omg i thought i was dehydrated or dying or something but i was actually dissociating LMAO i'm getting better at figuring it out though.

i'm not sure what to do though. i feel like i'm improving daily but i also feel like i'm backsliding daily, so who really knows. i had a job interview today and tbh i do really like the company and their mission but i'm not sure i can do it right now. but maybe i can. who's to say? i feel massively overwhelmed by life all the time though and i'm not even doing anything strenuous or leaving the house really and sure it's nice that my wife can help me with stuff but i feel like a massive burden to her. which is a reason to get a job and not just be on disability. but then what if i fail at the job and i lose my disability and can't get it back and i'm unemployed with nothing. what then? i'm so lost and nothing feels okay. 

i guess i'm a lot more anxious than i think. i have to fight off nausea and dissociation for up to five hours before i finally start my day and then it's like 1pm and i'm trying to open my email and i feel like i'm about to pass out. 

oh. i think the white noise may have been too loud. i turned it down and suddenly the air looks clearer. i feel like i woke up again. whew lord. 

okay i'ma go write stories now bye

 I guess it's the time in my life for writing here again. It kind of makes me sad that I didn't have any entries for 2022, 2023, and 2024, but imperfection is beauty and all that. 

I don't know why I feel so acutely miserable all the time. I live my life in this sort of bleak fog and occasionally veer into panic or deeper dissociation, and when I go outside, I put on my people mask like some kind of fictional psychopath and go out to terrorize the public. and it's fantastic. who would not be utterly entranced by me I mean

I'm not like even that horrible though, in the grand scheme of things. I could be a murderer. Or a republican. i could drive a tesla. I'm literally a normal human being who is convinced to the very deepest core of myself that I'm somehow fundamentally dysfunctional and monstrous. Which is, to be fair, the human condition as I'm given to understand it. 

So, what does one do in this situation? Eat cereal with ice cream, smoke weed, and think about one piece. 

as the ancients did before me.

 i don't want to die but i do want to kill myself and it's the most distressing thing bc i really and truly want to live-- kind of-- at the very least, I could never do that to the people around me. but i also can't get rid of the cold logical insisting telling me that it's just the most pragmatic thing to die, no judgments, no ifs ands or buts, just the barefaced fact of it that i will never be human. 

and i should have done it long ago. i should never have let it get to this point, with a wife, and friends, and a whole life that i can't leave behind anymore. back when i was untethered, unmoored, just a lump of sadness and anxiety floating around this world, that would have affected no one and would have left this world better. but now i can't die, at least by my own hand, bc it would make my wife sad. and i don't want that. but i also feel like it would be better for her not to be tied to me. she does deserve better. 

but i think the worst is realizing that i have to continue existing like this, constantly in pain, constantly terrified, never at ease, and there's nothing i can do about it, just toil and drudgery and abject misery until i finally crumble into my decrepit pauper's grave and the world forgets i ever existed. i won't allow myself to take myself out, and that fact means that for as long as i breathe, i'll hurt. it eases sometimes, but it never truly goes away, and i can't just resign myself to that. but there's literally nothing else to do. 

and i'll never be good enough, not for anyone else, not for myself, and certainly not for this end stage capitalist hellscape we live in. i'll never be anything, and therefore, it would make logical sense for me to die and free up some resources for someone who actually is good for something. but i'm too selfish and stubborn and i'll continue clinging to life and in doing so, will hurt everyone i come across. but i still won't die. 

am i terrible? am i awful? am i a child of the devil after all? what's a little more guilt when my entire life is stitched from it, what's a little more shame about my pathetic existence when all conscious thoughts confirm it. everything i am is unacceptable. 

i can't face it. but i have no choice. 

and i could have been someone. i could have mattered too. but it's far too late for that, too late for me, and this world can never hold me the way i wanted. i never stood a chance, and it's not entirely fair for me to hate myself for that, but i also can't help it, a little. if i'd just been better, smarter, more likable, more hardworking, if i'd just buckled down and embraced the grind, if i'd just x, if i'd just y, if only i was someone else, something made of more than mediocrity and despair, someone smarter, prettier, richer, more talented, or if i'd done that, or done this, or had an identity outside of others' perception, positive or negative, if i was more, if i was less, if i was better. but i'm not. i'm me. and i'm deeply sorry for it. 

 I'm on call for one more hour, but the one arrival pending for tonight has already been intaked (intook?) and I did all my census and admin stuff while it was slow in the afternoon, so I'm writing on here while I sit at my desk! It's nice to be able to work from home in the evenings. I like the balance of being able to take care of my in-person work in the office, and then coming back to my apartment to finish up my shift in my underwear LOL. I don't like the three 12-hour shifts I have to do back-to-back each week, but I also prefer to do it myself instead of having to work with someone else. My coworker and I are both Capricorns to the extreme and we work amazingly well together, but now she's out for six months with her new baby, so I have free reign now, and I like it, because I'm not trying to do College Group Project Part 2: The Healthcare Boogaloo. It does mean that I have very little time to myself now, though.

K and I went to see a show this weekend! It was my first big one since El Pando, and being around so many people just breathed life into my soul. I felt like I was being moisturized. Also, little 14-year-old emo me would think I'm the coolest motherfucker around, so I'm pleased. This is the inner child work, bitch!! K is amazing. I love her with my entire heart. On Saturday night, we just sat around in my bedroom smoking and doing art (after I clocked out, since I did have to work a 12 that day). We also listened to emo music (and the odd metal song I added when they got stuck in my head). We have really similar taste in music, although she tends more towards folk and dark cabaret for her "guilty" pleasures and I spin towards dad rock and bro metal. We both really like industrial, hardcore, etc. though, and we're both very opinionated about music, so discussions are fun. I love having a music buddy; I never really have before. Then again, I forced myself to not really listen to any music that I enjoyed for many years, so I didn't have a lot of passion. Now it's one of my main coping mechanisms and joys in life once again (last time was fully in high school I think), and coincidentally, my mental health is so much better. It's really about finding what I like and allowing myself (or being allowed) to enjoy it. Death metal makes me happy, and I like being happy, and it's kind of dumb to censor myself just because it's not a common interest for a slice of the population (it's not even uncommon either though, but whatever). I like getting ASMR from songs (I recently learned that's what it is), and as embarrassing as it is, I do like getting obsessed with albums. Now, if I'm having a bad day, I can feel better after it just by playing my music loud as hell and singing along as I drive home. Much better than substance abuse and self-harm!

