The Pendulum Won’t Stop Swinging!

I was pretty excited for February Break before, but it’s like over the past 12 hours, things have just slowed down and I hate when that happens. I don’t like things messing with my momentum. Yesterday was kind of an emotionally violent day for me and I spent like 6 hours after school talking to my friends instead of getting work done and right now I feel weirdly settled down, and I don’t know, I don’t like it. I literally just complained about feeling everything violently and now I’m complaining about being numb. I am unbelievable.

Because everything has been so crazy, I haven’t even thought about what I’m doing over break aside from the plans I’ve already made. I should probably sort that out in my head right now before I lose my momentum again. My friends are having a Valentine’s Day party so that’ll be fun. I’m looking forward to it. I guess. I’m kind of numb right now. It’s gross. I really really need to be in a state of constant excitement or else. I can’t take it when it dies down. I thought I could see Colin on Saturday but he’s sick and he’s not in school today and we were going to try to break into the drama room during lunch to try to find a Lockdown script (the infamous one-act I was in my freshman year) because I was telling him about it and he wanted to read it, but yeah, none of that ever happened. My dad is taking us skiing on Saturday. I’m definitely going to see Karen which I’m excited about because we haven’t really had time to talk but I’m also not really excited about anything right now.

My mom is going to Boston really early in the morning on like two days and I want to go with her for support but I don’t know if she’ll let me. I was also going to ask Pamela to hang out with me but I fucking forgot. Maybe I’ll do it later. Maybe I’ll chicken out. I don’t normally take the initiative with things like that because a) my parents are so hard to navigate around and it just stresses me out of my mind b) my situation at home is just in general hard to navigate around c) I like making myself feel unwanted for no fucking reason

Literally, if only I could stop wallowing. I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TIME FOR THINGS LIKE THAT.

Sometimes I just wish I could have all the people I like in one place and have my day arranged so I can see them all the fucking time. Why can’t I have that? That’s kind of what I miss about being really fucking immersed in drama. When that was happening, I was just happy to come to school every day and see all my friends for such a long time.

It also fucks me up that some days I’ll have a lot of energy and then other days it’ll have died down and I don’t know, it trips me up. I need something to keep it up but it’s hard when I don’t have enough things working me up. And then I’ll complain about being worked up.


And I’m not saying that I need to constantly be in a state of chaos, I just need things to keep moving. I can’t get this image out of my mind of that time I was just by myself in the black box painting my corpse all bloody. I want to do something like that that’s dynamic but calming. Like I have the power to mess everything up, but I won’t. I don’t know. I need pressure. I need to be under pressure all the fucking time. I want every moment to be a moment of truth.

I’d rather be restless in a violent way than be restless in a sluggish way, it’s not good for my creative energies it’s not good for anything.

Okay, now that I’ve vented my frustrations about my own constant inner state of being, we can talk about something more fruitful like–

Never mind, I’m not done. THE OTHER THING. The other thing about feeling like this is that I can’t fucking talk to anyone. Not, like, physically, but I can’t get into it. I hate it I hate it. When I have enough nervous energy I’ll be off the charts but if I don’t I just sink against myself and I can’t stand it. It’s like if I don’t have enough stimulation, I’ll purposefully avoid stimulation? I know it’s really bad for me.

So I guess the only thing is to fight it. But I am really not feeling anything.

Okay now I feel a little better because Eireann just came and told me about Ms. McManus making her tea because her throat hurt. Why do puny things like that drag me out of myself. I feel like I’m just at the mercy of these little things.

I think maybe it’s the fact that I kind of have two non-classes that kill my energy and make me all static-y and gross it’s just that sometimes I forget that I need to stimulate myself or I’ll die because I expect I’ll constantly– no that’s not really it either. I don’t know. It’s a trippy state but I can rip myself out of it. BUT I REALLY NEED EXCITEMENT. ALL THE TIME. AHHHHH KILL ME.

I don’t know if I can be around my family for this long. I kind of resent vacations. I kind of don’t like stalling. I kind of feel like this is stalling. I kind of want to go to New York in like 5 days but I can’t. I kind of don’t know what to feel anymore. I knew what to feel yesterday.


I started bringing back the repressed memories on Wednesday night. I didn’t cry for the reasons I used to but I did start crying when I realized how I got from there to here. I actually did that. All this time, I remembered the times I was really spiraling out, but those times just faded into this generalized untouchable fall, but I didn’t remember my own attitude about the whole thing. It was awful, but I really did just keep going. I never even realized that. I thought it was a constant losing battle for me. I didn’t know I had my mind so made up.

