I really hope I haven't worried anyone; I know when someone disappears on the internet I have a tendency to think the worst. I'm still dealing with my depression, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. I've been through the ups and downs of my strange chemistry. But I guess there's still a glimmer of hope for the future.
I have missed this site, and will be coming back! I'm still in need of your great support:).
People may think living is simple, but it is so complicated (at least for me). Life is a habit, and I've forgotten the steps. I'm still not back in school, because whenever I think of school, do homework, or go on campus I hurt myself. It sickened me when I did it (nail clippers), I felt like I had dirtied myself with a weakness I couldn't get rid of. The school councilor made me sign a contract that if I thought about hurting myself I would tell someone first, and to never do it again. So far it's worked, even though I really want to do it at times. But when I make a promise, it's really hard for me to break it.
When your parent works for a church, religion isn't a hobby or something you do on occasion-it is everywhere. Hell, it is work. And this is what my Christmas Eve usually consists of; waiting around the church campus while my mother works, running the Christmas pagent, working the after pagent party (the only good part is the cookies). I'm used to it by now, so it doesn't depress me as it used to. I just sat around the patio, listening to Momus' Stars Forever (buy this album, I command you!), dancing around and laughing at the ironic funny lyrics as children ran around in angel wings and shepard robes, beating eachother with their crooks.
THE DAY THE GREEK BOY LEFT AND IN CAME ANOTHER
“If you would just let me handle the lighting, everything would be fine!
I feel let down by God. Yes, I do believe in God; I've been angry at God so many times that to not believe in God would mean I wouldn't be angry at anything. For the past year I've been happy with God, with life, as much of one as I have. But not now; God has given me a cross so big and so thick that I can't carry it. And yet I've carried it since I was born, because humans are adaptable. Why are we adaptable? Why don't we just collapse under the weight of our suffering and moan? Well, I've already done that, now I'm trying to hoist the bloody thing back up and continue down the road to my ultimate crucifixion. It's a sad thing to be going through lent on Christmas.
Brain Lateralization Test Results
Right Brain |||||||||| 38%
Left Brain |||||||||||| 44%
Left brain dominant individuals are more orderly, literal, articulate, and to the point. They are good at understanding directions and anything that is explicit and logical. They can have trouble comprehending emotions and abstract concepts, they can feel lost when things are not clear, doubting anything that is not stated and proven.
FROM THE JOURNALS OF ADRIAN MCCARTHY
It all started when I was twelve—no, younger than that even. My uncle whipped me with a belt when he first saw me in my mother’s silk evening clothes, made-up with my young inexperienced hands of ten, the skirts pooling around my feet like pink champagne. It was then they sent me to live in the attic of my father’s household, that old Victorian manor surrounded by the tenements of a big New England metropolis. But that enlightened sunshine never fell upon those dusty Persian rugs, the tarnished dinnerware, the threadbare tablecloths. Only when I came did I put pride into the domesticities of the house, my father being away at the bank. I would pretend to be the lady of the house when he was gone. The servants never said anything.
I haven't been sleeping well-my poor body is racked by the emotional winds of the people around me due to my depression. I'm normally VERY sensitive, but this is just extreme. The smallest things can make me cry. And so I've been having very strange dreams, and last night's was a killer.
I dreamed I was a boy in nineteenth century Germany who secretly cross-dresses in the attic where his awful stepmother has put him to live in, thinking him incapable. Now, he falls in love with a painter who lives on the other side of the city, so he dresses up as a woman to "woo" him and models for him. Then somehow the stepmother finds out this secret, and all Hell breaks loose on my poor boy.
I'm not sure what brought on this change; it could be my manic teenage hormones, or it could be one of the drugs I'm taking. Whatever the cause, I feel like a nymphomaniac.
The other day, my mother and I went to the Macy's laungerie section in search of braws and underwear. I walked casually through the arrays of lace panties and push ups, but then starting getting ancy, aroused...I WAS SURROUNDED BY PICTURES OF HALF NAKED WOMEN! My head was revolving, the attractions were everywhere; hot gorgeous models in nothing but Calvin Klein underwear, covering their luscious breasts with their hands!
Welcome to my character photo album!
I will constantly be working on this using the Yahoo avatar creator (because I cannot draw for my life), so they will look roughly as they do in my mind, but not quite. This will mainly be updated when I'm bored and have nothing to do, and when it is, I'll link it into my current journal entry.
Any questions? Good. Now enjoy my pictures, damn it!
I wish I were a little kid again-everything was so simple. Yesterday, after my mom and I had set up a cloth labrynth in the church meeting hall, we discovered (to her dismay), that the airconditioner lifted it up off the floor like a big bulging alveoli. Needless to say, I thought this was awesome, so I crawled under the edge and made my way beneath the cannopy crisscrossed with purple paths. It was so much fun, just taking pleasure in this simple act...I would have loved this when I was little, I'm sure of it. And I still love it now.
My mom and I are rather similar though. As she said, "Simple things amuse me."
From Orpheus Alan Lee’s Journal
First of all, what I want is clarity. A way of life that makes sense to me, that brings me satisfaction. I don’t want to half-ass my way through life and content myself with mediocrity. In all honesty, I would rather pierce myself with thick bamboo shoots each morning or stick a tack in my eye.
Okay, maybe not, but this is a time for hyperbole, okay?