Ah I just googled my symptoms and it seems I'm experiencing a tension headache. Big surprise there !! It takes me ages to relax enough to sleep at night, and I don't realize it until it becomes annoying, but I do carry around a lot of stress throughout the day (and evening now). Hopefully this doesn't become a problem. But at least I have health insurance now.

Wait food is good actually. I forget a lot. I never have time to cook anymore, and it's kind of sad to just cook for me, so I eat like a quirky main character in the Netflix adaptation of a YA novel (this is not even factoring in the poverty and the anorexia). I also get randomly obsessed with foods for a little while and don't want to eat anything else. Right now, it's cup noodles, if that gives any indication of how low the bar is. It's not that I can't cook, because I can, and I'm actually very good at planning and prepping and all that as well, but I feel like I just don't get the chance to flex. Right now, most of my life is work.

Wait if I broke it down, hmm. I go to bed (read: get in bed) at around 11 (or try to) and get up at 6 (or 6:30 if I'm tired, which is always), so that's about 6 hours of sleep if we're being extremely generous. I leave for work by 6:50, clock in by 7:50, clock out at around 9 (I work through my lunch because there's only one of me and I don't want to step away for an hour and come back to five million emails and three AMAs and it all works out anyway since I do have to take an hour to drive home). So basically, the only time I'm not working is when I'm driving, from 9 - 11 PM, and whenever I have free time between work tasks (and a lot of that free time I use for household planning, chores, budget, etc., and catching up on my socials and answering some of my snaps and messages). I can do like one thing on weekends now, because otherwise I'll have a panic attack on Facetime with Emily, crying about how overwhelmed I am, so I have a ton of dates and pending plans in my social queue, and a lot of friends whom I never get to see. Goddamn. No wonder I feel like I've had strychnine poisoning all the time.

Oh yay it's 8:45! Time to type up my final reports and send them off! And then you fucking know I'm gonna get so so high.

 I slept in until 10 this morning (I woke up earlier, but I stayed in bed and lazed around trying to go back to sleep) (but I think I'm losing the ability to sleep a lot), drank coffee, showered, and then facetimed with Emily, then went grocery shopping, and then came back, made lunch and downed more cold brew, vaped, and cleaned my house. It took awhile, because I've been so tired that I have a lot of stuff to do now. But I did it! Now all I have to do tomorrow is clean my fridge, get gas, and do laundry. I feel so much better, because all the housework I have building up has been hanging over my head. Now I'm drinking more coffee and waiting for K to get here (she's sleeping over and we were going to go to the beach with the others tomorrow, but that trip has been postponed). It's going to be so nice. I haven't hung out with my friends for too long; the last time was N's party last week, but I barely stayed three hours, and I was a bit of a zombie. However, I'm done with my period now, and I've been doing better in general, so I have a lot more energy (hence me being able to do several weeks' worth of cleaning all at once). So it's going to be nice to see K! I wish we could see the others as well, but it's always nice to have one-on-one time. I have to remember that, and not be afraid of the intimacy. 

I'm going to start working more hours on some evenings, but that's good, because it will force me to do stuff and multitask instead of just flopping on my bed. I'm still adjusting to living a normal life, but now that I'm not using all my energy just to stay alive, it's a lot easier to get everything done.

Yay K is here!!

 I think I'm annoyed because I don't like it when people don't take me seriously, even though it's something that's happened all my life, regardless of where I am, and even though I can be used to it, I can also be bothered by it. It's especially annoying because it's nothing I can even control. People see what I look like and they decide that I'm some dumb blonde valley girl and only care about my clothes and Snapchat streaks, and that's not untrue, strictly speaking, but I'm more than that too, and in a professional context, I work hard to make sure the job gets done efficiently with minimal drama, and I feel like that's something people should recognize too, even as they laugh at me for being ditzy or whatever. I know it's on them, and I know it does make my life easier in a certain way if no one sees me as a threat, but it sucks. I hide my natural accent and try to speak in Mid-Atlantic office tones, and I try to hide my body with layers and professional clothes, and I never wear falsies or contour or lipstick or anything besides eyeliner and mascara on the job. I don't even talk to my coworkers about personal things. Most of them know nothing about me. Why should they? They're not my friends. They don't care. And honestly, I don't want them to. I'm not into work like that.

I think I also feel isolated and like many of the people in my personal life don't see or hear me for who I am. I feel like some kind of fictional character that exists in everyone's perception, but slightly wrong for a different reason each time. And no one seems to care to know more, because it doesn't fit what they've decided. And that frustrates me, particularly because I like to know more about people, and it feels unfair that they'll accept my friendship and the benefits it offers, but not make an effort to extend the same for me. I constantly feel used for my appearance and my social skills, and as flattering as that might sound, I'm so fucking lonely lmao

 I've been so fucking tired all day, and I don't even get a reprieve until next Saturday, because I have to work this weekend again. It's not so bad, don't get me wrong, and I'm not saying I want to go back to 12-hour shifts at the warehouse or anything, but this is my personal blog, and I can say that I'm cranky and exhausted without someone guilting me about it. Yes, I like my job. Yes, I like where I'm at in life. No, I'm not going to magically feel happy all the time, because I'm a human, and I act like one, and I have a wide range of emotions, all of which take their turn in the sun.

It sucks though. I've been way too tired and drained to do any kind of housekeeping when I get home, so the vast majority of my cooking, cleaning, shopping, organizing, laundry, etc. happens on weekends. I have two days of dishes in my sink currently, and I hate that I do, but I simply cannot do them right now. I also have a huge list of chores to do, because I keep putting them off. I enjoy living alone especially because I can keep my house to my standards, but when I fall short, I feel disappointed in myself, and that's not really helpful or reasonable even, because most adults have someone else living with them to pick up the slack, and since E isn't here yet, it's all on me, and it's okay and understandable that I'm not cleaning the kitchen every day or whatever. Every week is fine.

