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[16 Sep 2009|05:58pm] |
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mood |
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charley horse in mah calf! |
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That 'Chili Verde' parody of the 'Milkshake' song. |
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Justin gave me an ultra-light collapsible fishing pole as a late birthday present, so we went fishing. We stopped by his house to grab some chairs/his gear. His mama asked him to get her a coffee; we stopped by this little coffee hut place that was being (wo)manned by two ladies, one wearing a garter belt/lingerie and the other wearing a slip with her panties fully visible. He didn't seem fazed by it, I guess it's not an uncommon occurrence here. For me it was a first, so I stared. Because, panties.
We went down to the mini-lake near his house and after a few hours of fen angling (no, I didn't catch anything), noticed that a mama moose and her two babies were edging ever nearer to our chosen spot. Dog-walkers and joggers gave her a pretty wide berth and warned each other of her, as mama moose with babies are considered dangerous. As they got closer, Justin pointed over to a spot where three trees closely tucked together near the edge of the water formed a triforce, and we scurried over there to hide. They have very good ears, but poor eyesight, he said it's best to get behind a tree so they can't see you, and be quiet.
It was a decent hiding spot. My rear left side was exposed, but it was the side not facing the moose. However, for some inexplicable reason, baby moosie decided that the leaves in that spot were the exact ones it wanted to eat. It wandered over and started munching. Mama moose walked over to nuzzle/be with her baby. The two moose were so unbelievably close to me that the branch baby was chewing on actually brushed me. It was so close that if I'd moved my arm, I would've been petting it. I have never, ever, ever been that close to a pair of large wild animals. I just about wet myself. Moose are strange and magnificent creatures to behold. I was so afraid of making noise that I was barely even breathing. I didn't know what to do, and the moose were too close for us to communicate without startling them.
Three or four seemingly endless minutes went by before mama lost interest and went to rummage around some ten feet away, at which point we moved back to where we had been previously. I felt self conscious of my intense fear, but Jus told me he was actually thinking about dying in those moments; he's local, and when I think about it, I don't know why I would be embarrassed being scared of an animal that could easily trample me to death. Thankfully the mama was quite relaxed, and didn't bat an eyelash later when some idiot whizzed past her on a bike. We resumed fishing with her foraging somewhere in the background, and a light drizzle of misty rainwater came down.
The sun was dying off just then, bathing the lake and surrounding trees in warm lemony light; just the right amounts of skyspray combined with just enough light allowed a forked rainbow to be born, which soon budded into a pair of rainbows. It was beautiful. The sight looked as though it belonged in a post card, but then again, something as small as a postcard couldn't possibly do justice to the awe evoked by the moment, and its memory.
Anyways, on to tidying up my desk. Hopefully everyone's fall is beginning well!
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| So much for catharsis. |
[14 Apr 2009|02:15am] |
Dear father,
I will not kill myself now, because you really and truly love me. Not as some worthless scheme, not as a power play, not to make you feel good about yourself, not because you're 'supposed' to, but because you do. You just fucking do. And your actions, your words, your demeanor, they reflect that. You are the only person in this world who has done half of a consistent job of genuinely caring about me. It is my duty, as your child, to make the trip over and see you again. And if I still have to leave after that, at least I'll have had the chance to hug you one last time.
I love you, and I swear I'm going to try really hard to make it, because you don't deserve to bury your own child. You're a good person. i'm sorry for everything. i'm sorry for being a shit, dad. I love you. i'm sorry for being a shit.
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| We have each other, you are my brother. |
[04 Feb 2009|07:46am] |
Sitting here, beside you, I just want to...
There are so many lyrics out there about how daddy wasn't there, or mama didn't love you. Songs about being hurt, being used, lied to. What about the abuser? Is he simply not inclined to write? And if he is, does his poetry fall upon ears deaf to the beauty of his art? Is the user not a victim as well- of himself? Sometimes, his escape route can be just as, if not more, complicated- that is, if he's lucky enough to find one at all.
Have you forgotten me? Do I still dwell somewhere, in the back of your mind...? Pacing back and forth, fingering my lips, chewing them for the nourishing taste of blood. Trapped in an empty apartment that's been locked from the outside. Like some broken, obsolete toy, long since replaced by something shiny and new. Watching the dust I myself have kicked up float through the stale air and antiseptic fluorescent light, waiting. So dry of fresh thoughts that I mutilate familiar ones until they become unrecognizable. Monsters... Demons.
