Sublimely Ridiculous

Sometimes I can't get out of bed

2010-10-18T10:50:00.000-07:00

This morning was one of those mornings. The whole night I was trapped in what felt like a never-ending nightmare. It was horrific. Yea, I had class at 8 o'clock this morning. Yea. I know. But this morning when my alarm went off, all I felt was fear. I just couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and face the world today. I just couldn't. So I didn't. Sometimes my mental and physical health trumps school.
Andrea Gibson says it best: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cEc3aQOP-o

The Fall: It Always Happens

2010-09-15T10:04:00.000-07:00

I was doing relatively well. But because I'm a psych major and a human right minor, most of my classes tackle triggering topics, like sexual abuse and torture. After a couple of weeks of being bombarded by this stuff, I just couldn't handle it today. I didn't go to class today. I just couldn't. It's been too much. I just needed a break. I don't want to do anything. I just want to curl up in a ball and stay in bed all day, reading novels. But, no. I have to go to work. I have to facilitate a meeting. I can't just pause my life, even if I feel like I need to. I just have to make it to Thursday night because Friday I don't have class. Then, I can pause my life. Then. I hope I make it.

She Shall Go Free - Fight Human Trafficking

2010-09-09T22:07:00.001-07:00

Hello!

She Shall Go Free is a growing non-profit organization dedicated to fighting against sexual slavery, human trafficking, and other forms of exploitation or violence against women and girls. We focus our efforts on awareness raising campaigns, fair trade and ethical consumerism, fundraising for anti-trafficking programs, and unique initiatives designed to make a visible impact in the fight against injustice.

Right now, we are in the running for a $25,000 grant from the Pepsi Refresh Project (http://www.refresheverything.com/ssgf).

Grant winners are selected based on votes from the public--the top ten project ideas in the $25k category will receive the grant! We were hoping you could help get the word out about our project and encourage your supporters to vote for our idea. Here is the breakdown for how SSGF plans to use the grant:

$9,500 will be used to print 1,000 t-shirts for their ongoing awareness and fundraising campaign. SSGF t-shirts are produced by women who have escaped from the sex trade. They are FAIRTRADE certified, made from 100% organic cotton, and printed with eco-friendly water based dyes. The t-shirt campaign is designed to raise awareness about the realities of human trafficking. The profits from the sale of these shirts will be used to fund other SSGF initiatives. So, not only is the initial production of the shirts benefiting survivors of sex trafficking, but the sale of these shirts will also go to benefit survivors and help fight human trafficking.

$6,000 will be used to create a scholarship fund to help survivors cover the cost of job training or basic education courses. These scholarships are intended to help empower survivors and help women stay out of poverty. It will provide women the opportunity to tap into their potential and improve their socio-economic opportunities as they rebuild their lives.

$6,000 will be used to establish a second fund to provide emergency financial assistance for women in need. These funds may be used to help cover basic needs during acute crises, cover expenses related to urgent medical needs such as medication, or other urgent needs that may arise. These funds will be distributed on a case by case basis.

$3,000 will go towards purchasing urgently needed items for local shelters and organizations that serve survivors of trafficking and gender-based violence. We are specifically interested in assisting with direct client services by providing items such as clean clothing, toiletries, bed linens, basic medical supplies, etc. We hope to fill in some of the gaps in donations and resources created by the ongoing economic recession.

An additional $500 will go towards maintenance costs for the organization.

You can vote every day for the whole month of September--and every vote counts. We would greatly appreciate any support you could offer

You can vote by using the following link: http://www.refresheverything.com/ssgf

You may ALSO vote by Texting 102193 to Pepsi (73774)!

Remember, you can vote every day! Please spread the word by sending this information on to your mailing lists and contacts. Spreading the word and encouraging others to vote every day will help us make this dream a reality for our organization! For more information on SSGF, please check out our blog: http://sheshallgofree.blogspot.com/

With love and freedom,

She Shall Go Free for Pepsi Refresh Project!!

2010-09-04T19:47:00.000-07:00

Please vote for She Shall Go Free for the Pepsi Refresh Project to fight Human Trafficking and Slavery. She Shall Go Free is a growing non-profit organization dedicated to fighting against sexual slavery, human trafficking, and other forms of exploitation or violence against women and girls. We focus our efforts on awareness raising campaigns, fair trade and ethical consumerism, fundraising for anti-trafficking programs, and unique initiatives designed to make a visible impact in the fight against injustice. Please Vote!