I also need to keep looking at my priorities. I have to remember that I only have 24 hours in the day, and I have to sleep for 8 of them or I'll feel shitty. And given that I'm at work for 10 more (including commute and lunch), and have to take care of responsibilities for another two or so, I really only have about four hours to do what I want and fully enjoy life. Plus weekends. So it's not a lot, and I also need to remember that it does no good to stress about things that have either been taken care of or will be taken care of. If I have it done or set to be done, there's literally no reason to stress about it. I think growing up in the way I did, where it was seen as really bad to have any fun or freedom, that's something I need to let go of, and I don't need anyone's permission to be who I want or to be healthy. I want to be my best self for me, no one else, and no one else gets input as to what that best self is. Sure, I'll listen to people if it's something that affects them, but me, who I am, that's none of their business, and I don't have to accede to any kind of shaming or demands. I am my own advocate, first and foremost, and I'm allowed to be confrontational and assertive and even aggressive, and I'm allowed to remove people from my circles if I want to. And honestly, it's a rough world out there, and yes, I act like everything is a joke, but I'm not naive, and I know what's what, and it's important for me to take care of myself. Other people matter, and I love people above all, but I have to love myself before that.

 I have to work on this knee-jerk assumption that people don’t actually like me whenever I run into the slightest inconvenience. Is it more likely that no one wants to hang out with me and are just accepting all my invitations with excitement for the sake of formality, or that I’ve fallen into the role of organizer, and no one else is as scientific and aggressive about it as I am, so it doesn’t happen unless I make it happen?

I also think I figured out what exactly I’m good at. To expand, I’ve wondered since childhood what my role in the family is, what my specialty is, what exactly I’m good for. It’s on this blog, even. My siblings have their specialties, and I was always the dumb, pretty one. Which is, of course, demoralizing. But I wonder if it took some pressure off, too. I didn’t have as many notions set on me as my siblings did, because I’m not that good at academic pursuits (humanities excluded), and I’m not good at sports or anything physical. And frankly, I’m kind of a pain in the ass when I’m mad. Anything my family tried just made me dig my heels in more, so that by the time I decided to leave the entire fucking country for my gay lover, there was nothing they could do. But I got off-topic. What I’m good for, my specialization, my purpose in the family? Talking to people.

That’s it. I have people skills and a high EQ and a friendly, extroverted personality. And I have a lot of friends. I can always find someone to help me if I have a problem, because they know I’d do the same for them. And for a long time, I didn’t see this as a talent because it was looked on in our family as a flaw. How many times did I hear to stop texting, or to work harder on my grades instead of my social life, or to be serious for once, or to stop fucking talking all the time? How many times was I mocked for being a Barbie?

It got me where I wanted, though. Minus Emily being with my physically, I’m on the road to everything I’ve been working for. A hot fiancée, a gorgeous apartment in my favorite city, an ethical and decent-paying job, a car that’s fun to drive, a large and loving social circle, hobbies that I’m genuinely working on, Spotify Premium, and honestly, a nice appearance. It’s what I want right now, and the wonderful thing is that even though others might think it’s shallow, it’s not, not to me. I know who I am now. And I’m never going to stop growing, and I won’t allow myself to be derailed anymore. I have to continue to heal and grow and work for this dream-turned-reality that I’ve made. 

tw ana

 I’m so fucking haunted by Eugenia Cooney (twitch streamer) because that could literally be me. We have the same eating disorder, the same love for emo and weeb stuff, we’re the same age (I think she’s a year ish older than me), similar shitty family situation, same coping mechanisms, she even looks probably how I would if I were white and half a foot taller with my natural hair color and money to buy the clothes and makeup I want. Probably my small height is why I haven’t fully turned into a skeleton like her, but I could see it happening, and it’s so scary, but also weirdly motivates me to try and eat and get better even if it’s slow and hard to do. We live in the same city (although I guess she moved back with her mom now), and it’s possible we were even inpatient at the same place. I can’t stop thinking about her, and she makes me so sad. She’s so pretty, even now, and she seems sweet, and I really think she could have had a shot at modeling or acting before all of this, but now I think it’s too late. She’s dying, and we’re all watching it happen, and I know what she must be feeling, and I know that if I were in her place, I would die for sure, because I would be unable to give up the spotlight long enough to recover. And I can hope and pray and send all the good vibes into the universe, but she seems just like me, only with no support system outside of millions of screaming internet users, and her mom is way worse than mine, and I really do think she’s doomed. And I can’t stop thinking about her.

It’s terrifying, you know? I’m back in the double digits with my own weight, and sure, that’s less bad because I’m 5’1” and not naturally very curvy, but I don’t think a grown adult should weigh like a child. Or at least, logically I think this. In my emotions, though, it’s so easy to admire my flat figure and bony wrists and put shimmer on my collarbones to make them stand out even more and body-check in every single reflective surface I pass. And I keep fantasizing over how much lower I can “safely” go, and again logically I know the answer is “there is no safe way to go lower” and that I actually should gain some weight to keep my health, but how do I throw this out when it’s all I’ve known for so many years? Management bought lunch for the facility today, and one of the case managers told me, and I pretended to be excited, and then immediately booked it out of the clinic to sit in the hospital courtyard and eat a packet of nuts by myself. Because apparently we’re not even using poverty as an excuse anymore. 

It’s bad. My mental health is so much better now that it doesn’t even compare; I feel like an entirely different person than I was even a few months ago. But this part hasn’t been updated with the rest. And I’m still dying, just more slowly, and in a more glamorous and aesthetically pleasing way (to the outside world, at least). And I feel it now again, I feel the brain fog and the dissociation and the constant fucking exhaustion and the physical pain from not having enough body mass to keep my bones from hurting, and all the irritation and aggression, all the misplaced rage, all the fear and guilt and judgement. Sometimes my chest will hurt or my heart will do a weird thing, and I’ll know exactly what’s happening and why, but there’s a weird and perverse sense of excitement overlaying all of it, and I know full well that the illness is so entrenched that it’s making me romanticize my own destruction. It’s a weird place to be in, knowing what’s going on, and yet not being powerful enough to make myself stop it. If I did, I would. My progress has shown that. I can do almost anything if I decide I want to and buckle down and work for it, but I can’t seem to make myself want this, or at least not enough.

