How do I land?

I've been in this very strange mood lately. There's something ultimately unsettling about existence, whatever way I exist. We are all running around filling our time with tasks and activities and meanwhile, we have these little wars going on between our ears. Good versus bad, Right versus wrong, fun versus bored, nice versus mean, present versus future, past versus present.

There aren't enough words to adequately describe it and not enough paint to sufficiently re-create it. The feeling itself does not physically exist in the world and yet it has a strength to keep me in bed for an entire day and avoid all phone calls and then wonder why I can't talk to anybody. I can understand that I'm creating the controversey that no one besides me understands or cares about. I understand that everyone probably has their own private battles, their own wars, and yet they are still able to function and socialize and be happy.

I just can't. I practice holding my tongue. I pretend to understand social boundaries. I pretend to listen. But there is something inherently oppressive about being cleancut and timid. I can't understand it, so I can't fully practice it.

I was inverted, I mean converted, I mean I don't understand.

My name is You.

I had to go to a hospital for a couple of days at an inpatient psychiatric hospital. It sounds really dramatic, I know, but it wasn't really. I wrote in my journal while I was there. I have to go to outpatient care and then go to some "retreat." Its kind of cool because even though I was drugged up on an anti-anxiety med since I got there up until this morning, the experience wasn't that scary. I kept notes.

If the entry below does not make sense, ummm it should add to its authenticity. I wrote it inbetween dr appointments, intakes, med calls, rec time and therapy.

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Aug. 26/27
So far, this place isn't so bad. I've met two really cool girls here, Erika and Marlene. Erika is younger, 20 years old, and has been here for a couple of weeks. She said she was found by her little sister, completely drunk and passed out with a knife stuck in her wrist in her living room floor. Her parents had left to Vegas for the weekend and Erika was bored and "empty" feeling so she wanted to amuse herself with her parent's liquor. Next thing she knows, she's being restrained by a paramedic in an ambulance and her sister is in the corner of the ambulance, shaking and crying. She didn't even know she had a 4 inch gash in her arm until she arrived at the hostpital. When she was in her psych eval, they asked her why she tried to kill herself and she said she hadn't, she was trying to drink and didn't know suicide was a side effect of alcohol then told them to get ABC on the phone and tell them they should list that on their label. She admitted to being a smart ass and really defiant towards the doctors, in fact she kind of glamorizes the whole thing. She kind of seems glad to be here, which I can actually kind of grasp the concept of... But she hasn't told me why she felt so sad and "empty" to begin with. I'm using the word "empty" in quotes because everytime she used the word in her story, she would scratch the air in a gesture of quotations. I asked her what the hell she was drinking that would make her pass out and she said it was some kind of vodka from Mexico, something "oso." Also, she admitted she had a brief flirtation with an eating disoder for a couple of weeks before the incident and hadn't eaten any solids for a few days so she thinks that was probably part of it. "But thats so done, I love food now," she tried convincing me. She's really skinny.
Marlene is older, maybe late 20's or early 30's, she's bipolar and never took her medication and after a manic episode where she went off roading in her Kia Spectra, she was admitted. This is her third time. "Imagine me, in a fucking Kia Spectra, hauling ass into some dry ass hills and blasting 'Piece of Me' by Britney Spears! What a fucking retard!" The unfortunate part was that she was with her friend who didn't find the whole incident anywhere near amusing since at one point he had actually gotten into a car accident with her before when he was driving on the freeway and she got a hold of the steering wheel and jerked the car into a big rig. He reported her to the police but she was delusional and going on and on that Jesus was on a rock at the top of the hill and she had to go see him. She doesn't remember saying that but thats what her family said the police report says. She laughs about the whole story now. She seems normal, but that's because they force her to take her medication here. This isn't like Girl, Interrupted: you can't tongue that shit here. She says she doesn't like taking her meds because they make her fat And indeed she's a little hefty. She kind of looks like Charlize Theron in that serial killer movie where she had to put on a bunch of weight. I love Marlene though, she's super funny and smart and sometimes she'll get into these moods where she'll start acting like Robin Wililams! No joke, she reminds me of him. All frantic and spouting out jokes, really funny and WEIRD and smart at the same time.
Besides that, Marlene and Erika seem to be the girls that get along with everyone. The other girls are kind of fiesty... I mean, everyone here is nice but there are some girls that really don't want to talk about stuff and get all touchy about stupid stuff which I have a problem with to a certain degree. I'm not asking them for their life stories or anything, or anything that personal at all, just trying ot make chitchat and they act like we're in court being held as witnesses to a murder, whispering answers to me as if the nurses were bound to chain us up at any moment for conspiring or something. Okay, well there are only two girls that are like that, but still.
The interesting thing to me is that this place isn't a woman's facility Its for men, too but there doesn't appear to be any. They're probably all running around town developing alcoholism and drug habits.
There is one slightly embarrassing trait among most of the girls here, and that is that we all like Plath. How cliche. I haven't told anyone I do, except the first girl I met here, Jenny. And only because she was reading the Bell Jar. I asked her if that was her first time reading it and she said yes but she liked Plath's poems so then I told her she should read "Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams" and she said she didn't like "inspiration crap." I laughed a little, thinking she was joking but she wasn't. I started going into how its actually just a bunch of Plath's short stories and some of them are really weird and disturbing but then I got pulled away by a nurse to discuss the meds I would be put on.
The only medication I've been put on thus far is klonopin, which is whatever. They are getting a hold on my records from Kaiser though because I don't want them mixing my shit up. My first appointment with my psych is at 4 today. That should be interesting.
I just got back from lunch. Food is not very exciting but they have fruit. We also had cake. Today is this woman Brianne's (SP?) birthday. She's 43. Today is also Karli's birthday. And Peewee Herman's. Why does this paragraph remind me of "we were all drowning in birthday cakes... oh! well, here it comes..."
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So I just got back from my intake. I thought I felt like tlaking about it but I don't.
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There is one quality that is shared among probably 75% of the girls here and that is that they were all transferred here from the county hospital or out of state or whatever, but always were involuntarily admitted, initially. Then their family or whoever got them transferred to this place, which is a lot nicer.
Talking to some of the girls here is actually more therapeutic than CBT sessions or psych appointments.

