If every surface you touch is cold.

Last night, I went to Take Back The Night. It's an event that's been going on for well over a century all over (read more here), and Chapman put on one this past evening. The students that put it on read stories, poems, statistics, etc. about sexual assault, then there was a "call to action" by one of the adult organizers, then another speaker, and then people got up and discussed their own experiences if they wanted to. I really enjoyed the second speaker particularly.

A few girls got up and spoke about their own experiences, including a girl who I very recently became friends with who was super strong about speaking and another whom I only knew through mutual friends who had her own extremely sad, horrible story to tell that had a lot to do with the injustices victims face from not only their attackers, but from law enforcement and the "justice" system. At some point, I decided it was a good idea if I got up and spoke. No idea why, actually. I mean, I had thought I might but I was also pretty sure I would get too afraid. But I did, somehow, and I started out with:

"This summer marks the six anniversary."

The entire time, my voice (which, if you've ever heard me, is actually extremely loud, giddy, and has a lot of ups and downs in pitch) was very monotone and I couldn't get much expression on my face or...well, to be honest, I probably would've broken down. I told a part of my story and even then, I had an extremely hard time getting through it without screaming. I said I don't sleep. I mentioned that I didn't eat. If only I could find pictures of then; I was a size 0/1 and 5'6"...to put that into perspective, I am now a size 10. But I also told the audience that there are people who will listen, that that is the most important thing: to talk, if you need to. Internalizing only works for so long. I definitely still do to a certain extent, but not nearly as much as I used to. It constrains my throat when I try, I get sick, I get exhausted...it takes too much out of me, usually.

But I can openly speak about it, sort of. I can say, Yes, this happened to me and no, I don't believe it was my fault. I will fight for as long as I am able (punch by punch, blow by blow) to try to stop this from ever happening again to anyone. Part of the reason I am how I am is because of this; I don't believe anymore in giving up because I've tried to give up, and no matter what, forgetting does not happen. I have my mind and that's all I need to do this. I mean, I can't go into details and I still refuse to (I honestly doubt I'll ever want to/be able to), but I can at least speak out against it and face that it happened. Meh, someday I'll feel like I got over it, hopefully.

Earlier this year, probably in September, I stayed up the whole night because I knew I'd get a flashback (I can sometimes feel when I'm going to) if I fell asleep. I have bad insomnia (always have) so this didn't feel like as big of a deal to me. Around 5:30 or 6, when the sun was about to come up all the way, I started having a panic attack. I ran about a mile to David's house, panicking and about to burst the entire time, go to his door, got inside, and completely broke down. I shook and cried and couldn't stop hyperventilating. I sometimes blank out when I have panic attacks (and therefore say weird shit I don't remember saying), but this wasn't one of those times, and I remember saying as I calmed down: "Someday, I will wake up and I will never do this again. It'll be over." I believe that. It will be a distant memory as opposed to something I relive again and again and again.

I am so tired right now. That was actually somewhat difficult to write.

Today?

Lately, I've found myself combing Craiglist. Not because I'm interested in responding (though, ladies, admit it: you've all wanted to GET LADE NOWW 4 CA$H 2NITE LOOK @ MAH D1CK!), but because I like making up stories about the people posting them. Like, there are some particularly interesting ones that are just...more depressing or funnier than others. There was one whose title was "Do you have pizza bagels?" and I clicked on it, thinking, "No, but I'm fucking starving and I might answer an ad about pizza bagels!" (again, kidding)...it ended up being an offer for a $200 blowjob. lolque?

WHOA, we just had an earthquake.

Anyways, so I make up these weird stories about these people and why the fuck they're posting for love on Craigslist. Sometimes I wonder (not about Craigslist; just in general) when the last time people I know cried. Chances are, I wasn't there, but I still constantly find myself wondering.

So, I got extremely faint Tuesday afternoon and nearly fell down while in my room. Figured it best to not actually fast and instead, semi-fast by cutting caloric intake by about 2/3rds. The past few days, I've been consuming approximately 500-600 a day, and I feel a bit better. I also went to the beach, ran around quite a bit (but not formally), and felt really good, and I've been taking really long walks using long routes. Fuck running, though; I legitimately can't stand doing it. Even when I ran 6:45/mi when I was 12-14, I still hated it. I like other sources of activity, but running just makes me miserable. Afterwards, I don't even feel all OMG ENDORPHINS! like you're supposed to. I just feel like sleeping and not moving for a few days. So, instead, I've been doing that other shit and doing the typical sit-ups, push-ups, etc. in my room. Perhaps it'll help. Who knows?