( Read more... )
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| Hollywood Undead |
[14 Oct 2008|05:49pm] |
I'd give it all just to have your eternity,
because it's all that assures me,
and it's worth all that hurts me.
I'd give you my heart, and let you just hold it-
I'd give you my soul, but I already sold it.
That day, the day I walked away
in December, I will always remember.
I'll regret it forever.
I just wanna say good bye,
disappear with no one knowing...
I don't wanna live this lie,
smiling for a world unknowing-
and I don't want you to try,
you've done enough to keep me going...
I'll be fine... I'll be fine, I'll be fine
for the very last time.
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[02 Oct 2008|02:31pm] |
I hate myself.
What's the point of persevering? 'Friends' are make believe things, and even love twists and betrays me, in the end. All virtues crumble. All amenities shrivel, revealing themselves as nothing but wizened lies, beneath light's scrutiny. If this is life, I don't see how it's worth living. My main fear is that I'll leave this earth only to find I was missing a vital piece of information that would've made everything less worthless. But how many times do I have to watch my own sanity topple before I can be certain that dying is best? I'm getting sick and tired of watching the same movie over and over again, struggling to find a spark of joy that doesn't exist. I wish life would spit out a serious answer, to compliment my own.
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| A year long apology. |
[16 Sep 2008|05:03am] |
This one is dedicated to someone very special to me:
I am a bad person.
All of your mental problems are my fault.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry forever. And when these lines fade, I'll make new ones.
Just For You.
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| My boyfriend's birthday: still stabbin'. Warning: EMO content. |
[27 Aug 2008|04:35pm] |
Anthony came over to Kevin's house, and then the three of us rode to this 21 and over only liquor store called BevMo. After a short time, Anthony came out and told me that they were being kicked out because an underaged individual was loitering outside- me. At that point I asked him if he thought it would be a better idea for me to go home. I told him I totally understood that it would be a better idea, and I encouraged him to take Kevin drinking and partying for a 'best friend's night out', and to take me home so I wouldn't be in their way. Anthony said, 'No, no! We want you to be a part of this. After we get something to eat, him and I are just going to go to the bar I work at for just one or two quick shots, then we'll come home and the three of us can all drink together.' When Kevin came out of the store, I asked him the same thing, and he told me he wanted me to stay.
So they dropped me off at home to have 'a couple shots', at about four or fivfe o clock, and didn't come back until it was fucking dark out, at around eight or nine. Kevin knows that I go to sleep at about ten nowdays, especially when I'm at his house. They came back for five minutes, Kevin asked me for a kiss- which he has never, ever done, and probably never would've, if he weren't inebriated, (although he argues that he wasn't) and then left suddenly again without telling me they were going or where. They didn't come back until fucking late, and I was already in bed after waiting up for them all day like a stupid little obedient puppy. Kevin tried to wake me up, and I wasn't very happy because the two of them seemed dumbfounded that I hadn't had a party with myself while they were gone (wtf) and were disappointed that I wasn't also inebriated, which makes no sense. I felt ornery and wanted a cigarette, so I went to the garage to have one.
Anthony followed me into the garage and started bitching at me. He started telling me that I was neglecting the both of them, and being a rude inconsiderate ass for not getting up and drinking with them. I'm still uncertain as to HOW I could POSSIBLY be the one neglecting THEM when *I* was the one being ignored from sun up to sun down. I wouldn't've been so mad about it, but I ASKED them, practically TOLD them I wanted to go home so this wouldn't happen, and they INSISTED that I stick around only to be ignored. He started telling me I was a bad lover, and saying, 'Stop being angry with him, it's his BIRTHDAY this, it's his BIRTHDAY that,' And I told him, 'why the fuck should I take into account that it's his birthday? You two didn't do shit on my birthday, you didn't even fucking bother to call me.' He continued to argue with me for a while, and kept telling me I was the one being horrible. Then he asked if I'd go with them to get food, and I said no, and he continued to bicker with me, until I started putting the lit cigarette out on my arm. At that point, Kevin said, 'Fine, forget Alex. Let's leave.'
