.

Everything hurts.
My eyes

My neck

My shoulders

my head.

jus t gotta makeit through tomorrow...

Well.

Valarien Root has really effected my life. No more nightmares and, for a while, no aching muscles when I woke. Not so this morning, my shoulders hurt as if they spent all night lifting 90lb weights.

It is probably because I messed things up.

I think he's beating me to the walking away part. And now, I realize I don't want him, or me, to go. Damnit.

Waiting.

Even now- one year and a half after I ended things with him I still am waiting for an explosion. Anytime I say something that conflicts with Grasshopper, I still cringe on the inside waiting for him to explode on me. I am constantly afraid that I am going to say or do that one thing that makes him hate me, the thing about me that he can't stand. Its frightening that I still feel this way- it doesn't feel like it will go away soon. I guess if Ghop is worth my time he'll stick it through. My life is just one long wait.

Please, don't patronize me

I, you may or may not realize, am extremely sensitive to interpersonal relationships. I rarely get attached, so it isn't a big deal when people walk out of my life. What is a big deal, however, is when they try to walk back in acting like they know me and know what is going on and try to give me all kinds of empty cliche advice. I hate to go all Maury on these girls but "you don't know me! you don't know me!'

Today, on my long long drive back to nati, I was reflecting on Highschool and all the drama that went down Sophomore year. Damn, that was a really long time ago-but, not surprisingly, it feels like yesterday. Its interesting to me that I can look back on those years and see patterns/habits forming that I still follow today. The early bases of walls, learning to walking away, using sarcasm to deflect any pain, all tactics I use with great skill today.

I'm telling my kids today.
Fuck.

Oh yeah,

I remember now.

I don't like to feel things cause I loath when my heart hurts like this.

A change.

Again.

I know that things never stay the same, but in the past year or so things to be changing at an even more rapid pace. I've never been one to describe myself as flighty, but I get the feeling that I am more recently on a very short rope. I'll only hang on for so long before I make a snap decision and a huge life change.

I don't think this is giving up, as I have recently been accused. I think it could be argued as maturity or apathy and arrogance, depending on how you look at it. I just refuse to let myself become so emotionally attached to a situation that I sacrifice my own well-being to stay.

I wonder how this will effect my future. I pray that when that time comes, I don't suffer from post-partum, but if that happens will I be so stuck in my habits that I run? Hopefully that situation would be very different than the one I am now faced with.

Though I am heartbroken about leaving, I am suspiciously hopeful for the future.

Bigger and better, La. Thats where we're heading.

These are my complaints today:

i'm cramping
my foot hurts
i'm so homesick i could cry
and i'm quitting my job.
those are my complaints to day.

Time

When one truly believes that nobody can sincerely love him (for of any reason, these are just mine), he will never believe that time is on his side. He will always believe that time will eventually tear whatever he’s built apart. He will always see the end of anything as inevitable. He will always fail in love. -Single Dad Laughing

Courage

Do you know the kind of courage it takes to reach out when you are in need?

Have you seen the heart of someone who feels completely judged by the world around her, yet turns to you with her shattered heart, trusting you with answers?

Do you know the desperation that leads to this act of trust? After something like rape, it isn't easy to achieve.


The weight of having to bear her sorrows, the flashbacks triggered by her descriptions of trauma, the impossible pain and frustration of knowing that someone else in this world is suffering through such a lonely and excruciating place is heart-breaking. But I will do this. I can't not. How do you turn away such a painstakingly lovely request?

I don't know how to fix it. I can't make it go away. I want to, deeply and with an impassioned soul, I want to. All I can do, is offer my memories, offer my pain, offer the advice given to me.

"Tell me there will be a day where I wont feel like a shell anymore?"

"There will be. I can't promise you a day, a month, or a year, but there will be."

"Its been so long, I should be over this by now."

