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A fucking penguin, what do you think
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| Are you connected to yourself? |
[Dec. 16th, 2005|05:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  depressed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Yeah Yeah Yeah's in my head | ] |
I watched the Suicide Club (great Japanese independent film) and that question became a recurring theme. Am I connected to myself? Probably not. I guess I better go find other people who aren't and jump in front of a subway train.
My lights just flickered. I swear to god if the power goes out... I won't really care. I'll just go back to fucking bed. I woke up at 3:30 today... I thought I would take my last day of freedom and use it to its fullest. I work 37 hours next week. So.. if you want to see me, come to Bath and Body Works. I'll do lotion trial things on your hands - you'll have soft hands and I won't have to wander aimlessly.
Today I've had a bowl of oatmeal, five chocolate cookies, and three pieces of DiGiorno pizza. I feel like I'm going to puke. I've only been awake for 1.5 hours. God.
Talked to Matt last night. I miss him so much. It's sad whenever we say goodbye... his voice gets little and meek and sad. I can't think about it, though ... or I get more depressed. He asked about you, Vicky. He said he hopes school is going well. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 13th, 2005|01:54 pm] |
She said I feel stranded
And I can't tell anymore
If we coming or I'm going
It's not how I planed it
I've got the key to the door
But it just won't open
And I know, I know, I know
Part of me says let it go
That life happens for a reason
I don't, I don't, I don't
It goes I never went before
But this time, this time
I'm gonna try anything that just feel better
Tell me what to do
You know I can't see through the haze around me
And I do anything that just feel better
And I can't find my way
Girl I need a change
And I do anything that just feel better
Any little thing that just feel better
She said I need you to hold me
I'm a little far from the shore
And I'm afraid of sinking
You're the only one knows me
And who doesn't ignore
That my soul is weeping
I know, I know, I know
Part of me says let it go
Everything must have it seasons
Round and round it goes
And every day's a one before
But this time, this time
I'm gonna try anything that just feels better
Tell me what to do
You know I can't see through the haze around me
And I do anything that just feel better
And I can't find my way
God I need a change
And I do anything that just feel better
Any little thing that just feel better
Long to hold you in my arms
To all things I ought to leave behind, yeah
It's really getting nowhere
I think I need a little help this time
I'm gonna try anything that just feel better
Tell me what to do
You know I can't see through the haze around me
And I do anything that just feel better
And I can't find my way
Girl I need a change
And I do anything that just feel better
Any little thing that just feel better |
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| Snap out of it. |
[Dec. 10th, 2005|09:54 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | crushed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | stupid madonna song .. i saw a picture of her and it came | ] |
So. I start my job at Bath and Body works tomorrow. I have three hours of training from 7 AM to 10 AM. 7 in the morning? Christ. Then I work three hours Monday, three on Thursday, and five on Saturday I think. I'm guaranteed to be working every Saturday. And Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve, and my birthday. God, I'm lucky. And I work with Amelia Cater. Isn't that fun?
I'm getting my hair done on Thursday. I'm getting it lightened with highlights I think. I'm sick of having nearly black hair.
I got into a car accident. I'm fine - my front right fender and light weren't, but my dad fixed it for the most part. He had to bang out a gigantic dent that had all the paint scraped off it...but he did, and then painted it. Luckily that was the only paint Volkswagen made in red that year. According to the traffic set up, it was my fault. In reality, it was his fault, because I stopped, looked, and went, and he came barreling through in a very large hick truck going very fast in an effort to out run me. The cop said dickhead in reference to the other guy to me. I laughed. Cops don't say dickhead. So that was awful. I thought my world was coming to an end. Every second that transpires brings a new possibility of the world ending for me. Everything around me is so fragile. The floor could break beneath me at any time.
I slept about 22 of the past 24 hours (I'm not kidding). So I'm going to pop some Tylenol PM and see if that helps me out.