I'm starting to realize how badly I need to come up with a plan.

Perceptions are mangled, matted, and knotted anyway.

Picture me: I swirl like the wind
tempting tomorrow to be today,
tiptoeing the fine line
between everything and everything else.

The past few weeks have been a complete fucking mess with a lot of great shit and a lot of really, really unfortunate shit. Actually, the word "unfortunate" isn't accurate because so much of it has been my own fault.

I won't elaborate because, to be completely honest, I don't have the energy. I'm fasting for at least the next week. I want to get to know my body better and try to understand my dependency on food. I over-eat too often and rarely even realize I'm doing it. I've gained weight since last semester and I look really awkward. A few people that have known me since fall have said that they can't tell, but that's most likely because I dress in a way that doesn't show off the areas I hate. If I dress all stereotypical-teen-girl-in-southern-California, I'd have short skirts, short shorts, etc. and some tight tank top all of the time, and they most certainly would be able to tell I've gained weight then. I'm almost 5'7", 138ish lbs. I'm on the heavier side of "normal." It's not like I want to be 115 lbs. again, I just want to fit all my clothes the way I did previously. I have no desire to be a size 4 again. I remember in 11th grade when I lost 25ish lbs.:
In a matter of month or two, I went from this:

150ish - August 2006.


I was probably 150 here - spring 2006.
(Yes, I had disgusting hair.)


145-150 - February 2006, I think.

To this:

I think I was 120/118 in this one - October 2006.


I was about 125 here - November 2006.


125ish - October 2006.


Primarily because I didn't feel like eating anymore. It wasn't an anorexia-noneating-type thing, it was a literal feeling of sickness when I ate too much or, sometimes, anything at all. I mean, I still ate, I just...exercised a shit load alone. Anyways, I'm trying to lose weight again for reasons I stated in a previous entry. Currently, my figure looks like this:






Also, just in the event that someone's an idiot (or just misunderstanding my motives): this is not a ploy for attention. This isn't some sort of pseudo-cry for help where I just want someone to rescue me from my oh-so-negative self image. I actually generally like how I look, I just want to be considerably healthier, know my body better, and not feel so fucking exhausted all of the time. This would be a good thing.

Oh, and I got my nostrils re-pierced:

No man is an island,
but I often feel alone
so I find peace through OHM.

I sail on.

Today's an exceptionally beautiful day and I will not waste it with my blinds closed.

Last night, I hung out at Nathan's with him and Rosa and we watched Twin Peaks. One of my favorite shows ever that I actually still haven't finished. Lots of junk food; delicious and guilt-giving, but whatevah. I fell asleep there, got home around eleven today, and realized I'm quite ill. Maybe I have what Eric has, though he seems to be considerably more ill than I. But I am really sore in the throat, my sinuses have been giving me hell for over two weeks anyways and now they're really bad, my nose is runny, and I'm sore all over. I'm still going up to northern California tomorrow, though. I have to. I am not spending spring break in bed.

I got a call from David last night. I'm going up to Santa Cruz tomorrow (hopefully) with Mike, then meeting up with Heidi for a day or two. Then, David and I are going to explore around there again (we explored norcal last November for Thanksgiving break). Maybe camp in Yosemite. I want to see trees that are thousands of years old and sleep where I can feel like Tycho Brahe once more. I want to see the faithful couple trees. I want to not wear makeup. I want to write about more than people. I want to kiss leaves and go to sleep.

I took a walk with Rosa at about one and we went to Bagel Me in the circle. It was super hot (around 81, I believe) and I got a little sick by the time we finished eating. Some woman in a dress suit told me to give her my leftovers (which I had in a take-home box and was pretty clearly not going to throw away). I couldn't hear her at first because she whispered it twice and she glared at me on the third time of saying it. I told her I was bringing them home and she said, "Are you serious?" Rosa and I left and she started following us. Fucking weird. Eventually, we went into a store and tried to hide out a bit, then came out a few minutes later and she was still down the street, staring at us. Weird.

