First, can I say I missed you guys? I'm going to be needing a huge hug right about now.
Monday night-my anxiety wasn't improving, the suicidal thoughts were still there, and we couldn't get a pyschiatrist's appointment till next Tuesday. My mother didn't know what to do, she was so worried about me. So, we got into the car and drove over to the local mental hospital. We were trying to see if I could be evaluated and get some new medication. What they said to us was much different...the woman who evaluated me said I needed hospitilization. My mom and I were shocked-I couldn't believe it, was I that bad? But I went with what she said.
And how old am I?
I feel infinite,
a waxen form taking unbending shapes for eternity.
And have you fucked me?
Oh yes, you’ve fucked me—
right in the place where it hurts,
that secret place not even my mother knows.
You think me impetuous?
that fits your sentiment.
But I’m not quite so young,
a small rosebud not yet blooming.
I’ve given up my naïve ways, haven’t I?
I'm worried for myself, and the only music that can comfort me is the crooning yet beautiful self-pity of The Smiths. The anxiety comes with the night, and I must satiate that ever growing fear with a mindless comfort of technology. VHI, Comedy Central, all of these things to numb my aching nerves. Is there much hope for me? Yes, but the road is long and at any time I can go over the edge into darkness.
I've decided to change my avatar to commemorate the upcoming Belle and Sebastian album, The Life Pursuit to the cover from their EP Dog On Wheels. Yes, I am completely obsessed with them, but I can't help it. They were the first band I ever loved and ever saw live. They've saved me through many a crisis...art can do that to you.
I didn't go to school again today, and am not going back tomorrow. My mom thinks it's wise for me to be on my anti-anxiety medication for a few more days (zanix), because my anxiety is just getting intolerable...I'm skirting around on the edge of a knife. I just don't want to have another panick attack...I had them throughout my eighth grade year, and another one I don't think I can handle. They scare me so much.
I listen to a lot of Radiohead B-sides from their early days, this is one of my favourites. It's better than the electric version of Creep. More raw. I need raw at the moment; I feel like I want to sink my teeth into some rotten emotion filled heart. Where is the sense in that? None. You don't feel alive, or well, or human. You feel numb and motionless, or rather you're moving so fast that the world shatters to a still. Anxiety does that to you, it seems. I'm really afraid. Today, I think my anxiety has come back...I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of a panci attack. Oh God, you know that feeling? It happened today.
Mother, I was made for better things;
these tender wings you’ve given me have died.
Mother, it’s precisely you that I’ve betrayed—
I’ve given up your dreams for mine.
And after all this time, you’ve given up your heart for me.
All the bittersweet memories of a time that you’ve forgot.
I’ve strayed too far from your love.
They said God would punish me,
a tender girl not yet thirteen,
I had the strangest dream last night. My mom and I had gone back in time to 1880's Russia, and my worst fear was true-there was censorship. We went to a small bookstore in a train station, and in vain I looked for books, yet all were horrible, abridged, and sterile. Mainly they were old and worn children's picture books. After plundering what little I could find, we left for outside, and a strange idea occured to me. "Dostoevsky lived then, he read books that were banned, let's find him!" So, we went to an opera house to find Dostoevsky (don't ask me why). We went into a theater, much like a modern theater in fact, and the lights dimmed, and suddenly the lights dimmed, and everyone started dancing. Now, this is the part that begins to get strange.
Just the line of a song I've been kicking around in my head. I literally write tons of songs in my head, instrumental accompaniement and everything. But I can't sing (I can sing from a middle D to a middle G...badly), and can't really play any instruments. Fooling around on my keyboard does not count. I suck.
Anyways, today we got out for Thanksgiving break, and had our Thanksgiving liturgy today. These are usually quite dull, spent in uncomfortable wooden chairs and reading leaflets with too many typos to count. And singing along to bad Christian new age hymns. But the part that got me down was that the priest, in the sermon, talked about how someday we'll all grow up and commit ourselves in marriage. This just made me really depressed, I know it's dumb, but it did. "I'm not getting married, people get sick at the idea of my marrying, and the government is going to make that constitutional." I want to make some woman happy someday, to be loved by her, to raise children together. How much different is that from heterosexuals?
And who are you?
Don’t you know I’m crazy for you?
That last encounter in the tired shed,
loathsome memories of the boy you forgot.
Can we wade from this spot?
The shallow lake where we descend?
I’ve forgotten your name,
but you’ve forgotten mine.
Can we go back again?
To the time when we were just friends?
I am not in love with the shadow you’ve become.
And as we lay naked on this spot,
Yesterday I got my haircut, and I can't stop touching it. For years I've had long hair; yesterday it was down to the middle of my back, but now...it's a few inches below my jawline! Running my fingers through it is so wonderful-it's bouncy, all layered and flippy, and so cool looking. It feels so light on my head. And after I was getting it cut, I thought, "I wonder if Martine would notice...maybe she'd run her fingers through my hair."
I suppose I knew when I was eleven, but really there is no set date for these things. You grow up thinking you’re straight, you’re conditioned too—every fairy tale growing up had a princess and her faire night, every song you’d ever heard was about the love between a man and a woman. Children don’t think about sex, so what can they do but assume?
To be honest, I assumed too long. I can remember looking at my best friend at the time in a way that scared me; I noticed how beautiful she was, I had dreams about her. But, you put it in the back of your mind. “It’s just a phase.
INT. AMBELINE’S BEDROOM—MORNING
We focus upon a small bed, where AMBELINE, a young girl in her junior year of high school, sleeps curled into a tight ball under her comforter. Beside her head an alarm clock flashes 7:00 A.M. on a bedside table, and suddenly the sounds of Bad Days by The Flaming Lips come on. With a moan, Ambeline raises herself groggily.
Damn it. School.
...And thank God Rose has broken her silence on the matter! We talked about it today. Turns out she is trying to process it, in her typical Rose way-through an article on homosexuality, and when she's done she wants me to read it.
*Whew* I was so releaved and sighed, "Thank you for talking about it. I thought you may have forgot." My comment about America's Next Top Model ("I don't watch it for the content") did not go unnoticed.