I started with all the songs, I listened to them one by one and I painted while I did it. I painted without sketching first. I liked how that felt. I got through all of them completely unfeeling anything except maybe a spark of recognition. Then I read my diary in intervals. I ended at October that night and then I finished it the next day. I have yet to watch the video or read over the poems or the messages. The things that are more direct. And not one-sided. And could potentially hurt. But I will do that. I think I’m completely over it. I think I’m completely separate from it.

And I am allowed to hate people. And I hate both of them. For what they did to me. And it’s sickening but I’m glad I went through this and it makes me want to cry but only because I am still here.

I feel better now. Like I can move again. I hate how I get so down. I hate how quickly it happens. But thank God it all happens so fast.




dangling on the verge come over me already

I know I haven’t been doing any of the blog prompts, so I’m going to try to fit them all into here in this mad speed round jumble here we go.

Books that have influenced me a hell of a lot that I love: Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, Coraline by Neil Gaiman, The Help by Kathryn Stockett, Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou.

Books that have influenced me a hell of a lot that I despise: The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway.

I’ve had a lot of other creative influences that don’t fall into the whole “books” category but that would take a long time to extract.

My parents when they were my age were probably your typical high school students in Poland except not typical at all because a) My dad had just gotten back from Algeria at that point and b) My mom grew up under a communist regime. I wish I could see into my mom’s life as a teenager. I can kind of picture it from the various anecdotes she’s told me but I want to see it for real, keep dreaming.

I do lie to myself. About how I really feel. And it’s good. Sometimes I feel like deceiving myself gets me further. I had to unlearn all the obsessing and all the reexamining that gets me too far inside when I want to look in from the outside.

There are a lot of places outside of the United States where I would like to live. You know, at least temporarily. But not as a tourist. I’d like to be immersed if I can.



There are a lot of freaking difficult things about being my age but you know what I don’t think being any age has ever been that easy for me but how can being human be easy in any way I really don’t think it can

I GUESS there’s conceivably a way for some age to be better than another but I had a horrible childhood and I’m always going to be weighed down by my own consciousness that’s never going to end no matter if I am here or there or wherever. I guess maybe I’ll have better ways to cope when I have more freedom but is freedom always good? It’s a paradox. It’s the thing that’s made me freeze up so much, the idea of power having power having so much power that you don’t know what to do with it so you do nothing, so you shut down

What you really need is to perfect the art of operating under a restraint.











Okay, okay. I’m going to stay in the trance. I’ll find a way. The trick is not to lose momentum. The trick is not to think. I have to think. I have to. I’ve run all out.

I’ll set a date for the event. Something I can’t turn away from. Could it be today? I think it could be today. All I know is it has to be within the next week. No, within the next few days. Yes, tonight. It’s time to break it all loose. What’s the use anymore.

Remember, everything you’re worrying about is just an illusion. Stay inside.

Here is my self-fulfilling prophecy: I am going to be okay. I need to do whatever it takes.


I saw how you look at me when I can’t see you in the moment before you see me look back up.

I know what this is. Anti-climax. Falling action. Okay okay back up.



concentrated dark energy

Hi. So I thought I had my thoughts semi-together today but I am wrong and I hate myself but not completely because I have enough energy and potential for being all over the place to make myself believe I am actually happy. I don’t think there’s really a difference for me, between that and being completely lost in excited chaos.

I guess I keep overestimating myself. I can’t devote myself to concepts like I used to, even if I like them. I’ve been hurt too badly to ever try anything of the sort again unless I am a) sure b) trapped.

I would really like people to stop confessing their love to me. Just please. Keep it to yourself. I don’t want to know.

The thing is, I don’t know what to do once I DO know. Because a) I’m scared b) I’m frozen c) I literally can’t move d)

Honestly, she intimidates me so much. I don’t know if she realizes it. I don’t know what to do with her. I would be too scared to jump in and put her on hold all the same. She’s demanding but quieting.

I know it’s coming soon. Last night all these memories came back to me. I tried to stop them but I couldn’t so I freaked out and went to sleep. I know I can’t ignore it. It’s going to come over me soon and I need to reexamine everything that’s happened and it will all make sense. I need to do it. I need to open the floodgates of hell. It’s time to face it all and not run. There is nothing that I can suppress forever. I can feel the time coming over me like an apocalypse warning.

Kersten just came over here and SCARED ME, isn’t she lovely. I feel so alive.

Here’s a song I listened to ten times last night in the bath: 

Here’s the song I used to try to drown myself in the bath to in October:

He has such an elegant way of speaking. About the crudest things. No matter what it is, it is always so elegant.

I am dead serious, please stop.

The crazy sad thing is that I feel like I’m surrounded by actual fruitful things now but I can’t reap them for the life of me I’ve been stung too badly I have seen too much I recoil at everything.