"No. Don't say that to yourself. You are not on anyone's time line but your own. 'Everything you do is Normal'. Don't rush yourself, don't discount what you're feeling now. You are fine just where you are"


Everything. Everything I do is normal.

-Do I believe this? I'm so tired of what I'm doing. Floating. Not committing. Not getting things done. Can I tell her these things when I don't know if I even believe them?

Everything I do is normal.


Then why do we feel like such outcasts?

Worthy

1,2,3,4
5,6,7,8
1,2,3,4
5,6,7,8


My footsteps pound the pavement
The voices in my head,
taunting, berating, degrading.


You. Aren't. Worth. It.
You. Can't. Do. It.
You. Aren't. Worth. It.
You. Can't. Do. It.


Tave.


I don't hear his voice,
This is a gift,
But my heart can't let go of his words.


You. Can't. Do. It.
You. Aren't. Worth. It.
You. Can't. Do. It.
You. Aren't. Worth. It.


I know.


These thoughts are lies,
Meant to manipulate me,
Created from dust to destroy and detain.


You. Aren't. Worth. It.
You. Can't. Do. It.
You. Aren't. Worth. It.
You. Can't. Do. It.


I can't help it.
I believe him.
Him? Me? Us?



...It doesn't matter really.


I believe it nonetheless.

To You

Getting you out of my life was the best thing I've ever done.

Cleaning the corners of my life where you still lurk sucks, but I gotta get you out.

I just want you to know, I haven't forgiven or forgotten.

The Life of a Lost Literary

The Life of a Lost Literary
Reading has always been a major part of my life. I learned to do so at a very young age and was devouring books by age four. I remember a plethora of books always being around our house. From Goodnight Moon, to puzzle and maze books, to Snowy Day and Tar Beach, books were everywhere and best of all, my mom was willing to read to me. I remember her hatred of anything created by Disney or, as she put it, “those darn Berenstain Bears.” As I got older, she read me and my sister longer serialized chapter-books like Little House on the Prairie and Betsy and Tacy. I have distinct memories of my mom’s voice as I lay in bed fighting to stay awake and begging for one more chapter.

The most important book in my early childhood was easily A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It was given to me on my sixth birthday, my first chapter-book. My mom had included it in the many books she read aloud to me during those early years, and I fell in love. The story of privileged little Sara Crewe going from riches to rags to riches enchanted me. I loved everything about the story: her love of her Papa, her ability to tell stories to cheer up the other scullery maids, the strange Indian friend and how she never truly lost hope in her situation. She remained sweet, innocent and sincere all through her ordeal that was so foreign to my own life. The difference in our situations is probably what most attracted me to the story. While Sara was an only child who was raised in a single-parent exotic Indian household, sent to a boarding school in dreary London and subsequently orphaned, I was and am the happy product of two loving parents, many siblings and a life-long homeschooling career.

The next stage in my literary career is one I often look back on with envy. These were my transitive years, growing from picture books to chapter books was huge step for me. Titles like The Boxcar Children, The Littles, and Nancy Drew kept me company when my little sister, Lynde, would not. I learned so much from the characters in these stories: Tenacity from Henry, Jessie and Violet Alden; courage from Tom and Lucy Little; and wit and wisdom from Nancy Drew. In fact, I still try to keep a change of clothes in the trunk of my car, just like Nancy Drew did. These are the characters I look back on with the most delight and warmth, the mentors of my youth. As I grew older, my reading interests became greatly varied and completely insatiable. I read a little bit of everything: fiction, fantasy, science-fiction, drama, historical fiction, everything. My voracious reading was, I’m sure, the bane to my poor mother’s existence. She would send me to do school work or chores and I would disappear into my books for hours.

