2004-07-28 - 11:02 p.m.

dood i can't shake it. and all i want to do is bake it.

this is a wierd time for me.

for the last few months i've been battling lethargy, which is my sneaky way of saying depression. and they say depression is pent up rage. i can dig it. i'm pissed that i didn't put oil in my car engine and it burnt to a crisp.

twice.

i'm pissed that today i went back to the "if only i had put oil in my car, if i only had responsible skills, i'd still have that vintage porsche and no financial troubles." if only i never went to a college that i've been paying off for seven years with no end in sight and no evidence that it did me an ounce of good, besides showing me how irrelevant and unjust the world can be. and how much sorority girls caught up in group think can be the cruelest human beings alive. throw saddam to those cats. they'll tear him apart with words and manipulations alone.

i'm angry that i'm getting older and can't afford to fight off the wrinkles. younger girls must be cringing at that.

i'm angry that my dad is being an asshole and that i never had grown up parents. that all they taught was malfuntion that i fight daily to fend off with in me.

i'm angry i don't get to casually get shit faced and saucey.

i'm angry that fallin in love with an equal partner seems farther off today than when i was 25.

i'm angry that on top of owing on two scraped cars, a useless education from years ago, some plastic damage and a few to my dad, i now owe thousands for this subpoena.

i'm angry that the only refuge i seem to take is in food and that i'm puffier now.

i'm angry that i ache to sleep more in the morning not wanting to face the day and change the litter, do the bills, deal with the subpoena, make dozens of calls and basically be in the world.

and how about those med's i was supposed to start taking? i've been too inactive to even make the call to even make the appointment to even begin to explore that.

see god damn it, this *this* is why i stay the fuck manic. this is why i don't like being calm. this is why i run a million miles a minute. because *this* judgement of myself as being a lazy, behind, ineffectual, malafunctioning, not enough for the world human being kills me. this moment is unbearable. this is why i want to go buy a bottle of wine right now, no fuck that wine and jack and i wish i stole some of those pills i saw at my clients earlier. this is why i'd like a little inebriation right now. the more i hide, the more i need escape.

and i'm embarrassed to be writing this. i desperately want to be up beat. i want to be the positive thinker who takes everything and just keeps on surging ahead, humbly, lovingly, energetically. but i feel the weight of the negative fuck off world suffocating me down and the only safe place is to sleep in as late as possible and wait in between feeding sessions.

and i should of gone to my women's support shit tonight where a bunch of friends are, but i had to take these last minute clients. yes i had to manuvre past their eight luxury vehicles to massage perfect size 2 skin who will never never never never never concern herself with money, never wonder how she'll ever get out of debt, never question affording her childs day care or education. i'm sorry, i resent it. and the only repose is that they seem fuckin miserable to me and that i suspect she believes she has to remain "small" and perfect for him to stay. to be loved. so it's the same illness infiltrating and seperating.

i know this because he left his wife and very young children for her and i heard that he continues to cheat to this day. talk about living on gaurd. even knowing this, knowing it doesn't make you happy or "secure," i couldn't help feeling miffed as i walked past the brand new silver carrrera to squeeze past the landrover to make it by the mercedes. just *one* of those vehicles would feed a small country and pay off my debt.

declaration #109:

if i become a rich bastard i here by solomnly swear:

to drive a hybrid and only a vintage speedster or 356 on the weekends.

to give sick amounts of time and money to charity and people who are building something with their lives that just need a little green lovin.

to support artists and crafts people.

to give my parents trips to where ever they want.

to take lizard on a wild ass vacation and buy use two brand new bmx bikes.

to tip exceedingly well.

to make dreams come true.

____________________________________

there is always better off and worse off. i know this and yet here i am choosing, choosing to stay in the steaming bag of shit delivered to my door in the form of very bad news.

i thought i was optimistic. it's been reported that i inspire people weekly and am always happy. i feel like a fake. and actually i haven't received the happy all the time comment in a while. i still receive the inspired a lot, i think it's because i take risks and manifest action. but i feel like behind it all, these little marcation notes of progress, i am fallin apart. i'm barely participating.

and these fuckers keep baiting me. just as i'm desperately wanting to throw in the cards on my business and go puke my brains out, i get a call from a stylist and another store wanting to see my stuff. i had all of this energy for it before and i've collapsed under something, keeping those opportunities at bay until something within me charges back the fuck up.

i am rarely the follow through person. i am the starter. the fire starter. at this point, or even miles back, i would have been skipping off to the next project, leaving this silently in a grave. i would dazzle someone with what i am doing now enough to train them to forget what i left in my wake. i have files everywhere of what i've started. it's time i stick. but i get all of this feedback that i can't do as much as i do and be successful. and i'm so stubborn i refuse to drop anything. but at the same time i am not successfully pulling it all off. i'm juggling constantly. that's all the fuck i do. juggle. juggle the neurotic demands of my non profit boss, run from client to client and in my "free time" try to start and entire business and do this project that i am now fully commissioned to do and build a career off of that too.

