hell is empty and all the devils are here

i started taking an ssri 2 months ago and spent the whole month of january and basically all of february locked up in my room, avoiding any real human interaction. i’m happier this way; humans are exhausting to me. an old friend reached out and the part of me that asks “

why?

” is still wondering. i tell that me, “

because you deserve to have friends and make connections,

” but her skepticism has been there so long, questioning motivation has become second nature to her. i know she does it because she wants to survive in this world where she’s never been allowed to voice her opinion for fear of being called things like “

negative. pessimistic. critical. full of complaints. emo. rude. aggressive. entitled.

” by those who tell her, “

i love you,

” as though making those judgments about someone, holding to them and voicing them is the standard of positivity.

the me who writes this, defending that other me, she sometimes likes to play devil’s advocate and would also say to the me being defended, “

writing this and things like it to post on your blog is why you get called those names.

” but we do it anyway because we know we have to. it’s passive aggressive and we hate it but passive aggressive people only understand passive aggression. so, we write about how we feel and put it on the internet for them to find or not. it’s become the only real way to express how all those people come across, because when we say it to their face, they refuse to acknowledge their own faults. those people, who think it’s okay to pass all their judgement on me, need to know:

is anyone else as bored as me by how much they still hate going out in public? i must admit to some of the fault—the only places i’m able to go for overwhelmingly distracting fun these days are stores like target and michael’s. and since i had this briliant plan that i was going to make christmas cards to send out to my loved ones, or whatever, i get myself high to the nines, remove my glasses—reality is easier to forget that way—and pass beneath those red, swirly letters, through the automatic doors. i’m met with such a chaotic frenzy of people, all of whom want so badly to NOT be around one another but also all so desperate to, “keep this christmas like all the rest, even more so, you know, because of everything that’s been going on” with their homemade decorations, or whatever. breathing deeply through my beige facemask and filter, i wonder how long i’ll be able to withstand being in the store before the paranoia gets to me. thankful for my blurry vision, i use everything going on around me instead and propel myself forward, immediately winding up exactly where i’m meant to be—by the blank cards, envelopes and stationary. i pick a pack of blanks that suits my fancy and look for colorful paper i can use to make trees, shape out decorative lights from and turn into santa hats. remembering next about all the other stuff i have at home i can use to pull it all together, i tell myself i’m done and weave my way through and around the aisles of people until i’m at the entrance for the michael’s register maze. #iykyk.

waiting in line is my least favorite part about consumerism because of how badly it makes everyone feel, to be herded into a line, each member waiting to hand over their money for stuff. but it’s part of the deal and just to make it all the more enticing, i find myself, once again, surrounded on all peripherals by novelty items that dare to speak to my strange, tempting nostalgia in a language i’ll never be able to fully understand. squinting around and noticing a rotating display of ty beanie babies i choose to pretend i’m ignoring, i can tell i’m not alone in the feeling: ”all i want to do is pay the person and get my shit into my car where it’s quiet.” some people conceal whatever inner turmoil standing in line at a store brings out real well, but others end up announcing it to everyone within earshot, when their phone rings, that they, “won’t be answering that right before i check out,” as they pass by on their walk to register 2 where a cashier waits for them, safely behind a sneeze-guard. i can feel the paranoia percolating and once i get my shit into my car where it’s quiet, i tell myself these cards are gonna be so good, or something as equally expectant. when i get home, i cut out eight or so trees and lose my vision. i go back a few days later to return the stuff i hadn’t cut up or cared enough about, use the cash refund on my phone bill and tell the one person i shared my christmas card idea with, “nevermind.”

TW: it’s christmas, i’ve had two margaritas and i’m amazed at how easy it is for me to let go when there’s a bit of alcohol mixed up in my blood. when my nephew holds up my sister’s phone to my face and tells me to, “look at what kris said,” i’m pleasantly calm as i register the words: ***** behaved.

speaking to everyone at once, i briefly but forcefully, expel my disappointment at my fellow adult family members for speaking about me as though i’m still a child. i go ignored and move on instantly with whatever my nephew’s using to divert my attention. but when i feel my sister’s whisperings about me in the dining room to our mother, he loses his power over me and attempts to soothe me with an accepting, matter-of-fact, “people talk.” i get up from my seat, tell him he’s right and retreat into my cold, dark room to calm down. the alcohol mixed with the klonopin i’ve been taking makes it feel like the anger is screaming from inside a soundproofed room and i easily bring myself back to a wise mind once i remember i’m allowed to honestly be how i’m feeling. i typically lash out when my emotions rise up inside me but because the anger seems to be locked away somewhere quiet, i catch myself before i spin out and go back into the light. my sister says “dinner is ready,” and i sit in my usual seat at the dining room table, patiently waiting until everything is in front of me so i can fill my plate. i can tell my mother, who’s on my left, expects me to wait some more for her and everyone else and acting with philautia, i shove a forkful of roasted vegetables in my mouth before getting up to grab the bottle of sriracha from the kitchen cabinet. i squirt out a puddle of it onto the corner of my plate and dip a triangle of my sister’s homemade salmon patty in it so the bottom half is coated in sauce. the old me has me thinking i want to act like everything is okay but i’m sick of faking it and reminding myself i’m allowed to sit and eat, miserably in my seat, i do—my own chewing the only thing getting me through all the “fuck you” thoughts i begin to gladly acknowledge. when my sister attempts conversation, i wait a moment before realizing the muted anger has given me a chance to tell her with all my vulnerability, “i don’t want to talk.”