Aug. 28
My parents came to visit me today. They brought me a bag full of candy! Haha all my favorites from the 99cent store. Cotton candy, caramello's, airheads, chocolate crunch bars, strawberry hard candies, and MILK CHOCOLATE CHERRY CORDIALS!!!! Hallelujah. They brought me my phone which had 12 missed calls from two people and nooooooooooooo texts. Anyway, I didn't check my voicemails so I don't know what happened. I texted my sister and asked if she was drinking out of guitars yet (she's in vegas) she laughed and said "drinking, yes. Out of guitars, not yet." So my parents and I chitchatted, talked about my sister's devil bird that my mom is in love with, I showed them my room where my mom yelled at me for not folding my SWEATS!! (Yeah, we can only wear like, sweats pants and sweatshirts or gym shorts and tshirts. Also, no cute flats-- just flipflops or sneakers.)and then proceeded to start folding them to which I yelled at her to stop to which she did. They went into my psychs office to talk but only after my dad conspiciously whispered to me, eyes wide open, annoying grin on his face, "stay away from the looooonies!""But I can't runaway from myself, dad""Oh, cut it out."-admonishes mom.Then hugs and kises and they left.After they left, jenny told me they were having movie night in the main room. The main room is quite literally where most stuff happens. Today they played "the pursuit of happyness" which I'd seen before, but this time I cried."When I'd get an A on a test or something I'd get this great feeling about all the things I could be. And then I never became any of them."Oh my god, that line made me tear up, then sob, then the girl next to me (mary?) started sobbing. It was good. I can't remember the last time I cried when I wasn't drunk or hungover. Then I remembered my candy so I got my bag of sweets out of my cubby in my room (cubbies! Kindergarten all over again) and dumped all the candy on the coffee table we all just pigged out. I honestly can't remember ever being able to just hang out with a bunch of girls. Honestly. I loved it!!!So my psych has changed my last therapist's diagnosis. The good thing is that I'm not a threat to myself or society. The bad thing is, they arent saying how long I stay here.