So, now I'm here, writing and sleeping on and off. Some people think you need to be outside to enjoy a beautiful day but I don't think that's true at all. I love being sleepy during beautiful days, cleaning occasionally and making cookies, writing infront of my window and listening to lengthy playlists. I was outside earlier; it was wonderful but so warm. I'm enjoying the sunny entropy.


This is me without makeup (and obviously, severely edited - original here).


My new dress :) It was $20 at Urban Outfitters. Shit's too expensive.


O hai.

I heard you fuck through the wall

I wonder how many people do things that disgust themselves almost every day.

Example: I watch a lot of porn. "Pornogratherapy"* might be an accurate title for it. I watch it on a pretty regular basis, but I would say I watch it considerably more than the typical teenage female, though I can't be certain of that considering so few people (minus my close friends who all seem to be in the same boat as I) admit to watching it, or even admit to masturbating (but that's an entirely different rant that I could go on...). Anyways, basically: I've watched it often for the last nine or ten years. Whenever we started getting internet in my house and I accidentally typed in some words I saw on TV, then added ".com" and received intriguing results. And in the days of endless pop-ups, these inital websites always led to more. I was extremely curious in a semi-innocent way (because it was more of an exploratory type of thing for me rather than sexual). It was always exciting to see all these words that I didn't know yet and all these bodies doing things that I didn't quite understand, but I knew that they looked fucking thrilled to be doing whatever they were doing, so it had to be amazing and fantastic and someday, I wanted to do those things.

Anyways, cut to the future: I now still enjoy it, but in the past two years, I've occasionally experienced this peculiar feeling of disgust. It's not as though I get shameful of myself, but suddenly, I feel disgusted with the act of looking at pornography. It makes me sickened and feels filthy. I cannot concentrate on it and therefore move on to some other daily activity that's better suited to my conscience at the time. It's just odd that I am morally completely in favor of the production and distribution of consentual porn, but I very abruptly get sickened by it to the point where I get frustrated with myself for having included it in my routine for so long.

Odd.


*Thanks, ETID.



On a side note, I am getting rather chubby. And as much as I hate running, this may have to ensue. I've been an exact size 10 for about three years (with a few months of fluctuation in 2006), and I'd like to stay that size and not have to run out and buy new shit because I can't keep my hand out of the cookie jar. Meh, that's a little harsh, I guess. But basically: I don't really care what my weight's number is; I care that I can still fit in my own clothes and not feel like I'm going to burst. So, this spring break week, I plan on eating less (which shouldn't be hard given that I have no fridge and the dining hall is closed all week) and walking as much as possible. Plans, plans.

Speaking of plans, I'm driving up with Mike on Tuesday to Santa Cruz to visit Heidi (probably) and then coming back sometime this weekend. Word. I need to get some shit done before next Monday. Damnit.

If I go quiet, will the itch go down with me?

I can't seem to get out of bed. I will soon, but right now, it's 11:28 AM and I just really don't feel like walking outside. Why is it so frowned upon to just want to stay in bed all day sometimes?

America is so obsessed with such contradicting lifestyles: we love the oh-so-blue-collar people who rise early, work hard every day, etc. and yet we not only condone, but admire and desire, the ultimate goal of just living in absolute, unlimited riches without a care in the world.


Anyways, I left this up earlier, and now I'm back. It's 2:21 PM and I just successfully hit 1g with my ears. They're pretty little colorfronts, I love them. :D



Nude of my right ear, currently. All the stickiness is Vitamin E oil.

There's no hip-hip-hop-hooray.

"Light Leaves" seems to be a good half of what I listen to. I've been feeling so disconnected lately and I'm not sure why. Maybe that's why I've been desperately clawing out into the dark, reaching for something or someone familiar and even if they're not, at least I can hold on for a little bit. Stay human.

