I feel it constrict my chest. Its cold, icy grip wrapped around my ribcage. I can’t breathe. Can’t fucking breathe. It’s clawing at me, digging in, filling me with pain and ache and my lungs are going to explode because I can’t get one God damned breath!
The sensation of falling. No, flying. And then a sudden jerk.



I’m not flying. I’ve sat up, torn from my sleep by the terrifyingly familiar suffocation.

Before my eyes can adjust to the dark, I lean over, vomiting into the garbage can by our bed. Idel is beside me, eying me with concern. I can’t see her, but I don’t need to see her to know her expression. I can feel it. Feel it on my back. It’s the same look she gives me every time I cough, every time I stumble, every time I show signs of weakening.

Every time we’re reminded of the nightmare we’re living.

“You’ve scratched yourself,” she says softly, her fingers brushing my neck.

“Oh…yeah, I guess I did…” I mutter. So that’s what was clawing me.

“You’re bleeding. Let me get you a bandage.” She slides from beneath the covers, her movements graceful and nearly silent. Her nightgown drapes over her curves in elegant ruffles of lace, her long black hair made into a thick braid. Her gaze locks on my one visible eye and I instinctively look away. “Would you like some water?”

“I can get it,” I grumble roughly, lifting my tiny frame from the mattress. I used to weigh so much more.

“Oh…” She bites her lower lip, her delicate fingers resting on her cheek. “I would prefer if you stayed in bed...you should not be moving around so much.”

“I’m fine,” I grin, as if this will prove my point, and head out to the hall. “I’ll just grab a drink and be back up.”

She’s watching me, I know. She’s going to stand in the doorway until she sees me coming back, and then she’ll dart to the master bathroom and pretend like she’s been looking for peroxide.
I take the stairs two at a time, the smooth golden banister sliding under my fingers.

Everything in this house is like Idel: proper, clean, and worth more money than I can imagine. Everything, that is, except me.

I reach the kitchen, vast and spotless, filled with all kinds of things I can never hope to understand. I retrieve a glass from the shelves and fill it with the purified water Idel keeps stocked in the fridge. Instead of heading back, though, I hop on the counter, chuckling at how much I know she hates when I do these things.

My eyes scan the room, catching the gaze of another. I jump in surprise and barely keep myself from dropping the glass, probably proving Idel’s concern necessary in the process. “Oh,” I laugh. “It’s that stupid mirror…”

Idel has a giant mirror positioned in the hall, and from my place on the counter, I can plainly see my reflection staring back at me. I look awful.

The reflection reveals how frail I’ve really gotten. My skin is sickeningly pale, my bones clearly visible in several places. Heavy bags, dark like someone punched me, hang under my tired eyes. My short blonde hair is even messier than normal and the bangs which usually hide half my face have been pushed aside, revealing the ugly jagged scar across my blinded left eye. I quickly push the bangs back in place and look away. “Shit, I’m even uglier now than before,” I laugh bitterly.

“Saki?” Idel’s voice floats down the stairs. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah!” I gulp down the water and leave the glass by the sink. “I’m coming.”

Idel and her home are beautiful—royal—and I am a dark smear on her shimmery cloth. Coarse, rude, standoffish. A reject from the South who ran away because dear old daddy beat me for liking girls. A sarcastic bitch that smoked too much and quit too late.

I stop at the top of the staircase. Idel is in the doorway to our room, smiling at me, worry in her eyes.

I quit for her, and now I’m making her watch me die.

“Feeling any better?” She asks softly.

“Not particularly,” I smirk.

Her smile fades and she holds her hand out. I move forward and grasp it firmly. “I love you,” she says, and I know she means it.

“I love you, too.” I love you even though I’m fucking up everything you’ve created for us.
She kisses me and my hostility ebbs.

Every day, I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m tired and weak and losing weight in chunks. I pass out at the slightest stress and Idel frets over me constantly. But this is one nightmare I won’t wake up from.

And neither will she.

You mask your insanity with quiet smiles
And I'll mask mine with laughter
No one will know you broke me
They don’t have to see we’re twisted
It’ll be our little fuckin’ secret
Does that sit okay with you?

I love my stomach.

