Acrophobia

As more and more aspects of my life spiral out of control, and more and more people I care about decide they don't want me in their lives, I don't know what to do.
I don't understand why this is happening.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, the drugs seem to be working, and I am not falling into depression. I'm sleeping, and functioning, but it seems to be worse than the depression. At least that dulled all my feelings, so I didn't end up feeling quite so awful about things I couldn't control. I was so focused on my own pain and my internal issues that I didn't even notice when others had problems with me. And now that I do, I don't know how to cope with it, or what to do to fix anything.
I've screwed things up with Danielle, and Friedman, and Elias, and Jason, and I've massively neglected pretty much everyone else. And I'm just left with fear. If I do nothing, it'll just keep getting worse, but I don't know what to do to fix anything, and I don't even have anyone left to ask, so I am just waiting, hoping for a thought that will tell me how to proceed so I don't make things worse.
Halfway up a sheer cliff, I looked down. And I saw how far the ground was, how cold and hard and unforgiving it will be when I plummet. Suddenly, every muscle is frozen, and tired, and threatening to cramp. My calves are burning, as are my icy fingers, and my feet are twitching. My mind shrieks for me to keep climbing. But there are no more hand holds I can see, and the ones I cling to are crumbling. I press my face to the rock and try to remember how to breathe through the feeling that the bottom has dropped out of my stomach, my feet, my life. And above me I hear calls of encouragement, tinted with impatience. And I know that if they all reached the top successfully, there must be grooves for my fingers, jutting pieces of rock that will support my toes, but I still don't see them. I breathe and wish for solid ground, or at least a belay line. I am not meant to climb cliffs. And I am equally sure that if I remain paralyzed here, my body will fail me and I will fall, and that if I try to climb, I will miss my grip and fall. So falling seems to be the only option. I press closer to the rocks and pray to a deity I didn't believe in at the base of the cliff.
I can't help but wonder, as the wind tugs my fingers and buffets hair into my eyes, if there is a third option. The toe holds I climbed up from have vanished also, so I cannot go down, and try to get around. If my life were a novel, I could just push off from the cliff and soar, and the wind would support me. But even if I could, those at the top wouldn't accept it. And I don't think it's an option. I'd have to do it fully, completely trusting that I'd miss the ground, but I don't have that kind of faith. I'm much too aware of how far the ground is, and of my own frailty. If the cliff is some sort of metaphor for recovery, shouldn't it get easier as I get higher? It doesn't. I cling to the sheer wall, wondering how many of them actually climbed the cliff unaided, and wait as the blood drains from icy fingers clenched into sharp stone, wait for the inevitable fall.

I think you think I am leaving,
That it is I who has parted ways-
But I am still standing here.

And if you walk away,
I am not going to walk behind you.
I will not follow you mindlessly,
But I will walk with you if you want me to.

Or I will wait here,
Until there is a reason to walk,
An invitation to share a path
Or maybe just a desire to move.

I may go in the same direction as you,
Or perhaps a different one.
Even if I walk the same path,
I will not follow you down it.

I have offered to walk with you,
And I am offering again
But when I try I find that that I follow you...

All I want is to walk side by side.
If you are only looking for someone to follow you
She isn't me

But I am still standing here.