right.

uh huh.

someone take a traquilizer and knock me the fuck out.

so yes. i am angry. i'm very angry at me.

me for not doing life just perfectly. not making many right decisions. for wanting to ruin it all now, just as i've finally received this prestigious commission and have doors open for me to walk through.

now i want to float away into this depression that stinks, *reeks* of my mother.

of the way she thinks everything in life is so hard, so bad, so terrifying. the way she braces herself. the way she answers every call like it's the IRS. the way she suffocated herself away for years of my youth in her disgusting bed full of cat hair and cat throw up, deep in a depression. too deep to come out. too deep to be a parent. too deep to care that she had kids. and when she wasn't depressed, she was angry. she had that jutted jaw frozen in a half grind, she had that razor of anger in her eye and what she said and what she would do was pure venom. purely mean. slicing. and it was always me that took it. took the words, the names, the ignoring, the cruelty, the screaming, the slapping, the shaking, the door slamming.

my brother was out, my dad long gone, drunk. it was always me that fought back and received. and tried to fix it. tried to make me bad so i could force her into normal. i warped myself to be everything to convince her to just fucking be normal.

once i was really young and she was screaming and probably hitting or trying to and she ripped her volvo off the road and said, get out, get out of the car. i didn't know how i'd get home, barely knowing the way.

it was times like that that i knew without a shadow of a doubt that i wasn't loved. how do i reconsile that? how do i forgive all those years? how do i not hate every fuckin thread of her now? even though she's changed, even tho it's been years of mostly kindness? even tho i don't want her to be lost in *more* self hatred and guilt? there is just this primal part of me that wanted to force her to see all of this. to use my open hand stuffing her large head to the ground making her realize how cruel she was. making her realize how much self hatred she immbedded in me.

some of us spend a lifetime undoing the damage. some of us spend a lifetime unwinding the ways we don't work. trying to get back to that simple sense of love we had as little kids. and some of stay drunk the entire time and never face this.

and what do i gain by facing it? will i end up realized? peaceful? healthful?

if you're still with me here then you are a stallion or you are avoiding your work.

i think i eat boxes of cookies to quash anxiety over what i don't control. over the frightening sense that others could ruin me. that the sum of money i owe could break my spirit and make me feel like i could never ever pay it in too many years and why bother anyway.

i guess i eat boxes of cookies and impulsively pop slices of cheese, candies, krispy kreams in my mouth to quell this anger. this amalgamtion, this stew of anger from so many different experiences of disappointment and the receipt of cruelty from a miriad of different people, that it's never clearly defined or delineated, only mashed together in one collective clusterfuck burning me from the inside out.

how does one really empty themselves of the anger? i know i can't just stuff it, because eventually there will be so much of it stuffed inside that it will start morphing me, taking up so much space. changing me. but i wonder if simply "expressing it" "getting it out" is ever going to be enough. ever going to rid me, release me of it?

i do feel better though.

i just want something defiant to happen. i either want to be put to sleep, or i want to wake the fuck up. i want to slither back in and errupt the fissure of my life and expload with vigor and good perspective.

i'm sick of waking in this sick sense of avoidance. i'm sick of dreading my day. i'm sick of snoozing past the beep. i'm sick of putting everythign that i possibly can off. i'm sick of starving off the beautiful things i've created. i'm sick of believeing i'm not worth it. because *that* is all my mother.

that is who she is and i have to ask myself if i *really* want to be different.

i know i should want to love myself and my life enough to want to burst out of bed, but maybe, simply not wanting to be her will be enough.

because i abhor and am disgusted by her perspective on life.

that is the root behind every time i want a friend to change and be smarter, more proactive, more whatever, because i can't tolherate pieces of them. like i can't tolherate these slices of my mom, because it seems that whatever she is, i feel doomed to be as well. i feel trapped, i feel fated, i feel like she has forced me to be her. i feel like she gave me no other choice. i feel like she has suffocated me. hated me. and dictated me.

and because i associated myself with her, so strongly intwined, then i can't let her be her, this sick, depressive, "everything is bad, everything will turn out wrong, well ineb the world does suck, life does suck, it is bad" type of person, because with what she is, i have felt myself to be too.

tonight was the first night in many many collective days, months, maybe years that i've wanted to throw up. that i wanted to just get the damage out of me.

i feel like i finally purged what i needed to here. and i can't help but feel like appologizing. appologizing for shedding and taking up too much time and space and needing to get this out and needing it to be received.

i wish we all just loved ourselves, "every minute, all the time."