In high school, my ability to read for pure pleasure dropped off considerably. I realized that I would not accomplish anything if I was in the middle of a non-school related book. I have always been an incredibly fast reader, so I took to solely reading books that my mom called “trash lit.” These were books of the Mary Higgins Clark variety; fast-paced, engaging, and entirely empty of meaning. Long enough to use as a break from my day, short enough that I could finish it within a few hours. I would go weeks without reading anything for pure enjoyment, then one day I would break down, go to the library and come home with a stack of ten throw-away books. This would turn into a four day binge of solid pleasure reading.
The loss of serious pleasure reading continued on into my college years where I chose to major in English. I ate up the assigned reading but by this point I had totally weaned myself off of reading for the simple joy of it. Although I sincerely missed being able to choose my own literary excursions, I found a multitude of other activities to fill my time. Recently, I have come to attempt to read books of my own choosing, but only in small increments and only multiple books at a time. I have to keep myself distant from the characters; otherwise I fall deeply and desperately into their lives. One of the best examples of this is my relationship with the Harry Potter series. I was eleven when I first received books one through three, and spent the next seven years of my life eagerly awaiting the release date for the next book. The day would arrive, Amazon would deliver to my doorstep early in the morning, and then I would retreat to my room not to be seen again until the book was complete- usually about a day. I would not label myself a fanatic; I have never dressed up for a release, written fan-fiction, or stalked the Harry Potter web pages, but there are few characters in my life that inspire greater fondness and comfort than those of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

As I enter the adult years of my life, I would love to be able to claim the title ‘reader’, however, I feel that would be a lie. I am an English major who does not take the time to read. A walking paradox, I am lost in a world where work must yield tangible results, accomplishment is measured by money and worth is counted by the ability to multi-task. I work constantly. I stifle my imagination. I don’t like to take a moment to breathe. I do, however, find comfort in the fact that I am feeling called back to my roots. There are few times I feel more pleasure than when one of my students asks if she can borrow a Nancy Drew book I saw her pick off my cart not twenty minutes before. While my own life is currently so stifled by self-imposed constraints, I can take solace in knowing that at present, I can be an instructor of literature. I have been given the opportunity to share my passion with the next generation of readers, inspiring them to pursue useful and lasting skills while falling in love with the world of literature- which is, after all, what literaries have always aspired to do.

Roller-Coaster

Its been sunny. And thus, I can face the days.

I love the sun. I prefer it with warmth, but for now, I'll take what I can get.

I've been a little distracted as of late.

Its a nice sort of distraction though. :)

I have camp-fever like nobodies business. It must be the sun and the UL interview I have next week.


Thats all.

Days.

These days.

These are the ones that make me wonder and worry. I know, everyone has bad days. But do the bad days have to be so bad?

Empty. Cut off. Tired. Removed. Apathetic.

I find myself pondering terrible things, what ifs and what nots.

I don't like to complain, but damn.

Serious-Relationship-Kinda-Guys

Serious-Relationship-Kinda-Guys (henceforth referred to as srkg)seem to be what I attract. I thought this was unique until a good friend told me this:

La, All guys are SRKG. The only ones that aren't, are the ones who just got out of a Serious Relationship.

...Oh. Well, I guess that is logical. Its just weird feeling like I'm the one filling the traditional "male stereotype" in interactions (the word relationship feels too formal).

I'd imagine that at first glance I seem like an extremely good SRKgirl. Maternal, funny, layed back. Long term. But damn, I'm not right now. I can't right now. I don't have any interest in being that for anyone right now. The idea of being tied down terrifies me. I promised myself I'd never let myself get in a situation where I felt I couldn't walk away again. So SRKG's are terrifying, I can't date-much less marry. HA.

Wow La, you're kinda sad.

Ratios, Percentages, and the Whole Deal.

See, with me, its all about ratios. I could be cliche and say that I strive for balance, but that would mostly be a lie. In certain aspects of my life, yes, I like for things to be balanced. For example: ...well I can't think of anything right now. But I'm sure there are things I like to have balance in. For the most part, however, I am an extremist. Drastic times and drastic measures and all that. I like to be 100% busy. I keep my emotional ratings at 0. I commit to things completely or not at all. I like to think things through before making decisions, but I get bored easily and will make a snap decision before you have time to blink. This applies to all areas of my life. These are my defenses, these keep me going.