It's a weird thing to love, I suppose, but I really do love my stomach. Growing up, it was one of the only body parts I didn't hate. One of the only ones I really liked and didn't mind showing off. I knew I had a beautifuly defined waist. All my physical movement manifested itself into toned, taught, flexible abs. I could belly dance and swivel my hips in sexy fashions. It made me feel powerful and beautiful, and it was so rare for me to feel even remotely postiively about myself that I relished those feelings. It's interesting. The chakra related to who you are in the universe and healing is said to lie in the stomach area. It would make sense, if this were true, for me to love my stomach. I have always felt strongly centered in who I was. I have always known myself very well and have always been an introspective person. I have also, throughout my life, refused to comprime who I was. I didn't necessarily like who I was (in fact, I hated myself up until recently) but my values and beliefs were always firm and unshakable.
I have also spent my life healing from damages left by my childhood. I have grown and healed, fallen and stood back up...it has been a back and forth battle for me for most of my life. I am still fighting it.

But, mostly, my stomach, to me, represents the one thing I could say I liked about myself.

I was also quite fond of my feet, but that's another story.

I couldn't get to the comp yesterday, so I wrote my daily journal on paper. =3

Humans like to think they are different. That they are each irreplacable ornaments that complete the picture around them. But they aren't. Nine times out of time, they are exactly like everyone elese. They are douchwaffles--uninteresting carbon copies. Claiming to be different makes them that much more like the rest. Humans are all creatures craving to live and be noticed--be identified--by copying those who live in the spotlight. They are creatures hurtling full force into the stars until, ultimately, they self-destruct in anonymity. In the end, that is all they are--just asteroids burning up in the atmosphere, unnoticed and broken.

I spent moments
Pretending the earth didn’t spin
And that the time was caught between
Just you and I
It’s been hours
Since my heart collapsed and I found myself
Lost again
This has been an age
Where I couldn’t find answers, couldn’t control
And I am bleeding and I am screaming
But in the end
I’m better off
Mistakes are easy to admit
But I cannot make amends
For what I did
What I’ve done
I am yet another one
Chalk it up to bad breeding
Chalk it up to bad reason
I’ll move on
I’ll move up
But you’ll remain in my mind

I built you up, I tore you down
Too busy being proud to notice
I encouraged, I pushed
I prodded, I poked
Until finally...you broke free
And I watched everything I wanted
You to have
And I...broke down
Here was you, with everything I wanted you to have
And here was I, terrified to lose you
I built you up, I tore you down
And it’s so easy to forget
The things we do
I forgave for your faults
And I thought you should too
But who am I to ask you for forgiveness?
The things I did can hardly compare
I nearly destroyed what I loved
You were everything I ever asked for
I built you up, I tore you down
I deserve your fury
I deserve your pain
Want so desperately to ease you
I can apologize a thousand times
But nothing I can do can make up for what I did
I guess it doesn’t matter
If I’ve changed
Because I can’t change
Who I was
I built you up, I tore you down
And who am I
To be the proud one?
Who am I
To be angry?
What a selfish bitch
I turned out to be
Surpassed only by my
Stupidity
I came so far
But I got so far to go
In proving myself to you
I got so far to go
In making it up to you
You are justified in your anger
I cannot ask you to forget
You are justified in hating me
I cannot ask you to forgive
I will love you
I will miss you
I will always be there
I will love you
I will miss you
I will never forgive myself
I built you up, I tore you down
And I deserve all your violence
I am sorry

Don't I look AMAZING? With my high school t-shirt and my bangs yanked back so they stop violating my face? Yeah! I'M THE SHIT!

People are SUCH jerks. I can't believe it sometimes.


At the beginning of this last summer, my girlfriend of four years broke up with me. It was a break up I saw coming and was actually planning on doing myself the following day. We had gotten to the point where we did nothing but fought over everything. She was distant and angry all the time and I was freaking out and picking fights over nothing. We still loved each deeply but understood that our relationship was destroying us both. It was, ultimately, for the best.


We did, however, agree to stay friends. After almost two months of emotional turmoil, I emerged from my experience with a feeling I had never had before: I liked myself. It was an amazing breakthrough for me after hating myself for as long as I could remember. It also made me realize how my insecurity had messed up our relationship. I apologized for everything to my ex and told her I hoped we could be good friends and maybe, with time, even get back together. She said not to get my hopes up about us getting back together, but that she very much wanted to be friends. It felt like a new beginning.