Halloween and other insanity

It has been a truly crazy weekend.
Friday was mostly spent trying to cope with Drama that came up out of nowhere and sucker-punched me. After hours of trying to respond like a rational person, I finally sent the people who had sprung the drama (which bore no relation to my life or even people I am friends with, and came with ultimatums- do this or we will not be friends with you, but all these other people we'll stay friends with no matter what because they're important), an email saying that I couldn't hear from them for a while if they couldn't treat me like our relationships and my feelings matter. And after 6 hours of that, I spent about 3 cranking out a highly mediocre and shoddily made Rouge costume. And one of the friends who instigated the drama replied to say how sorry she was to have upset me. So she's now off the shit list.
Saturday- Went into the city with my friends (quite a few people correctly identified all of us, even Jove who was Sebastian Shaw - an excellent costume for a highly unknown character). There was much carousing and marching through the rain in the parade, which was amazing. We rejoined our dry and lame friends at the bar, which was super crowded, and decided to relocate. Then we were delayed because my epileptic friend had too much to drink and had a seizure- so we waited for an hour for the ambulance. Then tried another chiller bar for about an hour or so, before heading back to Jove's to watch Maniac Nurses Find Ecstasy an awful "horror" movie dub we desperately hoped would become porn but never did. Truly, an hour and 15 minutes of my life I can never have back. Crashed on the bean-bag couch - which is amazingly comfortable- for the not-most-comfy night of sleep ever between Friedman and George because Allie stole my spot in the bed.
Sunday, today, we had a lazy day -donuts, then hours of youtube clips and a seriously detour and traffic ridden trip back to New Ro, followed by dinner at Epstien's, which I thought was overpriced and not very good. But still conversation was fun, and it was a really good halloween once the I decided to tell the drama to fuck off. Unfortunately, this evening I returned home to an email - completely not about me, but rather about how all women have screwed men emotionally, and how that relate's to second drama-inducer's relationship with another girl who I don't care about. Intro'd with: "This is what I've been working on, and why I've been treating you and everyone with neglect. " Nothing else to me. I'm really sorry I even read it, that alone should have been enough to let me know it was not an email that would in any way consider my emotions or address anything I had said to him. So fuck him. I am not responding. As I said, I will not communicate until he indicates that he cares about me even a tiny bit. And now, after a lovely Halloween, I am depressed and pissed off. Again. So, bed is my next plan. Sleep. Yes please. God, I'm tired.

Are You Out There?

"Perhaps I am a miscreation
No one knows the truth, there is no future here
And you're the DJ speaks to my insomnia
And laughs at all I have to fear
Laughs at all I have to fear
You always play the madmen poets
Vinyl vision grungy bands
You never know who's still awake
You never know who understands and

Are you out there, can you hear this?
Jimmy Olsen, Johnny Memphis,
I was out here listening all the time
And though the static walls surround me
You were out there and you found me
I was out here listening all the time

Last night we drank in parking lots
And why do we drink? I guess we do it 'cause
And when I turned your station on
You sounded more familiar than that party was
You were more familiar than that party
It's the first time I stayed up all night
It's getting light, I hear the birds
I'm driving home on empty streets
I think I put my shirt on backwards

Are you out there, can you hear this
Jimmy Olsen, Johnny Memphis
I was out here listening all the time
And though the static walls surround me
You were out there and you found me
I was out here listening all the time

And what's the future, who will choose it?
Politics of love and music
Underdogs who turn the tables
Indie versus major labels
There's so much to see through
Like our parents do more drugs than we do
Oh...

Corporate parents, corporate towns
I know every TV set that has them lit
They preach that I should save the world
They pray that I won't do a better job of it
Pray that I won't do a better job
So tonight I turned your station on just so I'd be understood
Instead another voice said I was just too late
And just no good...

Calling Olsen, calling Memphis
I am calling, can you hear this?
I was out here listening all the time
And I will write this down
and then I will not be alone again, yeah
I was out here listening
Oh yeah, I was out here listening
Oh yeah, I am out here listening all the time"

-Dar Williams


No one is out there. I'm pretty damn sure. And yet, like the search for Aliens or God, we all keep believing, hoping, rationalizing that we can't be as alone as we feel. On a purely statistical level, it seems unlikely. But even if some one else is listening, as long as we still feel alone, does it matter?

It's not the end of the world, in fact it's not even the end of the summer

But thank god the TV is on,
'cause there's no way we could know
Anything that’s goin' down
Or how we're supposed to be feeling about it
I can't tell you how much I wish we could shut up and smile, yeah
-Bowling for Soup- Shut up and Smile