Life, what is it but a dream?

Lately, I've been having really awesome dreams. In one, I'm eating delicate pastries off a cart in Paris and I'm wearing a beautiful gown and I don't get fat. In another, I'm making out with this boy I had a crush on after he gives me a room full of sunflowers. Once, I was on Interstate 8 with Isaac Brock and we're drinking Slurpees with Red Vine straws and listening to Lonesome Crowded West on our way to see Green Day. My favorite one is where I made some gorgeous silver on black earrings of Frida Kahlo portraits. I wake up all feeling warm and fuzzy at first, but then a little down because these things were actually dreams and not real.

The strangest and most satisying dreams are lucid dreams. The ones where you are somewhat conscious in your dream and able to control your actions in it. People revel in these dreams because we recognize it is a dream and we are fearless and we are in control and its empowering but sometimes, in my case, wake up going, "Oh! I should've done this instead! I wonder what would've happened."

The fact of the matter is, life is a dream. We are in a constant lucid-dream-state and we settle for the mediocre, the safe side, the path already traveled. Its disheartening. And unmotivating.

This could also be true of nightmares. Nightmares are caused primarily by anxiety. This could be some subconscious anxiety you are unaware of, such as "What am I doing with my life" and also the temporary but sometimes brutally terrifying of say, a movie or something or an idea born in your mind out of fear. This could also be true of life. When we are in situations that someone could consider a "nightmare" what are they really saying? Simply that things didn't go their way, but did they really try? And if they did, why is a nightmare just to be abandoned instead of mended and redirected?

People use dream like it isn't a reality. but in the very moment, you exist in that reality. Don't tell me you've never woken up from a sad, scary, or amazing dream and woken up crying, sweating, or grinning. You have. I have. Its our reality for that moment. Life is made up of a lot of moments.

And things in life, like dreams, don't always make sense. (But, that's usually the fun part.)

So I guess I'm just putting these thoughts into concrete and trying to drive home the concept of being able to manipulate my own life. First and foremost, by keeping up with this damn thing! I can't believe three days have been skipped already! Bad me. Okay, I'm off to draw now. Get to dreamin', brothers & sisters.

Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

The Tree of Forgiveness - Edward Coley Burne-Jones'

I have found that I have been often annoyed. Especially this year.

Last year, I wasn't annoyed so I had a lot of friends because I was always too drunk to be paying attention to what they were saying or to be bothered with remembering the drama of the night before, so I was really laid back and loved everyone.

This year, friends and aquaintances were dropping like flies from my social radar. Suddenly no one wanted to go out for coffee anymore, or take a stroll around Downtown. I associated this with my New Years Resolution of: NO BOYS NO BOOZE. (Laughter may commence....now.) It was after I had made this declaration that I realized people didn't appreciate sober people around them. Because now I had no reason NOT to hold them accountable for their actions. If that guy cheated on his girlfriend, YES I was going to tell her. If you insinuated I myself was a slut, YES I was going to deny every rumor you made up in front of your friends (and then later let the girls know that your penis is actually very small.) If you acted like a barbaric pig and talked about your sister's underage friends like a perv, YES I was going to call you a scumbag in front of your sister. Etcetera, etcetra.

