i am beginning to think that everyone's happy but me.
i truly am becoming a solipist.
my problems, my life, my WHOLE world is so...
epic.
it seems like everything must just be a breeze to everyone else.
and why wouldn't it be?
my entire existence may very well be based on an overactive subconcious, which would make me the only one eligible to fill the martyr position.
i mean, self-pity is what the human race is all about.
so it does stand to reason that i would consider myself the one and only martyr, 
the only one whose hardships outshine the weight of my being, my aura, my very essence of life.
im starting to think that if i did kill myself, it really wouldn't matter.
death is what humans fear most, the unknown, the dark abyss....
but if it all has meaning only in my head...
if i am truly the only reality that i myself can count on to be "real"...
if we really can each create a personalized belief system to suit our own twisted fancies.....
then what is death but waking up from a very long dream?
or in some cases nightmare.
in my case at least.



namaste.
Ray

i think i really am going mad this time.
i say that every time.
im all alone inside my very own head screaming my name and it reverberates off the walls and echoes back to me in mourning
mourning what?
i don't even know anymore
what happened?
did my medicine stop working?
did it ever work, or did my brain just get used to the numbness and say 'fuck this'
i miss being out of it
i'm out of it right now, but not in the good way that i remember
i want to go home, but i don't see how that will make any difference
anxiety
i'm afraid to leave my apartment and i don't understand why
i only understand that this makes me completely insane
everyone says 'oh yeah, i get it, i know what you  mean'
but you don't
you're lying to me when you say that
you cannot even imagine the death-trap that my  mind has become
i can't handle this
any of this
and i can't explain
because i have no idea what's going on
i miss being normal
was i ever normal?
i doubt it
but i don't remember things being this bad before
where did my peace-of-mind go???
no one can answer that.
because i'm all alone.
and we're back where we started from.

namaste.
Ray

it's so stupid how scary sex can be for the sexual abuse survivor.
you avoid it like most people avoid secondhand smoke and long grocery lines.
it's not that you hate the act itself...
it's just hard to enjoy sometimes knowing that you have no idea from one minute to the next how you're going to react.
and you can't EXPLAIN that to whoever it is you're with.
you can't just stop and say "oh hey, this just turned into a nightmare inside my head for some reason, can we call it quits for the night so i can curl up on the bathroom floor and cry?"
that's not normal.
and on top of that, there's absolutely  no way you can word whatever it is you're feeling without making your sexual counterpart feel like shit.
you inadvertantly put them into the role of abuser, when all it is at the time is uncontrollable flashbacks to a scarier time in your very fragile life.
and if i were in their shoes, i would feel the same.
but i can never ever BE in their shoes.
once you've crossed over into the looking-glass world, alice, you can never come back.
you can press your face up against the cool, hard glass and stare at the people on the other side who pretend not to notice that you're separated from them forever by a clear shiny pane, but you can never travel dreamingly through that mist again, ever.
it's magic when it starts, a terrible, powerful black magic that blinds you and leads you with your hands stretched out as feelers forward into a horrible dream from which you can never return.
but of course you don't realize this at the time.
you're so confused, so very young and confused, and....IMPRESSIONABLE, that you do as you're told and don't even realize you've crossed an evil threshold until it's too late, and the monster whispers in your innocent little ear about secrets and threats and all kinds of pretty promises that your gut tells you will never come true.
"The child gives because the body can, and the mind of the abuser cannot."  (maya angelou)
and they tell you it's 'our little secret'
as if that will make it all better
but when your mind is that young and undeveloped, your spirit is drawn to your mother, heart-first, with the insatiable need to share every single little-girl happening with her.
but you can't.
bad things will happen, and you cannot allow that.
so much responsibility, so much pressure on the tiny shoulder-bones...
you're a miniature version of an adult before you even understand what that means.
and you make it work, day to day, because you can't even begin to fathom the humiliation pressing down on your conscience. you assume that, because it is you who is feeling it, it must be a feeling belonging to you and you alone.
the grown-ups that muddle around you rattle on about your maturity, congratulating your family on how very precocious you are for being such a little girl, and you stare quietly, hands folded in your lap, and concentrate with all your might on erasing any last glimmer of pain from your shining eyes. 
they must never find out.
by the time we reach the "adult" age of 18, we realize little by little that we're no longer under anyone's thumb of authority. we begin to grow into ourselves, and in some cases, at least in mine, we see our very first chance to behave as a child, irrational and impulsive and self-centered.
the unabused cannot grasp our immaturity at this point, exclaiming about how much better an image we portrayed at a much younger age, but they do not, and cannot understand.
our childhood was taken from us, snatched up rudely by a black leather glove in the middle of the night like a handful of gold jewlery, and all of the innocence they were able and allowed to experience is lost on us.
so we make our own sort of innocence, blending together that which is all we know, and that which we've always wanted but never experienced.
and we become like a reverse human being, everything a good person should be, but switched around, the exact mirror-image. we make bad decisions, harmful to ourselves and those around us, but we make these decisions with a blind excitement, a sort of mania built from the lego blocks of the blamelessness we've never felt we deserved to experience.
and so it is, trapped in the looking-glass world, that we have to choose each day between staring at the vacant normalcy we will never obtain, and getting lost forever in the fields of chess-boards and talking flowers that haunt our minds.
heavy stuff.
if you don't understand what i'm talking about, get on your knees and thank God, because it must have never happened to you.

