Things are good

Things have been great as of late and I find it disturbing that I can't really appreciate how great everything is.

I've been really depressed and it's almost a joke how I'm feeling. I actually laugh about it sometimes,
how sad I am. I can't really tell you why, because I'm not really sure, but you know, I'm not afraid to tell others, because I feel like there are a lot of people who can relate.

I have these manic episodes, where I'm really riding a high, and I can't tell if it's real or if its a result of drinking too much coffee or listening to uptempo music, but I really like it when this happens. I get more done.

But those don't happen as much as the other days happen.

My alarm is set to go off at 8:40 am every morning, and I wake up, and I silence the alarm and I just lie there. Sometimes I fall back asleep, but most times I just think about all the things I want to do with my day, and how long it will take me to do them, but then I just lie there.

Hour after hour passes, and I just lie there. I feel like I am stuck to the sheets.

I lie here and I feel morose and I really wish I could get out of bed but I just can't.

There's a touch of irony I guess, in feeling this way because I have nothing to really complain about, but it all feels so empty and I feel so sad that I can't be happy.

I was accepted to grad school this year, and I'll be moving in July, but I can't really accept that this is happening, because I ought to feel happy.

I know I won't always feel like this, but today I do.

I listened to Daniel Johnston and it made me feel a little better and I cried for a minute and that also helped.

Do people still use this thing? Are you there God?

House arrest: an autobiography

I don't remember when exactly I started to feel this way, but it happened after I turned 27. I recalled the months prior, and the vows I'd made to myself. I was going to be healthy again. I was that person, I am still her, but different.

At first I made excuses, I said that I could do whatever was on my agenda tomorrow and I didn't think twice about it. Then I just stopped going to the gym, I figured that if I just watched what I ate and worked a decent amount that I would just maintain my current weight. It was like this for a couple of months, but then the headaches started. And they kept coming. And soon I just didn't get out of bed.

Literally.

I just layed there, my mind active and my conscious floating above me, staring at the atrophied puppet I'd become.
I was upset to say the least, I wanted to be the girl I was before, who played roller derby and hung out with friends, confidence abound. I had done something to her, I'd never felt so strange.

Should I be an earthquake I'd barely register, I'd be the hurricane who never made landfall. Why this struggle?

I wake up in the mornings, early enough I believe, and then I just lay there. I'm tired for whatever reason, and my head hurts, not terribly but enough to nag. I am worried about myself.

I have used every morning since I felt this way to think about what ails me. Is it my thyroid? Is it TMJ? Is it cancer?

I think about the last thing, the very last thing that I want it to be.

Am I depressed?

No. I can't be depressed. I am mentally well, I mean, sure I have OCD issues, but they're under control.

I cannot be depressed. That would make me a hypocrite. I have been coaching several friends struggling through darkness onto the path of recovery.

No it's impossible.

Elle,  you have to get a grip.

You, the girl who supouts uplifting mantras to her friends. I, who spreads the gospel of therapy.

I simply cannot be depressed.

And then it hits like a 10 ton train.

2016 4:42 AM

First hours of the first day of the year and here I am,

Awake. Reluctant. Aroused.

It's the conversations I have with myself that worry me; I can't decide if they're healthy or a sign of what's to come.

I have these fantasies, perhaps delusions of grandeur, that keep me awake- I feel sick but all together I feel...normal?

Who the fuck knows.

I wan't weak men to stop leaning on me for support, I can't help you. I don't want to help you.

I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out?

In between the lucid dreams I manipulate in which we are in close quarters I imagine touching the live wires in the fuse box. Between the conversations of what is on the menu and whatever the fuck you're doing in your own fucking life I google "exit bag" and dream up ways I can go without putting up too much of a fuss.

In the act of suicide does one become painfully aware of the boredom that's drawn them there?

When does the panic set in?

For the record I'm not suicidal, I'm just bored.

And morbidly curious.

When I was young my mother told me never to touch a lightbulb when I was wet. When I was young I deliberately touched a lightbulb when I was wet, When I was young I was electrocuted.

Here I am.

Frustrated, frantic, furious.

 I didn't imagine this, you fuck.

