Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.
I pretty much want to sleep and listen to Tchaikovsky for the rest of my life.
But after five minutes I wouldn't want to do that either.
Death tugs at my ears and says: Live, for I am coming. -- Oliver Wendell Holmes
When a belief system condemns all others to be predisposed ...
The consequences of self-imposed solitude and how it affects human progression.
"Live simply so that others may simply live" does not jeopardize any beatiful intricacy.
"I have a body you are likely to say if you talk about embodiment at all; you don't say, I am a body. A body is a separate entity possessable by the 'I'; the "I' and the body aren't as the copula would make them, grammatically indistinguishable..."
Degradation of the body is no different than that of the mind. I am always speaking of self respect. This is no different than racial slurs, sexist jokes, verbal abuse, and authoritative belittling on my part. I refuse to take part in any of that, so why this?
I need to come to terms with my mother about those hours, that amounted up to quantative weeks, of screaming and crying in each other's faces. I need to come to terms with the mental and physical brutality. I have to accept the fact that I cannot beat this alone, which goes against everything I believe in. I have to accept that I am alone, allways have been, and allways will be. These are my needs.
"Are you hooked up with anyone right now?"
I could have just said no.
I'm coming to terms with my state of lonliness. I'm okay with that. Lonely isn't a sad word for me anymore. It's liberating. I'm alone.
I'm indefinately, infinetely, profoundly, and innately tired.
A four year degree majoring in biology, minoring in chemistry. Four years of pre med. I'll be so tired...
( Beunos DiasCollapse )
Everyone that I've spoken to has voted conservative. The thought of a conservative government terrified me at first.
I'm done all my exams, and I leave for Mexico in less than 8 hours.
I guess I'm stoked...
P.S. I feel that if it's exposed, it will feel more tangible - and I will be able to get a better grip on myself. Not working.
It's a fucking excuse.
Tip-toeing over the cold, beige tiles - the color of such facetious warmth causing shivers to run up and down my spine. I'm pouncing back and forth onto the chemically compounded, primary colors.
Green diagonal and blue sideways back and forth around the mall; ring around the rosie in every store. The linoleum is just there. These things are just here. My mother is hustling from store to store. My mind is filling with images, but my hands are empty. They show us so much, but I do not see a thing.
The fluorescence, harsh and buzzing is reflecting from my eyes onto the smells. I desire so much knowing it is all here in excess. I do not ask for it.
Across the checkout, a small creature is screaming. I stare like a child. He wants his mother to wrap him in candy. His world is candy wrappers. She is denying him the candy as if to show him that he cannot always have everything. It will not work because the over-encompassing sight of everything always being here stimulates the stuck-in-a-moment perspective that lack of experience and development allows. This perverse checkout counter withdrawal that parents submit their kids to only throws them deeper into the throes of capitalism as they strive to have the everything that is always there. I am not the child to throw a temper tantrum. I was "taught better" than that. I stare up at the carefully designed structure. I lower my gaze to the cold, linoleum floor.
Fourteen years of this skitzophrenic suburbia and I take everything. Grocery stores are the most sustainable resource in the world - this tell-tale world where drugs are bad because they kill your brain cells. I always knew this. Nobody ever told me why I shouldn't kill my brain cells.
Adrenaline and shelves upon shelves stack reams of processed, labeled, enriched mementos. A conglomeration of every checkout line and aisle I have ever seen. My pupils dilate and my heart speeds up. Pockets unzip and little bits of everything free fall into my pockets like Christmas presents. I am careful to impulsively take every specimen so as to create an accurate sample of obtaining the everything. I take it home and carefully lay it out on my floor in order of color, size, and price. Into drawers it would hide rarely to ever peak outside.
Fight or flight response is kicking in as my eyes widen simultaneously with the sliding doors. Fingers grasp and pull, antagonizing already too full pockets. Out the sliding doors, whose glass might as well be a brick wall.
A hand lays gently on my arm so as to just say that they're there.
"...remain silent." - and so I do. Incredulous, I look at him as if to ask if he's talking to me - like strangers do to cashiers. I am being read my rights. I walk down aisles colder than they were before. I am now a white female. I'm the statistic and the sample. They ask why. They lock me up for months. It was never a lack of morality - but a lack of reality.
-Rough draft narrative essay
I'm going into my exams with an 84 and an 87.
Math was yesterday.