If only the Flying Pig were an emotional marathon, I know I could do that. I've been running from my problems for years now. People try to be supportive of me, telling me that I am resilient (my favorite word) and strong. That I'm not running -away- from issues but that I'm running -toward- solutions. I think, occasionally, that is a correct summation. But, for the most part, I'm solidly running away.

I don't know how exactly I got here. I don't know who to blame besides everyone, myself included. I don't exactly know how to get better, mostly because I don't exactly know how to let go. Letting go seems like such a big, vague and scary step. I don't know what my body would do. I've spent so much of my time trying to keep it all together, wouldn't letting it all fall apart kinda be discounting my effort? Plus, who knows what is on the other side of these nice big walls.

I laugh at myself because I often mention situations where 'I felt my walls going up'. What you have to understand is that my walls are many and varied. And just because some of the walls are down, that doesn't mean all of them are. I don't know that I will ever live a life where all of my walls are down. But, at the same time, I don't feel like that is a fair expectation for the world. Who -doesn't- have walls? Mine are just bigger, thicker, more fortified. They never let anyone through, ever. Its not my thing.

I gave someone the option this week of putting their bid in to get to know me better on an emotional level. The first time I've done that in a really long time. Thankfully, they opted out. I say thankfully because I was probably lying to them. I couldn't just promise to open up to someone over time. That is absurd. I don't even open up to me.

The few new people I've really truly opened up to lately, I've been sincerely disappointed in. This probably has nothing to do with them (well maybe a little). It is most likely just me, being me. I've always struggled with having too high of expectations for people. I set them up to be X and they always turn out to be a Y. The pretend pessimist in me claims that I don't do that any more. That I never expect anything from anyone. And, to an extent, this is true. The honest phrase would probably be I rarely trust anyone with even a little bit. It never fails, I am always disappointed in the people I confide in. They don't listen, or pass judgement, or some other nonsense, that leaves me re-wounded, crawling back into the hole I've carved out of one of my walls. Its safe there. Lonely, but safe.

Self-Destruction

Boy meets girl.

Girl meets boy.

Mutual attraction, interest piqued.

Conversations, slow at first, growing to constant consistent exchange.

(What is it about people that makes us want to tell the new interest every little detail about who we are? Is it to fulfill some narcissistic need to be loved?)

Over-exposed, overdone, overwrought, overwhelmed.

Self Destruction.

Set up for failure.

This was fun, sincerely.


But you'll never see me again.

What a Rogh Week

A new song dedication to me courtesy of Ale.

I connect to the verses more than the chorus. Telling, isn't it.

You are More - Tenth Avenue North

There's a girl in the corner
With tear stains on her eyes
From the places she's wandered
And the shame she can't hide

She says, "How did I get here?
I'm not who I once was.
And I'm crippled by the fear
That I've fallen too far to love"

But don't you know who you are,
What's been done for you?
Yeah don't you know who you are?

You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You've been remade.

Well she tries to believe it
That she's been given new life
But she can't shake the feeling
That it's not true tonight

She knows all the answers
And she's rehearsed all the lines
And so she'll try to do better
But then she's too weak to try

But don't you know who you are?

You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,

You've been remade.

You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You've been remade.

'Cause this is not about what you've done,
But what's been done for you.
This is not about where you've been,
But where your brokenness brings you to

This is not about what you feel,
But what He felt to forgive you,
And what He felt to make you loved.

You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You've been remade.

You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You've been remade.

You've been remade
You've been remade.
You've been remade.
You've been remade.

It has been literal years

since I have been on the verge of tears this often.

It has been 9 months since I've had a break down sober.

I don't know what to do with myself.

Well

At least I'm taking steps to defend myself.

Isn't that good?

Oh.

So thats it.

No one here gets it. No wonder I feel so alone.

Duh, Laura.