Also: I'm scared to drive now. I haven't left the house since Thursday. |
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| So don't bother, I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine |
[Dec. 7th, 2005|07:15 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  cold | ] |
Whitney's Food Consumption for the Last 72 Hours:
1) Hot turkey sandwich and fries at Pat's Pizza
2) Half a gross pumpkin whoopie pie
3) Breaded Fish patty, steak fries, peas
4) Saltines with peanut butter
The therapist says it's just the depression (the fact that I'm not hungry). My stomach doesn't even growl. It only makes noise when I eat. I read about the boy they think is the new age Buddha. I could do that. I need a robe thing and a cool tree. I think I'm going to go to bed. It's 7:20.. but I can just take some sleeping pills. I have nothing for the rest of the week - no threat for having to go to Freeport and Portland (Mom did that today) - and I've gotten all my appointments out of the way. Psychiatrist, therapist... PCP is next week. Started Lexapro today. I don't know how that'll go. Hopefully well. I guess. At this point I'd like to just throw it all out. The only pleasure I've been deriving is from my new face wash... Biore warming face wash for blackheads or something. I don't even have blackheads. I just wanted the warming face wash. All of Jaime's friends tell her about how flawless my skin is and blah blah... people have always done that. It is far from flawless. I'm just good at covering my flaws ... and that goes all around. Boys know that I'm not flawless. They see me up close. They rub my make up off. I'm a chameleon. I am horrendous without make up - fairly charming with it. I was in KVMH waiting for my appointment today (that's Kennebec Valley Mental Health), and there was this guy in there. He had a messenger bag filled with stuff, and he was dressed nicely. He wasn't my type of good looking, but I'm sure some people would find him appealing. So yeah. I had a fun game deciding whether or not he was a drug addict or was waiting for a hyperactive child to come out of play therapy. He could have been a drug addict. But then a little girl came out. I win. I knew he had been staring at me - because when he walked by he made eye contact and then at the door he turned and looked back at me. He was good looking when you look at him straight in the face. But what the fuck. Can I only get older men? He wasn't old - but for Christ's sake, he had a kid. A hyperactive one, no less. You could tell he was ashamed to be there. I felt bad for the kid. I could read the therapist - it's obvious that he doesn't like the idea of having a child. Especially if he's checking out poor little Bipolar me. I feel like blurting that out sometimes. "Stop looking at me before I stab you to death and blame it on psychosis." I wouldn't have to blame it on anything, I'm sure. They'd just assume. They'd throw me away into a little room with no windows. I'd much like it. As long as I had my blanket and.. well, it took me too long to think of something else so I gave up, I'd be rather content. I took everything down in my room. It's bare now. Nothing at all anywhere. I sleep with my blanket. OH. Sleeping pills. I'd need those. Thorazine, perhaps. Mental strait-jacket. That's the ticket. I remember the times when I was seemingly happy. What happened to that? Why did my mind just warp into this bony, depraved web, eating away at me, killing me slowly with its tightening grip. I know that's a question. But I don't feel like using a question mark. I like the blunt emphasis on a period. I'm dying, and I've got no where to be. |
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| Take them like a man |
[Dec. 1st, 2005|08:48 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nauseated | ] |
Taking pills will never be a pleasant experience. I suppose it has gotten easier over time - except when you get those pills that not only huge but also dissolve the moment they touch liquid. And then you have to take two at once. And then they get stuck in your throat. That's been happening to me. I'll tell you, though, that Lithium Carbonate does not taste very good. I'm sure the element isn't too bad - it's basically pure salt - but this form of it is heinous. It's still salty, but it's a metallic salt ... and it's bitter and thick and sticks with you. They look like aspirins: round, white, groove down the middle. Ecstasy, even. Sometimes I wish that's what they were. I just took two of them with Sprite. You can't take them with water or you'll get the taste. Apple cider works nicely. I'm sure doing them with a shot of any given liquor would do the job.
Had an interview with Bath and Body Works today. It went well - they're calling Elizabeth from the Governor's Office to get a recommendation from her. I'm sure I'll get the job. I don't want it. I'm hoping they'll call me back and say, "We're sorry, we found someone more qualified. Thank you. Oh, have you heard about our buy 3 get one free deal?"