I can’t do this thing anymore where I just jump in blindly because I have been robbed of my blindness I thought the clarity was something good and whole but it makes me see everything, everything. There is nothing I can unsee. I know what’s coming now, to such an extent that I’ve ceased believing in anything but finite things. I’ve lost my hope. I can’t be naive about anything anymore. I’ll have my fun but I’m guarded to the very core. I don’t even feel bad about it. Any of it. Trying to protect myself. Anything. Everything that comes over me is just an era. Ending beginning ending stopping ending ending ending.

I am such a coward. But the worst thing is that I can’t even admit what I feel to myself. I need to go on a long eight-hour car ride to even try to make sense of anything but I’ve left endeavors like that behind in August, nightmare August, nightmare September nightmare October nightmare July nightmare November nightmare December to January 9th and then it all stopped and I was in the eye of the storm but that’s where the real chaos is.

I asked Karen for advice and she told me something very wise and I don’t really feel like I am missing something and it’s good. But I guess that’s the paradox. I think that if I stopped to reexamine anything it would cease to exist. I need to be agnostic about my own life.

I obviously need to talk to her at some point. But maybe I can just be content with that fact without ever touching it again.

This is a whole lot of vague rambling that probably won’t make the least bit of sense to you unless you’re me, and even that is a vague term, I guess there will be a time in the future when I won’t remember what this was even about. But the general idea is the same. It all oscillates the same. It all circles and comes back. Does it? No. That was just a heartbroken little reservation. Nothing is ever the same as anything. It can mimic it, I guess, the whole thing of ‘history repeating’ is only made by this contrived Venn-Diagram that granted, has some similarities, but the DIFFERENCES are just too great to turn a blind eye to.

If this is all the absurdity and senselessness that I feel it is, I will have done the world a service.


a damsel in distress dissected with a saw

Here is the real thing I want to say to my dad:

Are you a member of the human race?

you will not put a blanket over me you will not smother me forget it i’ve come too far to be suppressed again i’ve made it out alive and i will stay alive and i will stay true to what’s inside me even when i can’t see it anymore

I feel better? At least now I’m pissed off instead of wallowing in self-pity. I’ve stopped caring what they think but sometimes I forget. I think it’s because some part of me still wants them to understand, even if the rest of me has given up.

I could really use a ridiculously long car ride so I can figure some things out.

I won’t torment you any longer. Here is a poem I wrote.

Radio Silence

It seems that the vacuum we’ve thrown ourselves so willingly into has

Obscured all traces of our former life and rendered it all meaningless.

I curse myself for it, but it’s hard not to believe in something so all-powerful.

Just like I could never pretend I don’t love you, it would be cruel to look

God in the eyes without the faintest stirring of faith from even the utmost

Picture of depravity, like a wild thing waking from hibernation. It would be sacrilege.


All of the unsaid words have strung together into a dark and looming elephantine figure

That crushes every room. Omission is a powerful tool.

I feel silence like a heavy presence, something irretrievable

At the bottom of a swimming pool. Irresistible, like the sleep-deprived static

That pulls on your eyelids when the world is still fuzzy around the edges,

Ill-defined and not ready to be understood.

Silence, like heavy curtains, like the iron on your chest, obscures

Visibility and makes the air thick and hard to breathe. I can feel it

Pouring over me; creeping in until it overwhelms, like water filling a tank,

Until you can’t breathe in it, until you can’t speak in it.


You are a red light, You make my eyes flicker,

Like you’re the fire in a snowscape, the sun against the night sky,

The splash of red in a bull ring.


I’ve stopped, I’ve sunk into the silence too, like it’s a transmissible disease.

Your silence feeds mine, and the feed is the blue electric light

That haunts my bedroom nightly: ghostly, moving, sad and still.

Your idleness feeds mine; we are both bound by the unbreakable laws

Of inertia that we so desperately believe in, and nothing breaks the spell.

Maybe we don’t believe we are capable of breaking it.


I feel us breaking up like a bad overseas connection;

We could hear each other clearly if only the line wasn’t so weak, so anemic.

It’s dwindling, eating away like rotten wood; it’s breaking up over the ocean of the summer,

The expansive void of time. The line can’t bridge this gaping gap,

So wide open and unnatural that it sucks all light into it like a black hole.

You are on the other side, but you’ve hung up. I listen to the dial tone

For hours, but I feel it fading, too, in restless frozen terror. Against my will, I feel myself

Drop the receiver to sleep, finally, sleep, against my will I feel myself

Close my mouth and shrivel up like a plant in a sunless room,

Brown like an overripe fruit. Suddenly there are buttons over all of my pores.