Heavy

Heavy heart,
Heavy eyes,
Heavy mind,
Heavy price.

To be here,
A place so dear,
Tragically dear,
Desolately dear
Safely, uniquely, isolated-ly dear.

A three-fold army,
To guard my heart,
To keep me together,
Spare me falling apart.

I say I'm fine,
Sarcasm's mine,
Distance, Distance,
Don't cross that line.

Just leave me here,
Please, I beg,
I'll come back when I'm ready,
I refuse to be led.

poem

i love words
i love letters
i love how this: lksafjdlawe
means nothing
but this: i love you
means everything

anxiety.

yep.

Real Talk.

It all boils down to a question of worthiness.

Am I worthy?

Am I valuable?


I don't think of myself as insecure, I don't constantly have little voices in my head telling me that I am a terrible person. But the way I treat myself speaks for itself.

No Laura, you aren't worthy. You aren't valuable. You don't deserve happiness. You brought this on yourself. All you know is how to please them, and that is all your good for. This weight gain? Its your fault. And you wont be able to lose it. Ever. You are fat. You are ugly.



The saddest part? This isn't a breakthrough, or a life-changing admission. I believe myself. That is the irony.

Seriously.

If I don't have a meeting with a third party who will at least PRETEND to care about my life, I will freak out.

Poco has ruined my compartmentalizing needs.

Everyone is so interconnected. I feel like I can't talk to anyone.

Honestly?

I'd pack up my bags and run/move away tonight.

Something I have always found interesting is the ebb and tide of relationships. It is incredible to me how at one moment you may feel totally connected to someone and then a few short weeks later they feel like complete strangers. It is natural I suppose, I'm guilty of it. Extremely guilty. I tend to compartmentalize everything. So it is not surprising that I am the queen of walking out at a moments notice. This ebb and tide is scary though, especially when it comes to those closest to you. I feel as though I am losing touch with the world I used to inhabit. Its amazing how I can break down the past few years into phases. Its not surprising that I'm not sad to leave my most recent state of things behind. It was a safe and restraining place, one that I was never meant to stay in long term. I feel the earth shifting, the needs I have changing. I am finding or reverting to new/old ways to numb the pain. To run away. Maybe all of this musing is just the embodiment of Seasonal Depression. Who knows. I've been back on my supplements and I'm using the hormone therapy cream. To no avail yet, but its only been four days. I need to run today. Today starts the 'official' training for the 1/2 marathon. I keep thinking I want to flake out of it, but I really feel heavy. I know I'm currently at the highest weight of my life. I don't like it. It doesn't help that my 'closest' friend keeps telling me my ass is so huge it could take up its own zip code. -rolls eyes- I'm looking into going back to therapy. I know I said that already, but I think it would be a good idea.


Am I really running toward solutions?

Fine. I admit it.

I have come to a realization.

After making it through the rape weekend and all that, you would think that I would be fine. (Would you? That would be a big assumption). But there, as always, are remnants lingering... The most prominent of which is my legitimate fear of drinking. Not to say that I should be comfortable with going out and getting wasted every weekend, but I would like to be able to go out occasionally and get drunk or tipsy with my friends... Its kind of what we do. Unfortunately, where I stand right now, the most I have drunk in the past 2-3 weeks is 2 glasses of wine. Which doesn't even touch me.

What would happen if I were to have a drink?

I'm not sure. Crying, wailing, bad decisions, emotional release on epic levels. I don't know, but I'm scared of it.



Maybe it would be a good idea to try Therapy again.

Control

I will stay in control.

I don't need you.

I have perfect apathy.

Walls.

I wont let them down.

Why would I?

Too dangerous.

Plus, its not like you asked to scale them.

Obsessive.

Its just a distraction.

I'm just running.

Like always.

Ha.

My life is a circle.