People apparently do not like being told the truth. This has caused a little friction in social circles, and having not been inebriated for the first quarter of the year, I didn't have the lubrication to get close to all of those people and apologize for being a self-righteous bitch. I'm not however going to go on my knees begging for forgiveness because in all honesty I'm not sad that the friendships are over, I'm only disappointed that I had let myself be surrounded by people I meant nothing to for so long. With that being the case, I unfortunately feel I have ultimately shed the Free Loving skin of last year and have now been left with a more sensitive and intuitive self that is constantly sizing people up, only to realize that there is nothing you can do to protect yourself from people in the end.

(If you haven't noticed, I'm a girl of extremes. Very rarely can I find the middle ground. Its been said to me that moderation is the key to happiness, but something about moderation in itself seems so depressing that I never found it appealing enough to try.)

So, instead of blindly loving everyone and blindly writing everyone off, I've come to the conclusion that I will simply appreciate people by embracing and being amused over their spectacular attributes and their otherwise less flattering qualities. Its best to take both with the same interest and disinterest, as is possible. To me it seems useless to try to constantly decide whether you like or dislike someone. What is the point? You like someone upon meeting them and then dislike them when they talk about politics? WHY? Just accept that people are completely multifacted and easily adaptable to their environments and that any opinions or interests of theirs is somehow influenced by the environment they were raised in. And if their morals and ethics seem to rub you the wrong way, you have to take into account that for someone else, their view may be the one to save them. For example, I dislike guns. I dated a guy that liked guns. His whole family liked guns. Back in Oklahoma or wherever the heck his family was from, his ability to shoot guns well could have been incredibley beneficial to their safety and to their eating. So you know, that whole different folks different strokes crap.

I guess in this entry I'm just coming to terms with the fact that people will never be who I want them to be because in fact I don't even want to be whatever they expect me to be. I would respect and like someone more for living their life how they want to and them being happy and proud to do it that way, however ridiculous it may seem to me. Afterall, I'm trying to exist my own life, it'd be great if they could try existing in theirs.

Imagine the revolution to be had.

Like all dreamers, I mistook disenchantment for truth.

Girl Interrupted at her Music is a painting by the Dutch artist Johannes Vermeer

From my friend Marvin:

"pointless shit. i want people to know they are visible. and people can see through their minds. i feel like everyone needs to take time away from work, clubs, cars, malls, and the friends around them. clear your head, and let only yourself influence you. stop , and just be. its so easy. but everyone stays stuck. this is the perfect time for all of us to leave everything behind, and just leave, and walk across the world. because its so possible. if everyone could become freinds everyone would have a place to stay across the world. and it would work both ways. and pretty soon no one would have to work. everyone could just do what they like to, and live off of that, because the world would buy it. thats all they want. so lets just try and be free, but against everything the fucked up world says. lets get out of everything, no more books, no more religion, lets write poetry and songs, and feel the freedom of not belonging to some statue or bible that so many other people have already done. we could change the world. we can write the new books, and create new lifestyles, for people..... "

I never truly understood and detached myself from traditions and myself. Maybe that doesn't make any sense. But if the U.S. was an ocean, and states were currents, and cities were rivers, I was just a particle of water going with the flow. Okay, go to school, get a job, get married, have some kids. Its still so archaic and yet there are still few other options. Since being unemployed I have been able to separate myself from the expectations of peers and kind of put everything on hold. Without my taste in music, who am I? Without my interests, who am I? Without having been brought up in the IE, who am I? Without my family, who am I?

Because to be quiet honest, I could have been born anyone else. I could have been someone on the other side of the planet, but what makes me think that I'm not? Each of our existences are so strongly molded by the society we are raised in that our identities become our towns. So if we are removed, can we finally become who and what we want or are supposed to be?

Like my friend said: "clear your head, and let only yourself influence you. stop , and just be. its so easy. but everyone stays stuck."

This entry was completely incoherent but its just a dumping out of ideas and thoughts that I currently have swimming around in my head.

"As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become."

When I was 18 I started working a 9-5 job in an office, with benefits, making more money than most people my age. My parents were impressed, my friends were funner to hang out since I always had money to go out, and my wardrobe, purse and make-up collection progressively grew. I had a nice car, weekends off, at the age of 18 I thought I'd made it.