Breakdown....

2010-05-21T11:46:00.000-07:00

I completely broke down yesterday. It was quite tragic. I was doing OK at work. In my cubicle. Minding my own business. Then... the weight of recent events came crashing down and I started crying. Weeping really. In my cubicle. And for a good 20 minutes. And no one, not a single person said anything. Now, I was trying to be quiet. And I'm not sure how I would've responded if someone had said something. And I guess I'll never know because I was completely invisible. That solidified my belief that no one at my jobs knows I exist, which just made me feel even worse and completely worthless. Then all I could think about was the tool kit in the trunk of my car... with the box cutter in it. A sturdy, sharp box cutter. I wanted it. As soon as I got to my car, I took it out and held it in my hand as I drove home, constantly thinking of a way to break so I could have just the blade. [I got into the habit of keeping whatever I used to cut with wrapped in a napkin in the case with my ipod because I always have my ipod with me.] I smashed it with the hammer and freed the blade. Then I did it. I cut. Then I cried. Ashamed because I hadn't promised to stop cutting. And here I was, in an act of desperation, cutting. Again. I still feel really ashamed for doing it, but I didn't know what else to do.

new poem: Love Letter

2010-05-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

I can’t begin this with “Dear” because you like to rape open the pretty

Penetrate the innocence of sincerity

Turning words like “Dear into nothing more than 4-letter stab wounds

“Fuck you, you fucking slut!”

Funny how those become interchangeable with the 4 letters my mother named me

Jade – which you said meant dumb

Which in turn meant dirt

Too low to love – but low enough to fuck

Legs spread like slut – but I bled like girl

I spoke pain way too soon

You spoke thesaurus because it was always synonymous to love

You ran my life like a wordsmith

And I clung to every syllable like a popsicle stick

Sometimes nothing is stronger the grip of a child

You told me you’d hold me daughter

Give me all the love my father couldn’t muster

But no daughter should ever know what her daddy tastes like

I sucked you popsicle bone dry – and you called it love

Sometimes life is just child’s play

You always had a way with words

Your tongue was a knife dipped in sugar

And I had never bled so sweetly before you

Your love costs me way too much blood

But I craved you because you were all the love I knew

I still crave you sometimes – like a junkie craves needles

I still feel your words swimming in my veins

Maybe that’s why I cut them open

Maybe I miss seeing you every time I bleed

Maybe I just want you out of me

You carved fault lines into my dreams – so I’m gonna need you to stop shaking me

No nights spent trembling, tangled, tits twisted, sheets soaked with the smell of you

I hate that your aroma lingers in my nightmares

I wish you scent wasn’t so familiar because I always end up craving what I’ve grown accustomed to

I got used to the groping multiplied by heavy moans divided by every time you played arson