Sleep

After a nice long lull in my history of terrible sleep, the nights of little to none appear to have returned. I find myself waking with the certainty that someone is in my room. Or I wake feeling as though I have fallen a 1000 miles. In the past few nights, one or both of these sensations has woken me up multiple times. I am not okay with this.

I Hate You

Two thirty.

Almost asleep.

Phone vibrates.

Roll over.

Rub Eyes.

Grab Phone.

Squint to see.

...Tave?

Goddamn it.

Deep breath.

Open text.

"You Fucked Up"



Awesome.

Baggage

"Because of gender stereotypes and rape myths in our society, it is common to blame the victim--for dressing suggestively, having too much to drink, taking a walk alone, inviting someone into her/his bedroom. However, no matter when, where, or how it happened, sexual violence is not the victim's fault. Bad judgement is never a rape-able offense."

The Weekend

This weekend was it. The one year mark.

The mark of the rape.

The last significant one year anniversary for the years of my own personal terrors.

It was a weird weekend. I'd call it an emotional roller coaster, except it was more two sides to the same card. I bounced back and forth between complete emotionless apathetic emptiness and severe anxiety. I was surrounded with wonderful people who desperately wanted to reach me, to make things better, I didn't know what to tell them to do.

I spent a lot of time in reflection over the weekend and the week leading up to it. I have concluded that I am frightened of myself. Again. I am nearly totally inaccessible emotionally. I just don't care. Its a defense mechanism, to be sure, yet it is scary nonetheless. The walls my heart and soul hide behind are monumental. I know that the only way to find peace again is to scale them. Unfortunately, I don't even know how to begin doing that.


I was informed this weekend, that I don't believe in happiness. Yes, someone had the audacity to tell me they know me better than I know myself and that their conclusion is that I don't believe in happiness. For the record: I would just like to take a moment and say "Fuck You" to that person. I don't know what true happiness is and I sure as hell don't know if I'll ever find it, but I know people who have. I've seen it. Maybe they are the lucky few- but I know it exists.

I'd like to reiterate that though I am still processing and working and sorting all of my shit out, I am the happiest I've been in years. Years. I am not settling. I am not just enjoying the ride. A lot of work has gone into the place I am today. And you, my dear, have no way of knowing who I am.

Ranting and Rambling, that's all this blog has become.

New Years.

I remember watching the clock tick closer and closer to the New Year. I was in some bar in Oakland, fairly well inebriated, and overcome with the possibility of the worst year of my life coming to a close.

I looked at my best friend and told her I was probably about to cry. Knowing the major emotional breakdowns I am prone to should I consume too much alcohol, she panicked a little pleading with me not to cry.

However, this was different. It was not a major panic attack, some hidden away memories come to haunt me or deeply repressed emotions finally airing their grievances; No, this was joy, relief, gratitude, disbelief.

I never, never thought that I would make it through 2010 alive. I know how over-dramatic that sounds, but let me explain. Physically, yes, I knew that the odds were in my favor to still be breathing at the end of the year. Mentally... I just, I wouldn't have guessed it. The strength with which PTSD took over my life for the majority of this year scares me deeply. It was the worst depression I have ever suffered and something I really didn't see myself getting out of.

But I have.

I am so proud of who I am right now. I know that I am far from perfect or healed or the person I want to be, but compared to where I "should be"- I've come a long way.

To continue this journey into the future I've compiled a list of Plans for the new year. (Technically, I suppose they are the same things as resolutions...but in my mind resolutions often fail whereas plans are more permanent. I know I'm crazy, don't judge.)

1. To lose the 30 pounds I've gained the past two years, by May.
2. To pick a major/create an academic plan including testing out of all Gen Ed.'s
3. To work enough jobs to save money for school and stay out of debt.
4. To become somewhat fluent in Spanish.
5. To continue self-therapy through disciplined writing.
6. To allow myself to grow and learn to accept & embrace who I have become.


The Glenmore Girls have decided that the theme for this year is Embrace. How fitting for the place I am in my life. I just want to keep moving forward.