My benefits kick in on August 1, so I’ll definitely be using my shiny new health insurance to find a therapist, but man. This is just so unnecessarily hard, and I can’t seem to make myself take care of myself. 

Eugenia, I’ll do it for you, then. 

One of us has to make it.

 If it's true that I've really gotten this job, then everything is changing in the best possible way, and I can't be more excited. I knew I'd absolutely aced the interview, and when she showed me around and introduced me to the staff, I was as optimistic as one can be while still being wary of everything and everyone, as is everyone in the job market nowadays, and she told me that I'd receive word on a specific day (today), and I could barely think of anything else until I got the call, ten minutes before I was about to sign my contract for another company. And I accepted of course, and now I have a time-frame to look at before I start work, and I need to find an apartment and probably get some better work clothes. And I need to save like crazy so E and I can finally be together and get married. Thank God for the IRS, because I finally got my stimuluses (stimuli?) and tax return (my fault for filing so late), and that plus the amount I found stashed away from high school in an old bank account are enough to set me up. And while we're thanking God for things, thank God for salary. And for opinionated directors who don't mind hiring opinionated people with few professional qualifications. And for my personality, difficult and stubborn though it is, because I'm so glad I didn't settle for something less than this. I just can't believe it's real, not really, but it also sort of feels right, like all the important things in life do, somehow. Things happen how they're supposed to, and I have to remember that. Maybe that's as close to spirituality as I'll ever get. I guess I don't mind. If I'm important to anyone, a version of me will be in their afterlives anyway. 

Maybe I'm high, but Proust was right.

 Maybe I should rebrand and make this blog more like it was meant to be, which is just a dump for my thoughts.

So what's up with the fascists these days, right? Omg literally my brother thinks you can be a Republican and a good person at the same time, like honey, in this day and age? However, the state of the world is such that I now hate liberals too, so I suppose from a reductionist, inflammatory, uninformed, grossly-calculated-and-undervaluing-of-human-life point of view, it sort of makes sense.

Well, I guess that's why.

Renting in LA is such a procedure, like you have to go on a fuckin quest to collect the bones of four martyred saints and ask the Virgin Mary for a reference, and then the rent is 2000 per month and you live in a cardboard box outside the Wilshire/Western metro, and parking isn't even included. I feel like more people should be radicalized by the time they meet their first landlord, but that may be unrealistic. Surely after you meet your first landlord, though, you should be able to get it together. They're like vampires, but not sexy, and if they kill you, it's absolutely not worth it. However, they can also be gotten rid of with a stake through the heart, if you choose to go that route (*not recommended for people of color). Why do you need my credit history, bro? Just trust me! I do have to say, though, that I would rather starve to death in my own place than live rent-free here. I don't care if that makes me a total Marius (I mean I kinda do), like bro I gotta live my own life even if it kills me!! It might, but then at least I will die before the planet explodes, so swings and roundabouts, innit.

Also, I think more people should want to hire me. I'm superb. I'm exquisite. I have fat tits. Literally, what else could you ask for? Employers simply do not know the blessing among them, and that's the sad fact. It's why they're hiring on Indeed. It's true, I am also on Indeed, but I have a lot more sex appeal than they do, so I feel like it all comes out in the wash. Hopefully one of the interviews I have this week will pan out. I am SO FUCKING SICK of just being at home all day. I want to wear cute professional outfits and gossip around the water cooler with my normcore colleagues </3 What's a guy gotta do to get boomer-level job security around here??

Maybe I'll have to be an assassin. I don't want to, but I've always sort of been convinced that I would eventually be obliged to take up the gun, or at least I have been since I listened to Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge in my young and formative years. After that, I felt, it was just a matter of when before I was inevitably thrust upon the murder scene. I don't even think I would be good at it, really. I'm not what one might call tough. That means I might have the element of surprise on my side, though, because just as no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, no one (outside of a small society of anime nerds) expects the little 100-lb blonde girl to start swinging. Maybe I can hide arson materials in my pigtails like LynZ did when she auditioned for Mindless Self Indulgence. Oh, and you know I need a Ferrari and lots of couture clothes and shoes as well. I'll be like Catwoman!

 I'm trying to figure out why I feel so bad. Everything should suggest that things are going well. I have a job, a good job, and it's remote for now, so I'm even saving money. I guess the thing is that I need to finish the licensing course before I can sign a contract and be paid, so nothing is official. 

Do I need validation and approval that badly? Why does it matter if my mom doesn't think what I do is acceptable? I'm a grown woman, and I don't need to please her, or anyone else, for that matter. All I need to worry about is pleasing my damn self. It's so hard. Why is it so hard? I'm living in a near-relentless storm of negativity, doubt, and disapproval, and a severely emotionally unhealthy parent who is trying to have a codependent relationship with me. I know she's all kinds of messed up, and it all says much more about her than me. But it's hard to live here. I'm doubting my sanity, doubting my reality, struggling to keep my head up when it feels like I'm being slapped in the face every few minutes or so. Heaven help me, I've started to freeze up every time I hear the shuffling of slippers.