But it wasn't. She continued to act distant and say hurtful things. As opposed to blaming myself as I had before, I got angry. But being angry at this beautiful girl that I loved didn't seem right to me. I often bottled it up or cut myself short. But the anger could no longer be directed at myself, and so festered and boiled. It made everything else she did that much worse.


I would often lie to myself about my feelings or try to justify or explain her behaviour, despite the fact that it left my utterly confused. The things she said and did conflicted with each other. It felt like I was rolling the dice each time I spoke to her. I'd either get my normal, goofy, loving friend, or I'd get a storm of passive aggressive resentment. And I still forced myself not to acknowledge my hurt, angry feelings. I just had to prove myself to her, I thought. I've changed so much, she just needs to see it.


Finally, we had a really bad fight. It was supposed to be us hanging out, but she was acting so weird. I asked her what was wrong and she said I was wasting her time. Bile jumped into the back of my throat and I resisted the urge to yell, calmly asking, "Do you want me to go?" She shrugged and I continued, "Well what would you normally be doing if I wasn't here?"
"Drawing," she said (art is her life).
"Well, we can draw. Just give me something to draw on as well."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I can't focus when people are here."

The phrase, "wasting my time" came up again at some point and I boiled over. I asked her why the hell she had told me to come over if she was going to be like that. She ended up yelling at me and I told her, "You know what? I'm not wasting your time, Roxanne. You're wasting your own time. You're wasting your life."

I stormed off downstairs before realizing I had nowhere to go. I cried for a while, hoping if she cooled down, we could make something out of that day. That maybe it didn't have to just be another fight and leave.

But she was still angry. Eventually, I called my friend Charlyn to meet up with me and I sat outside to wait. Being alone was not an option.


A couple days later, I was back at her house for her younger sister's birthday party. Being a friend to this girl, I was invited. I had completely forgotten and, when it occurred to me, dread welled up inside me. I was going to have to spend all day in the house with Roxanne. Maybe she'd be civil, I thought.

The look she gave me when she saw me stopped my heart. She promptly left and avoided me for most of the night.

A couple of her other friends were there as well. One of them, I was decent friends with. The other, I had never gotten along with. They were, however, the only ones there so far, so I clung to the one person who liked me while the birthday girl got ready upstairs. She commenced talking to the other friend who didn't like me while Roxanne continued to avoid me. I have never been so uncomfortable in my life.

Slowly, me and the other friend warmed up to each other. By the end of the night, we were all laughing and talking. Roxanne had stopped avoiding me. We ended up staying the house of the not-friend-now-friend.

What started as a night of gossiping and laughing turned into a very emotional night as we each shared our experiences of the past couple years. Grievances were aired. Amends were made. I felt at peace with myself and the world around me. I felt like Roxanne and I had spoken in a way we had never had the chance to before. I felt like we'd reached a new level.


Between that night and when I saw her again, we spoke a couple times, including a great four hour conversation that left us both laughing until we fell asleep. I saw her again at the fair, when I asked her if she would go with me after work later that week. She agreed.


The night we were supposed to go, she bailed. She told me her dad was angry and she couldn't leave anywhere, and, besides, she didn't have any money anyway. I told her that I was dissapointed, but it was okay, and maybe I'd see her sometime soon.


The next time we talked, I had called her after calling several other people, desperately looking for someone to talk to. I was having an emotional breakdown. I was shaking, crying like a mad woman, and overall just freaking out. She complained that she wanted to sleep. She refused to say, "I love you, too," when we got off the phone. Her complete rejection of my need for help devasted me and pushed me over the edge. I took of the ring she gave me and threw it across the room. I took down all the drawings and paintings she'd given me and our picture of us at prom. I stashed them in the closet and cried unbearably loudly until I was too exhausted to do anything anymore.


The next night, I sent her a message telling her I'd taken off the ring. I did not mention getting rid of the other items, nor did I tell her I'd lied when I said she was still my best friend.



Our last conversation took place last night. I had realized that I wasn't sure if this girl was the girl I loved anymore. I greeted her on MSN and faked an introduction. It was my way of saying, "We are starting completely over." It was both to give her the "blank slate" she so desperately wanted and my own little experiment to see if I even still liked this person or if I was just holding on for nostalgia's sake.