my nephew, who’s seven and can’t help himself says, “because of what kris said?” and i contemplate if ignoring him in order to protect him from feeling the depths of my sorrow is the right choice and right before it’s too late to say something, the silent, ink-brushed buddha hanging on the wall across from where i’m sitting, tells me i must speak up for myself. i can’t look at any of these people in the eyes—the intensity of my emotions make them feel threatened—so, when i answer my nephew, i speak to the buddha instead. i tell him, for everyone else to hear, “it makes me sad to know the people in my life treat me as though i don’t deserve an apology.” when i feel the weight of my truth settle into the minds of everyone at the table, i begin to cry, the pain i’d been feeling just a week or two ago still fresh in my heart and reawakened it deepens with the saddening knowledge that i’ll always be waiting for an apology.

my other sister—the one who texted about me as though i’m some unpredictable animal whose behavior requires supervision—has never been able to apologize for any of the hurtful things she does to me. choosing optimism, i let myself believe we could have a relationship now that we’re both adults and taking active steps to wield control over our toxicity. but i’m finally learning that having any expectations of her or the people she surrounds herself with is a waste of my energy. when she and her new, recycled boyfriend came over to help get the house ready for christmas, he lingered in my peripherals, observing me only to scathe my method of existence with his intrusive criticisms. reminding myself to keep it together for the sake of my two nephews but also unable to concentrate on what i was supposed to be doing, i decided to quietly snark at him: “you don’t have to say everything you think out loud, you know.” he was immediately defensive and before he knew what was happening, i used his own mind against him, making him remember about the day he yelled, “i don’t care what your name is, i’ll call you whatever i want,” and “get the fuck out of my house, no one wants you here anyway,” in my face. and just like that day months before, he once more boomed over my sister’s sarcastic, “babe, stop it”s, determined to gaslight me because his ego was panicking. exhausted from where i’d been with myself in my mind the week before, i chose to ignore him and went to sit by the fireplace. my sister surprisingly followed, leaving her boyfriend behind to loudly continue on with himself in the background, each empty word strengthening the flow of his denial. when i felt him grab hold of my sister as he drifted away in its peaceful stream, i muttered, “i can’t do this,” and left to be in my room where i dejectedly stripped down to my underwear and made myself shiver in the cold before i let myself crawl into bed to cry. after an hour or so of asking myself why no one seemed to care i wasn’t around, the suicidal visions i’d been having for the past week crept back in to tempt me with their tranquility. fighting against them, i got myself out of bed and screamed into the void for my entire family to hear before going into the bathroom and closing the door behind me to pee in the dark.

i had to leave the house for two hours after that, the rage grew so turbulent within me. i had no idea where i was going as i sped down the dimly lit highways out of troy, intentionally swerving toward the guardrail once, just to see how it felt. i decided i better find a place to park and ended up across the street from a bus stop outside a hannaford’s somewhere. desperate, i called a friend i could confess to about how i’d been feeling and when he advised, “avoid your sister’s boyfriend,” i wanted so badly to listen but when i got back home, i did the opposite and watched him jump, terrified in his own skin by the strength of my self-preservation. sick of hiding myself away—mostly because i was starving, i loudly threatened to slit his throat while i grabbed a knife to slice open a grapefruit. he willingly followed my sister outside, overwhelmed by his own fear-based emotions and as he left, the curse of my own self-awareness took over. i immediately apologized for hurting my other sister with my behavior and when she demanded more the next afternoon, i gave it to her, knowing it would be the last time she’d receive anything from me.

realizing i want to get away from my family, i contribute nothing more and quietly finish my supper, focusing on the inked buddha’s peaceful posture so i can tune out the voices of shallow conversation that tiptoe around my raw presence. when i make moves to leave the table, my sister asks if we could talk in the other room where she apologizes for the way she’d been texting with my other sister about me. i eventually tell her, “i want to be seen for what i can be, not what i have been or am going through,”and i notice that she’s about to cry and that part of me wants her to. when she holds herself together, i’m glad for us both because it proves i’m still the only one i know who knows how to believe.