I never really got help. And I don't think it's quite fair for my parents to blame me for things that they directly caused. I'm not blaming everything on poor parenting; that's ridiculous. I've done my fair share of stupid shit all on my own volition. But I never even had a chance. Jesus, I mean no one even taught me my times tables or told me not to talk to strangers. I was a little gremlin child living out of a near-literal gutter with no support or guidance or positive reinforcement in any way. All I had was what I decided to be. It kind of worked, I guess; my younger siblings are fairly normal, character-wise, and have good social circles and gainful employment, so at least I didn't fuck them up, too. And my character is on the road to being what I want, and I've always been mostly authentic to myself, so that's a good thing. What if I'd had literally anything to help me, though? Imagine what I could have been if I'd been assessed for ADHD or anything besides being dumb/bad at studying? It's not that I was totally without help. I always asked my teachers for help and came in during office hours or lunch, and they knew I was doing my best, so they were patient with me, even though I'm sure I was annoyingly inept and dense. And everyone knew it was just math. I was so good at everything else. I'm pretty sure at least some people knew what was happening at home, too, but no one really did anything beyond being supportive and giving me embarrassing private pep-talks. I remember my gym teacher (whom I disliked because he made me run the mile) took me aside one day and asked about the scars on my arm that I hadn't been able to hide under the black tourniquet I wore every day (very obvious in retrospect, but I thought I was so sneaky and counter-cultural because I told people it was a symbol of rebellion against the man or something along those lines) because it's hard to wear that sort of thing in PE clothes or in the pool, which is where I think it happened. 

My family has always been very "do the bare minimum and call it fine," and that works for some things, but it didn't work for my mental health, because the bare minimum is just keeping me alive, and in fairness, that did happen, but there's so much more to life than just not dying, and I wish someone had realized that and helped me, because I was so lost that I didn't know which way was up, and I could help myself as easily as I could climb Mt. Everest. Eventually, I did gather what I needed, but it was so much harder than it had to be, and it took so much longer. Actually, all of this could have been avoided with some preventative care, but that ship has sailed. 

 Happy New Year! 2021!

It's not going well.

I really wish I didn't remember hurting like this. Always so familiar, and you can't even laugh because you can barely move. There's a disconnect; you want to do something, anything sometimes, but your body won't obey you. You'll sit in one place for hours if you can get away with it, but of course you can't, because you have no privacy. Everything about you is public property. 

I need to get out of here.

 How can a song, just a simple collection of notes, make me feel things like this? I feel like I can transcend time and interact with my younger self, this time with the added background knowledge of what's going on. I'm a character in my own media. Granted, I'm very high, but I think I would feel this way anyway. That post about how what we're into at thirteen has such a marked effect on us for life was really right. I feel like music helped me discover that I had a soul. It would not be an exaggeration to say that for a few years, until my dad restricted my access, music was one of the few things keeping me alive. I didn't know how to express how I felt, and even if I had, I wouldn't have wanted to, since I didn't open up even to my friends or significant others, but bands like MCR could draw it out of me by sort of putting it into words, and holy shit, man. I smoked last night and listened to Helena, and I damn near cried. I did cry when Cancer came on awhile later. I remember listening to The Black Parade for the first time and feeling like there might be something to this whole "life" thing after all, and I wish I could just package up that experience and gift it to people, because wow it's nuts. Anyway, all of this is to say that I have listened to the Summertime that was in the Danger Days, and it was delicious 🌚 so fresh and moist 🌚 Holy shit dude!!!! I really felt it. Summer, 2013. Eighteen, wide-eyed, ready to take on the world. All the parties, the flirtations, the crushes, the nights out, Market Nights in downtown with Talia; adventures with the girls; nights spent in front of a computer when you're finally able to have some solitude, listening to music to keep the scary thoughts away, because although you scoff and try to hide it, you're scared of the dark. You stay up late every night, partially because you can't sleep, and when you try, you usually stay up reciting prayers anyway (isn't it nice to have OCD and religious trauma), but you make the most of it, writing, drawing, reading, studying-- and planning. You're going to do so much, help so many people! You'll be a lawyer, immigration, you're 95% sure, and from then on, it's a path to Supreme Court justice, whence you will right every wrong, oversee legislature to prevent there being any more wrongs, and generally create the kind of global utopia that keeps Republicans lying up at night biting their nails. And the air smells like oranges, and you still have half an iced coffee left, so is it really that bad that you have to fly across the country in two months? And is it bad at all, anyway? The world is open to every possibility, and so are you. Still, that welcome cool night breeze gets chilly sometimes, and you wonder what autumn will bring. You know in your heart that after this, you'll never see some of your friends again. Memories will fade, unrecorded, stories will be forgotten, people will drift apart. No one's life could end in tragedy-- surely not, not us, not our generation-- but there are so many places to go. This last golden summer, this little sliver of in-between life, trap it in amber, keep it forever between the plastic pony beads of childhood and whatever life will bring you next. All you have is now. You want each minute to last twice as long, and yet, even at the same time, you're reeling with impatience for the future. Sometimes, your heart feels like it could bleed with the passion you feel for everything you do or even could do, everything the world is, everything people are. How can you contain it? You take walks at night, never too far (you know your limits direction-wise, and don't want to get lost with no way of contacting home), listening to music and singing when no one's around, because you're afraid you'll burst if the energy inside you can't be entertained. You want a million things, want to save the world in a million different ways, and nothing will stop you. Not you. And you're so pretty, so sweet and charming, a perfect ingenue beloved by everyone around her, and you have people tripping over themselves to help you if you so much as bat your eyelashes, and you have talent, and promise, and you know this is all too good to last, golden child, but when the time comes, you'll fling yourself into oblivion with tears and a prayer, and you'll never look back. You're brave and resilient, always have been, and thank goodness for that, because as much as you've been through already, poor darling, it's nothing compared to what's coming. So enjoy this mayfly summer, dream until you ache, and don't think about tomorrow. You'll have forever after for that.

 I got my MA after all! And Emily is going to come and join me in the US! It feels like things might slowly be on the path to better, and of course I don't want to get my hopes up, but it seems like this might be it! Maybe I can finally stop moving every time my lease is up. And Emily and I can be together, and not have to worry about being yanked apart all the time. We can get jobs and get married, and have a nice life until the economy totally tanks and the planet explodes :')

Not three hours ago, I had an interview for a position in San Diego. I don't know how I did, but I have the feeling that I won't get it. They said they were interviewing other people, and I would hear back if they wanted me, so now I just have to live in limbo forever :( I guess I'll continue to apply to things, though, because I don't know if I can stand this warehouse job anymore. I'm currently at home on Covid watch, because my dad was infected, and I was exposed to him, and I thought I had some symptoms. The test result came back negative, but I know 25% of tests are false negatives, so I don't totally trust it. I would feel so horrible if I became Covid Mary, you know? Best to be careful.

