Siento que debería escribir algo pero no creo que haya nada para escribir. Eso me frustra y me molesta.
Puedo decir algo como que he estado leyendo un libro de H. P. Lovecraft y por alguna razón no dejaba de leerlo. No me gusta especialmente ese libro pero lo leo y tal vez por la forma en que está escrito siento la lectura muy agradable y llevadera. También empecé a leer 1984 de George Orwell. Daria me hizo sentir interesada en George Orwell y por eso cuando termine 1984 y En las montañas de la locura y tal vez Grandes esperanzas de Charles Dickens empiece a leer Animal Farm. Estoy muy interesada en 1984 porque es como Brave New World y Clockwork Orange, describen una sociedad paralela. El concepto de cosas paralelas es muy interesante porque se pueden cambiar cosas por completo. Eso me da una idea.
Empecé a leer a Charles Dickens por Matilda, la película de la niña con poderes de telequinesis y padres negligentes. Leí algo como que a ella le gustaban los personajes de los libros de Charles Dickens porque se podía sentir relacionada con ellos. No estoy del todo segura si leo suficientes libros con personajes con los que me pueda sentir relacionada. Podría leer The Bell Jar pero he escuchado que no es un libro demasiado alegre. La gente siempre cree que leo libros aburridos (hace poco, teníamos que hacer algo así como una encuesta entre nuestros amigos para la clase de inglés sobre libros, y cuando a mi me preguntaron qué tipo de libros leía mis adorados amigos dijeron "aburrido" como una categoría varias veces), pero no es mi culpa que no tenga la madurez literaria de una niña de mi edad! No me interesa leer por simple entretenimiento, como si viera sólo películas de acción en lugar de interesarme también en películas más maduras que no son entretenimiento temporal. Es como si ellos (para ponerlo como películas en lugar de libros, teniendo en cuenta que la mayoría de mis amigos no están muy interesados en Harry Potter) vieran Harry Potter, como su propio escape de la rutina aburrida, mientras me gusta ver Harry Potter de vez en cuando pero no me encasillo en eso. Puedo ver películas tristes o encontrar interesantes películas que hablan de gente normal haciendo cosas normales que no tienen mucho impacto universal pero impactan en ellos mismos. Soy muy introvertida como para interesarme demasiado por leer cliches todo el tiempo sobre alguien que de la noche a la mañana se convierte en un héroe y salva al mundo sin una cantidad exagerada de esfuerzo. No siempre quiero evadirme a un mundo evidentemente emocionante, a veces puedo emocionarme con cosas mucho más pequeñas. Supongo que sí soy aburrida pero soy suficientemente emocionante para mí misma así que estoy bien con eso.
Podría hacer lo que hizo Enid, algún día. Sólo tomar un autobús al azar e irme y empezar una vida nueva allá y tal vez volver cuando sea una persona completamente diferente.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Something weird just happened. First of all, I need to write down how I feel right now: relaxed, happy, so happy and kind of sleepy. I feel happy, with a bad feeling in my gut, like I need to throw up, but in a good way.
Just relax, just let it go. Chill.
So I'm getting used to cigarettes, I don't feel sick anymore when smoking them. Whoa, it took really long to be enjoyable.
I went upstairs to smoke. It's 1 am and it's raining. I had to smoke through a window, so my hair, face and shoulders got a little wet. I inhaled the smoke and it felt good, like I loved the taste, everything, I wanted it and then it came out again of me when I exhaled. Like when you eat, and then you throw it up because it's bad to keep those things inside your body. Oh, man. I started to feel so happy, I couldn't stop smiling. I felt gone and relaxed and happy. It never felt so good. I could have fallen and died and I would've felt it like I was floating. I feel happy. So happy. God. I haven't felt this good while being on drugs. Not even when smoking before.
So I finished the cigarette, thinking "okay, I'm getting too out of me, I need to stop smoking this". So I did. It's just cigarettes, but it made me feel happy and weird and I feel like I could love everything and throw up my feelings as some kind of dark mud.
I feel sick to my stomach. I got up and I was like moving around the place, not too able to walk and not even knowing anything anymore as if I was on drugs. But I didn't feel dizzy. The good kind of dizzy, I called it. I felt happy. I will stress this over and over.
I could've stayed standing in the middle of the bathroom for hours, gone, but then I tried to drag me back to me. I feel happy. I said things I could relate reality with but I still feel weird. Oh god, what happened? Then I was all about smiling and everything. I feel relaxed and happy but then sick because I am uneasy when I feel like I need to chill. I know if I am too relaxed I may kill myself, so I never feel as relaxed as I should. I feel happy. I come downstairs and I'm smiling. Oh god, how good would it be to go all 50 shades of grey right now, or to throw up, or to fall asleep under the rain. I feel love, but I don't even know who I'm loving. I just know I feel love and that is good enough for me, it's even better not having anyone to love and simply feel this affection towards the unknown.