namaste.
Ray 

JG won't leave me alone now.
he keeps texting me, writing me shit on myspace, saying he has weed & he'll come over & get me high...
DUDE.
if you think you have to bribe a girl with drugs to get her to hang out with you after you involve her in an abusive situation...
then 1. you have no self-esteem, and 2. SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU. IF SHE DID SHE WOULD RETURN YOUR GODDAMN CALLS.
and he knows i have a boyfriend.
so why can't he just leave me the fuck alone?
he scares me.
seriously.
today i actually considered a restraining order.
yeah. it's that bad.

on a different note..
He is in a bad mood.
i don't know what i did, but he's being such an asshole right now.
granted, i'm being a bitch, cuz of all the appointment bullshit today that i won't even go into..
but banana came back into town (minus the mom) and we were hanging out.
i finished His scrapbook, i just have to dress it up now, and i have a few presents to wrap 
other than that and cleaning the apartment up i'm good
and i know what his deal is.
he's being a bitch because we're driving home tomorrow night.
so he's doing that ihavesomuchtogetaccomplished thing, the thing he ALWAYS does when stuff needs done, and he's turning it all into
this big huge fucking deal, which it's not.
we pack some shit, we get some sleep, we drive home, and ho ho ho Merry Christmas, everything's cool
no.
that's not how he operates.
i swear to god the man actually Likes stressing himself out
maybe it makes him feel more accomplished at the end of the day
and he L-O-V-E-S to bring me down into the anxiety-whirlwind with him
dude.
just because i'm your girlfriend (and i love him, i do) that doesn't mean i should have to freak out and turn into holidayjerk with you every time we have a busy couple days.
and he knows i never get to see banana anymore
so she wants to go bowling tonight
big friggin woop
if we can go out to dinner and to the movies and all that, we can afford to go bowling with banana
but no
and then he's the martyr?
that makes no sense.
i just want to do some yoga, take a shower, try to look decent for these damn christmas pictures that i'm going to have to smile pretty in later, and chiiiiiiiiilllllll.
i'm about ready to rip someone's head off.
not a good day for me.
not a good day.

namaste.
Ray
 

Enchanted.
the movie we went to see tonight.
reiterated the knowledge i've had all my life that things don't really happen the way we want them to.
people talk about "divine will" and "fate" and "freedom of choice" and all that..
but what it really comes down to is this:
fairytales belong on books. on pages colored in with pretty lettering and flowery speech.
you can't let them lead to glittery, technicolored fantasy-lands where there's always a happy ending and 
true love overcomes all obstacles.
i've always had the bad habit of trying to turn my life into a chick-flick or a disney film.
which, i suppose, factors into my love of dark humor, mindless comedies, and horror.
there's nothing fantastical about a sadistic serial killer or a haunted house or walls that bleed..
at least not in the littlegirldaydream sense
these things fascinate me because i believe in them
i believe in them based on true-life accounts and personal experience and research..
i believe in them because the practical jokes that the human mind plays on itself are not only stunning and terrific
but also very possible
that whole knight on the white horse thing?
not possible
jeffrey dahmer, countess elizabeth bathory, angry spirits caught between afterlives, tarot, angels, psychic experiences?
possible
not always proven to every extent of the scientific method
but possible nonetheless
and if i had to choose between hot topic and the Disney store...
hot topic would win hands down
because i relate more to a frustrated skeleton who is looking for more meaning out of a monotonous life 
than i do to a princess who has a perfect smile, a lovely singing voice, and a tall, handsome counterpart whom she always gets along with
it's a matter of choosing between darkness and light
lights burn out
but the night can stretch on forever
and so i retreat back into the black recesses of my mind
the only place where i can really accept myself
and leave it at that.