The job market is pretty tough, though. It's a big event when someone gets so much as an interview. I've sent in seventy applications in the last week, just on Indeed alone. I've heard back from two. And I know it's not me, because I'm pretty qualified in general, and especially for the jobs I'm applying for. There are just too many applicants and too few spots. My friends are struggling too, and I feel bad for them, but at the same time, at least we're not struggling alone, right? Our entire generation is fucked. Maybe we can be the ones to tear it all to the ground and build it up from scratch. 

I don't want to cook. I think it's because I'm "in my groove" as it were (read: hyperfocusing), and I don't want to get up. That's valid, but I do need to cook, so I'm going to get up now. Computer time is done for today! We can do more tomorrow! Sometimes, you just have to treat yourself like a four-year-old, honestly. Anyway, that'll be that. Time to make some curry!

I want to speak with my own voice.

 Imagine being a Pisces 😷 The guy I hated in high school is one. Of course, there are good Pisces as well, but being a Pisces is really a state of mind rather than some kind of immutable predestination. Especially for the men. Have you ever met a Pisces homie who's a man? They're so terribly rare :(

Lowkey, I'm sort of angsty, and it sounds so silly, but the truth is, I feel like people don't believe in me. My mom doesn't want me to move in with Emily. She wants us both to live with her. In her tiny apartment. What the hell, man. Like, does she think I enjoy not having a bed? But I was talking about my plans, which of course is my first mistake right there, and she was being so dismissive and negative. All she had to say was "oh, you don't need a bar" when I mentioned that one place has one. I was sort of offended LOL. It's clear that to her, I will never be more than a drinking problem in a tight skirt. Which, whatever. Fine. But isn't that even more reason for me to want to get out of here? I can't stay here forever. I don't know why she seems to think I do. I guess it all comes down to me being incapable of normal life. Ah, that old saw! I don't see why, though, because I've lived in more places than all of my siblings. But it's okay. I'm going to find a place, and get the hell out of here!

Now I'm high. Anselm is a bro, and shares his weed with me frequently. I don't like to drink around family (except Talia), but marijuana is getting me through this trying time. Sometimes, you just gotta relax. Also, I've been sleeping super well ever since I got back into legal terra MJ. It's really nice! I can just knock out and wake up feeling mostly refreshed. Although, I have been more tired lately because of work :( it's really a bummer working there, let me tell you. I'm not a fan. But I'm making some good money, so I guess it's worth it. 

I think I like Cheezits way too much :( I can never stop at just one, even if I tell myself that I absolutely will. I always eat a whole lot, and then I'm full, and then I can't eat food that's better for me. Very bad! It's really hard to eat in a healthy way here, though. It's hard to do anything in a healthy way, in fact, and when I do, it's not looked well upon. Mom seems to take offense when I want to change anything, or do things in my own way. Also, she seems to think I'm a child. Of course, I'm not doing a good job disproving that when I'm late to work in the morning, but holy goodness, Mother, please let me grow at my own pace. It's like, if I don't satisfy her standards, I'm a failure, no in-between, and no ifs, ands, or buts, either. And I do get it, but it also pisses me off, even though I try hard to find the humor in it. But encouraging me to work ten-hour shifts on the warehouse floor with only a couple of 100-calorie granola bars to fuel me is bad, right? That's not healthy? I truly don't know, though. And I guess I do still have some weight to lose. Still, I'm somehow reminded of those ghosts who are dead, so they want everyone else to be dead as well. Mom is miserable and unhealthy, and she wants us to be the same way, subconsciously. Very subconsciously. If she knew that her behavior comes off this way, she would be horrified. Nonetheless, that's how it feels to me, and it doesn't feel nice. No matter of her true intentions, she comes across as having very little respect for me. I need to talk about it in therapy-- along with a host of other stuff-- but the agency won't call me back. So annoying. Maybe I should call them again.

I’m back in California.

I’m trying to keep up a brave front, but honestly, I’m barely holding it together. Really, I think I’m in purgatory.

Because of my own stupidity, I finished my degree early (so it’s not a full MA), and because of that, my visa was rescinded, and I’ve had to go back to America. I don’t quite know how to deal with how much I hate myself, so I’m just kind of vibing, hoping the endless agony will fade if I ignore it enough. This is really how I felt all the time, isn’t it. Pain every moment. No wonder I wanted to die.

And now, I kind of do again. I don’t see a life worth living in my future. How am I supposed to deal with any of this? I honestly truly feel horrible and bad. If my lot in life is to suffer, if I was put here to fulfill some sadist’s purpose, and happiness is unobtainable for the likes of me, then goddamn, am I doing an amazing job. Everything is gray, and I just want to go to sleep.

I haven't felt like this in awhile. Everything is so dark and hopeless, and there's nothing to give me energy. I feel like I'm stuck in neutral, unable to move, unable to do anything but passively accept what the world throws at me. Well, at least I can drink some goddamn lemon water, right? I'm allowed to do that, right? I feel guilty, but shit, man. Give me something, at least.

Everything I do here feels forbidden. It's good to be thrifty, of course, but in this household, it's frowned upon to do anything "extra," even if it improves our collective lives. And Mom seemingly is physically incapable of agreeing with me about anything. No matter what I say, it's going to be met with criticism or arguments or wet-blanket statements that suck the fun out of everything and keep me at home, miserable, within reach. And I get it, I mean, yes. I'm a shiftless, lazy, loser. Everything I do sucks. But like, holy shit. Can we move past that already? I'm so sick of being in the doldrums all the time. I don't want to be. And I have to be strong, not just for me, but for everyone around me, and I have to make sure everyone knows that I've Recovered, and nothing is Worrisome anymore. I can't have bad days, and I can't ever be anything but cheerful and supportive. I can't crumble. Even now, even when my entire life is falling apart, even when I don't know how I'm supposed to go on, I can't show even a sliver of weakness. It's enough to make me lose my mind. How do I go on?