A year after my employment, I fell into a deep depression. I pictured myself at the age of 30, sitting behind this desk, answering phones, type-typing into a computer screen, fat, unhappy, but sparkly with jewelry no one would ever see.

So I ran away to San Francisco... to go to "school."

The truth is, I ran away just to run away. I couldn't handle the town I was in, I knew every street like the back of my hand and I craved a new environment, some life experience.

I was in San Francisco for about 5 months. Did the typical SF thing, lived with a hippie and a monk, hung out at Haight-Ashbury, Golden Gate Park, etc. I still found myself in a 9-5 job there, and worst, my mother was ill. She was bipolar and suffering some kinf of schizophrenic episodes. I went back home.

I resumed my job at my previous place of employment while searching a new job that would challenge me and fulfill me in some way. By this time I was 20, I had a boyfriend, pretty sparkly things still, etc. There was a job at an alternative weekly publishing company in Pasadena that I took. Then got transferred back to my Inland Empire area for a paper they had just acquired and worked as an Advertising Sales Coordinator. It was a nice laid back job with good networking opportunities, but I was basically still stuck in the same 40 hour workweek kissing ass to a publisher that was money-driven and shallow. I had to get out.

After that I worked at a place that I still consider my worst mistake. My soul was heavily damaged and I think it is still in recovery to this day. I worked at a commercial property management company as an administrative assistant and was later promoted to Assistant Real Estate Manager. Great benefits, an apartment, making good money, perks, etc. And yet in this 40 hour workweek, I had a menopausal schizophrenic female boss that didn't know left from right, truth from lie, work from sleep. She would come into my office, tell me about her disappearing period, her cheating boyfriend, her tragic friendships and perfect family. When she wasn't there, draining me, I was alone. My day was probably about 80 percent on the internet and 20 percent doing actual work. I was depleted, bored, unchallenged, depressed.

It was about this time I started seeing a therapist. My drinking had turned from a weekend thing to an every night black-out thing and I was self-harming and isolating myself from friends and family, I'd spend all my free time alone in my work-provided apartment. I didn't understand why I wasn't happy.

Apparently, my therapist didn't either. He was a nice guy but he was just weird and I honestly don't think he was paying much attention to me. He did manage to hear that I liked to write and paint, however, and said: "Well, there you go. You are creatively constipated. Start painting and writing and you'll feel better."

I tried and that didn't help because I was so drained all the time from my normal job.

So I quit.

This is month two of unemployment and everyone looks at me sadly when I say that. They push job ads at me at construction companies and insurance places and I feel even sicker when I read them: Why would I go back to a life that almost killed me?

And yet! The hypocrite I am! I've still spent my free time drinking, eating, getting fat, getting drunk, sobbing. So this blog is an attempt to rectify that. My life may not have meaning at this very moment, but through daily analysis of my life I hope to find what I'm supposed to be doing according to my OWN standards, not those of society that pseudo-sympathetically pat me on the back saying, "It's okay, some day you'll have a house and a job and a Mercedes-Benz."
It's like that Fight Club quote, "The things you own end up owning you." So if you own nothing, can you finally reclaim yourself?

This blog is an experiment to see what I can become and who I can create myself to be. This blog is to free myself from the money, class-driven society I've grown up to create a significantly more substantial and balanced self that is art and life-driven.

This is not to say that I do not understand the importance of eating and shelter. Fortunately, I have the opportunity to have my family that completely understand how badly my last job had damaged me and really want to support me in finding something that will first and foremost make me happy, and second, create some kind of income for me. I am not saying we should all go out and be homeless (I did that for two nights and that was enough for me, brother) but I do think we need to really re-evaluate our priorities. If nothing but you and your dreams existed, what would you be doing? What would you be happy doing forever? Or what different things would you want to accomplish before you die?

Feel free to accompany me on this journey to answering those questions, who knows where we'll each end up?