Actually, it is the end of the summer. The end of that period where life is in limbo, just waiting for a decision and it'll all work out if I just give it time. The heat hasn't broken, in fact the rain only recently stopped. School is starting, but I am not invited- I was so desperate to be done with it, but now, I have nothing to fill my days. My mom is going to come home for good soon, and then, the (until now) intermittent nagging to get a job or go to classes or Something, to figure out my life, will become constant. The more I think about reality, the more I want to curl up and never ever do anything.
I feel isolated. Not lonely, because I see people and go out, and I'm happy not to do so all the time, and because when my mother is home, I feel more alone. Just- I love my friends here, but the relationships are different. They aren't touchy-feely. At Vassar, my sarcasm and loudness work because it has contrast. People like Dierdre and Danielle who are happy and bouncy, people like Katie and Devin who are quiet or sweet or immature. Here, there are two choices, loud and sarcastic or quiet and acerbic. The others got scared off or overpowered, or indocrinated or something. Some of them come back and visit, but the group is shrinking, shriveling as it ages into a sour fruit. Leave us long enough, we'll ferment into vinegar. We love each other, but like my family, my friends show it by playfully (for the most part, although less so in my family) torturing eachother. There is no snuggling. No sharing of intimate fears, hopes or thoughts. I mean, I do, master of the overshare that I am, but no one else does. In some cases I know exactly why. I mean, if Friedman started to tell me about his deepest thoughts I would probably try to take his temperature (and certainly ask if he was feeling alright/ make a joke about not wanting to know his innermost thoughts because tenatcle porn gives me nightmares or something). And, I probably have more deep, honest talks with him than with everyone else combined. Maybe they share important stuff with eachother, and the problem is me. I joined this band of misfits much later than almost everyone else, I talk about myself too much, I'm certainly not likely to be a prime target for sharing of secrets. After all, I tell everyone so much, I must not be able to hide anything. Not true. I keep my actual secrets very well. And other people's even better. My standards for what qualifies as a secret are just very high.
I don't know what I want from them. I don't know what I want from myself. I don't know what I want from life. I do know that I need a hug and I am tired of sleeping alone and not having anything to DO. I don't function well when I have no one to take care of/ no crisis to solve.

I haven't gotten out of my PJs all day. I've done the usual: looked all over craigslist for a job, looked up pieces for a halloween costume (we're doing Xmen, I'll probably be Rouge. Maybe Psylocke, if I decided I want to be very naked. Why are the individual xmen- especially the women- so lame?). I'm trying to be a productive human - for me that means:

philosophical thoughts: How can you explain why you care to someone who doesn't? Is caring a good thing? Elias is trying very hard not to care about others, and not to act on any caring he feels, in order to be able to take care of himself. He thinks that's fine as long as you allow people to leave and make it clear that that is your plan. He points out that I'm much better at that than he is. Yes, I am very good at making it clear that I am a selfish bitch. But then I go and try to take care of others and get upset that no one spends nearly as much (sometimes it feels like no one spends any) time or energy on trying to help me/worrying about my needs. Certainly that plan isn't working out very well for me. And I don't know why I keep doing it. Or how to stop if I decide I want to. But I think not caring about how you affect others makes you a sociopath. So I'm skeptical at best about his plan. I dunno. Going to see him in Toronto may be a terrible plan. We had what I expected/intended to be a fight about it, but as always, he was calm and logical, and so I have a lot of trouble being pissed off because he's so calm and just wants me to explain better so he can understand. Unfortunately, much of it is emotional, so just as I cannot explain why I care so much about other people, I cannot explain why him not caring upsets me. It's just how I feel. When I get tired of philosophy,

I watch bad TV and try to paint:
Today, watercolors. a gunfight, and then flowers. And a tree. With leaves, much less skeletal and depressing than I usually make. Someone who found my art would really think I was fucked up. Bloody wounds, immediately followed by pansies and snowdrops.

And more lyrics, this time, a departure from the Weakerthans. Gary Jules's "Pills"
I've taken all my pills
But I'm still not sleepy
Tried to trick myself into thinking
That I'm not awake
That it's only a dream
Put that cigarette out
Don't ask me no questions
Salome dancing on my wall
And the shadows on the floor
Look so warm from here
I've seen it all before
Just one little lie
But the difference is this
It meant the world to me
Don't ask me no questions
"Take the wheel" she said "as I wander"
We could leave this town
I've got all I need: spirit, hope and joy
But no one knows me
I think I lost my pills
Guess I'll take my chances
I'm looking at the telephone
But nothing happens
I am well aware
That the morning is near
Put the radio down
Don't ask me no questions

More honest than I should be

adrift
in a sea of Tears without Reason
I can't make any art
and my poetry attempts are cliched and Awful
I need a cigarette
and a New life.