I studied from 9 until 6 in the morning.
Slept for five minutes on the bus.
Went to piano lessons.
My teacher sent me home early.
I'm getting sick.
I'm going to mexico in 4 days, but it's so untangible.
I got an application to the UofA. Bachelors of Science Premed.
I know I'll get in.
But how am I supposed to move out of this house?
I have to take physics30 over the summer.
Get a job in edmonton.
Get a place.
Get a piano.
I'm going to miss my students...
I'm going to Mexico on the veinte cuarto (23rd).
Bye bye, Canada.
Hello, sunny skies.
Just a few...it's not excessive.
It is likely that an intensive treatment program may be appropriate for your needs. Please consult with an admissions coordinator for further evaluation.
Twas the afternoon before Christmas Eve
Our esoteric upbringings
There is no cure. I've lost hope. I don't think I can fix this. As much support as I have from Jenn, Mussieux, and Sherri. I'm sorry to everbody for not being good enough especially myself. I hate this thing inside me, because it is not me. It's some other fucking person. This is a suicide note of hope and progression. All my fucking aspirations. All my fucking 90's marks are fucking bullshit. I volunteered at the Bissel Center with Nicola and Jenn yesterday. The kids were absolutely amazing, but my throat's sore and I'm going to throw up.
I don't need help, because nothing can fix this. I don't want a daily fucking struggle. I hate consumerism. I fucking hate tv. I have so much anger towards my childhood and all the things that made me into this.
I hate you and myself for falling out of eachother's lives. Except I don't hate you. I hate that we let this happen. I hate that "we" isn't applicable. I hate that you've forgotten about me. I hate that I've forgotten about you.
I'm so bitter towards, not society, but individuals. Not grudges, but personal choices. Myself.
"The thing is to not make excuses for the way you behaved - not to take refuge in tragedy-but to clarify who you are through your response to when you lived. If you can't do that, then you haven't made your contribution to the future."
"Life's a series of events, it's how you respond to the events that defines who you are as a human being."
What if the line between an event and a response is blurred? What if the line between who you are and a response is blurred? I've given up.
"To be nobody but yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting."
On another note...
Two of my piano students came 15 minutes early today, and one of them canceled alltogether. I think that it's necessary to have a lesson before the recital, but now I have to reschedule my own lesson for them. Shit. I understand that the holidays are busy but....disrespect? A hint of ageism? I said, "Lessons start on time." Shit.
I just got a piano gig tonight. A christmas eve service. 2 hours for $75. Sigh. I don't even care about the money.
I still believe that what we do is more important than what we refuse to. Which is why I sill have the idea that boycotts never work. Take action.
I don't know what's worse, getting an 80 - or failing. I am overwhelmed, flustered, and hopeful.
Thin. ... I won't desert myself on an island of two fingers. It's a war, and I will not take it up. So my "bulimia" takes a less touristy vacation into starvation. I'm a better teacher when I starve. I have more patience, concentration..an endless barragement of reasons why I am allways a better person when I am starving. Deprivation makes me feel better. I have dreams and commitments. ... I accomplish more, my relationships are better, I have ideas, I progress - but all these things make me a better person? They result because I starve myself? There's nothing respectable about being half alive. When you don't even have the energy to talk to the people you love. But what's worse? Caring about your binge more than your family.
This sounds horrible.
I sound horrible.
... I want what I had in the summer, but now...presently. I ate normally. I was vegan. I didn't eat commercial, overly processed, ridiculously wastefully packaged food, but I stilll had an eating disorder.
I don't want to restrict myself, but restriction and deprivation ... is making me "better." ... I don't believe in a fatalistic perspective, but this is ... a mestasizing cancer. ... Perhaps it's the stigmas, the fact that what I think is wrong with me is my eating. It's not. ...
I want to live without dairy products, consumerism, fast food corporations, overindulence stemming from other's exploitations, inefficient importation and packaging.
I want to live with locally produced food, making food for myself and the people I love, energy, motivation, community, appreciation, equality.
I live without meat..alcohol..drugs...fast food. I live with beautiful people.
- Blk.2 & 4
Taken from actual journal...
