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.