"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me"

"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me": song lyric from Mirah, off her album C'mon Miricale

content courtesy of chaosrah on youtube. I do not own this video.

My mind is a vortex of spinning cognition and introspection. Never stopping, never slowing. It's at its worse when my thoughts get so loud that they proceed in a shouting match with one another. There's a screaming opera of voices in my head right before I sink, sink into a hole, spinning downward, buried beneath my thoughts like a pile of dirt slowly crumbling over my body, compressed under a heavy and pensive elephant sitting on my chest.

If I think too much, I can think myself straight into a panic attack. I wish anxiety on no individual. You honestly feel as if you are dying, as if there is nothing you can do. The harder you try to calm down, the more you try to halt thinking, the worse it gets.

Don't get me wrong, I love thinking. I have a very complex inner life. More rich than, probably, most people's day to day lives. My brain is a crazy place. But sometimes, in rarity, I long for a quite mind.

Recently, I've been listening to a lot of Mirah. Her music makes my mind quite. She sings the words I am already thinking, so my mind just stops, listens, lives. There is no reason to think when the thoughts are being passed through your brain by another. Maybe this is why hypnotist have jobs and commercials tell you to "buy, buy, buy" and we obey.

Anyway, with this influx of thinking, I've realized that I haven't written in a long while. So, I packed my notepad and have been frantically scribbling and scrawling these past few days. Word vomit, some may say. This has helped, my mind may not be completely quite, but it has turned the volume down. My brain is quite enough now to realize that, frankly, "if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me." This you, thye may not know who they are, but I do.

I wrote this, these are my thoughts. I am secure and safe now, and wish you were too. You'd at least, then, have the courage to live your life unabashed.

So.

QUE PENA

quality is a trait I stopped searching for once you choked the suss out of my curiosity.
ugly is the more I see, the closer I get.
ending is my tolerance and compassion, the pity you deceived your way into guarantee.
please leave me alone. I need coping, I need to lament my losses and gasp for the air that has long vacated my livelihood while buried beneath grand and lofty egos.
everything is frigid, chilled.
no air colder to breath, ice crystals stab my esophagus and consume my lungs, freezing my heart frigid and numbing my head into a solid stone of slush.
again
no, I can't do this again.

tinnitus

tinnitus: ringing in the ears, caused by a crap ton of aliments

when I got out of the car, my ears rung with a deep and vibrant rattle.

accumulated hearing damage aside, there exists a direct correlation between how much my day sucked and the number of albums I listened to in the duration of that day.  Essentially, the worse the day, the more the number of albums.  Today wasn't all that bad, but considering the monotonous drive back from Boise and the sinking in of recent stress, I have listened to a total of 13 albums and around 4 hours of miscellaneous songs today.

here we go,
Pinkerton- Weezer
Drunken Lullabies- Flogging Molly
Bleach- Nirvana
Live at Reading- Nirvana
Parachutes- Coldplay (I memorized all the lyrics to Yellow between Nampa, ID and Ontario, OR)
Self Titled- Foo Fighters
In Your Honor- Foo Fighters
Goat- Jesus Lizard
Others! Others!- Bomb the Music Industry
Self Titled- The National
Pussy Whipped- Bikini Kill (I heart rrrriot girls)
Farm- Dino Jr
Several Shades of Why- J. Mascis
1/2 of Boys and Girls- Ingrid Michelson

you should see what my suckier days look like; the earbuds never come out, the ringing never stops.  I'm excited though, because Nick and I went to Everyday Music tonight and in my email sits a Replacements album.  Hmm, come to think of it.  I was sharing with Nick my frustrations about not having an outlet for pain and depression, seeing as we both don't drink and, unlike the masses, can't get shitfaced and forget about our problems. I've been struggling with the concept of fairness lately, and this just doesn't seem fair.  Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to have that option, I don't ever want to be numb again, but it still doesn't seem fair.  Woah, woah, woah, I HAD thought that it didn't seem fair, that I didn't have an outlet, but in light of the above, I'd say I do have an outlet.  And it doesn't involve puking. So everybody wins!

p.s. lots of commentary to come on my trip to Boise. it was...interesting.

brooding

brood: to sit upon (eggs) in order to hatch, to dwell on a subject, to meditate with morbid persistence, or to worry persistently

"I don't think she ever knew that a deep-brooding love hung over everything she touched"- Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

oh the things I do when I can't sleep...make pancakes, talk to Nick when he calls at 1 am and feel briefly better, listen to really loud music (it only works if you can feel it shaking your entire being), watch Fargo and then let my morbidity take over, enough at least to write the following prose.

The alarm clock stabs at my ear drums. 5:30am. The dark blue of the morning seeps in through the blinds.  I open both my eyes just barely, like two slivered almonds on the mask of my face.  I peer down at my ankle and follow my leg up to the crook of my hip.  Another bruise.  Another morning, another bruise.  It's been a year now and the more matured ones have started to heal, bleeding back from their purple-black color into a more jaundiced yellow.  But my entire left leg still looks like an over-ripened banana, freckled with innumerable bruise. I stumble over to the dresser and fumbled through the deep drawer of socks and stockings.  I settle upon a pair of navy blue poke-a-dot tights.  Slowly, I roll them over my leg.  First the toe, then the ankle, then the bruises.  It's like driving a steam roller over a mine-field, you never know which one is going to hurt the most.  This morning it's the little one on the center on my shin, the last of three lined up in a row, three dime-sized spots of hell.  It stings at first, but then a familiar euphoria takes its place.  There's a thin line between pain and pleasure.  Some days, I fantasize about amputation, I just haven't convinced myself yet that life with only one leg would be any better.  So I leave it, and I suffer through an indescribable amount of pain.  I have no explanation for their genesis, they just appear. My only rationalization is that they're there to remind me how fucked in the head I can be, how pathetic it is that, just like my bruises, I can't escape thoughts of you without cutting off a crucial part of myself.  As one heals, another appears.  Everything seems like it's my fucking fault.