Oh, I just noticed my throat is really dry. I feel like I need to put me back in life. I was thinking "hey, life is so worth it" while I saw the smoke going out of my mouth. I could die right now, I still smile and love everyone. It's like being a child, but then you know you aren't a child and it scares you that your behavior is a child's. I feel like out of me. Moving my own body feels strange. Cigarettes smell like coffee with urine.
I feel it. The smile and everything. I bet she's so high right now from that LSD she took a couple hours ago. I miss it when I was lost in my mind and everything was beautiful. I am not sure that I love you, you know? I honestly think I just feel this immaterialized love and you happened to be on the way when I needed to let it out. I still need to, when I'm me I feel like I do need to know what I'm loving. It terrifies me to admit that I just love and I have no one or nothing I love. I am sure I don't love you. I mean, I could do it, but I don't think it's you. I just got this idea that I do, even though I don't, to calm me down and I can't get over it. But I will because my mind will get bored and I will have to move on to the next thing I can use to vent all my love on. It happens quite often, don't feel special just because I love you, 'cause, you see, I happen to love a large amount of things for being such a hateful person.
It's okay. I always go through it. It's never as bad as it looks like. It just looks creepy and freaks you out but then it's okay when it happens. Then it becomes easier. If I didn't know me enough, I'll go for believing this crap that I love you. I need an excuse to care about myself and I used you as that too. An excuse to starve, an excuse to cut and then stop doing it and then relapse again, an excuse to cry and feel all those things I have bottled up that need to go out and see the light. My love is always selfish no matter what I say because we are naturally selfish beings. I use you, I need to use you, to love you, so I don't die from all the feelings exploding inside of me and breaking me down. I need you to keep me sane. All I always cared about, all I always care about , is me. Like it or not, I am the queen of my own universe, and you're the ruler of yours.
Just relax, just let it go. Chill.
So I'm getting used to cigarettes, I don't feel sick anymore when smoking them. Whoa, it took really long to be enjoyable.
I went upstairs to smoke. It's 1 am and it's raining. I had to smoke through a window, so my hair, face and shoulders got a little wet. I inhaled the smoke and it felt good, like I loved the taste, everything, I wanted it and then it came out again of me when I exhaled. Like when you eat, and then you throw it up because it's bad to keep those things inside your body. Oh, man. I started to feel so happy, I couldn't stop smiling. I felt gone and relaxed and happy. It never felt so good. I could have fallen and died and I would've felt it like I was floating. I feel happy. So happy. God. I haven't felt this good while being on drugs. Not even when smoking before.
So I finished the cigarette, thinking "okay, I'm getting too out of me, I need to stop smoking this". So I did. It's just cigarettes, but it made me feel happy and weird and I feel like I could love everything and throw up my feelings as some kind of dark mud.
I feel sick to my stomach. I got up and I was like moving around the place, not too able to walk and not even knowing anything anymore as if I was on drugs. But I didn't feel dizzy. The good kind of dizzy, I called it. I felt happy. I will stress this over and over.
I could've stayed standing in the middle of the bathroom for hours, gone, but then I tried to drag me back to me. I feel happy. I said things I could relate reality with but I still feel weird. Oh god, what happened? Then I was all about smiling and everything. I feel relaxed and happy but then sick because I am uneasy when I feel like I need to chill. I know if I am too relaxed I may kill myself, so I never feel as relaxed as I should. I feel happy. I come downstairs and I'm smiling. Oh god, how good would it be to go all 50 shades of grey right now, or to throw up, or to fall asleep under the rain. I feel love, but I don't even know who I'm loving. I just know I feel love and that is good enough for me, it's even better not having anyone to love and simply feel this affection towards the unknown.
Oh, I just noticed my throat is really dry. I feel like I need to put me back in life. I was thinking "hey, life is so worth it" while I saw the smoke going out of my mouth. I could die right now, I still smile and love everyone. It's like being a child, but then you know you aren't a child and it scares you that your behavior is a child's. I feel like out of me. Moving my own body feels strange. Cigarettes smell like coffee with urine.