I’ve never been one for math but 3117

That’s how many time you burned my soul to ashes

But I’m learning to play phoenix

I bet you didn’t think I could breathe through cinder

Lungs black and smoky – but still expanding

Still pumping the air I need to proclaim my story

The story no one wants to hear but my soul needs to tell

Your tongue carved silence into my flesh

But I heal with every word I write

The smoke is clearing

Watch me as my wings unfurl – I’ve been practicing my take-off

You wordsmith – your voice is growing faint

Everyone eventually throws the popsicle stick away

I no longer answer to dumb, dirt, or slut

Call me by the 4-letters my mother forgets she named me

Sincerely Resilient,

Jade

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T11:05:00.000-07:00

Hope. That's what her name would have been. Hope. She would be turning 7 soon. She'd be my daughter. I don't know if I wanted her, but I didn't really have a choice. And plus I was only 13. I still think about what she'd be like, what she'd look like. I probably wouldn't have been that great a mom. I was only a kid. I didn't even know what abortion was. It's strange, though, how much I miss her. I miss her like I knew her.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This day also makes me think of my own mom. She's quite a woman, my mom. She's quite intense. She has sacrificed so much for me. And for that, I greatly appreciate my mother. And its because of that that I feel bad for hating her sometimes. I know some people claim to hate their parents for not letting them do stupid shit. That's not why I hate her. I know some kids who have a right to hate their parents because they fuck them up for various reasons. My mom was never a drug addict, never had a line a boyfriends come in and do what they wanted to me. She only hit me sometimes, and never too hard. I usually deserved it. I've always had quite a mouth on me when provoked. She likes to provoke me. But no, that's not why I hate her sometimes. I hate her because she sometimes hates me. I'll never be enough for her. Its a strange thing, never being enough for someone. I'm not pretty enough, smart enough, girly enough, skinny enough. In her eyes, I'm a poor excuse for a daughter. She's ashamed of me. But that's not the only reason why I hate her sometimes. She never saw the abuse. I spent a good chunk of my childhood enduring some of the worst abuse anyone get endure. And she never saw it. And I blame her. And now that she know about it, she gets upset when I want to talk about it. She's upset I didn't tell her sooner. And I hate her for blaming me. I blame myself enough. I don't need her blaming me, too. I just need her to hold me and tell me that everything will be ok, even if she doesn't believe it. I need her to love me a little nicer. Her words cut me deeper than anything I could do to myself. I just need her to love me different from them.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I think of my own mother, I think about what kind of mother I would have been to Hope. What kind of mother I'll be in the future. I know I can't be like my own mother, but in ways I need to be. I wonder if I could've really loved Hope like I do now. Every time I would look at her, I would see her father's face, the man who raped me. I don't know if I would have been able to love her. I'll never know.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well in honor of mother's day, here's a poem I wrote:

"Mother, May I?"

I used my veins like construction paper
Cutting them into shapes I hoped you would notice
Bleeding truths in your favorite color into pretty little pictures I needed you to cherish
I was an artist
Painting bloody secrets on the canvas of my flesh
But you've never been one to admire art
Always found my childish musings trivial
Never saw the depth in paper snowflakes and finger paintings
You prefer the beauty of written words
So I peeled back my veins like the pages of a book
And extracted my pulse
With hands that created frantic incisions like run-on sentences with uncanny precision
I was a surgeon, then
But you only just books by their titles
So you never read the story my scars were writing
Every time the blade kissed my skin
I was reminded of how your lips carved doubt into my cheeks every morning before school
Every time I embraced that blade
I would recall the sterility of every hug you ever gave me
Every time I dug the blade into my skin
I excavated my memories
Trying to recall the feel of your metallic words in my mouth
I guess love's always tasted like metal
Cold - like your eyes
As you disdainfully gazed at the beauty of my muddy dresses and torn frilly socks
I must tell you - as I watched secrets bleed into white porcelain
Running down the sink with the endurance you thought I never possessed
I finally came to understand the pretty in pink
Tell me - was I girly enough then?
I was just trying to tell you of the painful realization of my own womanhood
I used the only coloring book you ever gave me
Giving life to pretty princesses
Their womanly figures outline in gashes on my skin
But I always made sure to stay within the lines
Stay within the boundaries you set
Tell me - was I good enough then?
I know I was never good at following rules
Always staining the fabric of time you had to spare
I guess I shouldn't have been playing dress up
But how else could I get you to see me unless I mirrored everything you wanted me to be?
I tried to mimic your language
Translating every word into skin tears
I mastered the art of conjugating every action into flesh wounds
My body spoke rupture eloquently
Tell me - was I smart enough then?
If I had hemorrhaged more womanly would you have loved me then?
I guess my veins are like puppet strings
Cut 'cause I couldn't move with the grace you demanded
I can no longer tell which one of us held the blade
I just know your love has left quite an impression
May I show you?

Update of Sorts...

2010-04-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

It's crazy how hard life is, or rather living. The process of living, actually living, is so hard. I find myself wanting to give up. ~~Sometimes.~~ Often. It just get too hard.

But something always keeps me here.

1. I know what is feels like to lose someone like that. Suicide has a ripple effect. And its hard not to be angry. And feel guilty for not being able to stop that person.

2. I don't want to make anyone feel that kind of pain, especially my best friend.

3. All the people who hurt me when I was growing up said I wouldn't make it. They said I'd give up on living because I didn't deserve to live without them.