She responded with her own introduction, "My name is Roxanne and no one knows that I'm a two-faced selfish bitch."

I could see this wasn't going well, but I played along.

"Well, obviously I know because you just told me. It's okay, though, I've noticed most people are. I think it's just human. I dunno if I'm two-faced, but I'm definitely selfish and I'm definitely a bitch."
"Awesome."
"I also think I may be a hypocrite, but then I realize I'm being a hypocrite and I feel like an asshole."
"I don't."
After a long silence, I asked, "You don't like much, do ya?"
After an equally long silence: "I don't like a lot of people."
"Well you barely know me. It seems a bit unfair to say you don't like me already."
Part of this way playing on the "blank slate" idea. Part of this was genuine as she'd barely spent any time with my since my breakthrough. She truly didn't know the new me.
"I know enough."
"That's completely unfair and harsh. What do you think you know?"
"Enough. I have to get off now. Bye."

And she signed off. I had never been so angry. Who was this girl, who had spent months insisting that she loved me, that I was the better person, that she wanted to be friends with me--who was she to say she didn't like me?

I was too exhausted from everything else going on to feel much more than sick. And she still makes me sick when I see her online or on Facebook. I am so furious at her.


I have to see her Monday, though. I have some of her stuff still. Maybe I'll slap her.

I have this pain in my back today. It's the kind of pain that's so deep and intense that it doesn't so much hurt as much as it makes you want to throw up. It's pretty nuts.

Mandatory Sex Party. Tweet about it. Post it. Spread the mothereffing word.
This won't do much good now, but some day, when I'm rich and famous, God dammit, it will make a difference!

The following conversation just took place:

Me (lying in bed with the lights off, having planned to go to bed hours ago and still having not done so): Hey, dad?
Dad (in the kitchen): Yeah?
Me: I'm hungry.
Dad: So?
Me: Well...You're awake.
Dad: ....So?
Me: .....I'm hungry.
Dad: Well, what do you want?
Me: What are you willing to make?
Dad: A sandwich?
Me: ....
Dad: Well?
Me: Don't really want a sandwich.
Dad: What do you want?
Me: What I want you won't give me!
Dad: What?
Me: Mashed potatoes.
Dad: I'm not cooking.
(at this point I got tired of yelling through my closed door and climbed out of bed and into the hall)
Me: Do we have sausage?
Dad: Yes.
Me: Can I have sausage?
Dad: I guess.
Me: (seeing a new microwave on the counter) Hey, you got a new microwave already?!
Dad: Yeah. The old one broke, right? Why wait?
Me: SWEET! THIS ONE DOESN'T HAVE A KNOB! I hated that knob. (I open the microwave.) And it doesn't smell like old Ramen!
Dad: Yeah...don't burn Ramen in this one.
Me: Third time's a charm, right?

Yup. I have burned instant Ramen in both of our past two microwaves. Let me tell you, that smell does NOT come out.
Anyway, that's enough for tonight.

Alright, so I'm trying a kind of personal challenge in addition to the more formal challenges I'm doing.
This is going to be a sort of daily journal. The posts don't have to be long, but I really need to get back into the habit of writing in a journal every day.

Today's post:
Procrastination needs to be labeled a disease so they can start working on a cure. And then I can tell my teacher, "I suffer from chronic procrastination," and she'll feel bad for me and be lenient because I have a fucking disease. Procrastination feels like a disease anyway. At least for me. Maybe I actually do have some kind of mental thing. I know I'm pretty fucked up already; it wouldn't surprise me if I had some stupid thing that made me not be able to focus or whatnot. I mean, I already have some stupid thing that makes me feel depressed half the time. Maybe the procrastination is a symptom of the depression. I don't know. I use to pop ADD meds, but that wasn't healthy. Nor do I think it was legal. I was kind of shocked when my psychiatrist prescribed them to me because (at least to me) it was pretty obvious I asking for them because I was a fucking prescription pill addict. But who was I to complain? I now had a little white pill that made it so I didn't have to sleep (and didn't have to deal with the nightmares, thank God, I hate the nightmares) and could get hours of work done no problem.
I miss those little white pills.