Watching bad TV
Eating ice cream straight out of the carton
Taking breaks to
Listen to the Weakerthans and
Make dip pen ink sketches
What has my life come to?

We're the middle children of history....
We have no Great War, no Great Depression.
Our great war is a spiritual war.
Our great depression is our lives.

i need a job

or at least a plan. Or something. maybe I'll run away and teach english in Greece or Italy or France or Spain for a while....

Graduated like a measuring cup

And not enjoying it at all.

Every time I listen to the music that used to make me happy, that held so many memories of everything from painting the Shiva, to spinning fire, to just hanging out, I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. Tracking Treasure Down is the worst.

Still not employed. This is a problem, as I am rapidly running out of money.

I don't like living at home. I don't like not being able to go wherever I want, whenever I want. My mom never says no precisely, just guilt trips me. Yes, I know Mike has been out til 4 every night all week, so you haven't slept, and this is the one night hes in the house. But this is the night MY friends are going out, and I haven't been out all week. F my life.

I need to get some serious art done, and finish cleaning, write more thank you notes, send more resumes, etc. But to hell with productivity. I'm going to walk to the lake and spin some poi and maybe draw for a bit.

Tomorrow I'm going up to Vassar to see Danielle and work out an act for Wildfire's performance class.

Graduation is a bad idea.

I hope I'm just tired. I've been home 8 hours. I already want to kill my mom, my grandparents and my older brother. Also, I miss everyone desperately. I managed not to cry all week, but I think I might now. The real world is not my friend. I cannot live at home again and I have no job or plans or money or transportation or anything. Fuck I'm miserable. And crying. F my life.

Leaving town

So I've been pretty depressed for a while. (gasp, shock, I know.) I basically can't remember what its like not to be either depressed or fighting depression. I admitted last night to Stacey and Danielle that I've been thinking about killing myself. It felt- not better precisely, but less? - to tell other people and not have to pretend it was ok.
So today I went to the counseling center and told them. Which I hadn't been doing because if you tell them you're suicidal you can't stay on campus. But what the hell, its not like anything here matters anyway. And now, I'm off to Four Winds Hospital. Fun. Maybe it'll help.

Shallow and Pathetic

I have lots of stuff to say, and tons of pictures to post. I haven't updated in ages, but I've been hording plenty of goodies.
But today, All I can say is:
I Hate My Hair!
Its purple, which has always fixed everything in the past. But yesterday Stacey cut it for me, and instead of "I dunno, my chin or a little shorter" Its the return of the mushroom cut only marginally more punk rock. Everyone else says its excellent. I hate the way it looks and feels and it keeps falling in my eyes. It is too short to tuck behind my ears, so while I no longer have bits on the back of my neck, the irritation has simply moved to my field of vision.
So I thought ok, I'll put it up. But no. Turns out when Stacey and Kate dyed it, they totally missed the underneath sections especially around my ears. So there are still several chunks that are my natural color. I can't put it up because I'd look like a spotted lunatic. Furthermore, it probably wouldn't stay up.
Ok. A real post later. As soon as I stop crying I'll go get dressed and try to put enough product in that it doesn't just sit in my face. I hate putting stuff in my hair, it always ends up feeling sticky and slimy and awful.

Still nothing to say

I'm 22! My birthday was Monday. Unsurprisingly, I was stressed and tired and emo and ran out of family birthday dinner crying. That happy birthday shit is a giant lie. Like the cake. No actually, my birthday cake did turn out to be a lie. Twice. Long story.
I'm having a party on Saturday night, which I have no idea how many people are attending. Also, I must talk to my housemates about it.
Monkey madness continues, with at least 2 rehearsals a day this week. nothing I'm in is ready, and acts are due Sunday. Yeah.
Happily the Masquerave has been moved and will no loner be the same night as the fire show. Hallelujah.
My art is coming along. I finished the painting I was working on, it looks awesome, even if the pictures I took of it don't. I can't post them now, because I have to go to Women in Antiquity. I skipped Ballet this morning, tired and headachey and not wearing tights today. It just wasn't happening.