You fucking piece of mind fucking shit fuck. I hate you, I want to hate you. Please hate me too.

I'm ridden with guilty feelings tinged with jealousy. I am mad at myself for even thinking, dreaming, inventing scenarios that would not, could not materialize.

More so I'm off put by my own aversion to long term commitment, largely due to a pattern of disappointment by innumerable faceless suitors. All first names, identified by an article of clothing or choice of music, just a file in a cabinet- collecting dust.

god dammit.

At least there's porn.

Ides of March

The last time I spoke to Matt was March 27th. We'd hung out the night before and me being the gale force wind I am, felt it necessary to express how pissed off I was for him inviting me to be some bullshit third wheel on his fucked up date.

What the fuck, dude?

He fired off [what felt like] some half-assed apology in a text message for things not panning out better, and because I am crazy and bad at life, decided that he would need to apologize in person.

In hindsight it may have helped if I had actually said "you need to apologize in person" but you know what? I didn't. That was the last time I spoke to Matt and I wish that it had been different.

I saw him 3 days ago in front of a bar, looking the same as he always does.

Fucker.

I walked along the side of the charity bar next door to my job, talking to my friend Chris about virtually nothing it seems when I looked over to the people on the patio and I made eye contact with Matt. In my brain the only thing that made sense was to smile and wave which then started taking place as my synapses began to fire in order, but to my absolute dismay this motherfucker looked away.

I could literally hear what little ego I had just evaporate. 

I fucking went into a coma. I used every brain cell I had to think back on every conversation we'd ever had. Was I really so terrible that instead of greeting each other like friends do, he'd actively avoid engagement? I was raising my hand to wave and had even fashioned a smile when he quickly averted his eyes to nothing. LITERALLY NOTHING. or his friends or what, but I prefer to believe that it was in fact, nothing.
My heart raced so fast I could only recall one other occasion in which my heart literally pounded so hard, I was at this shitty carnival with my grandmother and took a ride on some what had to have been illegally operating tilt-a-whirl because I almost flew off the ride in mid air. Terrifying.

I tried my best to "charge that shit to the game" but it's consumed me recently and it's keeping me up at night. I really miss talking to him, which aggravates me because I know that is such a little bitch thing to say, but it's fucking true. Matt is smart and I miss our banter.

Anyway, I just want to know why you didn't say hi, and I miss you. You know, which isn't weird.

See ya later.

My Longest Relationship

It was the best summer of my young adult life; I lived in a duplex in the Heights that basically came out of my fucking dreams and manifested on the most storybook street in all of the world. I was a slight 17 year old girl who lived by herself in an apartment that once housed the loving duo that once inhabited this space but whose relationship had crashed and burned earlier that fateful year, it was also the year that I got my first cat, Benny.

What a year.

It was also the first year I purchased my first couch.

9 years ago I met my BEDDINGE LOVAS, the cheap futon I purchased because I had absolutely no furniture after my boyfriend dumped me for some old bitch he met at a party.

Anyway.

There she was, flat grey metal frame with what I can only assume was a mattress/cushion fashioned of cheap fabric, hairballs, and particle board the way all IKEA furniture is made, she was 250 bucks of perfection and I knew right then and there, she was the one.

Into the cab of my 1994 Toyota Tercel she went, haphazardly obstructing my view of traffic, but fuck it, this was a milestone for me, I was blossoming into a responsible carbon based life form with a place for sitting.

Onto my floor I laid her skeleton, carefully articulating, several times incorrectly, her body until she was put together. Were there screws missing? Sure. Did I have a sofa cover? No. But there she was, ready for a cushion and a guest to cradle. Carefully I secured the mattress to her frame according to cryptic the instructions provided by IKEA, finally she was complete.

My couch, covered in the stains of nearly a decade of life, my longest lasting relationship.

I write this today because our time together is drawing to a close, and while it is just a couch, I am reminded of the time we've spent together.

Countless butts, a handful of relationships, a few breakups, 3 major moves, and a place for my groceries while I put them away. You served your purpose and you did it exceptionally well.


I am going to miss you, couch and I'll think of you fondly.


Please don't tell my parents what you know.