i messed something up again. i got free tickets to OZY fest and when my friends told me “no” i invited my cousin. he took the train in from fairfield and since i showed up late, my tickets went to someone else. my cousin could tell i woke up feeling worthless. i’d recently been assaulted a block away from my apartment by a robber who i tripped without thinking about it, and i’d been drinking to cope with everything it brought up. in the days after the assault, i looked at my bruised legs, remorseful for once again putting myself in harms way and then deep sorrow that i had to tell my mom how to care about how fucked up my legs got. i took a photo of them every day just to document my own twisted, self pity. when my friend had to make time to come over to nurture me, i hated so much that she told me how to be vulnerable with her that i never ended up doing it. using my loved ones’ behavior as proof of what i deserved, i told myself i didn’t need anyone’s affection, forced myself to be alone with what happened and used cheap, giant bottles of wine to get myself through the day instead. when my buzz wore off at work, i’d disassociate so i could get myself through the rest of my shift. once home and once again drinking straight out the bottle, i passed the time texting a sexy, closeted christian who’d taken me out on the back of his motorcycle a few weeks prior. he kept telling me i was submitting to my demons and antagonized me with his religious shame, believing that’s what would get me to open up to him so he could swoop in and save me. if that robbery taught me anything, the only one who’s gonna save me, is me.

i looked that robber dead in his eyes, silent and still with the truth after he yelled out, demanding, “what’d you do that for, you bitch! i should smack you!” and that’s why he beat me up on that sidewalk instead of saving himself from being arrested by the fire marshal who was stopped at the red light. whatever, two weeks later and, i think everything is fine. except, it’s only 11 am and i’m pissed i didn’t drink before i left the house and it’s obvious my cousin is passively upset about the fact i was late showing up to claim the OZY fest tickets. it’s a good thing we’re both used to the feeling of being let down because when we think of something else to do instead, ramen at some place on the upper east side sounds good enough for us. when we sit down, i pretend i don’t want to drink and tell myself i’ll be able to get through the rest of the day sober. i give up as soon as i tell myself the lie and make sure to keep my sake cup full while my cousin babbles on about how much fun he’s having at the festival. there’s only so much of his irritating drivel i can withstand before i apologize again for biffing it with the whole OZY fest thing but when he tells me, “that’s not it,” i’m met with a wave of anxiety.

the more he talks the more sake i sip. soon enough, i’m drunk and drowning in information. our server passes by and i ask her for more alcohol before she’s out of ear shot. my cousin’s finished talking and looks at me from across the table, fear, as always, keeping his eyes open wide and in a desperate attempt to soothe his quiet unrest, i feign anger. anger is always easy except with me it’s always displaced and eventually turns real, but since my cousin can’t tell the difference, i ride the wave. the truth is, i’ve always suspected the beginning of my life was deliberately kept secret from me—now i knew it was and the reason why.

the boat is far enough away now that i’m starting to feel afraid. i can barely see my friend who’s been on the helm make his way back to his seat and i see my other friend putting down her beer to start up the motor. i sigh, wishing they’d just leave me the f∩ck alone but, reminding myself it’s a good thing to have people worry about me the way my friends do, i start swimming back to them. i hear the engine cut off and **** runs over to wait for me by the ladder. when i get back on board, he takes me downstairs to ask me “

why did you do that?

” when i tell him “

i wanted to scare myself,

” he turns his back on me and goes up the cabin stairs, outside.

i’m selfish, i know. but the truth is, nothing feels the way fear feels in my heart and every time i try explaining myself to someone about why i’m so confrontational, they look at me like i live in a fantasy world.

i think to myself

remember: “it’s a good thing, appearing as if i don’t know what i’m on about,”

before picking myself up off the towel i threw on the floor to sit on. i take a deep breath in and remember i am happy to be alive and head back up to my three friends on deck.

when we get back after sunset, i feel exhausted from my day on the boat in the sun and beeline it to my car where it’s quiet. everything feels so loud when i’m with my friends, at least, it’s been that way recently. things feel depressing and heavy in the energy they have to bring to a friendship. ever since i’ve been back home, every conversation is cloaked in subliminal messages about what’s right and wrong. the only way out i see is to replace those conversations with their opposite. and because it’s a lost cause—expecting people outside of yourself to change—the only logical next step i can come up with is to find new people—people who work on changing the way they run this system.

i think to myself

it’s putting belief into thoughts like that, that make people afraid for you,

and turn my head to see that **** is outside my window with his hands in his pockets. i get out of my car and look up at him as the door closes behind me. when he apologizes, i’m surprised and feel all the heaviness from earlier in the day fade away. opening his arms to me he says, “

i get why you scare yourself, i do it too.