Good art = Happy Felicia

Sometimes, it just all work. I don't know what else to say. I was tired and had no plan to paint, but I spent an hour on it. First I did what I'd been planning, that looked fine, then I added some more stuff, looked fine too. Then I didn't feel like stopping, even though the plan required this layer to dry before I added the next. So I added more, which was ok... and then I ruined it. I was very very upset, as I'd really liked the piece and invested several hours and quite a bit of materials on it. So I thought, fuck it, I should go to bed, and I'll cope with it later, but instead I kept adding and smushing and now, it is wonderful. So much acrylic and gel medium and magazines and tissue paper and cigarettes, and layers and colors and texture and I'm so happy. Ok so clearly then it is bed time, right, but no. I turn to get into bed and see my new bag of Dr Ph Martin Bombay India Inks... hmm... those might be interesting.... so I splattered some of those on top. I don't know how well those will dry over acrylic or how well they'll hold up under the next layer, but right now it looks amazing. But I can't be bothered for a camera hunt. Eventually, there will be pictures. I swear.
In other news, this is further proof I can only make art while depressed. Hmm... I wonder if having just finished my color theory hw made it better? Very precise cutting and measuring and gluing bares little relation to this piece, but I had already spent an hour making art, using that portion of my brain....
I'm planning an ink and watercolor piece of "real" me (actual appearance) and "shadow" me (how I think I should look in my head/would look in the matrix) reversed so the shadow is standing and the real me spreads along the floor. the problem in with the perspective and compensating for the distortion you normally have with shadows. Also, my poor realism skills.

i'm so sane, its driving me crazy

no really
http://www.damninteresting.com/?p=864#more-864

on another note, after serious snowboarding adventures, i can report that:
Improvement has been made.
Everything hurts.
I still really need better gloves.

Sleep

Sleep is the most amazing thing. You don't have to do anything else while you sleep. I want to sleep but I have so much to do... and I'm not sleepy. I want to sit up all night, drawing and painting. But Ballet is at 10:30, and I can't be any more sleep deprived than I already am. I'm not sleepy though. Just tired. I don't even really like to sleep, just curl up in that half asleep state where you don't have to get up yet and nothing matters forever. You can't have that before you go to sleep. That drifting, magical place where you have brilliant bursts of inspiration, which you need to write or draw immediately, but can't be bothered to get up, find pen/paper, turn on the light. Its so good, I'll remember it in 15 minutes when I get up. But you never do. Hours later, there's a ghost of it in a feeling you have for a second, but you can never quite grasp it. Usually I sleep either because I am exhausted and fall asleep right away or because I have stuff to do tomorrow, I can't be tired but I can't fall asleep and I get increasingly concerned about how late it is and how little sleep I'm going to get and how tired I'll be... and getting worked up about that can't be helping me fall asleep either.
I have no energy or interest. I have to go to class tomorrow, because I can't afford to miss more ballet, and there is a midterm in Public Finance. Yuck. I haven't studied at all. I don't really care, it doesn't matter. I don't want to ever do anything productive or social ever again. Sasha and Adin are coming for Rocky this weekend, and I'm hosting the cast party as well. Grumble. My glasses just fell behind the bed. Fuck. I'm not so much depressed as apathetic and antisocial. Which means I'm depressed. I should go to bed.
I feel bad because I meant to use this blog for talking about circus, art, recovery, deep thoughts, not just emo whining. In fact, not at all emo whining. I apologize to anyone who reads it, because you shouldn't have to put up with this. I assume you mostly don't, that no one is reading this and that it is out there but ignored. Which, depressingly enough, is quite apt.
I'm miserable and lonely. I'm going to retrive my glasses, finish my beer, set my alarm, and snuggle my teddy bear til I fall asleep.

fuck the internet. and the republicans.