Last night. I went back to that place. That dark place where I can't see the light of the hope that could keep me going. I was going to give up. My best friend asked me to tell her first if I ever do decide to give up. I told her last night that I just couldn't do it anymore. And she started crying. I couldn't handle that. I can't handle hurting her. She is literally the one person who has stood unrelentingly by my side. As I stood there and watched her cry, I thought of the friends I had lost to suicide and the pain that I felt because of it. I wanted to protect her from feeling that. And then I thought of the people who hurt me. I could hear their voices in my head. If I gave up, they would win. It would mean that they had broken me.

I. Am. Not. Broken.

It won't get easier, I know. But I can't give up now.

Human Trafficking: She Shall Go Free

2010-04-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine from school started this organization. She's a pretty amazing person who is doing some pretty amazing things. Everyone should check out her blog: She Shall Go Free. Lots of information.

Honesty II

2010-02-25T11:22:00.000-08:00

you puddle in my pillowcase when dreams of you are too full for my mouth to hold
soaking the fabric with details of contorted visions and twisted limbs
flowing into the crevices my body makes when my mind succumbs to the whims of my subconscious
I feel you inside - red
like the secrets that bleed from the brush strokes I carve into my wrist with razorblades of redemption
I clench my fist as if to finally grasp you
but you always slip through the lines in my hand
I feel you expanding me
so I see your face in every stretch mark
and I’m angry at the fact you're making me grow
but you told me I was hungry
so I swallowed you like a ghost
but you tasted like knives
shredding apart my insides
sending me on a never ending search to fill the void you keep cutting
so I snort powdered soda
and binge on intimacy with a jack who was never referred to as john
and a captain whose ship I don't remember getting on
just so I can purge
but every time I do - you never come up
instead you tease me by choking my chest every time I suppress a nicotine burp
you lit a flame under my respiration
causing me to chase my breath
but how can I catch it if I’ve yet to understand the beauty of breathing?
you poison my blood as you swim in my veins
making every beat my heart can still take about you
you know, she loves me
with the kind of silence that cradles
turning every "fuck this" into a "save me"
and she loves me with the kind of patience that enfolds me
meeting all my "I can'ts” with an "I'll wait"
and she love me with time bent like the clocks of famous painting
except its shaped by the intensity of the pressure you put on the words I won't say
and although he looks into my eyes
searching the rolodex of my falsehoods
and holds me with hands so warm they bring back memories of childhood kisses from God
and although he sees me with eyes that cocoon my soul with hope that I’ll one day spread my wings again
it only feels like love when he penetrates -
with his all-seeing eye
and I wonder what he thinks of the shitty patchwork of my uterus
I wonder if you marvels at the remnants of what could've been
gazes at the growth stunted by your hatred - and if I had known her, I would've called her Hope
every time he ventures into the abyss of my war zone
I want to make him watch as I hang you from the umbilical noose you forced me to create
shove the cord so far down your throat you choke on the nutrients of my shame
make you lick the salty barrenness of my womb
so you can taste you godliness, because you gave me her and then you took her away
I’ve got track marks of blasphemy on my tongue
because I inject devotion into my core
holey because you keep carving reverence into my words
you make me hate myself so much I want to rip out my insides and arrange them into a masterpiece so I can examine the beauty of my story
I question love because I look for its definition in the way the breeze reminds me of your breath
I stretch my cheeks with words too ugly to proclaim
yet marvel at how their images dance across my mind
whimsical and grotesque
soaking sheets when my mouth is full of nightmares

By Jade Fields

pain

2010-02-11T20:25:00.000-08:00

i love you. we are so good together. i need YOU. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never HURT each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love ME. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love YOU. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never HURT each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love ME. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love YOU. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never HURT each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love me. we would never hurt each other. i love you. we are so good together. i need you. you love ME. we would never hurt each other.

YOU HURT ME. WHY DO I ASSOCIATE LOVE WITH PAIN? WHY DON'T I THINK I DESERVE BETTER? I KNOW I DO. I JUST DON'T BELIEVE IT. SO I'M STUCK WITH PAIN. AT LEAST I KNOW YOU LOVE ME.

garden of simple

2010-02-08T19:40:00.001-08:00

ani difranco has a way of speaking directly to my soul via whatever listening device i am using at the time. this happened today at work. while filing, i found myself a mess of tears and nervous laughter. she was unpacking me without my permission. she sang about my confusion and uncertainty, she belted out tunes about my unspoken attractions and forbidden fantasies, she crooned about the ugly love i feel for an even uglier soul. she wrecked with her melodies and pummeled me to weeping pieces as her fingers gingerly strummed a guitar that, from the sound of it, she loved with the love one can only bestow on a lover.

im with him now - him and his ugly soul. he quoted her without knowing. “back then, when all of us were just nameless, you were never anything but beautiful to me.” as the breath of his words lingers in the air i think about the lines of the song that follow those. “they never really owned you/ you just carried them around with you/ and then one day you put them down and found your hands were free”

he doesn’t really own me. im just carrying him around. i just haven’t figured out how to put him down yet

I wrote this poem. It doesn't really have a title yet.