I sink into a contagious radio silence. The way you take care

Not to notice me fills me up with solid, sticky bile that turns me

Slowly to stone. We’ve ghosted

Each other. I feel like a deadly apparition haunting you, constantly waking you up

And putting you to sleep as I come and go, drifting through the walls of empty rooms.

I have sunk into static. I am the walking reminder of something that you used

To feel, and something that you used to want so badly,

You’d bend over backwards for it. Well, you bent so far back,

The spell busted and shattered and broke,

Like the mechanical engine of a slow and rolling turbine.

The fire trembles with its cold extinguishing smoke.

The candle begs for its electric warmth back.


My first instinct was to water the vacuum like it was a flower I could revive. My second instinct

Was to hammer the void with the hail fires of cold, hard ice,

As if drilling into it implied there was a bottom to the whole ordeal.

As if it ends. As if it obeys. As if it isn’t the ever-expanding cosmic abyss.

Your radio silence is contagious, is infectious, like my laugh.

Like my hands. Like you. We are a bad connection

On an overseas telephone call. I’m still holding the line open

For you. Any second now, jump.


I sink to the bottom and you don’t stop me. I’m submerged up to my neck.

Up to my chin. Finally I’ve quieted and settled down. And given up.

And given in. It’s over my ears. I couldn’t hear you if you screamed.

Is this what you wanted? You’ll never find me now in this dead water,  

Currentless river, waveless sea, A stone sunk to the bottom,

Away from the storm of the surface forever.

It took me a long fight to settle down into this long flat line.  

I’m sedated, I’m sunk. I’m all out of lights in my head.

I’ve settled like debris, finally flooded over enough to sink

To the bottom, join you in the stillness and the silence.

Radio silence. Are you holding?


i feel like a shaken up bottle about to explode

I need to rant, I kind of don’t know who to talk to or if it will make me feel better so I’m not going to risk it. I just need to get this out.

Here are some things I want to say to my dad:

Fuck you for making me feel bad about the things I like.

People like you make me contemplate suicide.

You like making people cry.

You’re a control freak and I hate you.


My parents love making me feel bad for no fucking reason and whenever I’m at home I’m just counting down the hours until I don’t have to be there anymore. I keep telling myself that it’s only a little bit longer and soon I won’t have to deal with them anymore but I know that’s a fucking joke. I can’t stand being isolated with them. I know I’m over-magnifying it all in my head but I’m a teenager and I’m scared and I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen to me and they’re really not making it better. Whenever I’m around them it’s like the world loses its color and becomes this bleak and colorless and mundane thing that I want nothing to do with. It’s like suddenly the days are all stacked on top of one another with nothing separating them, lined up behind one another like columns of dull gray stone. I see how much I have to go when I should be focusing more on how I’m getting there. And this is something that’s taken me a whole lifetime to unlearn. Life is much less scary if you just live it moment by moment and let things come to you instead of stressing out about how you’re going to get from one place to another. I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve been home so little lately that whenever I am, it all just comes back to me in this sickening blast. I’ve been trying so hard to keep myself under this spell, I’ve been truly happy lately, but they’re trying to suck me back under and I can’t let that happen to me. Not for anything in the world. I’ve worked so hard to get here. I know the root of my affliction but not how to be free from it. And I’m so afraid this will be my whole life. I kind of want to not go to college just so I can be free of this but I know I will never be free of it.

So, I can’t stand being here. I can’t stand feeling isolated where the only thing that makes it through to me is what THEY think, what THEY believe. I slowly become indoctrinated to it. I need to be not here. It’s not good and it’s eating me alive. I need to be here as little as I can. Until I have a safe system that lets me never be dragged back under again. I know it’s only a little more but I am so afraid and I am so afraid of something obscuring my purpose and I am so afraid of being led off track from what I want and I am so afraid of not hearing myself. I am so afraid of this dark shadow coming over my heart that causes me to forget I ever knew it at all.

But I know it’s just a spell. When I feel like this. I know I can snap out of it. I hate being at home. I hate being at home. I hate being at home. I know I don’t have to feel this way. I know I’m not the only one going through something like this. It just touches me deeper than it should. Everything touches me deeper than it should.

Okay, and that’s just it. I just hate the isolation here. I hate being stuck. I hate being stuck with them. I know I’ll be okay. It’s just like a pendulum swinging sometimes. I’ll go from being around people who actually support me and then being back here and hearing these things I’ve been hearing all my life but especially recently is like being hit over the head with a brick wall. I’ve violently typed all of this. It’s maybe a better way to express physical anger than some of the things I’ve been doing lately.