And I ended up giving into my cutting addiction. Kiestraak started telling me that I should have CJ jump him and break his shit up, or to cut his fucking face off while he sleeps. And I went a lot deeper than I meant to, and I started spurting until there was a pool of blood under me, and when I couldn't stop the bleeding I called my father, who told me to call the ambulance, so I did. The cops busted in and I was dizzy so the EMS dudes started lifting me up onto the metal gurney. They hooked me up to an IV, pulse sensors, painkillers and breathing tubes. As I was being carted, Kevin and Anthony walked up, and Anthony started barfing on the lawn. The cops then found them and arrested them for being drunk and disorderly in public, which they of course blame entirely on me.
EXCUSE ME for being SAVED by the fucking AMBULANCE, assholes. I'm so selfish and inconsiderate for being a PSYCHOTIC self injury addicted fucking SHIZOPHRENIC and failing to hold myself together when being needlessly mashed upon. Dear world, I'M SORRY. Everyone has their habits- mine are gruesome and reviled by society, but at least I'm making an honest effort and TRYING to STOP Kiestraak, as opposed to reveling and embracing him, the way my boyfriend does with his drinking. How can everyone in my life expect me to be the only one who quits?
I vaguely remember needing a fucking transfusion, and being stuck over and over again. With the needle, and the doctor telling the nurse he felt like he was 'sewing pieces of a puzzle back together'. I called Kevin later to apologize and he told me that he didn't think he wanted to see me ever again, because he 'didn't exactly want to spend his birthday in a drunk tank.' He also mentioned, 'by the way, Anthony and Amanda hate you now'. Great. I haven't even talked to Amanda, and I'm being told she hates me. I told him I loved him, that I was sorry, that I'd do whatever it took for us to stay together. And his answer, after two or three days? 'I've been binge drinking, so I haven't really thought about whether or not I'm dumping you.' I started crying, and asked him, 'How the fuck are you supposed to decide if you still love me if you're always drunk?' and he said, 'That's exactly why I'm drinking, so I don't have to care about it.'
As J puts it, "Shame on you, Alex, for inconsiderately bleeding after we completely failed to pay any fucking attention to your emotional state, which we supposedly fucking know about!" The two of them are probably jacking each other off right now.
I have some spinging to do, fuck this bullshit. My heart is all fucking shredded to confetti and none of it even matters. I've got a gutterpunk I've only known for two weeks who treats me like a prince compared to this crap. Peace out.
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| Dear Existence, |
[01 Aug 2008|06:23pm] |
the water's getting lukewarm. One dark blue pill, one pale blue pill, an orange pill, a bright pink pill, a white pill, and two yellow pills- psych meds, taste the rainbow. They're shittastic- just like FANtastic, but with SHIT! :D
Since they've increased my dose, I stare at the wall a lot.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for hours without realizing it.
I think a lot less, and more slowly.
So I complained and had it lowered, and they say I should be perking up in about a week. These meds are supposed to help me, but I feel like I'm turning into someone else. My diagnosis was clarified as schizophrenia today. So I see and hear things that aren't real and talk to me; isn't shizophrenia a little harsh? I don't know anymore. Kevin is drinking again. He has no plans to get back on the wagon.
I hurt inside.
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| Guess what, |
[01 Jul 2008|04:31pm] |
Surprise, surprise, everyone. I got admitted again. Thankfully, to the right hospital, this time. Unfortunately, the fee turned out to be about $4,000 a day, and despite being on level four surveillance, I STILL managed to hurt myself while in the hospital, firstly by grating a toothbrush on the wall until it turned into a shank, secondly by chewing my nail into a jagged edge to exfoliate the skin off the back of my hand. Kiestraak was barely around for most of my visit, he turned up only to threaten one of the social workers. I did receive superior care at Sutter psych than I did at Heritage Oaks, but since I was put into the intensive care unit, I didn't develop any 'group' coping skills, on account of only two or three people being wholly present for group at a time. There was Ben the blabbermouth, Summer the gorgeous bald ex-hooker, Sam the ranting Santa Claus, Michelle the schizoid, Jack, Mr.Hyde, Kathleen, the righteously indignant, and Jodie, The Screamer. I've been poked time and time again with needles and had my blood drawn Satan knows how many times, but it was until this recent hospitalization that I was told that I have hypothyroidism- poo balls. I slept in The Quiet Room for the first two or three nights of my stay, with a 'sitter'. They changed my drugs all around and even had me on lithium for a little while. I got sent to the psych ward on account of cutting myself deep enough in one spot that I had to have it stitched together. Watching the needle move in and out of my flesh proved to be very interesting; I felt bad for Kevin and my father, banished to wait politely in the receptionist's room while I had all the fun of watching human tissue get sewn together.