” but i don’t give him the hug he wants because i want to be stubborn just for one more second and he grabs my hand to remind me to let go. it reminds me instead of something my dog does when he wants attention and then, remembering i have a dog who needs a walk, i give his hand a swift kiss, letting go so i can start on the half-hour drive home.

i’m here to remind you that there are people who go about their day believing everyone they interact with is sexually attracted to them. they find and make up reasons to back this belief and as a result, these people end up wanting to fuck everyone they meet. this is a way to life that many, many, many people choose to give energy to.

i believe humans are smarter than a perspective. there’s no reason we have to be “the sexual organs of the machine,” as some sci-fi writer somewhere once said.

i’m only thinking about this because i’ve been watching shameless and it reminded me of this guy i used to fuck when i was living in queens. we matched on tinder sometime in november some years ago.

we hooked up a few times over the course of the year. i remember wanting to hurt him while we had sex. and the entire year, every time i’d go over his place, i’d check his bathtub to see if it was still covered in someone’s body glitter that’d come off after some new years party he threw. it always still was.

the sex we had was fun at times. i once held a pillow over his head because i didn’t want to look at his stupid face while i rode his dick. he never got completely hard but was always so proud of his erections. i liked making out with him better but i think he felt more vulnerable than he wanted to be with me when we’d makeout so it rarely happened. i only say that because there was a night at the start of our whatever-you-want-to-call-it-affair when he had his head in my lap while i played with his hair. he told me in a sort of exasperated voice “you could do whatever you wanted to me right now,” before he sat up and started fingering me.

the last time i saw mr. fuererstein was new year’s morning 2019. i hadn’t had sex in months and wanted to keep my streak going. he fought against it and i ended up sucking his dick for what felt like an eternity. he never came, and kept complaining about it. i made him get me an uber home because he wouldn’t let me sleep over unless i had sex with him.

i obviously stopped seeing him after that but i texted him the other day because i figure it’d been long enough and plus, like i said, the show reminded me of him.

i’m here now to say it hasn’t been long enough. he’s still the same dick obsessed boy he was the whole time we were fucking. but i suppose that’s his purpose in my life. he can be a reminder for me of how quickly people turn to sex as a means of connection.

parttwo

the woman is standing there at the kitchen sink and says “come on in.” i awkwardly hand her the plate and thank her again for the food. i can tell she wants to talk to me. we stand across one another. she asks me about my art and what it’s like to be an airbnb host in new york city. she asks if i am hispanic. she asks if i have family. i feel myself become more uncomfortable with each question i answer until the woman finally tells me about phil.

phil is a young man from el paso, texas. he’d been in portland on a contract job. the woman said he reserved the spare room in her house and brought his computer equipment with him. he was supposed to be there for the whole month of august but decided to go on a camping trip and left on august 17.

“he missed his checkout,” i hear the woman say.

“do you want to see his room?” she asks and then i follow her to the room on the left of the bathroom. she points to his computer things and says something about “he didn’t have much else, he took the rest with him.” she pulls out her phone and shows me a photo of him. “does he look hispanic to you?” i tell her no, confused as to why she seems fixated on the hispanic thing. this response disappoints her and she insists “he’s hispanic, here, this is his driver’s license” and she shows me a photo of his license, “Flores. that name is hispanic, no?”

i feel uncomfortable and leave the room. somehow, the woman is once again leading me, this time to her music room where she has her piano and where she conducts lessons. next she’s talking about a strange waterfall nearby and leads me to the hall so i can see a photo she took of it. once in the hall, i begin feeling hopeful and start making my way toward the door so i can go back to the guesthouse. i want to be alone.

the woman catches me before i can actualize my desires and tells me she would like to take a photo of me and my license, to ensure i am in fact, who i say i am. i tell her no, that she can look at my license but that i am uncomfortable with having any photos taken. offended, she gives me an explanation i can’t recall, says something about trust and then requests to see my license immediately.

“right now?” i ask, clearly annoyed. “it’s going to happen eventually, might as well do it now,” she demands.

irritated beyond all belief, i walk through the two side gates and to my car where i produce the little card with my tiny face on it and hold it up so she can see. i hold it up long enough for her to read all three of my names before i put it away and lock my car. i walk back toward the guest house. the woman’s voice follows me. she warns me against keeping my license in my car. she tells me again why she wants the photos but this time she says more. she says things about traveling alone. says things about people going missing. says things about people being killed. 

i tell her her concern is unwanted and say goodbye before closing the guesthouse door behind me. when i call my aunt later to tell her about it all, i only end up feeling worse.

i feel the energy flowing throughout my body it’s been an hour or so i’m unsure time doesn’t always exist for me i lose track of time quite often especially in the shower

i’m in nebraska now its hard to let go of perfection as i type this i know that i’m making errors and speaking things wrong and the syntax and grammar sucks but i have to keep going just get the thoughts out

i’m in nebraska now. i’m in omaha i booked this airbnb last minute i didn’t expect to be here. it’s much better than expected. i was so excited to see denver and denver just disappointed hard core. remember? there was that street in denver, the one that had black lives matter written on it. yeah, they painted over the letters with black paint. just another moment in history for all those in denver. so blissful. so ignorant. it’s sad.