This is mostly about how my dad thinks it’s stupid that I’m learning to draw people for my senior project instead of doing something he wants or how he wants me to be a fucking lawyer when I just want a fucking peace of mind. If I’m completely honest, the only place I ever want to be is the theater. It makes me happy. Nothing else really does that for me. But the whole idea of having this full-blown “career” kind of stresses me out and depresses me. Maybe something is wrong with me. I think it’s just the stress of thinking about it instead of doing it and living it.

Anyway, hang in there. Me, everyone. I know it’s not as scary as it sounds but sometimes I forget.

‘Evil Night Together’ just started playing and I really miss my play and I know THAT’S what I want to be doing with the rest of my life but I’m too scared to admit it. I was not this scared a week ago.

Sorry for how disjointed this is, but I guess I’m not really. I feel better when I remember to embrace hedonism. Maybe I’ll eat some stolen ice cream today even though I’m still lowkey sick.



(don’t) stop me now

This blog post is to make up for the one I didn’t do last week. I don’t know if it actually will, but a girl can try. And fail. It doesn’t matter. I like writing these.

Here’s a video of a tilt-a-whirl, aka what Mrs. Gounis says reading my thoughts makes her go through. That comment made me so happy:

Here’s a song I can’t stop listening to:

Yeah, it’s circus music. Yeah, shut the fuck up.

You fuck with Mother Nature and she’s gonna get pissed, she don’t always act like a lady.  

I might blow off Slam Poetry Club with Kelly today to go play Dungeons and Dragons with Colin just before my callbacks.

I’m trying to write this novel based loosely around my life and I really need to spend some time deeply thinking about that soon or I might fall off the face of the earth.

Too many things are happening for me to miss anything at all. It’s so nice not to be nostalgic. Even when things are over, they just keep happening. It’s exactly what I need to stay afloat.

I heard that a lot of people didn’t get callbacks and I don’t know what it could possibly mean and they are only going to be about 30-40 minutes and the whole thing is making me so nervous. I’m trying to think of the characters I most want to play. They are Olivia, Maria, Viola, and Feste. I can’t stress to you enough how much I want to play a drunken character, but I doubt I’d get to play Feste, because I don’t play an instrument. I love Feste, though. Oh my god. When I saw Kira’s production in December, they cast Feste as a girl and it was fantastic to watch. That would be quite a role to play. I can’t remember if Maria gets drunk or not, but I think I will try to make myself drunken no matter what role I play. I have faith that they’ll make me a drunken person, though, or I guess my drunken rendition of Sonnet 130 wasn’t as “life-changing” as Ms. Leung claimed. God, please don’t make claims like that unless you’re going to follow through.

Kira and I keep texting each other about our ROMANCE DRAMA which is so much fun. She has this 22-year-old guy who has a crush on her, but he keeps being weird. His name is Devon. Please don’t tell her I’m gossiping about her in my blog. Anyway I love her and I almost wish she wasn’t going to Disney over February Break so I could see her, but I know she’s happy about going.

Mrs. Gounis just used some word to describe blogging and I don’t remember what it was. A combination of “perturbative” and “intuitive” or something. I am too lazy to ask her.

I don’t know what else I’m doing over February Break at the moment except that my friends are having a Valentine’s Day party and Karen and I are going to go shopping at some point and my dad wants to take us skiing. I just want to see my friends every day. Or I’ll be sad.

Blogging is a little addicting, why am I not writing my ode. Fuck you, Kasia. You ruined my life. I hate you.


Our version of Twelfth Night is going to be set in a casino, which is pretty exciting. The priest who’s “almost responsible for Illyria’s first ever same-sex marriage” is going to be someone doing an Elvis impersonation, which I’m so excited about. I really hope Helena gets that part because her impersonation is killer.

I feel like maybe I should be sad that this is my last play or that Colin couldn’t audition with me but everything is just like whatever.

I hate myself for a lot of reasons but especially because I get bored of my clothes so easily and I’ll go through this thing where I’ll only wear a rotation of the same select clothes because I hate everything else I own.

I want to talk about colors now. My favorite color is probably red, but I love purple too, and especially shades between red and purple. Like wine. That’s so pretty. Here you go.


I used to have a pair of boots this color, but then the zipper broke, I swear it was the worst day of my life. I literally tried to kill myself that day but that was still the worst thing that happened.