I feel it. The smile and everything. I bet she's so high right now from that LSD she took a couple hours ago. I miss it when I was lost in my mind and everything was beautiful. I am not sure that I love you, you know? I honestly think I just feel this immaterialized love and you happened to be on the way when I needed to let it out. I still need to, when I'm me I feel like I do need to know what I'm loving. It terrifies me to admit that I just love and I have no one or nothing I love. I am sure I don't love you. I mean, I could do it, but I don't think it's you. I just got this idea that I do, even though I don't, to calm me down and I can't get over it. But I will because my mind will get bored and I will have to move on to the next thing I can use to vent all my love on. It happens quite often, don't feel special just because I love you, 'cause, you see, I happen to love a large amount of things for being such a hateful person.
It's okay. I always go through it. It's never as bad as it looks like. It just looks creepy and freaks you out but then it's okay when it happens. Then it becomes easier. If I didn't know me enough, I'll go for believing this crap that I love you. I need an excuse to care about myself and I used you as that too. An excuse to starve, an excuse to cut and then stop doing it and then relapse again, an excuse to cry and feel all those things I have bottled up that need to go out and see the light. My love is always selfish no matter what I say because we are naturally selfish beings. I use you, I need to use you, to love you, so I don't die from all the feelings exploding inside of me and breaking me down. I need you to keep me sane. All I always cared about, all I always care about , is me. Like it or not, I am the queen of my own universe, and you're the ruler of yours.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀ Feminismo ♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀
Entre el día de hoy y ayer escribí dos artículos (uno sobre el acoso sexual y el estigma en ser puta y otro sobre anorexia en la sociedad actual y mi punto de vista sobre estar obsesionada con mi imagen corporal e intentar ser feminista al mismo tiempo) y los envié a páginas de internet/blogs feministas. Estoy más emocionada que nunca con el feminismo. El feminismo ha sido, desde que descubrí que el punk rock es libertad, algo extremadamente significativo para mí. Es algo que me dice que está bien hacer lo que quiera, que está bien si tengo hambre y que está bien tener control sobre mi cuerpo en lugar de seguir normas que extraños han impuesto. Es algo nuevo y excitante para alguien como yo, criada e una familia cristiana que predica heterosexualidad, abstinencia y conservadurismo y educada en una escuela que predica cosas similares. Es como el movimiento por los derechos civiles, las protestas anti-monárquicas, la eterna lucha que la mayoría de los seres humanos pelean buscando ser aceptados y que se les permita vivir dignamente. En un mundo tan patriarcal, misógino y falocéntrico algo como el feminismo es una solución, una defensa. Precisamente por ser una defensa es por lo que la misma sociedad falocéntrica desinforma y confunde a la gente sobre el feminismo, lo muestran como una amenaza para hombres inocentes o un grupo de misandricas mujeres agresivas y ruidosas.
Somos ruidosas y estamos enojadas pero somos inteligentes y no sólo nos lanzamos con argumentos al azar o inventados y tampoco se trata de un grupo misandrico. Se le ha hecho creer a la sociedad que el feminismo es simplemente una subcultura urbana que odia a los hombres, no se depilan las piernas ni las axilas y son lesbianas. El feminismo busca igualdad, no una versión revertida del falocentrismo, y cuando queremos empoderar a las mujeres es porque los hombres ya tienen más poder que nosotras y buscamos tener tanto poder como ellos.
Boys can take off their shirts when they get hot, so why can't I?
El feminismo, en resumen, es: igualdad y poder hacer lo que quieras contigo misma/o sin remordimiento.
Somos ruidosas y estamos enojadas pero somos inteligentes y no sólo nos lanzamos con argumentos al azar o inventados y tampoco se trata de un grupo misandrico. Se le ha hecho creer a la sociedad que el feminismo es simplemente una subcultura urbana que odia a los hombres, no se depilan las piernas ni las axilas y son lesbianas. El feminismo busca igualdad, no una versión revertida del falocentrismo, y cuando queremos empoderar a las mujeres es porque los hombres ya tienen más poder que nosotras y buscamos tener tanto poder como ellos.
Boys can take off their shirts when they get hot, so why can't I?
El feminismo, en resumen, es: igualdad y poder hacer lo que quieras contigo misma/o sin remordimiento.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
This is where we usually sit
This morning I woke up and I had pulled up my shirt and had my hand on my belly. I fell asleep thinking about babies and watching pictures of tiny humans in the womb.
Every once in a while my hormones drive me crazy and I make a scene about how I deeply wish pregnancy and motherhood even though this goes against my normal wishes of keeping myself away from any single dream of having a baby because I've thought about this enough. My brain always agrees with me saying no but then my feelings get in the middle.
I get so affected by this sudden craving for pregnancy that I'm afraid one day I'll end up having a psychological pregnancy. I better bind my fallopian tubes as soon as possible so I don't make a stupid mistake during one of this baby-pregnancy-mommy complex attacks.