hooray for creative writing.

update: okay, apparently I need to make something more clear, because right now my family thinks I've completely lost my marbles.  The above creative writing piece is just that, a creative writing piece.  Apart from the few bruises that I have gotten from roller derby, my legs are not covered in bruises.  The bruises are a metaphor for the character in this story's emotional state.  This is how I deal with the normal ups and downs of life and with my occasional bought of depression. I write and write and write some more.  I mean, I also workout a lot and hit girls while on skates and listen to music and make pancakes, but for the most part, writing is the way in which I deal with things. I am an intense person and intense people need outlets, this is mine.  So please, family and loved ones, quit worrying about me.  And for the love of god quit taking the things I say in my poems and stories literally. I'm fine.

to step on another's toes

to step on another's toes:  to offend or insult someone, as if causing physical pain.

I'm supposed to be NSOing at Wednesday night's scrimmage right now, but meh. I have a headache. So I'm being lame and hibernating in my cave.  I've decided to blog...you, know, to look right at a bright computer screen that's just making my headache ten-fold worse. How smart, I am.  Anyhow, today in step aerobics we cooled down to this song:



I'm a fan. I also adore adore adore her dress.

so answer me this, anyone and everyone, "who do you think you are?"  Have you ever considered the damage you've done to others? The hearts broken, the toes trampled on, the spirits crushed. 

I remember, it must have been my junior year of high school, coming into chemistry ready to work on my lab and vent pent up cynicism to my wonderful and dear friend Desiree.  Instead, I was met with "fuck you."  I had no idea why she was pissed at me, but "fuck" and "you" were the only two words she would say to me.  And, trust me, you need a bigger vocabulary in order to do any sort of scientific work.  I was completely, entirely, utterly oblivious. What had I done? Why was she mad, and mad at me alone? Needless to say, we did not pass that lab.  Had I been more conscious of the ways in which I effect others, we would have passed that damn lab.  Just something to think about.

to get one's ears lowered

to get one's ears lowered: slang for hair cut

I haven't cut my hair since May
the length has always been a measure of something in my life
this time it's of pain
of the pain that was impressed upon me in your absence
of pain that slowly clamps down on my brain
of pain that throbs in my temples every day
duh dun
duh dun
I ignore it the best I can,
patiently waiting for it to go away
waiting to regain some semblance of sanity

the day I don't think about you is the day I cut my hair

your brain is blank
your head is bald
you have no measure of pain,
just forgotten memories
just that one quite moment when you feel like an ass and then shrug your shoulders
and say tough luck
I was just a speed bump
just an after thought in your pathetic attempt to justify life and the way you waste it
it's people like you who make life for me one constant struggle

I just want you to leave me the fuck alone, get out of my head, erase you from my every other thought
and besides, I'm in desperate need of a hair cut

update 2/8/11 12:19pm: next time, remind me to eat breakfast before I blog. I'd seem a lot more chipper and less self-involved and depressed. food first, then blog. hey on a more positive note that gnarly rink-rash that I got on the palm of my had last scrimmage is finally healing...almost two weeks later and it finally decided to start the healing process. It's taking its sweet time...as all my wounds do.

rink rash

rink rash: bruises, contusions, red burn, scrapes, scratches, etc. that a skater gets after falling while playing roller derby.

you can see my toes in the bottom left corner!

tonight I pulled on my skull and cross bone socks, laced up my skates and hit the rink for derby practice. It was invigorating! I'm glad I can now confidently say that if I ever fall down again (in derby and in life), I'll just get back up, skate with furry after whoever made me fall, and punch them in the face, then later on I'll brag about the giant bruise that now adorns my thigh...seriously it looks like China or maybe Yogi Bear if you tilt you head to the left. p.s. I am such a dork "hi my name is Monique, I wanna be a Librarian, I play roller derby, and get excited about things like breakfast cereal and having my thesis nominated for honors status"

anything with a sticker of Elvis get my approval

mantra

mantra: a sound, syllable, word, or group of words that are considered capable of "creating transformation." Their use and type varies according to the school and philosophy associated with the mantra.  Most common in Buddhist and Hindu traditions.

too often I stumble
so here instead is a mantra I mumble

I don't want this anymore,
sometimes things just fall apart,
shit fuck,
the weight is a gift,
a willow and not an oak,
don't call me cupcake if you call other girls that too,
this isn't worth the TUMS,
everyone's got to leave their love sometime,
I didn't die, I survived, that's good enough for now


rinse and repeat

knuckle sandwich

knuckle sandwich: slang term for a punch

Trent agreed to let me punch him tomorrow (don't even ask why). i'm excited! i've never punched anyone before, except for once during a step aerobics class...but that was an accident. i swear.

so I took the initiative to look up how to punch someone online and came across this super cool video.

update 7/29/10- I should have fucking punched him when I had the chance.