the people i stayed with in denver they were the type of people i wouldn’t be able to pick out from a crowd. they reminded me of the people i went to high school with. the rich, popular kids who get good grades and that’s all it takes for them to get themselves ahead because they’re sitting on mountains of $$$$$. 

i wonder a lot about my younger self. i came from a broken home. my parents didn’t get along the way all the well adjusted folks did. what would my relationships look like if my father had been more present and more in touch with his emotions and had set boundaries for himself. where would i be if my mom had been able to emotionally support me when i was so lost in my head i didn’t have words to express what was happening?

where would i be without them?

imagine a world where my parents had a great relationship. a world where my mom loved my dad and didn’t curl up when he got close. a world where my dad got up off the couch and felt excited to take me to school. a world where my grandma didn’t die and i got to say goodbye to her

i miss you grandma.

—-

i’m in nebraska now and it makes me think of your husband and how he was from here. i admit, i felt a little curious to see where he came from and to dig up some information on him and his family had i gone to the place he was born. but i realize, his life and where he comes from are unimportant. 

i was in lincoln nebraska earlier. i was on my phone, parked looking up groupons for oil changes. there was a homeless man asleep on the sidewalk to the right of where i parked my car. after a couple minutes of sitting in my car, a large man in some type of “official” uniform approaches the man who sleeps. he starts kicking his feet to pull him from his dream state. i record him. after about a minute, the man in uniform decides his kicks are of no use and he instead stands, arms crossed, observing the sleeping man. he does this for a length of time. i’m still figuring out oil change things but finally i sort out whatever i’m doing on my phone and i’m about to leave when i feel myself open my car door…

i ask the uniformed man “is he dead?” i feign concern as to not scare the man in uniform. [imagine]

he tells me “he’s breathing” etc. he has no idea. so then i ask “have you tried waking him…” the man interrupts me to tell me “yes, i’ve attempted waking him…” i hold up my finger, requesting he take a pause so i may finish. 

“have you tried waking him without kicking him?” he interrupts me again to say “i don’t touch people, ma’am.” as if i had made such a suggestion in the first place.

i made my point and said, “i’m not suggesting you touch him. have you tried getting down on his level and speaking to him?”

this idea seemed to be completely revolutionary to the man in uniform. (how is it kicking is taught before speaking?) i asked “how would you like if someone kicked you awake?” and the man in uniform said to me “i’d like it if i had to wake up!” completely convinced that KICKing is acceptable. 

i looked him right in his lost and confused eyes and found myself apologizing. i said “i’m sorry,” his dejection surfaced and i continued, “i’m sorry someone made you think that’s okay.”

.

right the reason i took this in the first place. close your eyes. 

jolene is convincing me to go to this party tonight i really don’t want to go i want to stay in and binge purge instead or something equally as sad. no i don’t think i had gotten so back into that uyet/ 

i remember we go to sometimes apartment hilltop to pregame and wait for the ride to the party i really don’t want to go but i decide it’ll be better or more fun or whatever if i have a lil bit to drink i pour myself the usual. bacardi 151 and diet coke because i’m still hyper focused on my appearance and how little i can make myself in comparison. 

i don’t really remember going to the party but i remember arriving. i wander away and meet some guy we hangout outside on a stoop. i find him attractive. he seems interested in me so i feel happy. i am safe

i am safe

i am safe

its not there 

darkness

remember 

fear

fear

fear

where am i

it’s dark there’s sometone else in here with us i feel uncomfortable i don’t like this anymore. i don’t want to he’s soft i haven’t shaved. i tell him to stop i feel embarrassed and i use my hands to move him away from entering me he persists i can’t remember whose idea it was i’m sorry i’m sorry i hurt you i’m sorry i made you feel unsafe i’m sorry i it’s not my fault

it’s not my fault

it’s not my fault

it’s not my fault

he’s to blame

does he remember

does he remember my fear

he was just as gone as i was

does that make it okay?

the officer told me i just got scared

in the back of that ambulance he told me that it wasn’t what i thought it was. he told me that i just got scared. 

i’m afraid of everything. ////

how do i feel like this all the time?

present.

here? 

//// i’m so scared.

i live with my trauma it follows me everywhere i go. it doesn’t matter where in the world i am or who i’m with or how much i do to distract myself. my trauma is there. it follows me. it’s here in this room in nebraska. i never thought i’d be here in omaha. high on lsd. staring at the crest of courage. a lion and a fucking unicorn. that’s the third lion i’ve seen in the past 48 hours. lions make me think of my mom. 

i think about her and i feel so much sadness. i don’t know if the sadness comes because she makes me feel safe or if it comes because of what she represents in my mind. change the representation. 

the sadness comes because i miss my mom. 

i miss grandma.

i miss myself.

i rode to the hospital alone that night. i was there alone that night. 

i went to get checked for HIV a couple weeks after and that was it. the whole thing. 

like it never happened.