that being said, it would still be nice to get surprised with flowers every once in awhile.
He's never done that.

and i'm done for the night.

namaste.
Ray

 why does every little thing piss me off?
we were having a nice day, i got to sleep in, my hair didn't misbehave, we headed to the mall to chill and do some christmas shopping...
and then BAM! there goes my good mood.
it doesn't make sense.
i mean it does to me. 
but that's...ME. you know?
of course it's going to make perfect sense in my head.
and then it makes no sense at all to him.
it started with me not being hungry, i guess.
and then being left alone to wander.
i'm still sketchy about that place.
because of work and stuff.........i have to go back tuesday, so i guess i better get over that.
and now i finally AM starting to be hungry, but we only have an hour til the movie.
and of course he's gotta go sit in the bar and drink first, so he "doesn't overanalyze" the entire time.
overanalyze if you feel like it.
damn.
it's not like i care.
as long as you do it in your head.
cuz i really don't want my perception of the movie to be marred by your opinions.
but hey, if you absolutely HAVE to catch your mandatory buzz before sitting through a movie with me and having a nice time, 
fine. so be it.
and of course when i bring that point up, I'M the one that's being a bitch.
i swear to god, it was almost easier dating women.
no, that's a lie.
women are so much more complicated than men.
i think it's when the men start acting like women that i start getting irritated.
i'm like 'i don't need anything for christmas. there's nothing i want that i can't go out and buy myself and do a lot better job at picking it out. just let me buy your presents and spoil you, and don't give me anything.'
but we both know my inner child would come out kicking and screaming and squirting out tears on christmas eve when she realized she had been left out of the gift loop.
so.
i'm sitting here, pissed off, being ignored because i pissed Him off, hungry but too stubborn to say so and have a mad rush to squeeze in dinner before the fucking movie we had to buy tickets for, and i haven't had a cigarette all fucking day.
i just bought a pack, but smoking would mean going out on the balcony in the wind and possibly rain.
it would also mean the possibility of being  followed out there and asked to bum one.
buy your own.
damn.
i'm such a bitch today.
i wish i could just shake my limbs out like i was having a seizure and all my pent up frustration would be gone.
because you KNOW tomorrow morning i'm going to wake up and He will be gone and i'll cry because i couldn't find a better way to spend the day than being pissed off at him.
and april still looms in the distance.
like a big scary cave.
what if i really can't take it?
my life is literally at stake here.
and nobody understands how serious a statement that is but me.
WHO THE FUCK MADE THIS "LIFE" THING SO GODDAMN HARD???
cross your fingers for me.
i'm off to try and tame the beast i created.

namaste.
Ray

 i'm having a chocolate binge.
i haven't had one of those in a long time, strangely..
me & johno used to have them when we were stoned (and could afford to buy chocolate at bilo, which usually meant we had found some change in the living room and were either feeling ambitious, or the weather wasn't too cold).
we were stoned every day...and i think it was only the circumstances that prevented us from giving in to our cravings.
it's rabe's chocolate.
at first i thought maybe i would call everyone by a made-up code name, like to protect their privacy?
then i realized if i did that it would be so i could feel like a spy, not to protect anyone.
and who doesn't like feeling like a spy on occasion?
so then i toyed with the possibility of using only the first letter of their name
but there are still a lot of people on the ship (the majority) whose first names i don't know.
and if i used last names, the first person i made reference to would be R
and banana's family calls me 'R' (like in My First Mister)
there's no way i'm letting rabe steal one of my nicknames
i have lots to spare, but i mean they're all special to me
sorry, all of this made a lot more sense in my head
wow, now i'm apologizing to a dot.com audience??
let me know if anyone finds my marbles, as i seem to have misplaced them.

