Not Fair

I’m not sure whether it’s considered a sign of truly falling for someone and wanting it to be different than it is or pitiful when a person hangs on to relationship that only hurts. Particularly when it hurts only one person in the relationship while the other in unaware.
I have come to the realization that I am hanging on to one of those relationships because I feel guilty about ending the relationship. The thing is it isn’t a “relationship.” Yet I pulled “The Little Mermaid.” I realized I was falling for someone whom I could not have. I guess it wasn’t so much that I couldn’t have this person it was more that it wouldn’t have worked. It is that is won’t work, I should say and thus I have realized as well that I have to give up this relationship if I ever want to stop hurting. I am not sure if it is because I haven’t quite gotten over past hurts but it feels as if this hurts the most compared to the others. It’s the first situation where I actually thought, “This is not fair.”

The Ink Skeleton.


I’m getting closer to finishing the skeleton. No I don’t have any new pictures. I’m really stressed. I’m frustrated. I’m confused which only makes the frustration worse.

I have a lot of things I feel I need to do because I can just hear people saying, “She never finishes anything,” and I want it to stop.

I’ve kind of stopped telling people things; ghost shit, guitar progress, and weight worries. I am having thoughts about deleting my Twitter and Facebook because I want to stop sharing things like, “I am so sad,” so people, for once, don’t know that much about me except for what they ask, when they actually talk to me. I don’t want to seem so… broken and avoidable. I don’t have to delete my Twitter or Facebook to do those things but it would make things easier. I wouldn’t have the opportunity to spew and people would have the opportunity to feel pity for me or be snide.

I want respect and for people, when they think of me, to say

“She’s strong. She doesn’t whine,” not, “Oh, be careful about talking to her. She’ll spew her little sob-story and all she does is talk about herself.”
Every time I think about the fact that I have told someone “my story,” I cringe. Literally. I regret doing it every time because I realize right after that I don’t want people knowing that much about me or what’s happened to me. Mainly because when I realize that they know that about me I feel naked and I can’t cover myself up anymore. It’s awful. Then there are the little thoughts of wondering whether they will hurt me or they will think less of me. Yet. When I act the way I do, my weird little neurosis, people want to know why and I can’t tell them why without telling them everything. Then when I do tell them they shy away as if I am infected with something awful.

I want to talk to someone who isn’t afraid of someone who isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

Why the First Date is Important to Me:

It’s not so much the actual going on the date part, the dressing up, and the guy, really. It’s actually getting asked that’s important. The same old, same old: being wanted by someone enough to be perused. It’s validation that I am worth noticing from someone outside my family; I realize that this is pathetic, stupid and not in anyway healthy but at the same time, it is something that has been ground into my head. I try to be a forward moving thinker and all but it is a hell of a lot harder than those who preach it say it is. I realize this as well: I don’t need a man to make me whole, successful or to function but it would be nice to feel wanted.

It would definitely be nice.

Blog Post: Everything I Claim as My Own.

I have noticed something, a gaping problem: A lot of people blame others for their problems in order to cope with their problems. I have been one of those people, but not anymore. I have realized that if I blame someone else for my problems, not only am I being immature, I am also handing over the ability to move on past the problem to them. Thus I am unable to get over my problems; unable to deal with them. I have decided that I should be greedy with myself: My problem, my responsibility and my fault. Mine.  Everything I claim as my own—my depression, my eating disorders, my mental illness, my neurosis—is thus my fault and my own problem. I am to blame for everything that is my own.  No one else caused this. No one; mine, mine, mine, and mine.

None of my problems are my parents fault. They are not Gods fault. They are not my siblings fault. They are not anyone’s fault but my own because if they are mine I have control. I have the power. Also, I am not claiming my problems just so I can get over them while still thinking that they are still that persons fault. No. I am not glorifying myself. I literally am taking my problems, becoming an actual adult and realizing that all my problems are mine thus they are in my ability to fix because unless I accept my faults, I won’t heal. I won’t be an adult. I won’t be smart. I won’t be who I want to be. I will be the person who is too afraid to face as well as accept responsibility their problems and instead blames others, unable to move on with life. I am not going to allow myself to be that person.
I am going to greedy. My problems. My responsibility. My fault. I am in control.

Blog Post: A Little Rocky.

Do you ever look at a sunset and wish your mood, being, and everything could match its brightness; how intensely happy it appears? Do you ever read a book and wish you were that character instead of yourself?

Have you ever wished yourself to sleep?

Things have been a little rocky lately and I am not exactly sure why I’m feeling so down. I am trying to think about happy, motivating, and strong thoughts.  It’s not easy. I am not thinking depressing things but I am just unable to be happy at the moment. I thought it was PMS but unfortunately it’s not. Irritating? Yes. It would be nice if it just went away but it is not leaving.
Sash did something very sweet for me. She took me to a pet store to play with puppies. It was really nice because it reminded me of when we used to have puppy litters a lot. You forget just how cute and great a puppy is. I chose to play with a little female pug. She was so sweet and cute beyond meaning. It did make me feel better which was a relief from the shit that has been going on for weeks.
Through all of this, I have come to the decision that I am staying away from romantic relationships until I graduate college. I may fall for someone but I will be damned before I act upon it. I am shutting out the advise of people who say I should get “experience” and date around for a while. No. I don’t work that way and I will not hurt myself let alone someone else by trying to gain experience. I need to get things settled before I get involved with someone else.