———

what am i doing here? the words grow and shrink.

close your eyes everything is red why is it red i don’t know because i can see there is pain inside me rage anger hate guilt shame there is nothing i can do to change what happened i can only speak my pain so that it is acknowledged. 

theres so much of time there’s so little of time i’m using the time i have for what what am i using the time i have on 

time

time

time goes by

so slowly

it was just 4 o’clock now it’s not.

none of this is important.

it’s all important.

fuck technology.

….it pulls me back. 

there is a stillness now.

as i realize darkness

will always be by my side

my mind takes me elsewhere my fingers move on their own what’s happening why haven’t my friends responded? i am alone

i went on r/pan earlier in the night and danced for a hundred something people. someone commented crackhead vibes it’s funny because they were wrong and then someone else responded with a no because i had all my teeth and that what i was doing was art. at least someone understood. for a whole 8 minutes and something seconds i shared myself with randos on the internet and you know what i’m still here to write about it no one died i’m still a successful writer still making this guap to support myself in this DUMBASS game i chose to play yo. idec about speaking right right now 

write right, all right? right? right writing? ^^2!73

72!99%-innnngggggggggg

sprinkle fingers only he can see

eager roommate namecalls,

have i written about portland? honestly, i can’t remember how long ago i was there or even the dates of the trip. but the story. ooh, i remember that.

~      *        ~          *         ~

i booked an airbnb just outside the city. after five or so hours of driving, i pull up to the house and park my mini out front. when i turn off the car my whole body is still vibrating and life feels surreal. 

“i’m not ready to get out yet” my body says to me. so, i unbuckle my seatbelt and i sit. 

as the feeling of relaxation washes over me, i hear a knuckle rapping on the window in my left ear. a woman speaks to me. i feel her pulling my energy out of the car.

i want to scream in her face but choose instead to be rude.

like a territorial dog, i snarl and snap at her for watching me gather my self and belongings. she waits for me around the corner and insists on showing me things before i rest. i am okay with this only because standing up and walking has made me realize i have to pee and i can’t hold it. 

she’s saying something about the gates and i’m barely listening. she’s still talking when we get to the guest house, something about, “it gets hot.” a fan whirs noisily while the woman speaks, pointing at the refrigerator and tea kettle. all i want is to pee. she insists on leading the way and says something about the sliding door. a dog barks and next thing i know, i’m sitting on her love seat waiting to meet jenny, the dog. the woman’s eyes sparkle as the words, “she likes you” fill the room. i get up to finally use the toilet and jenny follows. 

once relieved, my exhaustion returns. insufferable once again, i am cold toward the woman. i blame it on needing rest and go to lie down. my friend calls with exciting news.

the woman lingers nearby, listening. 

after what feels long enough for her liking, the woman knocks on the door of the guest house with a plate of food in her hands. obviously, i am hungry. the woman cooked chicken and sweet potatoes and begs me to eat her food. reluctant and appreciative, i grab the plate and thank her. 

sitting down to eat, i know i will eventually finish and return the plate to her. i’m dreading the interaction. she reminds me of what i used to know. i decide to get it over with and head inside.

silence soothes me at times but right now it makes me nervous. i want to write. i keep getting messages that tell me to listen to my intuition and i ignore them.

i am afraid.

i want to write but the silence invites anxiety. i open spotify and press the shuffle play button on a 417 Hz playlist. the track that plays is titled “

self confidence  417 Hz

” which i think is interesting.

not everything has to be a sign.

life is so boring. even when cool things happen i still feel so bored. man. covid-19 has been such a lesson for us. and here i am in portland during a pandemic.

and there i was at the redwoods two thursdays ago. 

i took my time that morning. talked about time happening all at once with a friend. i had my tent pitched on the side of a road somewhere in northern california. it had rained ever so lightly throughout the night..

— interrupted by voices from outside, i feel paranoia. the walls of this room are so thin. focus —

i got to the spot after the sun had set. i called my sister when i arrived. she had been sleeping but i knew she would answer. i felt afraid and wanted to hear someone’s voice. noises kept me awake throughout the night. the next morning i made a video about homelessness. 

when i got to the trees i stopped along the road to acknowledge them. once on foot, i stopped whenever i felt truly compelled to give one a hug. allowing myself to follow my intuition, i happened upon a crow. no one in sight, the crow stood ahead of me on the path. it began walking ahead and i followed. it took flight each time i got closer than it cared for. it eventually flew away into the trees. 

i see crows often. i’m sure other people do as well. at least i have hope they do. not because i want to be part of something but because crows deserve to be seen.

crows remind me of my grandmother. according to my aunt, “mom hated crows,” especially the ones that sat in the trees along her yard. i never thought much of them except to perceive their existence. twenty years later, however, i enjoy their company because it reminds me of a time of acceptance. 

i’ve been having dreams about writing. 

i was thinking aloud earlier today about things i’d say to people if i was speaking the honest truth as i see it. although i’m having a hard time remembering all i said, i do remember eventually telling myself, “

others will think what they want of you all that matters is, you’re the one who knows.