Nothing is half as bad when it actually happens but before the panic and the anxiety make it feel like hell. I am more afraid of feeling pain or fear than I'm afraid of pain and fear themselves. I attempt to be logical about everything and find a reason why I shouldn't do it, know the consequences and show myself it could be a bad idea, but then, as I said, even when I know I am right in saying 'no' after I realized it's not right, feelings get in the way. Fear, love and pain are hard for my thoughts to fight. I leave before I actually have to go because I rather not staying there and make the departure harder since it will happen eventually anyway, like my complex with wanting to kill myself before feeling, after 70 years, like I might as well have time to think about it and suddenly decide I want to live while I'm lying in my hospital bed, a week away from my own death.
I hate getting attached and I know it's wrong because it can't be good but I can't avoid doing it anyway as if I just couldn't listen to my brain. My feelings, those chemical reactions that come from hell aka somewhere inside my skull, control me completely and I hate it but the few times I got to numb them, the psychological emptiness of being a hollow human shell (quite empathetic for a hollow human shell) bores me to death. One way or another I will feel suicidal, either because of the overwhelming feelings or the lack of them. For me there is no healthy spot between feeling nothing and going nuts because of my feelings.
Despite of what other people think about me when they see me, I am quite sensitive. Not in the way you would say 'sensitive' for a dude, in that case you would assume I am talking about a guy who understands others feelings and stuff like that, but I am not a dude. I am sensitive in the way in which your skin is sensitive to external factors after a sunburn. I get affected by anything and I want to cry because of anything but I'm finding it harder to cry day after day. I'm running out of tears. I will immediately and strongly respond to anything unless it's a really bad, out of control thing. In those cases I bottle up my feelings but then they eventually explode inside of me.
I need attention because I don't care about myself and I need to feel like someone else does, even when I know they want other things and their attention goes to my boobs, not me, but, once again, my feelings are in the way and they don't give a shit. I cut, cry and pimp myself for attention like a crack whore does for drugs.
I've been starting to see blurry, I can't focus and my head hurts. I'll probably need glasses eventually before I have time to kill myself aged 30. Hah. Dammit.
Every once in a while my hormones drive me crazy and I make a scene about how I deeply wish pregnancy and motherhood even though this goes against my normal wishes of keeping myself away from any single dream of having a baby because I've thought about this enough. My brain always agrees with me saying no but then my feelings get in the middle.
I get so affected by this sudden craving for pregnancy that I'm afraid one day I'll end up having a psychological pregnancy. I better bind my fallopian tubes as soon as possible so I don't make a stupid mistake during one of this baby-pregnancy-mommy complex attacks.
Nothing is half as bad when it actually happens but before the panic and the anxiety make it feel like hell. I am more afraid of feeling pain or fear than I'm afraid of pain and fear themselves. I attempt to be logical about everything and find a reason why I shouldn't do it, know the consequences and show myself it could be a bad idea, but then, as I said, even when I know I am right in saying 'no' after I realized it's not right, feelings get in the way. Fear, love and pain are hard for my thoughts to fight. I leave before I actually have to go because I rather not staying there and make the departure harder since it will happen eventually anyway, like my complex with wanting to kill myself before feeling, after 70 years, like I might as well have time to think about it and suddenly decide I want to live while I'm lying in my hospital bed, a week away from my own death.
I hate getting attached and I know it's wrong because it can't be good but I can't avoid doing it anyway as if I just couldn't listen to my brain. My feelings, those chemical reactions that come from hell aka somewhere inside my skull, control me completely and I hate it but the few times I got to numb them, the psychological emptiness of being a hollow human shell (quite empathetic for a hollow human shell) bores me to death. One way or another I will feel suicidal, either because of the overwhelming feelings or the lack of them. For me there is no healthy spot between feeling nothing and going nuts because of my feelings.
Despite of what other people think about me when they see me, I am quite sensitive. Not in the way you would say 'sensitive' for a dude, in that case you would assume I am talking about a guy who understands others feelings and stuff like that, but I am not a dude. I am sensitive in the way in which your skin is sensitive to external factors after a sunburn. I get affected by anything and I want to cry because of anything but I'm finding it harder to cry day after day. I'm running out of tears. I will immediately and strongly respond to anything unless it's a really bad, out of control thing. In those cases I bottle up my feelings but then they eventually explode inside of me.
I need attention because I don't care about myself and I need to feel like someone else does, even when I know they want other things and their attention goes to my boobs, not me, but, once again, my feelings are in the way and they don't give a shit. I cut, cry and pimp myself for attention like a crack whore does for drugs.
I've been starting to see blurry, I can't focus and my head hurts. I'll probably need glasses eventually before I have time to kill myself aged 30. Hah. Dammit.
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