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Crush enemies, abandon hope, and unleash endless waves of unrepentant sarcasm. |
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There's nothing to see here that's really out of the ordinary. Nothing really terribly interesting either, unless you like griping, gossip, grudges, and possible mental illness. If anything it's some small way to keep myself writing (though you'll see by the dates on the entries that it's by no means an effective way), as well as a means through which I can vent about any number of things that are pissing me off. Occasionally there's pie. Look: I'm not a normal person. I'm suffering from untreated depression and plagued by increasingly frequent migraines that pretty much render me bedridden for days. I've suffered a lifetime of abuse and neglect, and still have to struggle with unfathomable depths of low self-worth, not to mention the eating disorders. I'm a weirdo, a freak, an aberration of nature and human experience . . . but it doesn't make me interesting. So, you can read this if you want. I've got some social commentary that might be a little fun, and occasionally throw in a poem or two, but for the most part it's the ramblings of a stricken mind. Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain; she's just trying to change her dress. |
| Somebody fucking medicate me |
| The paper is completed and sent. I just hope that Emile Durkheim counts as an important anthropological figure. I should think he would, since we spent almost a full day on him. |
| Two pages to go to make the minimum cut. I'm just Wikipeding my way through it, nto caring that much. I suck, and I'm bored, and I'm lonely, and there's no one in chat and people aren't talking in scroll and I just want to chill or something. Oh well, be done soon enough I suppose. |
| Writing my paper for Anthropology. Decided to do Durkheim because he's pretty cool. I'm not even sure what the hell I'm supposed to be doing for this paper (wait, didn't I say that LAST time I had to write a paper for anthropology?). I've got two pages out of five completed, and I'm hoping to do SOME analysis, but it may just be me rambling on and on about "Durkheim said this about religion, Durkheim said that about education. Durkheim thinks people will be happy if they see their roles in society as significant." Blah-diddy-blah-diddy-blah. |
| God damn it, I hate my mind. I've been manic for some days now, since about Saturday. It was an angry-manic this time, with all of my rage being focused on, naturally, Bradley. It's the old bitch-out: How could he do this to me? He used me! I was only appealing to him for as long as his pride was wounded from rejection, and the moment he knew he was still sexy he didn't want me anymore. It was a conquest, wasn't it? Genessy was a conquest; it was so obvious. Who says, "I made out with Genessy," and then high fives his friend and looks so proud of himself? A jerk who just wanted to sling his dick around, that's who. And that's the guy who made out with me: a cock-slinger who wants to brag about how he almost got the frigid bitch to take her clothes off. He insulted me. He disrespected me in the worst way. He used me for his own self-gratification without once taking my feelings into consideration. Fucking little BASTARD. And the like. I hated him even more after chorus yesterday when he didn't seem all that happy to have me talking to him (however, my lingering around got me into a conversation with Lisa, the girl who wears the turban. She's really nice, and really cool). Sometimes I hate him so damn much I want to beat him. I was going to remove him from my Facebook friends list, but I couldn't find the option to do so. I think I may have to block him, but I don't want to go that far. Then I got depressive while finishing up Sphere and started crying. I cut myself so I could get some control over my emotions. And then today, Bradley was friendly again. He was gregarious, he was nice, he was making jokes, it was almost like old times. And I couldn't be angry. I just couldn't. When he's around and not being distant, I can never feel anything but my old friendship for him. What can I say? I love the guy. He's one of the better friends I've had, at least before this incident. He fucked up, yes, but there's a big part of me that just wants to move on and forget about all that. I just wish I knew what I really felt. The anger is so strong when it comes. So is the sadness. But my Sensible Lyssah fragment wants us to be friends again without enmity. If only I could stop being so bipolar. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie.
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| There's something about reading books about magick and witchcraft that makes me feel less crazy for wanting to believe. Most of the time I just stare at the books on my shelf and wonder why the hell I ever spent money on something I'm not going to use, but when I actually open one up, it doesn't seem like such a waste. Maybe I'm crazy, but when one of my books stated that the magical energy of the Earth can be used to alter the relaity I perceive, I felt a little optimistic that I won't be depressed forever, if only I can get off my ass and actually try to get some power into my life. I don't want to be sad anymore. I don't want to hate myself. I know that drugs will not help me, at least not without some awful trade, and I'm not bad enough to be institutionalized and forgotten. If magick can help, why not? Why not try? It certainly isn't as bad as taking drugs, which is the path I think I may be on. So, here's to witchcraft: an ancient noble art that can change the world one person at a time. |
| I hate the phrase "broken hearted". It makes it sound as if the defect lies within the person who has been hurt, and not the beast that caused the pain. It is as if to say that the heart is the problem, and any actions leading to its breakage are irrelevant. But isn't that how it really is? The heart should be strong enough to bristle but overcome the insult, and yet it lingers over the thought to the literal breaking point. It is a timid creature who carries the burden of another's actions on oneself, a creature without the strength to fight back. Any reasonable person would cry, "I will not be mistreated!" and walk away from the mentally trying situation. But those who fall in love, or even just those who think they have, are never, ever reasonable. |
| I feel so fucking ugly right now. Why was I born like this, but people like Genessy and Tierney can look so great without trying? I don't even leave my room without eyeliner, and it doesn't seem to help. Why do I have to be ugly? I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| I just finished reading Bless Me, Ultima and naturally started crying when the nice old shaman-woman dies. My eyes began aching, as if I'd shoved my fists into them. Now, I've cried at books enough times to know that this isn't normal. It doesn't seem to be harmful, it's just annoying as fuck. And now I've got a nasty headache. So I got new books, mostly impulse buys. Alan Dean Foster wrote a novelization of the finding of the Allspark and Megatron, and I just HAD to. I also got my conspiracy theories book, my first "Hitchhiker" book, and the one about the Black Death. So exicted. And I got one by some author I don't know, but isn't that the best way to discover new authors? So now I just have to decide what to read first. I'd like to read now, but Constance's sister has the TV turned up way too loud. It's making my head hurt. I guess I can try to read something easy. Oh, and I guess I still care about Bradley. The mention of his name still makes me cringe with a mix of hate and anxiety, but most of the time all I want is to be as close to him as I was before. I am still very much in denial about the whole thing. I want to deny that he made me feel as good as he did, I want to deny that it still hurts, and I want to deny that even after all this and the knowledge that he probably will never love me as anything more than a friend with a nice ass, I still care about him. I hesitate to call it love, because I thought I loved Sean and I got over that. Still, I can't stop thinking about him, and all I want to do is prove my worth to him somehow so he'll be impressed and care about me. Pathetic, isn't it? I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie.
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| To be sung to the tune of "London Bridge is Falling Down" Ahlyssah will kick your ass, Kick your ass, kick your ass, Ahlyssah will kick your ass, You poor bastard. She'll pick you up and drop you down, Drop your ass right on the ground, Though she's barely a hundred pounds, You poor bastard. She'll kick you squarely in the balls, In the balls, though it appalls, Now you can't get it up at all, You poor bastard. She'll take a yard rake to you back, What a violent, brutal attack, Now you look like a road map, You poor bastard. Ahlyssah will kick your ass, She'll take you down quick as a flash, Do you really think you'll last? You poor bastard. She punches men right in the throat, In the throat, in the throat, You can't breathe after you've been smote, You poor bastard. Now she's going for a knife, A nasty blade to end your life, That's just one way to end strife, You poor bastard. Ahlyssah will kick your ass, Kick your ass, kick your ass, Push her and it will come to pass, You poor bastard. Thanks to Sesheta and Morgana for coming up with "Strife"! |
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