I have a spotted banana. Yellow with green spots. Leopard-like. I didn't get the whole bunch ... I just picked off this one. It's intriguing. It's worth watching.
I kind of want to go to bed. It's an acceptable time to do that. I woke up at 11:30... so I guess it makes sense.
Yeah. I'll do that. |
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| Nothing seems to change, bad times stay the same, and I can't run |
[Nov. 27th, 2005|08:20 pm] |
I'm not depressed. I'm unhappy. My body physically won't allow depression. I guess it could still come, but it's not here yet. This, my friends, is unhappiness, and I just can't shake it.
I hate feeling like I'm being punished for being sick. I'm being forced by my mother to find a job (which is difficult because I'm a) too lazy to apply and b) there are no jobs). Instead of doing the things I should be doing (school, having fun), I'm looking for an avenue into the real world. Which is not where I want to be. People bitch about the bubble that is Smith College. I wish I were in that bubble. I wish I were fucking drowning in it. I'm sick and tired of being told to get a job. I'm sick and tired of waking up at 2 in the afternoon every day. I sleep so much that I'm starting to hate it. I hate going to Barnes and Noble EVERY DAY to look at/read books and seeing the same faces over and over again. They must think I'm nuts. Maybe they're right. I feel useless, meaningless, void ... but of what? This is what a lot of people do their whole lives. They're just fine. Why can't I be 'just fine?'
I think this is why people commit crimes. They need excitement in their meaningless lives. It really doesn't sound like a bad idea. |
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| Every time I type in 'L,' Lemonparty comes up |
[Nov. 23rd, 2005|06:12 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  crazy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | some stupid fucking christmas music | ] |
Aha. There you are, livejournal. So we meet again.
Update on Whitney's Health:
Whitney is in a neutral state as of late. She is neither depressed nor manic nor anything in particular. She has been experiencing some stomach distubances since starting Prozac, but the pharmacist says she's good unless it persists for too long or she becomes dizzy (wouldn't want Lithium toxicity). Therapy is good. She went today. No big developments in that department. She talked to Dean Tom Riddell today... nothing big, just discussing her application and sentiments on her experience. He told her to kiss Health Service's ass.. in so many words. No hope as to getting back in. Very secretive. Health Services's interview is Monday. Whitney is not excited.
Alright. I started reading In Cold Blood again. I probably didn't read it very thoroughly for Trafton, and after seeing Capote, I had a renewed interest. I forgot how much I enjoy the book. I woke up at 8:00 AM today! Had my interview at 10... went into town to 'Candlewick Cottage' or something then to Shaws to pick up some food. I got apples. And a salad. I saw Ben White shopping with his mom. Ha. Everyone shopping with their mom.
Speaking of Moms, mine just told me she was Seif and two hoes in the Willow Street (ghetto) Shop n' Save, stoned out of their gourds. Doesn't surprise me.
Hung out with Kristy the other night. We ate at Panera and saw Ryan there. All went well until I started bringing her home and then realized my stomach was flipping out. So we made a pitstop at my house. I hate that. Ugh. I got some fancy Imodium Advanced. In a convenient bottle. Fancy, I tell you.