KIRA doesn’t even know how to help me with my Situation. I’m screwed. I am beyond help. In the wise words of Callum, “Life is meaningless. Embrace hedonism.”


worthless narcoleptic ramblings

Here are some more ‘me problems,’ I thought we could have a complete list:

Finding that all of the fruit in my backpack is inexplicably covered in glitter

Accidentally (but not really accidentally) flirting with people

Being inexplicably covered in glitter

Realizing my fake blood has the wrong consistency and that it won’t show up on a folded-over steel blade

Not knowing whether to be flattered or offended when my brother tells me my hair makes me look like Albert Einstein

Accidentally blogging too much about my personal life and making myself paranoid

The whole self-fulfilled prophecy thing (when you realize you’re Oedipus but in milder terms)

Reading five books at the same motherfucking time

Not being able to fucking take off my handcuffs

Being yelled at by my parents for being too goth

Listening to nothing but what I won’t stop referring to as ‘circus music’

Never being able to choose what to order because I’m an indecisive Libra

Never being able to make the first or even the second move

Needing people to go to incredible lengths to make me feel remotely wanted because I am paranoid about everything

Thinking people are angry at me for no reason because I’m a paranoid bitch

Leaving class for twenty minutes so I can stare at myself in the mirror

Having to stare at myself in the mirror every five minutes just to make sure I still exist

Throwing things around really violently when I’m really angry but only when I’m alone

Constantly texting people ‘zzzzzzzz’ because I ruined my touch screen by dropping my phone too many times

Having a shitty phone called a ZTE because I broke my nice one that actually functioned decently. I talk about my ZTE so much it’s become a meme. To a few people. Mostly Sam.

Losing all of the thousands of notes I had on my old phone because I had to update it and it had to bust out on me

Rewatching all of The Vampire Diaries just so I can finish the last two seasons and still crying at the same exact things I cried at when I was thirteen

Having the urge to steal things nobody will miss like when I stole a blanket from the airplane last summer

No longer having any impulse control (I keep cutting my old clothes into crop tops?? Stop me????)

“What are we?” (You’ll never know)

Not being able to give anyone a straight answer to anything

Compulsively not sleeping night after night

How did I get myself into this mess?


Alright, I think that’s enough of that. I hope you’re not getting real sick of me real fast. I guess I’ll understand.

I got a callback so I’m pretty excited about that and also about having a delay tomorrow.

I miss my play.

I have five books in my backpack right now, they are:

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

1984 by George Orwell

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Atonement by Ian McEwan

Great Tales of Horror by H.P. Lovecraft

I also have some books on drawing human anatomy and a book of Roy Lichtenstein’s works and another book about post-impressionism and one on portrait-drawing, but who cares about those.

It’s funny to realize that three of those books are borrowed (kind of) and the other two are for school. I’m reading 1984 in AP Literature right now (I am actually sort of on schedule for the first time in my life) and I was supposed to read Atonement over the summer but of course I didn’t (but to be fair, Kav and Clay was like 800 pages (but good)) and I read The Glass Menagerie right before the semester started).

My copy of The Alchemist is really battered, it looks like it’s obviously been soaked in the rain and then left to dry a dozen or so times. It was a gift I received over the summer from my step-grandmother’s daughter. She was just telling me about this book she and her husband drive around with wherever they go and then she went out to her car, came back with it, and gave it to me, and I was so shocked that she would do that, because she was just talking about how important this book is to them. Getting something so obviously used and ruined was so special and I love that I ended up with it.

The H.P. Lovecraft book is something Colin gave to me last week because we were talking about H.P. Lovecraft and about how I was meaning to read him the night before and he just happened to have that in his backpack. The Secret History belongs to Callum and he thought I would like it, because it’s about risking it all for the aesthetic and college students killing each other (aka me next year? Shut up, don’t fulfill your self-fulfilling prophecy, you cretin).

It is now eight minutes to midnight and I will probably not sleep for a while because I am texting people/ procrastinating/ listening to faded circus music. I still haven’t written my ode for this class. Haha don’t tell Mrs. Gounis. Maybe she won’t notice. I think I’ll write it to matches.


accidentally raising the dead?

I have so much to tell you I don’t know where to begin.

On Saturday, I wore the dress that belonged to my dead grandmother that I took from the closet that still has all her clothes in it during the summer. I wore it all day. On Monday, my dad told me he had a dream about her and that it was like she was alive again. I couldn’t help but correlate it to my wearing her dress, first as a joke, but then my mom got on board with it and I thought maybe there was something in it. I am calling on the spirits.

She believes in all the supernatural stuff like that. After her father died, there was this yellow bird always at the window, and after her cousin’s death, it came back. Just flying straight at the window and fluttering there like it wanted to get in. I remember her telling me how unnatural it was, how there was something human in it. How it seemed like a message. The night before her father died, there was the same movie on TV as the night before her mother died. She remembers because she watched it all the way through. On the day my grandfather passed away, she was interpreting for someone over the phone who had the same first and last name as her mother. Before she was diagnosed with her illness, her mother told her she had it in a dream. She didn’t listen. She didn’t go see a doctor until a month later. It has to be some connection. I hope I get to have that kind of a connection. I want to believe in things like that, but I think maybe it is thinking something is a sign at all that makes it a sign in the first place.