I had about 30 stitches on the outside, and somewhere between five and 10 internal stitches. The 'healed' wound still looks like it's trying to do an impression of Frankenstein, though. Blarghles. It also got infected while I was in the hospital, so I'm taking these antibiotic pills that make me nauseous. I'm on 1,000mg of seroquel [as my father put it, 'looks like the new maximum dose is you, kiddo.' But seriously; you could probably cut me and I'd bleed enough Seroquel to put a psych-med virgin to sleep.] 1,000 mg of depakote, 25mg of Revia, 2mg ativan, 20mg of Lexapro, 5/325 norco, percocet, ambien, levothyoxine 0.05, 2mg haloperidal, and dicloxicillin. Phew. Roar.... Bleh.
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[03 Mar 2008|05:18am] |
Reasons not to:
-You are still a loser.
-Father. He doesn't deserve the grief.
-Your obituary type shit will have your legal name on it.
-If you're going to die, you might as well shoot up, snort, and drop some acid first, and to do those things, you'll need to steer your life in the direction it would take to acquire those things BEFORE doing the deed.
-You've never tortured anyone.
Reasons to:
-You are still a loser.
-You hate yourself.
-People are selfish, disgusting, manipulative, dishonest, and deserve to die.
-You have a high probability of becoming a murderer or molester if you don't off yourself, which will probably end up making you feel even more suicidal after a while, so you're doomed either way. See also: jail isn't fun.
-You are too delicate to survive in this world without earning your keep by hurting and taking from others, which makes you hate yourself even more.
-You will never be good at making yourself understood.
-You will attract other people who are like you, which will give you a false sense of comraderie while exacerbating your condition instead of actually helping.
-So called friends, relatives, and ex-lovers can use your death as an excuse to be fucked up and dysfunctional, have someone's traumatizing death to blame for all of their vices, and make people feel sorry for them!
-Your delusions will go away.
-The last time you were functional, people just used that as an excuse to be abusive, manipulative, childish and irresponsible because they knew you were strong enough to live through the process of being their personl soul-shit-toilet. You know what it's like to be that needy, fucked up, self destructive person, so yo want to be kind to and help people like that- so if yo ever do become functional and strong and responsible again, your life is going to eat shit anyway because you won't be able to keep yourself from having your metaphorical ass spread wide for everyone to buttfuck you until you break again.
-Niether of your parents wanted you.
-Your life has always been a lie. Now that you're being honest, it sucks utterly.
-You can kill someone, break a bunch of shit, amputate and prepare and consume one of your own limbs and not have to suffer the consequences.
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[11 Feb 2008|08:33pm] |
I'm sure people read this journal about as often as I post in it anymore, [never] but for what it's worth, I want to let everyone know that I'm still out there, I'm still here. My heart always will be, dog tired though I may be, no matter what happens. Locked away for safe keeping, half of me tells the rest of me wants to make it true hides myself. Always.
If you ever want to talk, let me know if you want Old, New, or Both, and hit me up. I'm always within reach. We'll try to talk back. I miss you all. I wish we knew each other better. But we never do... No one ever really does, and when we try, it always spells disaster. Especially if we half suceed.
Eternally faithful,
AlexKie
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[23 Jan 2008|06:51am] |
Between I and me,
do you ever wonder if there's more?
Reality has gotten over me,
and it's all could ever hope for.
Sometimes I swear that I
can see a mirror in the sky...
I'm watching myself die, as love
just passes me on by.
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[23 Jan 2008|02:59am] |
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I love how absurd hentai fanart is. I can just sit here for hours going 'wtf... Wtf. WTF!'
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[23 Dec 2007|06:12pm] |
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Anger is debilitating, anger is debilitating angerisdebilitating there's no point in feeling this, there's no point in feeling this, I can make it go away all I have to do is close my eyes and be calm and think about fluffy white clouds... Satan... Buddha.... Egodeath, FUCK, THE FUCKING NOISES... God, why does reality have to be so fucking noisy and loud?! walkingtalking shuffling and moving things and coming near me and banging fucking objects together and touching me and looking at me and touching me with their eyes and godamnit I can't fucking thinK! STOP looking at me and trying to feel me! i look down and I can see myself, I can touch me withj my own eyes and I hear the sound I MAKE and I taste my own mouth and smell my own skin and feel my own heart beating in my blood and FUCK! It's just too much... Everything, I can feel everything, I can hear everything, it's like I'm playing toilet to everything beautiful and ugly happening in this very moment, and I can't, I can't think, I just want to scream until the suffering, the joy, my life, goes away...