Why don't they put cotton into pill bottles anymore? It's upsetting. I want to go get a movie or something. Yeah. I'm gonna go do that. |
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| fuck you fake nails |
[Nov. 15th, 2005|04:17 pm] |
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i haven't written on here in some time...mostly because my sister got married this weekend. disregard spelling mistakes and spacing errors -- i have fake nails. because of tihs i won't say much other than that my sister is in the hospital in nassau with appendicitis and/or perforated peptic ulcer. i might have to go down. i hope she's okay. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 9th, 2005|08:49 pm] |
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I have a really painful headache right now. My mother and I just opened up the chips and dip for Friday night's escapades at the Farag's house. Goddamnit my head hurts. It hurts so much that I have nothing to say. |
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| my hands are cold. like my heart. |
[Nov. 8th, 2005|01:24 am] |
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What do you do when someone's short-term goal in life is to make you their one and only? And you can't get past the notion that you very well may be a stepping stone back to something that has passed - a realization tool used for epiphanies regarding what one really wants out of life, love, family, stability, what have you. You're a transient fixture - a fixture that vainly secures and implants itself but is forced into an ephemeral behavior and floats to where it is accepted for the time being. Then it's pushed out. For everyone else's sake. What do you do? Do you accept the reality that there are ties to the past - ties so strong as to implant themselves in every day thought processes and burn away your ego, one thread at a time? And when you get past that - can you slight her permanence? How many flaws are necessary to say no? Do we need absolute physical attraction, mental attraction, sexual, intellectual? Do we need acceptance by our families, by our friends, by ourselves? What do we need for it to work? Whatever it is - we don't have it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 7th, 2005|04:22 pm] |
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I'm in Panera right now... and it is damn cold in here. My admirer just left. Oh well. Yawn. |
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| Enjoy your journey through insanity -- Eric |
[Nov. 6th, 2005|03:56 pm] |
I have a broken nail. I guess I should go cut those anyway. I'm having a manicure Saturday morning for the wedding (ugh). I could get fake nails. I'm sure everyone would love that. Well, everyone but me. I'm also getting my hair done that morning I suppose. I'm gonna have it down - curly. I don't want it up, stiff, gross, prom-like. That doesn't interest me. My mom is at Jaime's right now watching the children. My dad is asleep. I think I'll clean. I'm sick of looking at my room. I'm sick of a lot of things. I'm sick of being chubby. And I swear to god if there are any postings on here about how I'm not chubby, I will personally come to your house beat the shit out of you. Well, maybe not. But if I don't like you enough, then yeah, maybe.
My mother just got home and she's already annoying me. My feet are awful. Wearing those heels last night did a number on them. Well, wearing any of my shoes does a number on them. Goddamnit I have a headache. I'm always a mess. It never ends. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 5th, 2005|01:29 pm] |
Updates in Whitney's Life:
a) She hasn't taken a shower in two days, and she's contemplating a third.
b) She's getting a cold (that only manifests itself at night while she's lying down).
c) She's conceivably going to Mr. EA tonight - but who really knows.
d) Her father just changed the oil in her car.
e) Her Uncle Tom is coming over (her mother just went to pick him up) to visit. Her mother will cry controllably because he is going to Iraq soon. Whitney will be forced to take care of Emma while her mother is an emotional trainwreck.
f) She's wearing her new shoes for the wedding, but they are no where near as tall as they should be (she's going to have her dress drag because she's so short).
g) Her grandmother is sweeping the floor and it's starting to get to her. She almost wrote something homicidal here but then realized that there is an actually threat of homicidality with her. So I'll shut up.
h) She hasn't eaten anything today, and she is proud of herself.
I feel like getting ready now. I'll keep you posted. |
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| What kind of convenient store do you run here? |
[Nov. 5th, 2005|12:17 am] |
1) Watched theatrical version of Clerks
2) Watched first cut of Clerks
Salsa shark, we're gonna need a bigger boat.
I don't know why I'm posting on here. I am so fucking bored. Pretty soon I'm going to go into my room, read some of Sylvia Plath's journals, then go to sleep. Like every night. I guess I feel like I'll be a little more entertained if I write on here.
yawn yawn smokin weed smokin weed doin coke drinkin beers
There's a million fine looking women in the world, dude, but most of them won't bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 4th, 2005|09:28 pm] |
She said, "I'll throw myself away,
They're just photos after all"
I can't make you hang around.
I can't wash you off my skin.
Outside the frame, is what we're leaving out
You won't remember anyway
I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head?
It's so safe to play along
Little soldiers in a row
Falling in and out of love
With something sweet to throw away.
But I want something good to die for
To make it beautiful to live.
I want a new mistake, lose is more than hesitate.
Do you believe it in your head?