Blog Post: Fancy Pictures of the Skull

Mom ordered more paint for my skeleton since Sash and I couldn’t get it at the Hobby store. They don’t take Amex. Gr. Anywho, I have photo’s I took today. Some are of other skeletal pieces from a different animal–a spine–and the rest are of the deer skull. Warning: There is a lot of them. So unless you really like photography or the skull, you might want to skip. Cool thing, though, Mom loves these photo’s.

Mom's favorite.


Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed the sixteen photo’s of the same object. I might have to use the second to last spine photo as my new header.

Blog Post: Olivia Wilde is the Bane of my Dreams.

I am at an all-time high for stress this week. Even my chest is hurting. I am scared that the panic attacks will come back. I am doing my best to not let that happen.
Math today was interesting. Today was interesting in general. I awoke remembering the weird dreams involving a friend. I also remembered that I un-followed sixty people on Twitter and redid my blog by changing the layout as well as deleting entries. I seriously doubt any of the sixty will notice and no one will notice the blog change. I changed the blog because it started to turn into a public diary and I didn’t like that. I want this to be about controlling stress. Anyway, I decided to talk to mom and Sash about the depressed feeling I had been having. They said it was probably normal stuff. You’re a woman, it happens. They gave me a pep talk which resulted in me doing my math without mom hovering and me losing all my confidence again; back to square one. I know I shouldn’t get bent about screwing up on a few math problems. Not the end of the world. I just do, though, and I always wonder when did this panic\frustration overload start? How come when I have an excess of emotion, any emotion, my brain shuts off? It’s like it goes, “Too much emotion, goodbye.”  Why? I am taking supplements, vitamins, essential oils–you name it and I am probably taking it. So, it’s no deficiency issue. Maybe there is just too much on my mind right to do anything without help. This damn dream I keep thinking about has me more worried about my weight which really stressed me out during math. The dream I am talking about was this,

My Mom, Sister, Brother and I are at this Italian family’s wedding. While Mom, Brother and sister are inside I am outside having a good time with this one guy, family member of the Italian family, who is making pasta. All of the people at this wedding are very attractive, by the way. I felt I looked really pretty, too; I wasn’t feeling self-conscious for once. I was wearing this emerald green dress (It was actually the color of a nail polish Sasha used on me.) and my hair was all spiky. You get the idea.
So I am talking to this guy and he’s firing all of these pasta questions at me, I’m answering every one of them while also firing back with pastry questions. Then this woman walks over to him and asks when he will be inside (In Italian. Note: In my dream I am fluent enough in Spanish that I understand Italian.). I don’t see her face but I see she is wearing this gorgeous red, silky, open-back dress and she has long hair. She’s also thin.
He replies in Italian thinking I won’t understand him, “I’ll be in a bit, Babe. Just let me deal with this white Ukrainian whale.” I hear her laugh and I look up. It’s Olivia Wilde. And the “Italian Guy” was actually a friend of mine. That hurt a lot. It hurt because it was an insult but it also hurt because, in the dream, I thought that the guy was my friend. Not one of those guys who drops you the second a pretty woman is present. It also hurt because I thought he liked me, not “liked me” but as a friend and I felt like an idiot for thinking I was wanted when really I was being dealt with.
As it turns out, everyone at the wedding has been laughing at me. I ended up finding my family’s car and driving around on the Italian family’s property. I stop the car in the woods and I find this bulkhead in a grove of tree’s. It leads to a miners-like cave. Even though I can’t really see where I am going because I am crying, I just start walking. It’s a huge, sparkling cave with all sorts of jewels embedded into the walls but I don’t care. I keep walking (At this point I have lost my shoes.) and my dress is getting more and more torn. I eventually find my way home through this cave: I am sitting on the porch when Dad calls (I have a cellphone, too.) asking where I am because Mom, Brother and Sister are worried. I tell him I am already home and why I left. He relays the message to Mom and them and instead of being angry, they understand.

I woke up after that wanting to cry and hurl things against the walls in rage. Stupidly this dream has been on my mind ever since it happened which was about, oh, a week ago. My dreams have only gotten worse but luckily none of them feature Olivia Wilde. It still doesn’t improve my confidence, though; the memory. My nightmares used to actually be scary. Morbid, really, and now they are filled with Photoshopped women making me cry. To combat this I have started reading more Steampunk novels which are filled with tough, non-photoshopped, smart and snarky-as-hell women. As well as being filled with strong men who notice the women based on their brains, not their looks.
Books. What would I do without them?

Something I have realized is that the man who will be willing to love me and marry me will have to be combination of three things: toughest motherfucker alive, patient beyond meaning and loves a woman with a hurricane-like temper.