Tomorrow, I have an interview for a position at a warehouse. It's going to suck balls, but I have to do it, because I need a job as soon as possible. It's my own damn fault that I'm incompetent and can't get anything else. I have no future, not really. My life's about to get real gray.

Not that it wasn't already. It was better for awhile, but that's gone. 

I'm useless, I really am legitimately not good for anything. I have no worth, no value. Who would want me? I do nothing, I am nothing. 

  I'm making chicken and dumplings for dinner. It's ridiculous to be as excited as I am, but honestly, if you could smell the simmer, full of garlic and sage and bay leaves, you would be excited, too. I love cooking so much. Almost as much as I love eating. Or maybe more. I'm a home cook, I know this. I am not gourmet in any way. But the things I cook can make people happy, and that's all I need. I mean, when I moved out of the previous house, two of our friends specifically requested recipes of mine, because they loved the things I made! Food is one of my love languages. I'm like a typical Asian mom! My first question is, "Have you eaten," and then, "What do you want to eat?" I feel so at-home in a kitchen. I can do simple wine or cocktail pairings; I can make a multi-course meal without breaking a sweat; I can even make a gumbo with a naturally-browned roux! I'm not good at baking or desserts, probably because that's not the type of food I like to eat as much, but I can do it if I have to. I don't have to, though, because Talia and Emily are both amazing in the patisserie, and can make bread so delicious that even I eat several slices of it. I like carbs, but mostly rice, potatoes, and sometimes pasta/noodles. Baked goods are hard for me to eat (we never do completely move past the anorexia fear foods, do we?) I've never liked bagels or muffins or things like that, and since I'm not fond of sweets, most desserts are hard to eat as well. Take me to a sushi restaurant, or to dim sum brunch, and I'll eat your whole bank account. But in a bakery, I'm the asshole who's lame and only buys a coffee. I think another problem is that I'm physically not very large, so it's hard to fit much food into me. When I go out to eat, I usually can't finish my portion, even if I'm drinking (alcohol and weed make me eat more than usual). I pretty much never finish a bag of chips, either (unless it's Takis). Sad as it is, I love food, but I can't eat very much of it at one time.

Let me just say how much I love my friends! Kate is the sweetest and most hilarious, and is the same personality type as me (vive les ENFPs !) and we get along really well. When we were in the same country, we had so many fun times, and we even drove to LA and didn't even listen to music because we were too busy talking for the entire four hours it took to get to our friend's apartment (traffic was bad). We both drive manual transmission and prefer it, so we bonded over that as well, and she never made fun of my driving habits (I tend to speed, and get lost if Siri hesitates for even a second). I think we have such a wholesome, healthy, wonderful friendship. She's gotten me through some bad times, and I love her so so much. Talia and I call each other "brother" (it sounds silly, but it's helpful, because as I'm nonbinary, I don't quite like being "sister"), and Kate is one of the few people who is also a "brother" for us (we also have Emily, Cece, and Kitty). Of course, we've known each other for years and years (probably since 2014), but we really bonded when I was in the sober-living facility. Even in the hardest of times, she was there, opening up her kitchen to me! And then we drank and smoked and danced and ate and sang and played video games, and we became so close, and she was the second person (after Talia) whom I asked to be in my bridal party when Emily proposed! I literally love her so much!

It's sort of this love for my friends that makes me ambivalent about staying in the UK. My visa has been withdrawn, and I need to either change it or leave, and even though I've applied to change it for another visa, I might have to go back to America. And of course I don't want to go! Emily is here, and I have friends here, and there's healthcare and cheap groceries and alcohol, and I really do like it here. But I miss Talia and my friends and my family, and weed and Takis and chili lime picante shrimp cup noodles, and I honestly wouldn't mind going back for a little while. And I don't want to say anything about it, because I don't want Emily to feel guilty, like she's keeping me here. It's not that! I made the choice to move here, and I've never regretted it even for an instant. I just miss America. I'm trying not to feel too guilty about that, because I don't think it's unusual for someone to miss their home country, but I feel disloyal in a way, like I'm betraying everyone here by wanting to go back. It's not that I want to stay there! I just want to visit a little bit, and maybe get high a few times, and eat some Cheez-Its (which, can you believe those don't exist here?) and see my loved ones. And I want Korean barbecue and dim sum and proper sushi and call me crazy, but even the 405, and I want to see people and play with their pets! I just want Emily to be there with me at the same time. The other thing is that while I'm here, I can't work or volunteer, and I feel so useless. I told my job about my visa situation, and they of course can't have me working there without proof of my legal right to be here, so I'm on hold with that, and I guess I need a charity visa if I want to do volunteer work, which is weird to me, but basically, I'm not doing anything useful. If I went back to America, I could work a little bit until my visa was processed and build up some income for when I come back. I think it's the best option, only I don't know how long it would take, and how easy it would be to get my visa. It might take a few months. I haven't heard back from the Home Office yet, and I understand that processing is probably pretty slow right now, but it's stressing me out, and it's so hard to make plans when everything is up in the air like this. I just looked up airline ticket prices for later this month, and they're not bad, although I would have to have a ten-hour layover in Boston, and that's not so ideal. Flying is just really not fun at all, and I'm not looking forward to the prospect, but if I have to, then I have to, and there's no point in being miserable about it. I have to be strong, because Emily is pretty broken-up about this. Lord knows I don't want to be deported either, but I have to keep a stiff upper lip. I must say, that's very British of me.

One good thing is that I'm doing so much better than I was before, even compared to a year ago. I'm not doing great, not gonna lie, and I still probably really need therapy. Also, when I don't take my medication, I'm pretty much non-functional. But at least I don't think about death constantly anymore, and I can stay awake for more than eight hours a day. It's small, slow steps towards progress, frustrating and embarrassing, but I'm doing my best, and I think that's all I could ask of myself. I have to be patient and kind. I mean, I've come out of a really bad place, and I think I deserve some grace. 