The internet has now eaten this post twice. so no more funny.
long list of things from Feministing.com that make me angry.
I am so scared of the possibility of mccain winning and a fascist theocratic v-for-vendetta-esaque america.
and then I tried to find a coupel of quotes from the West Wing's Isaac and Ishmael so you could all appreciate the funny from the best TV episode ever. Written and shot in 2 weeks as a response to 9/11. So fucking good. I love the West Wing.

Toby says "...there's nothing wrong with a religion whose laws say a man's got to wear a beard or cover his head or wear a collar. It's when violation of these laws become a crime against the state and not your parents that we're talking about lack of choice." He goes on to say that "The Taliban isn't the recognized government of Afghanistan. The Taliban took over the recognized government of Afghanistan. . . . When you think of Afghanistan, think of Poland. When you think of the Taliban, think of the Nazis. When you think of the people of Afghanistan, think of Jews in concentration camps."
Toby then goes on to tell a story told to him by a friend of his father's who had been in a Nazi concentration camp. "He said he once saw a guy at the camp kneeling and praying.
He said 'what are you doing?'
The guy said he was thanking God.
'What could you possibly be thanking God for?'
' I'm thanking God for not making me like them.'"
Then Toby says, "Bad people can't be recognized on sight. There's no point in trying."

Later a student asks Sam:
"...what do you call a society that has to just live every day with the idea that the pizza place you are eating in could just blow up without any warning?"
"Israel," Sam answers.
Josh's parting advice to the students on how to relate to the terrorists is:
"...remember pluralism. You want to get these people? I mean, you really want to reach in and kill them where they live? Keep accepting more than one idea. It makes them absolutely crazy."
The terrorists and the Republicans. I bet a list of things that make Bin Ladin mad would cite many of the same things that make Palin mad. Things like my life.
I am angry and depressed, but tomorrow I'll paint and watch the West Wing and make it all better.

Back

Here I am, back on campus. Planning a dinner party. Because despite the plan being to try spending a few days doing nothing and see if painting/ djing/ wandering / thinking could make me feel better, I'm back to trying to get busy enough for it not to matter. I have tons that needs to get done. I shouldn't have gone home.

Other people's lives

seem more interesting cause they ain't mine
Its a Modest Mouse week...
Hot chocolate and thousands of boring readings.
3 Midterms in 2 days.

Walking at night, my fingers feel warm, my lips feel cold. When I touch my hand to my mouth, the opposite is true, and my fingers are like ice. I exhale giant smoke plumes as I traverse the greens of the golf course. Cold as it is, shoes would keep me from feeling the varied textures of the different lengths of grass. Some nights I give in and wear my slippers, wrap myself in a sweater rather than suffer the cold. The problem with this is that it eliminates my need to return home. I could walk into the night forever, fade and meld into it. It would never be morning, and the fields would roll forever, short grass, no people, no lights, no buildings.
Some nights I want to, others I'm afraid to. I know I'll never be able to take it back- I'll fade into nothing, and it won't matter. As if I never existed.
Sometimes I wonder- what would my life be like if this had never happened? If I hadn't has the stroke, joined the monkeys, fought with Kate, started to draw, anything? Hard as that is to wonder and imagine, the next obvious question is harder. What would the world be like without me.... and the depressing, honest truth is, in all ways, large and small, the same. Sure a few people would miss me if I vanished tomorrow.
Its good that I am a responsible person, or I'd pack up and vanish. Or not pack up, just vanish.

Elias, Stacey and I had an interesting discussion on the afterlife last week...
"I always say I'll sleep when I'm dead, but really we'll just party." -Me
"The devil is the top of the Christmas Tree in hell"- Stacey
... This discussion was prompted by Bill Maher talking about his new movie religulous on the daily show, saying "Is the devil the boss of the anti-christ? or is it the other way round? Or is it like the Joker and the Riddler, both bad guys but no affiliation?" Or something like that anyway.

I finally figured out the only reason to be alive is to enjoy it.
- Rita Mae Brown

do you need to be sad to create? if life is good, is anything worth painting/drawing/writing? do you have time? or inclination? can you create a feeling, make it worthwhile for others to look at/read/listen to/experience your art?
Am i the only one who can't create when they're up? But the more depressed I am, the more art I make, and the better it is.