I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head? |
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| jkldlk;dafs. |
[Nov. 4th, 2005|03:43 pm] |
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Do you know that feeling when you have absolutely nothing to do so you'd might as well do something with your mother, but your own mother won't do anything with you because she has other obligations? Like picking up your niece? Or - she won't do anything with you because your father gets upset because he's lonely - despite the fact that if your mother were here, he wouldn't talk to her, he'd just sit, excuse me, lay on the couch and watch tv until he feels like going to bed, which is usually around 9 o'clock. By 9 you want to leave so badly that your skin itches and you think you're going to jump out of it. But they won't let you leave because "it's too late to get out." Or - she won't do anything with you because she hasn't gone to the movie theatre in about 10 years (literally), and wouldn't want to sit through a movie anyway. She can't even do it in her own house. She falls asleep. She only watches movies during the day. I sleep during the day. Where does that leave me? With nothing to do. What does that leave me to do? Isolate and wallow. That's what the doctor says not to do. That's what that psychiatric nurse said not to do - he says then you get introspective and start thinking about bad things then you kill yourself. That was when he gave me the number to the crisis hotline. Even though the doctor had already done that. The doctor made me promise I wouldn't do it. I told him I wouldn't do it, I just think about doing it. There is a difference. They say if the urge gets too strong to call the number. Yeah, great idea, guys. Get those fuckers over here so they can hospitalize me. The doctor asked me if I needed to be hospitalized. I said no. I probably meant yes. So, yeah. I'm going to end up going to Barnes and Noble and sitting there, trying read, having older men stare at me for no reason whatsoever. By myself. Again. I could stay here with my parents. I never know from day to day what my father's mood will be, though. He could very well be in a pissed off mood yet again. And my mother will probably go back to sleep. And Jaime Kameel and the kid will all be other there and try to get me to come over and wallow over there. Yeah, that's what I want to do. Chris DeProfio comes home at like 7. I wouldn't want him to go into Augusta after traveling back from Worcester, though. I know what that trip's like. I was going to hang out with Mason, but he doesn't seem to thrilled about it. Besides, I don't feel like driving out there. If I had money, I'd go see a movie by myself. Actually, I did that before, and it's incredibly sad. Like I can't describe the feeling. Kind of like I can't describe how I feel right now. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 3rd, 2005|04:42 pm] |
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I always thought Livejournal was fucking stupid anyway. The only reason this one came into existence was because we were bored one day in study hall (which actually wasn't a study hall at all, but Rod's free period). It started as a joint account amongst friends, later became me and Tony's love child, and subsequently has fallen into my currently cold, lifeless hands. Now people are bitching about it. To tell you the truth, I don't know why I post on here. OH.. yeah, I do. Because if I wrote any of this where my parents could find it, I don't think they would be particularly impressed, seeing that I've been a semi-suicidal, self-loathing depressive for the past two weeks. So if you think it's "wrong" to comment on what I write, then don't. If you think you're prying into my life by reading this, then don't. Do you know what therapy really does for you? Nothing. This is as close to a therapeutic, cathardic activity as I can get. So fuck you. |
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| Now she's feeling more alone than she ever has before |
[Nov. 2nd, 2005|10:06 pm] |
It's not worth making a list of the things I would give up to see him / the list wouldn't end.
I don't remember what he feels like; his hair, lips, palms, finger tips are a wasted memory, pushed out for space's sake.
Tacked to my wall -- This is all I have left of you.
I've figured out why I'm so empty. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 2nd, 2005|04:54 pm] |
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I'm pissed off about my existence. For one, I don't want to go to Mr. EA. I just don't want to be around people. I would rather be in my room, alone, doing nothing (preferably sleeping). It's not that I don't care about them - I just don't want to be thrown into that situation. Of course, I told a certain person about it who said, "That's bullshit." Actually, asshole, it's not. Maybe I don't want to explain for the fiftieth time why I'm not in school. Maybe I don't want to be embarassed that all my friends are normal, and I'm here, wasting away, not doing anything intellectual, getting duller by the day. I'm a shell of what I used to be. I'm empty. I have no brain, no heart. I have nothing coursing through my veins but lithium. They have to take some of it tomorrow at the hospital to see if I need some more. Pretty soon the lithium will push the blood out. I just need to be lobotomized. Too late. |
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listlessbosom's journal