“ later in the day, as i walked around san francisco, high and with my bubble tea in hand, i saw a guy who looked like this person i’ve never met. i thought to myself, “

no, that’s not him. it’s not possible he’s here right now.

“ but then i began thinking “

what if it was him

“ because i like imagining things with those random odds and he shouted at me, “

i’m not ****!

“ which i thought was hilarious because obviously i knew that. i continued with my what-ifs and felt myself overcome with fear. to which my thoughts became those of self-doubt. immediately after this, i walked upon a neighborhood scattered with homeless people. a few tents were set up on the sidewalk across the street. as i turned the corner, a woman using a cane exchanged hellos with a man sitting outside an inn. i looked ahead and prepared myself for the steep incline. with less than ten minutes to get back to my car, i couldn’t allow myself to ponder all that had just taken place and i had to shake the paranoia i felt washing over me.

i feel curious now as i remember.

i’ve been exploring the belief that our reality is whatever we believe it to be. this concept gets a lil scary for me to think about. especially because of the way i connect with emotions. in fact, changing the way i connect with my emotions has been the hardest part of living this theory. while it’s important i acknowledge the presence of negative thoughts and emotions i must also release them.

this is all new to me so i’m having a hard time explaining it tonight. but…

all this talk about creating our own reality has got me excited to see what i come up with.

i’m in san francisco now. the sky is white and a strange moisture hangs in the air. it smells like my cousin is in the backyard warming up the smoker.

i got here last night and immediately crashed. the drive was tough but listening to michelle obama’s podcast helped keep me connected.

i still feel that connection now. the one to myself, i mean. which is good for me. i have a tough time with disassociation.

i want to disassociate now. leave this existence. forget i am here on this planet, in this world, surrounded by these people, witnessing these tragedies.

i cried in the shower this morning. not really that big of a deal, it happens every day, always about something different. today i cried about my sadness. the sadness i hold is profound. it’s there every time i open my heart. every time.

contemplating my sadness, i thought about how it’s always been there. i wondered aloud if it would always be there, even when i am better off than i am now, and immediately replied, “yes.” i cried more because as messed up as that is, i understand it. while i am fully capable to feel other things and connect in other ways besides sadness, sadness is my emotion. sadness is what i am here to overcome. it’s the emotion that’s followed me from generation to generation.

it feels heavy, recognizing that all the sadness that exists within me only catalyzed because sadness went ignored by everyone before me. it feels even heavier knowing i’m the one who has to bear it, alone. i mean, i know i am equipped and that i’m not actually alone but i am the only one here in this body. i am the only one born of my mother and father. there is no one to truly share this experience with me.

but i suppose this experience isn’t meant to be shared, at least not in the way of feeling.

i took myself to the grand canyon. i cried at its beauty and magnificence.

i ended up so overwhelmed by my emotions i couldn’t stay present with myself. i had a hard time focusing and made myself stop at each vista to see what i could see. i only ever ended up seeing the same thing.

a family loudly made fun of me while i took photographs of myself. the bees were very aggressive and territorial.

i also fell while riding my bike. i didn’t even make it to the bike path. i was headed to it when i lost control. i burned my forearm on the pavement, bruised up my left ankle, and smacked my jaw when i fell. a family from florida stopped to help me. the woman got out and was very emotionally present. it was exactly what i needed. she soothed me while i unloaded all my emotions on her. she told me she wanted to give me a hug, knowing i needed love. i cried harder.

i felt so alone. i felt so scared. i felt undeserving of any help. each time i thanked the woman and her husband, i felt more tears fall because i was so grateful someone would stop to help me.

i was so upset about it all that i asked my sister to post me up in a hotel room in flagstaff. i ate away my emotions and watched finding nemo. i fell asleep feeling sorry for my loneliness and pain.

the next day i booked an airbnb in LA and drove to california. i went to bed as soon as i got there.

i’ve been in texas, “helping” my sister move. okay so, i actually did help, damn i put myself down way more than i need to. we all leave tmrw. i‘ve been sleeping downstairs bc i value massive boundaries but tn i’m sleeping upstairs in her room on an air mattress she n her son did up for me. we’re “all” sleeping.

i let out a massive sneeze.

i was rly anxious when i first got in bed. hella intrusive thoughts coming in. ** i came to the realization earlier that i am my spirit’s guide. if we have to call that “voice,” the one that sounds like us, btw, a spirit guide, or even a higher self, then those guides are just diff mes. i mean, i believe this because i also believe that consciousness, at least on this planet, is one. ..but this world suffers from ignorance. the type where they ignore themselves and don’t pick up on their tiny tiny tiny micro expressions that everyone calls a twitch—*i’m ranting. (leave it)

so, because these intrusive thoughts came in, i brought those earlier thoughts back and began thinking to myself, “i’m all here.”