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| A memory from 2003. |
[08 Nov 2007|09:59pm] |
The cool grey pavement smiled up, its face spattered with bird shit, white as chalk. Man, that bird looked sick; the way it spewed its poopoos reminded me of that old fantasy I used to have, the one where I squeeze a tube of toothpaste so hard it practically explodes- all over someone’s face.
( That 'other boyfriend' no one ever hears about. )
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[28 Oct 2007|05:06pm] |
I remember in the beginning, you used to be so quiet. Even when you were loud, the words, your meaning. Soft. Pretty nothings. ‘I love you,’ ‘it feels good,’ ‘you make me happy,’ things like that, laying there murmuring in the warm afterglow of sex.
Whenever I used to pretend to force you, smother your face, tie your wrists… Threaten you, urge you to hurt me- I would always kiss your eyelids and thank you after you came and it was over. You would smile sweetly, nod, and say your sweet nothings for as long as it took for you to drift off into sleep.
Toward the end, you'd bark: "Stop thanking me. I haven’t done anything."
Needless to say, the words echoed. And echoed, and echoed, and echoed, no matter how hard I tried to forget about it, to forgive you. The words you spoke to me that one night when I tried to comfort you, and you pulled away.
“Don’t touch me!” “…Why? You said all you really want is to be held.”
“I’m. Supposed. To lay here. And let. You. TOUCH me? I‘m just supposed to LET you TOUCH me?!” She was livid. Shaking. Tears dribbling from her eyes, bloodshot and pulled open so wide.
I hated myself in that moment. For harboring that monster. The one that doesn’t make me a bad person because I never act on it, never give in to it. I’ve always been morbidly afraid… Afraid that I would give in and turn into the men that raped me. Personify that wild, chaotic fire of ecstasy and madness.
I hated myself because in that moment, a part of me wanted to rape you. Abuse you. Force you to feel horrible and violated, show you that trying even harder to hurt me was pointless- because at that point I already dreamt every night of killing you. I wanted to see the look in your eyes, after being told that YOU’RE what’s wrong with me. I wanted to see you beg, hear you tell me Oh Alex, I promise to think harder next time before I open my nasty little mouth and twist the knife handle you’ve got sticking out of your heart- just to hear me tell you, honey… You’ll never get another chance.
When I used to thank you, it was for letting me even touch you at all. Trusting me enough to give me control, let me manipulate your body in whatever way it took to give you pleasure. I was so grateful… I was so happy, no matter how much of a monster I thought I was, you let me utterly pillage you- grope your body with my bloodstained hands… The thought still makes me smile.
A few weeks ago, I saw a falling star. I told the universe it could have her back, the moment I saw it. There is someone else I want- I made a wish, of course, but I'm not telling. She called me a few minutes afterwards. I could hear her trembling over the phone. All she asked, was if we could still be friends. I laughed and said yes. We never spoke again.
I don’t think we ever will.
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[03 Sep 2007|03:20pm] |
I feel like I'm slowly growing crazy.
( Last night. )
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| Butterflies in my stomach. |
[16 Aug 2007|05:04pm] |
Korea, LA, Wyoming, Washington, Hawai'i.
Hawai'i, Hawai'i, Hawai'i. I've been trapped in you for eight years. Scorned you, swallowed you, learned to accept you as a fact of life. Loved you. In ten days all of this will be over. We moved so many times when I was young, one apartment after the other. And here I am again.
Belongings sold, monitor sitting on the floor. Filthy keyboard bobbling up and down in my lap because there's too much junk piled around to lay down and type. The apartment is a harrowed hovel, innards in complete disarray- sprawled out over the last remaining pieces of furniture. 'Don't throw me away, don't throw me away...'
Everything... Piece by piece, one fragment at a time, all of our little things. Our change, our dust, our trash, our cards, our dried flowers... Our rings... Our things. Rubber bands and thread and candles and candy. Expendable. Easily replaced.
What about our home?
What about our love?
I guess this is good bye.
Just like that.
Good bye...
Good bye.
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kiestraak's journal
cynical