Here’s some pictures of me in the dress so we all know what we’re talking about:


The shows are over. I sobbed through my whole last show. It was mostly pride, and it reduced me. I was a mess and I probably distracted everyone because every time I laughed, I just started sobbing more. I loved crying like that. I miss it already.

On Friday while I was driving home from celebrating with my friend Alyssa, we drove past a white van pulled over to the side of the road by police and we were joking, “What if it was Callum?” and we looked over and it was him, still in his Death make-up. Apparently his car broke down. My first thought was that he was stopped for looking like a teenage serial killer. I texted him as soon as I got home to make sure he was okay and he was just furious about having to talk to the police in his skull make-up and that now his parents were mad at him for his car breaking down even though it wasn’t his fault and he was talking about how this is something that would only happen to him– he called it a ‘me problem.’ And I was thinking about how I also have problems that would only happen to me. Like how I am fairly sure two people might now have a crush on me because I’m a stupid Libra and I flirt with everyone and I like them both a lot. I hate myself.

Colin (oh no, Prisoner 8612’s name comes out) ended up coming to opening night which made me really happy. He told me he forced his brother to sleep over a friend’s house just so he could come. And that he couldn’t stop smiling when I used a song he showed to me as my opening song. Then on Monday he brought me ice cream to school. That he stole from work. Then I couldn’t stop smiling. What is happening to me.

I really hope we have a snow day tomorrow, because if I can get out of both my college interview and my call-backs, I will be very very happy. Also I’m really sick. (Update there’s a snow day, praise the Lord and Hallelujah. Amen.)

This blog is becoming something of a diary and I don’t care even a little bit. There’s something so pure in being completely unfiltered.

I saw Karen for the first time in seven years on Saturday night and I’ve barely reflected on it. It was so surreal and so normal.

I have this urge to read as much as I can but I have so much other work to do.

Colin was just telling me about this dream he had about me, it’s the bizarrest thing I’ve ever heard and I really hope it’s some kind of a prophecy:


Also, since I was waiting forever for my parents to pick me up, I was asked to come back in and read my sonnet again but drunkenly this time. I think they really liked it. I was cackling uncontrollably the whole time. Now I really want to play a drunken character.



cognitive dissonance

Hi. So I don’t want to think about what the fuck a grown-up who does not play well with others is. I’m sorry. You broke me. I hope you’re happy.

Here’s a, uh…story. Haha.


“I need to talk to you,” she told me. Giggling. I said, okay, I followed her to a little corner by the vending machines. We stood there, side by side, but she didn’t say anything. I turned towards her expectantly, and she didn’t say anything. I didn’t mind it, I looked at her in her flannel and her galaxy leggings and her black boots, her hair still streaked purple from being dyed so many times. I waited. Not impatiently. Just like there was all the time between us either of us could ever want.

She just kept smiling and I didn’t know what to make of it. I don’t remember how it happened but at one moment we were hugging for a long time and then in another moment we were standing across from one another again and I was asking her what she wanted to tell me and then the chords of all these little moments struck out into the song of the bigger moment, and she kissed me on the cheek.

And I can still feel the exact spot she kissed my cheek, and it’s left me with this burn, this pain, the sense that something is missing from its place, like lipstick that needs to be reapplied, like something is fading that needs to make its mark again and again.

And then I remember acting like everything was natural and like we were completely suspended and I said, “That’s not a word. Or a series of words.” And she said, “I really like you” and I immediately said “I really like you too” without even thinking too deeply about it.

And we held each other’s eyes. And then I did something kind of stupid. I asked her if she needed help with anything. It was tech week and all. And somebody called my name and I used it as a handy excuse to flee the scene as quickly as possible. Directing duties call and all.

And the narrator, she didn’t go back to directing. She went to the green room and hid behind the curtain against the mirror unable to breathe for a good five minutes. Everyone who came in asked her if she was okay and she told them to leave her alone, giggling. When she stumbled out of the room after a good ten minutes, the girl with all the colors strewn about her was there, and they looked at each other, and each busied herself with her impending work.


Haha story over.

I wrote this on Friday and I never published it. A lot of strange things have happened over the last week, once again. I’m grateful for the snow slowing things down a little, but I only feel like they are giving me some distance that has started all the various things fading into each other, instead of actually helping me reflect on anything.

