be filled and why the fuck are we on this? i think it just goes to show that everything leads to something else and there are no easy answers as to why one feels a particular leaning for or against something. i hate his speeches. i tried to define why but feel like i said more nothing than something. the meaning behind the words is absent. i hate that feeling. it leaves me with more problems than solutions or answers. i don't know how to fix it. i don't know how to care about not caring and i don't know how to admit that i want all that i denounce.

i feel worse than i did when i started and that was pretty shitty. Maybe that's because since i began writing i encountered a battering headache, had a fight with D., and had a panic attack.

it all falls down to this: i hate the god damn speeches. they need to be kept away from me. they don't pertain to any of us and only serve active duty to antagonize and brainwash. the speeches ignore the chaos and destruction that permeates every level. nothing inside can be saved.

i will never forget the sad tree lurking outside the darkness of the office window, weeping, consenting, and folding to the dictated bareness of the season. That darkness is the only thing in this world that has the power to provide me comfort. right or wrong, pathetic or not, i feel loved and special by the darkness; everything else, including the words and speeches, are an absurdity. it's a done deal; no going back.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

all paths lead to the same place

will this be the one? when i summon the courage it prostrate my strength on the edge of infinity. i spent time reading other blogs and processing what was said. it's so hard to know if they really feel the happy b.s. they deal out or if they are as agonized on the inside as i am.

i once could put the well-rehearsed smile on my face, give away laughter in surplus, and feign happiness to exhaustion. but i've given that up. i don't even try to be normal anymore and i fear that is a sign of where i am emotinonally. i fear i don't even pretend because there is just nothing on the other side of the pretense; no hope, no positivity, no possibility that one day i will not have to pretend.

it pains me through and through and past the haughty but naive corners of my heart. i want more. i relate to so much i read on the blogs. it's all me, but then not of its me. i want to write one of them and ask how they get through each moment without dying from the weight of the burden and the anonymous tag names we endure out of shame.

i've taken extensive lengths to protect my privacy; as much as it exists in cyberspace.

two nights ago D. and someone had sex. she didn't know until it was reported to her. we are losing alot. even i am without knowledge of the night; but i know what she knows. for some reason, it brings tears to the eyes whose vision belongs to the one filtering the words put on "page."

the stomach is sick, sick, sick. we have been throwing up every day, if not more than once a day. some times it is so sweet; other times it offers us nothing but the morbid notion something was left behind and we are still dirty and fat. but the times it is sweet... it is salve to a stubborn, incredulous wound. and i don't care. i know it makes us sicker. but that's the joy. purging, toward the end when we just refuse to stop, makes us literally nauseous from vomitting so hard and we know we did a good job. when we feel sick, nauseous, and squeamish FROM purging, we can relax. there are no traces left behind; we've been sufficiently punished; and we turn around and do it again. i hate it and love it at the same time.

but we suffer; however, juxtaposed with the slow, satisfying, all knowing death, who gives a fck?

does anyone see me, me, me. i be ltt

poison ivey on my upper eye lid. it is finally going away.

D. and I aren't speaking. it's always a fucking fight with him. always has to be some god damn catastrophe with him.

i went wrong in so many places.