-cut to-

i’d be lying if i said i don’t go onto my ex’s website to see what’s up with his book. his bio says, “is all there,” or whatever.

-plays with philtrum n wonders if scalp would enjoy cannabis lotion sometimes

what?-

right, i was talking about how every time i randomly remember his handle i check if he’s put his twitter back to public. i’m just checking about the book, fr.

anyway, i thought it was cool we shared a thought. true, what i observe lives in my subconscious, however, i—me, the real me—was never present with him n never retained any of what he was on about n would write pages to me about, this is getting vicious and i need to stop.

not deleting it tho bc it’s true. n that’s on real honesty.

but yeah, it was cool we shared a thought. took me hella long to get here, that’s how stubborn i am :)

yup i’m still writing about my life on the internet bc that’s my business.

do y’all like frank ocean?

storytime—

a couple months after my ex agreed to break up with me, i bring a guy home n fuck him while blonde plays in the background. my ex is living in the living room n is home. it takes me close to 4 years to get over the guilt i feel when listening to that album. if u somehow read this,

fuck my ex.

kids bother me. i love kids but also, they’re so needy.

i’m so needy, i pretend kids are the problem.

i’m needy in the way that i need validation for basically every little thing i do. i tell myself there is nothing wrong with this because this is the way i am. i also know, however, that i’m not to seek validation from outside myself because my life is my own. i am living this life—my life—for me. the validation must come from within. <—the positive thought.

i struggle reaching it in the moment.

my attention seeking is subtle and subconscious. let’s take, for example, yesterday evening when i went outside and began dancing on the front patio. just before thought came into play, it felt as if i was dancing to be seen. that’s when shame stopped by for a visit. i continued dancing despite these thoughts and feelings, but had them nonetheless.

break this apart.

i think i’m stuck on connecting the feelings to the thoughts. let’s say i did want to be seen and someone did see me. why do i immediately believe they thought ill of me?

wanting attention is normal. everyone wants attention. but the attention i attract makes me feel shame.

okay. get to the positive thought.

what if i’m not seeking attention at all? what if that’s just what i’m so used to thinking i’m doing because being myself and going with my own flow was always highly criticized by those nearest and dearest to me?

what if my behavior is completely in step with who i am supposed to be? i don’t demand people look at me. i know people who do this and that’s not who i am. i know this. if people happen to catch me in moments of my own bliss, whatever type of person they are, whatever kinds of things they did with themselves and their beliefs that day, is their business.

all these posts you see here on tumblr are published first on my website. 

i get excited about numbers. i notice numbers during important thoughts or circumstances. sometimes tho, i miss a numerological instance by a minute or two. when this occurs, i find myself thinking back to what i was just doing and the trend is that i was doing/thinking about something and completely zoned. when i make connections like these, i see things differently than what is typical for me. i realize that i’m doing exactly what i need to be doing, right when i’m doing it. there need not be tons of thought involved with each decision i make. i can trust my body to do what is right for me.

this technique has been helpful to me, a person who puts herself through suffering because she clings to this notion of low self-esteem.

i’ve started learning more about things in the spirituality realm. like teaching myself about tarot and doing shadow work. i am feeling now, the desire to dive into my low self-esteem.

really analyze it.

why is it there?

i guess it’s because i don’t feel good enough. that’s the first thing that comes to mind. [i laugh] ”i don’t feel good enough” for what? esteem? for anything. life even. i terrorize my own mother.

guilt. let it go.

i do have self-esteem. i stand up for myself now. i point out the subtle things to people that used to terrify me. i wish it didn’t feel so bad though. man, does it feel bad.

okay, so… i have low self-esteem because things make me feel badly?

think about that.

i think back on situations i found myself in where i could have handled myself better. these are immediately followed by good memories and now i feel hurt because i remember the good better but the fact that people who are supposed to love me, so easily recall the bad, it makes me feel bad, always. it makes me question if there are ever any good moments because why would someone so easily recall the bad? are people not speaking up around me out of fear the way i do? does that make me bad? am i inherently bad?

why do i deserve self-esteem?

because i am good moments. i am discovering deer while on bike rides without shoes. i am screaming while hawks fly adjacent, dead things in their talons. i am driving across the country in the only thing i own only 25% of because i feel like it. i am speaking with confusing syntax and grammar because i understand it and that’s all that matters. i am a tickle monster who is going to miss her family very much when we all say goodbye

[lashing out to make that goodbye easier.]

i deserve self-esteem because i recognize my faults and i work on improving them. i know i am not perfect and i don’t expect myself to be. i am allowed to make mistakes. in fact, it’s important i make mistakes, otherwise, i will stop learning. there is still so much for me to learn.

i deserve self-esteem because i am.