I just auditioned for Twelfth Night and I read my sonnet and I wasn’t asked to do anything else and that could either be good or bad, I don’t know which. I am now going to be at school until maybe 7 because that may or may not be the earliest time my parents can pick me up. They told me not to audition because they don’t know about transportation to rehearsals at the moment, but this is my last show and I have to follow my soul.

I hate that I’m in the middle of two blog posts, because I don’t know what else to put in this one that I didn’t put in the other one.

It seems like I’m still on a tech week diet, which means that I’ve been inhaling everything around me. I mean, really, everything. I inhaled an entire water bottle just the other day. I mean, with the plastic and everything.

I’ve been thinking about the revelations I’ve had lately and about how I need so badly to put them into words. The first is the self-fulfilling prophecy. Philosophy: If you don’t worry about it, it won’t happen. If you do worry about it, it will happen. This is something that happened to me last year. I had all these things I was worrying about obsessively, to the point where I couldn’t sleep at night. All of them happened. In some way or another. The second revelation is really something from Plato, the idea that we all have a destiny on this earth and we must fulfill it in order to be happy. If we don’t do whatever it is that we are meant to do, then we can never hope for that. So this is what I’m trying to do. Fulfill my destiny and not fulfill my prophecy– no. Fulfill the right prophecy. The self-made one intertwined with destiny. The one I keep rewriting over and over in my head.


oops I did it again

He’s right. I can’t live in a cave. That’s some jacked-up existence.

I did it. This is separation of church and state. Separation of creator and creation.

I’m going to talk about theatre for a bit since it’s been all-consuming, I’ve been ignoring life in general for the sake of this life in the specific, this invented reality that I prefer to anything that was born real, this tangible thing I’ve watered out on my own. I go through the same repeating series of emotions every day, more or less. It’s incredible how closely my mental state has become linked to my actors’ energy in a given moment. It’s incredible how quickly my mental state changes depending on if they do what I want or not. I like the state of complacent peace when everyone leaves and I’m alone with my place of execution, where my thoughts come out in the physical sphere. Last night I quietly paced around when everyone had gone, touched up my guillotine with some more fake blood. It’s strange because whenever anyone so much as says the wrong thing to me, I will start sobbing. I come home and people try to talk to me and I’m in this rage because I am in no mood to argue about the trivial when I have everything under control and I have bigger things going on. Having a substantial amount of power over one thing becomes really frustrating when you realize your power lacks over others. A few days ago I hurled a mug against my bureau and it shattered into pieces I still haven’t fully recovered. I hid them somewhere in my room. I kind of almost expected it to bounce off and stay whole. I forget that things are breakable and that some actions are irreversible. I’m not sad about it, it just kind of made a weird impact.

It’s even stranger to realize that I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. I have no sense of any lost time in my day or any of that. I hate having free time. I don’t want it back. I have no problem indefinitely working and working until I have to sleep and do it again. This is filling me up and I need it. I don’t know what comes next. I feel suspended but I know it is only because I have things to suspend me. I’m not worried. If I worried it would just become a self-fulfilling prophecy like it always does.

There is power in things ending and giving way to other unanticipated things. I need to remember that so I don’t lose this feeling of always being an inch above the ground.

This is the song I’m using for the opening of my play: 

I’ve been talking so much that it’s making it hard for me to write anything, I kind of just want to shut up for a few days and not talk and not write and communicate as little as possible. I feel like a drained battery.

I didn’t know it was so easy to get paper cuts but I keep getting paper cuts all over my hands whenever I reach into my backpack also last night an entire container of glitter spilled in my bag and oh God I’m dying in the best and worst way. Of passion. Of being consumed by something that takes up my every movement and thought and action and reaction.

Have another poem:


Sylvester’s Eve 

they urge me to dance

so i do

the only way i know how:

by myself, half-drunk, full-time sad


the water doesn’t

help, so i spin

and i spin

and i spin

until i cannot hear

my family telling me to stop

until i have never seen

a kaleidoscope pill

or the bathroom floor up close.

until i can’t hear the music;

only my own blood in

my head, boiling.


and all i see,

as i spin,

is not a living room,

not furniture,

not people;

just christmas lights and

wondrous colors that glow;

and that is all

spiraling into infinity…






enough falls through the veil that i can hear

the announcers on tv

and my family in the kitchen

pouring champagne,


so that the first thing we do in the new year

is drink.


it isn’t as ironic for them as it is for me.

they will be drinking to something.

i will only be drinking to drown.

i take a glass of something that looks

like water, but god, it doesn’t taste like

water, thank god.

it makes me want to dance

and sleep

all at once.


everybody laughs

about how he taught me to dance

standing on his feet.

he asks me to dance again. I refuse. I refuse.