Keep Your Memories Safe

We only met once, 3 years ago at the shittiest bar in Houston, Texas. Andrew sat at a table with the rest of his family and his new sister-in-law, my dear friend Rebecca. I sat and quickly introduced myself, not feeling for a moment self-conscious because they were the most inviting group of people I have ever encountered, and maybe that’s because they were british, but I digress. I sat next to Andrew, and soon we were enveloped in conversation; I attempted a weak English accent and we talked about the differences of life in the states vs life in England.

We were quick friends.

Andrew went home to England and I stayed stateside but it never mattered because in the thick of it all we corresponded. We’d catch up on occasion and he often waxed poetic about the fact that he never kissed me the first time we met. Oceans apart, I cared for Andrew the way I care for the people I see daily. 

Three days ago Andrew was killed in an auto-pedestrian accident on his way home from watching a football game. 

Today I am crushed, I am crying, and I am thinking about him. There are great injustices in this world and the loss of a person like Andrew is one of them. To the friends who knew him, his extended family, they lost someone who radiated joy and made life a blast, to his immediate family they lost a brother and a son and condolences seem like barely enough.

We are going to miss you, Andrew, all of us, everyone you ever spoke to and anyone who had the incredible fortune of meeting you. I’m sorry that I never gave you that kiss, and it seems that fate in all her cruelty will have us wait just a bit longer for it to happen, but I assure you that you are first on the list.

Sleep well, sweet Griff, at least you have your father to keep you company, I’ll see you soon enough.

xx 

Choose Your Own Adventure

9 months ago Tim broke up with me, and I reflect on that and think about what has changed since that day in March. I'm feeling vulnerable lately, not something I particularly favor feeling but something I cannot change; it's quite cold today.

I was awakened by building inspectors this morning, they knocked on my door with authority as I shot up out of bed and scrambled to find the nearest article of clothing that one could conceivably pass off as "pants". I answered the door with eyes still blurry making their best attempt at adjusting to the daylight that breached my patio doors "Hi! We're building inspectors, did you know we were coming?!" what in the literal fuck is happening right now? "No, sorry, please give me a few minutes to get my shit together, you can come in when I come to" said I to the Inspector. Hurried I picked up things from the floor, tied up trash bags and consolidated what mess I could gather, "good Lord, I'm not ready for this shit but hey, fuck it, whatever" and with that the Inspector entered.

He made his way around, flipping switches, checking the stove, judging me. "I'm just making sure everything is in working order" he said to which I could only reply "well, my AC is broken so if you don't mind mentioning that to my landlord that would be doing me a solid" he assured me that he'd mention it but added that it probably would not provoke my landlord into actually fixing it. The inspector checked the heater "does it ever really get warm in here?"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA...is that a real question?

 I looked at him and with a straight face I told him that between the huge gaps in the patio doors and high as fuck ceilings I was lucky if I could keep the temperature between 69-70 degrees. He used this little ray gun type device to check the temperature of the air blowing from the ducts "well, the heater only blows air that is about 70 degrees so there's no way it gets too warm in here".

No fucking shit.

Alas came the end of his tour and before his exit he opened the oven to reveal the fucking plastic cake plate that was in my oven, melting because he turned on the god damned oven before he walked all over my fucking apartment. "Uhhh. is that plastic?" he muttered "Don't touch that right now, it's hot as hell." Seriously, dude? For fucks sake, not only did you wake me up and proceed to jostle my life around but you melted my fucking cake plate and almost started a chemical fire?

Okay, cool.

I stepped outside and spoke to my landlord for like, a millisecond "hey, did you happen to leave me a copy of the new lease agreement?" you'v really done it now, Elle. "I'll bring it tomorrow; will you have the rent?" deafening 30 second pause "Yup, just need to go to the bank"


I don't have rent because I'm poor and can't really afford to live here anymore, so you know, your rent is always late.

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

happy new year I am losing my mind. 

If you're up there, Lord, please I could use a break right about now. Anything. Real estate market crash? New fabulous job that includes a benefits package and 65k a year? Armageddon? I'll take it all, man.


Also, if you're listening still, I'd like to fall in love again, you know, maybe for real this time? Or whatever, no big deal.

Okay, well, KIT, see you at temple. <3 p="">