2010-01-26T10:19:00.000-08:00

you made me nothing more than blackened knees and secrets
an empty shell of what I could’ve been
because you carved out my innocence with love
the kind of love that bangs up the creaking headboards of unfamiliar beds under the silhouettes of familiar secrets
you were my master and I was your faithful lover
I remember the way your anger licked the trajectory of my limbs
and your knuckles kissed the curvature of my spine
the imprint of your fingers on my neck was the closest I’ve ever felt to security
you made me nothing more than broken bones and silence
a hollow shell of what I could’ve been
because you carved out my innocence with brilliance
the kind of brilliance that penetrate the fragile soul of a naive little girl whose loneliness is palpable
you were the artist and I was your masterpiece
I can still feel the way your hands sketched gashes across my skin
and the sting of your palms kiss painted the sweetest agony across my face
you made me nothing more than swollen eyes and solitude
a vacant shell of what I could’ve been
because you carved out my innocence with language
the kind of language the embraces the spirit while shattering dreams with painful affirmations
you were the voice and I was the soul
I can recall how your words spoke doubt into my existence
your mouth declared me less than human
the impact of your voice on my mind leaked bloody from my ears
I am all knees blackened by silence, eyes swollen with secrets, bones broken by solitude
a shell waiting to be filled with the plentitude of my potential
because my innocence had been replaced with painful wisdom
the kind of wisdom that’s fostered by the dreams that rise from the silence of my familiar bed
the kind of wisdom that penetrates the brilliance of my soul
the kind of wisdom that becomes the language of my story
I am the master of my own voice - the artist
breathing life into my scars
which have beautifully created the masterpieces of my life.

By Jade Fields

my grandma and me

2009-12-21T19:25:00.000-08:00

i just found out that my grandma has Alzheimer's. its still in the early stages but it so sad. and shocking. i feel bad because i never go see you. i live 5 minutes away and i never go see her. i feel so horrible. i mean, she is my grandmother. im just afraid of what i'll see when i go. i know thats selfish. but im still young.

worry is a mother!!!!

2009-11-22T21:46:00.000-08:00

so, its almost thanksgiving. which means i'm going home. which means MOM which means spending 5 WHOLE DAYS with the meanest woman i've ever known. 5 WHOLE DAYS of put-downs and mean words and constantly having my many imperfections pointed out and being told that i'm such a failure and that i dwell too much on what happened to me. all that i have to look forward too. its stressing me out. im not sleeping. im totally anxious and on edge and nervous all the time. im met with bouts of really intense sadness and find myself curled up in a fetal position crying my eyes out. i hate feeling like that. ive been away at school for 3-ish months. i havent seen my mom since august 31st. and ive enjoyed that. don't get me wrong - its been a ridiculously tough semester. so few ups and a whole crapload of downs. but ive been surrounded by people who truly care about me and shower me with love and support. and they respect me. my best friend has been there whenever i needed her. im going back to stockton. i don't have anyone in stockton. and this will be my first thanksgiving without by bff Cheeks (died last year of suicide) and Josh (the only guy i ever loved who died in a drunk driving accident). not i really don't have anyone in stockton. no one to turn to when my mom starts with her sh**. nobody but a drug dealer. i dont wanna go back to using because ive had 9 weeks clean. but im feeling like "home" is the kind of environment that would cause a relapse. and i already started cutting again. i keep telling myself its only 5 days. but 5 days is a long time with MOM.

3 things to ask

2009-11-09T20:43:00.000-08:00

why me?
why this now?
why this way?

ani difranco has a way of putting things...

sleeping....