I love people. I hate myself for putting my obsessions, addictions, and habits before my friends. I don't know, rationally, who I am because I am consumed by something untangible. I'm obsessed with consuming ironically. I deprive and refuse so much in the name of ethics, morals, and social consiencse, but an obsessive-compulsive tendency usually twists good intentions. The cliche "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" might ring true for me - but I have allways been my happiest when i am restricting myself. Instant gratification comes in a disguised form of reiteration of a cycle that has been going on for years. I've wasted years. I have not overcome this problem, and sometimes I have no hope that I will. - Recent
At this moment I have not done my math homework in days, studied math, sincerely attempted writing my English essay, or studied biology nearly as much as I should have. I have not played piano anywhere close to half as much as I said I would could.
Right now I stand at an 87 in Biology30, an 81 (80 on Report Card due to inept teacher) in Math30Pure, and a 77 in English30-1 AP.
The proper nouns I'm using are part of a compulsion to show how academically flustered I really am. Also, I've been using personification and expectations to prevent me from writing, studying, and progressing at all. The stigmas I applied to everything last year are creeping up on me again - but for no valid reason. They never had a reason. It was an excuse, an easily identifiable way for me to remain motionless. Mr. Mussieux entirely dismissed my "expectations are ruining me" theory today. I allways knew this though, but it was allways on the tip of my tongue. From Mussiex, it's reassuring. - Nov. 8 '05
I don't know how to react right now. i feel as if everyone is becoming sick and tired of me because I am quite fed up with myself. ...bio to read, study, and generally exceed everything and everyone else at. I've realized that being 'perfect" means being healthy, physically. I cannot lose control and slip up or down. Hopefully maybe my perspective will change, and I will be happier someday - but being the best I can is the best way I can live right now. I miss not wanting...back. I want that back. Overtired - goodnight. Nov. 9 '05 11:10 PM
I don't know if I can ever overcome this. How many times have I been here before? Every week and every day I have a thought in my conscious, but how many do I have in my subconcious? The profoundness of this "disease" is what I probably need to should be looking for - but I don't know.
Perhaps knowing too much is my demise. The more we know about fibre intake, cholesteral, calcium requirements, and FDA recommendations - the worse the whole of our communities statisticly become. The packaging, the processing, and the outright lies gone into our recommended daily intake and actual intake is rather counterproductive.... It's courteous of corporations and the government to mandate nutrition labels on every packaged food product, but is it enitrely necessary to have this done for diabetics nationwide? Ironically, the instances of type two diabetes are rising parallel to the amount of studies done and nutrition information everwhere. Besides the ill with specially monitored diets ... Knowledge is power... We should be able to tell by looking at our food whether it is good for us. Counting calories is a frivolous process promoting trivial thought processing. The constant barragement of consuming advertisements and media through every sense is limiting and polluting mental space. The unnecessary, unending factoids of nutrition information was never a part of human life... Nobody should be eating fast food, and nobody shoudl have to resort to it. The capitalism we live in has our interests in mind, and they have their interests in our mind. the omniprescence of of advertisements, products, sales, money, business, food and comsuming are... Beyond stigmas and labels, food should sustain. Food should be healthy. What anyone eats should not have geneticly modified organisms and pesticides and... - Recently.
Alcoholics, drug addicts, smokers, and bulimics.
I refuse a fatalistic view. I cannot believe in a human state where we cannot have a present choice and sense of discernment. I beleive in this. I can overcome this because. I have a dream.
Teenage skitzophrenic suburbia. Fuck the corporations that polluted my fucking mental state when I was thirteen. Fuck the conditioning, the habits which have stayed with me for years - even though I am educated enough to see through the marketing now. Fuck the retardation of my progression as a human being by capitalism.
The other day the power went out - and I never wanted it to come back on. - Dec. 5 '05
I've developed a nervous eye twitch and it could be stemming from anxiety, nervousness, stress, family, friends, warmth, war, bad lighting, carbohydrates, deoxyribonucleic acid, protein difficiencies, snowflakes, quiet, 9/19, multiple choice, sleeping, laughing, dreaming, noise,...
Not good enough.
I haven't cried in weeks.
I'll be your boyfriend, and you'll be my girlfriend - and together we'll never be lonely again.
I'm so fucking lonely.
"Jenna, look. I'm a corporate slut." Imakefunofcoolthingstoseemcool. He'll eat something from somewhere or buy something or WORK somewhere and all the while he will allways takes notice to inform you that he knows it's roots are corporate.
doorbells hipbone bruises afternoon naps contrasting ideals car rides home flipflops