My eyes keep closing but I want to keep writing, so I'm thinking I'll just streamwrite for a few minutes. Okay.
My roommate is very loudly speaking. I am almost certain I do not talk that loudly while in the phone and anyone who does kind ofpisses me off. Fucking a. I can't deal with loud loud loud poeple because they're so present, they're so constantly there and they are impossible to just ignore even when you're set on it. set in stone. i used to be set in stone but then i decided to grow out of the litany of rings. like roots from the ground, from trees to paper to my wastebasket. i emptied it out a few hours ago. the garbage room is disgustingly clean for a garbage room. i have to go to the doctor tomorrow. again. third time this week and i feel so weak, i can barely speak; oh look i am rhyming eric told me earlier not to do that but i constnatly am rhyming in my head so i 's'pose that's advice i cannot heed. (need need need hyuck hyuck). i remember once when i was in second grade i used sarcasm towards christina f. and she got really mad at me. it was fairly innocent sarcasm, too, but that day, as she glared and got super upset...i remember feeling horrible. it was the worst feeling in the world to have somebody i liked so much be mad at me. i hated it and tried so hard not to cry. i stil get the same stomach drop, sweaty palmed feeling whenever somebody i care about is upset at me. it was about a fucking picture, seriousy. ever since then, i have constantly tried NOT to offend people too badly. consciously. constantly. i just don't want to bother. but only if i care about them...which makes no sense, right?
this is awfully coherent for a stream of conscious writing...piece? thing? i like pie i am going to try (ha) to just write and not think things through so hard just for a change just to spice things up. ,my head is not moving i wonder if this confuses her or upset; i try constantly consistantly you do not look the same in person consistency you do not feel lthhe same, your voice is not so high pitched and what have i done your eyes are not as large. though you are beautiful. voice low and all that, too. SAVE. i always loved talking to teachers because they always loved me and as a kid i had a huge problem if somebody didn't like me, as we've already established. i want to make everyone cookies. i hate being as optimistic as i am. i hate it. i hate being confujsed and unaware. i need togo back somewhere i haven't been yet. back? yes. lighthouse maybe but i was there just not now. shining shiners hit in the eye ouch ouch ouch your thin legs are complentary to your thin personality - Read: that was not a compliment. simultaneous thinking cannot be wirtten yet. some ort of thought in your stomach tells me you're running on empty. i want to kiss all the butterflies in and all the pissed off blenders would just take their plights outside. this is what is going on inside my head. this is what it is": would you like more? probably not because it's not exactly fucking fascinating. either way: all this is useless. all of this is small and a tiresome waste of pen. i lie of what i believe. there will be glass in my ears soon like there already is, but this time it will be turquoise or aqua. yesss. exciting. i am currently cuddling Chloe Evelyn. her dad does not see her often. this sounds so odd. Chloe Evelyn is a teddy bear (though my kitty has the same name). we got her on 6/6/2006 (David and I) at Great Northern Mall. my rooom is too warm; we have complained.
my eyes have been shut throughout almost all of this. it is hard to be small and i clearly do not mean weight-wise. or height. i'm 5'6" and a half. I am tired of my waist, eep i am sleeping on the inside almost all of the time or otherwise, i get upset. this is such a whiney little mess.
something purposeful? Ah, yes...once upon a time there was a little boy. this little boy was very sad and cried quite often. one day, he listened to somebody off themselves. moral of the story: !!! alright, but seriously, a story:

Patrick was an older gentleman with whom Joanna wanted to sleep with. He was not particularly attractive and he did not woo her, but she wanted to read Cummings' innuendos with him and pretentiously giggle at the facts that they knew. She wanted to save him.
His face reflected decades of drinking and forced maturity, yet also showed stunted emotional growth because of both the aforementioned causes. His middle-aged, Irish face was covered with freckles and his nearly white hair had been coming out for over thirty years. His face smiled often but only half of those meant anything. He constantly drank, and even when he did not drink, he was thinking about it; he did not discuss this with her, however, because she was not his wife, nor was she his coworker or best female friend...he was just a student who happened to show up at his house occasionally, bearing gifts and doe eyes.
Joanna was in love with him and used her best 18-year-old techniques to woo him from across the room. The batting of the lashes and criss-crossing of her legs did nothing. But when she read her stories and songs and poetry to him, sometimes he would stare at her, ask her to read them again, and nod, smiling. This was all Joanna needed in life: a notebook, an ear, and another mouth.

I'll write more of that later.

I feel a little better. anyways. That was a terrible intro to a story but whatever, I've been meaning to write a shitty "romantic" one for a long time. :P Also: this isn't about me, incase...anyone was assuming.