That's not to say I'm not scared of the future anymore. I am. I'm terrified. But I think there's not so much point in sitting around, paralyzed, not doing anything to make the life I want for myself. That's what I did before. I ruined my life, and maybe there's no way of getting it back, but at least I can try to make a better future. 

I'm eating leftover chicken and dumplings for lunch, and it's delicious! I really did good with this recipe. If I'd had the right ingredients, I think it would be even better, but even so, it's super tasty. I slow-cooked some chicken thighs in broth with some seasonings (garlic, onions, sage, bay leaves, rosemary, chili flakes, salt, and black pepper), and added potatoes and celery (the only veggies I had on hand LOL) once they were cooked through. By the time the potatoes were done, the chicken was soft, so I shredded it, and added it back to the broth. I had a can of cream of chicken soup kicking around in the cabinet, so I added that, cutting it with milk, sprinkled a bit of nutmeg (I'm a firm believer in nutmeg and/or cinnamon for creamy dishes) and made some quick drop biscuits to pop on top of the mixture. I steam/simmered those for about twenty minutes, dished it up, and topped it with parsley. The starch in the potatoes and biscuits (plus the thickener in the canned soup) made it just thick enough that I didn't have to add a slurry or anything. It turned out well, if I do say so myself, although I should have added more baking powder to the biscuits, because they were a little heavy. All in all, it was a comforting and easy meal for a rainy Saturday night!

Today, I need to do some housework. I need to tidy the kitchen and do laundry, and the bathroom could stand some cleaning as well. It seems like adulthood is just so full of cleaning! Part of me enjoys it, and part of me hates it with a passion. Still, I think I hate it a little less than Emily does, so I'm happy to do my part. I do the cooking; she does the baking, I talk to people; she deals with gross stuff. It's a good system, and it works well. Introverts are funny, though. I sort of understand, because my anxiety used to manifest as fear in dealing with strangers, and I still worry about the people I love deciding that they don't like me anymore, but I think it's different for genuine I-types. They just actually, legitimately don't want to be around people. I mean, they don't even like parties! Granted, some parties suck, but there's nothing like a good one, vibing with the crowd, meeting new people, connecting more deeply with people you already know, laughing over jokes that turn into serious, soul-baring discussions and back to jokes again, checking your phone the next day to find four new Instagram followers and seven tagged photos, one of which is inevitably super ugly, but you save it anyway... ah, yes. There's truly nothing like it! Social interaction just feels nice. Now that I live in town and lockdown is lifted, it's easier to go outside when I'm feeling upset and just walk around because being around people, even strangers whom I don't talk to, automatically lifts my mood and makes me feel more stable. I feel like a bit of a weirdo sometimes, because most of my friends are introverts, and we recharge differently. Like, for Talia's last birthday, I arranged with everyone that she and I would have a "sister day," and we hung out in her apartment, just the two of us, and a buttload of takeout, wine, and drugs. She didn't have to talk to anyone, even while planning it, and she said it was a nice birthday, and of course I had fun too, but my idea of the perfect birthday would involve much more dancing and taking shots with strangers, so it was interesting to see the disparity. We're very similar, but in a lot of ways, we're complete opposites, too. I guess that's part of why we get along so well. I love her so much, and I'm so glad that I was lucky enough to be born as her sibling! 

I can't talk about this with anyone.

I got word this morning that I'm "graduating" (as it were) with something called a lower exit degree. I'm not going to get my MA, and I don't know if I can appeal. I wasted so much money, and time, and resources, and it's all my fault. Sure, it's easy to blame the pandemic, or the strikes, or my mental health, or anything else besides my stupid fucking self, but at the end of the day, I can't escape the reality that I'm nothing but a lazy dumbass who couldn't get her shit together for one fucking year to complete what's probably the easiest degree in the world. It's my fault, and anyone I talk to will know it's my fault. I deserve whatever scorn I get, I know that, and I will face it, but I'm so disappointed and angry and I'm really trying hard not to cry, because I need to hide it for now. Emily isn't feeling good, and I have to be normal, just for now. Plus, I don't want to hear the I-told-you-so, not yet. I know it's my fault. I do! And I have no right to be disappointed or upset, and I'm trying really hard to hold it in, but it's so hard. I feel like such a failure. I really do just fuck up everything I try. I'm quite literally not good at anything. Even the things I'm decent at, I'm still not good at, and nothing is enough, and I'm not enough.

I'm not trying hard enough, I guess.

How hard would it have been to just get out of bed? Just get out of bed and go to class, and turn in literally one assignment. Then I would have my degree. I can't believe how fucking useless I am. Is there anything I'm good at, or successful at, just one single solitary thing? No matter how hard I scour my brain, I can't come up with anything. It's too late for grace, too late for understanding or empathy. I don't deserve that anymore. I've been given too many chances already, and I wasted them all. I wasted my whole life. There's nothing for me now. No PhD program will accept me, and even if they did, I would probably just crash and burn there, too. You know I've wanted a doctorate ever since I was a kid? How do I let go of that? Jesus Christ. I've never met anyone so literally devoid of value. I'm a leech, a drain on society and everyone who knows me. It's not the homeless population, not the chronically ill, not the addicts or even the Republicans. It's me, little Miss Privilege, aiming too high and costing everyone money. I wasn't even good at working in the warehouse. I can't even do something like that. Tell me, what the hell am I good for?

I deserve to die.

I'm not being cute or coy with that. What was it, Kitty told me? Stop trying to kill yourself every time something doesn't go your way? They're right. Actually, they're right about a lot of things. I'm a horrible person, and I deserve every single thing they've ever said about me. They're right; very few other people would want to put up with me. I'm lucky that they stick around. Shouldn't I just put myself, and everyone who knows me, out of our misery, then? The world would be better off. I can just imagine my mom's reaction, though. Couldn't she have done it earlier, before she wasted so much money? And I should have. I should have succeeded back then. There were so many chances. So many attempts. And I failed at all of them, just like I've failed at all my attempts to live. I'm not destined for success in any state of being. Which is kind of funny in a twisted way, just another reason my existence is a joke.

I'm tired. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of keeping my head up and taking another shot, knowing damn well it's not going to land. I'm tired of it all being my fault.