i took my seroquel like 2 hours ago and took a bath to relax
and neither one worked
i just want Him to come home.
He says he's not going to be done until 8:30am, and then guess where he's going?
if you said rabe's, then not only were you right, but it's also creepy that you know that already after reading one and a half max entries
neway
iknowiknowiknow 
i know what ur thinking
it's all for the best
right?
i mean it's not like He's going over there to "DO" anything..
He said Himself rabe's a crazy bitch relationship-wise.
then why does it bother me so much that He knows how she is relationship-wise?
they just seem really......close.
Him and her....and i'm jealous.
they confide in each other about things
they have these conversations about..about......
who knows what.
and i just......always feel inferior. i always feel like it's too good to be true, me & Him, and that He'll find someone better.
and i guess i see rabe as "someone better"
it sucks, and it makes me feel sucky, and i hate knowing it's my own damn fault.
it's not like HE'S the one that needs to be kept on a leash.
no, that would be me.
i'm in a torture chamber, and every time i start to feel guilty, the weight gets heavier and cuts deeper into my chest.
i wonder if it ever ends?

i do feel a little better though knowing that the seroquel just kicked in.
i felt that.
i think part of my funk today also is JM. 
yes, back to the initials..
i'm inconsistent, i realize this, but there are some names you just don't want to type ever again.
JM and K had their fucking baby.
i can't get pregnant to save my fucking life, whether i'm trying valiantly or trashed and not making protection a priority.
puma called me today out of nowhere, and i asked if the K-child had popped that thing out yet.
that girl is still a baby herself.
what if i can never have kids??
and these fucking assholes accidentally have a baby.
and the worst part is that he's beautiful.
there are pictures on JM's myspace, and i'm nosy.
curiosity may have killed the cat, but at least it didn't make the cat feel bad for having defective woman-organs.
notfairnotfairnotfair.
i have the restless body part thing going on now.
i'm going to listen to it rain and go to bed.
and try to forget that damn baby's face.
he's my ex-husband.
that baby is supposed to be mine.
oh god.
i sound like such a horrible person.
am i?
i'm not really as horrible as i sound, don't worry.
and back to talking to the dot.com audience.
right.
i'm out like a light.

namaste.
Ray

starting another livejournal. what is this, like 4? i'm not very consistent with journals. 
i always ask for them for christmas and then fill the first 10 pages and get a new one the next year.
there's just nothing like a fresh new journal. 
it's so full of...prospects.
you wonder, 'what do these blank pages hold for me? what wonderful adventures will i have over the next weeksmonthsyears to fill them with?'
but it always ends up the same.
you write in it just enough to make it...tAiNtEd. marred with smeared graphite and dying, faded ink...it loses it's magic. 
because then every time you open it to further the story, the MANUSCRIPT of your life, you come face to face with all those nasty old memories 
that you tried so hard NOT to remember.
and you think, somewhere down in your subconcious, 'if i didn't want to remember them, why the fuck did i write them in the first place?'
it's all that psychobabble bullshit they shove down our throats throughout the course of our lives.
"you need an outlet for your emotions"
"you should start journaling more"
"you can't keep it all inside"
the HELL i can't. i've been holding things in my entire godforsaken life.
because it's figurative, our "insides".
the "soul", the "heart", the "spirit", the "mind"....
it's not like eating too much and your stomach tears and you die..
our spiritual organs know no bounds. 
you can stretch them and stretch them and they won't rip.
thing is, if you do that long enough (like me), eventually all those traumatic memories start mixing with each other and bubbling up like a chemical reaction to the top of the tank.
once they start leaking out, they mix with your "safe thoughts"
all the puppies and flowers and hearts and x's and oh's and fairies and cookies and good dreams, all that pink and white bullshit.
and then you reach a certain age, and it's like crossing an invisible threshold you didn't even know existed.
even as it's happening you don't realize what's going on.
but it's your  memories.
the caustic chemical reaction starts to singe holes in your happy thoughts, and before you know it you have no idea (NO IDEA) if the things in your head are real memories, made up stories, nightmares you've had, fairytales, exagerrations, near-death experiences you forgot you had, psychic premonitions, intuition, your subconcious, former-life paraphenilia (if you believe in that stuff), or suppression from a bad acid trip.
so you end up, essentially, wandering through each 24-hour period (i think they call that a 'day'?), not knowing up from down, good from bad, reality from dreams, god from the devil, fiction from nonfiction, and your entire life turns into a twisted, sadistic sort of wonderland, comparable not so much to alice as to coraline, with parts taken from each story.
am i really typing right now, or is this the looking-glass girl that i'm watching without knowing i am?
so you see, in my world, nothing makes sense, and i dangle off the edge of sanity with every waking OR sleeping moment.
there is no rest for the weary.
and now you begin to understand.
or, if not, then i won't be hearing from you again.

namaste.
Ray