2009-11-08T22:18:00.000-08:00

last night i was forced to sleep in my bed. for the past month almost, ive been sleeping in the living room of my apartment. I just dont want to deal with the shit that comes along with sleep... nightmares, night terrors, crying, intense fear... just things i dont want to deal with right now. ive been attempting to avoid sleep so i avoid sleeping in my bed. i instead nap more or less on the couch. but last night my roommates went out to some party and a friend of ours (who claims that she doesnt drink) was too drunk to drive home and she needed a place to crash. so when my roommates came in from the party and told me i'd need to sleep in my own bed because she'd be staying over i was a little upset. i guess because i couldve used a heads up. and i couldnt say no. thats just mean. the girl needed a place to crash for the night. but i was not mentally prepared for that. so the night was spent with me tossing and turning, trying intensely to stay awake, crying, shaking, cursing to myself for freaking out like i was, and more crying. i slept a little, which means nightmares too. great! all in all its not happening again until im ready to face all the shit that comes with that. when will that happen? who knows.

post secret

2009-11-08T11:45:00.000-08:00

i saw this secret today. then i saw an email response
"Many years ago, an older man that I trusted had inappropriate sexual contact with me. Twelve years of therapy and a suicide attempt later, and I still live with it every day.

A big part of me will forever be defined by the worst thing that ever happened to me."

whoever wrote this took the words right out of my mouth. from the time i was 7 until i was 12, men who i trusted raped and tortured me. therapy, drug issues, several suicide attempts, self-mutilation, all within the 7 years since it ended. im afraid that a big part of me will always be defined by the worst thing thats ever happened to me and how i responded to it.

normal college student? No

2009-11-02T19:31:00.000-08:00

i feel like there are certain things that every college student worries about at some point during their college years. they worry about grades, declaring a major, pleasing their parents while still going after what they want in life, figuring out what they want in life, hoping for financial aid doesn't fuck them over, hoping to find "the one" and be together forever, whether or not to party or study, and the list goes on. and as a college student, i definitely think about these things (worry is probably a more appropriate term). so im sitting here, not in class because i had a really intense panic attack in the shower. but then again, recently "shower time" has become "really intense crying, flash backs, wanting to die because living hurts too much, this whole attempting to see myself as a survivor instead of a victim is harder than anything ive ever done, exhausted because im refusing to sleep, why the hell is this happening to me?, i just want to be numb and not hurt anymore" time. and usually im able to more or less pull in together to make it through the rest of the day. but not today. i have an intense nightmare last night that wrecked me. every second is a fight against tears and im feeling like im gonna lose soon. i wanna curl up in a ball. instead i have to go to classes where rape and childhood sexual abuse come up all the time. and instead of just thinking those are bad things, im constantly hoping (even praying) that i dont breakdown, or have a panic attack, or that somebody wont say something that would trigger a flash back. i know i should be in class like other "normal" college kids trying to stay awake. but instead im trying to stay alive and its more than just an uphill battle.

Coping...

2009-10-21T20:42:00.000-07:00

Not really. Josh (the only guy I've ever loved) has been dead since Sunday. His sisters are still trying to figure out if they are going to take his brother off life support. This whole week, I've refused to sleep in my bed. I don't want my roommate to hear me crying in my sleep (if I sleep). I've been wearing his favorite pair of basketball shorts everyday. They make me feel closer to him. I'm not to accept the fact that he's gone. I'm totally numb most of the time. I'm trying to be strong for his sisters. They need someone to be strong for them, to hold them up. So, I'll be that person for them and deal with this later.

Why?

2009-10-18T18:45:00.000-07:00

The one guy I can't get over died today. He got hit by a drunk driver. His car was smashed. He was dead before the ambulance got there. His twin brother was with him and he suffered some serious brain damage. He might be in a coma. The only guy I've ever loved is dead. I'm not crying though. I think I'm afraid to cry. I think I'm afraid to let this sink in. I'm just afraid. Why would God take him so young? He was only 22. Why would God take him from me? Why does God want to take away every good thing in my life? Why does he fucking hate me? Why is my Josh gone? This pain is visceral. It hurts in strange places. I don't think I can handle this.

Don't Panic!!

2009-10-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

So, I have a class this morning. I only have one class on Fridays and its only 50 minutes. But....I'm not going. Why? Pretty serious panic attack this morning, which led to a full-blown flashback. INTENSE! Now I'm feeling drained and a little bit like a failure because I haven't had a flashback in a while. I've recently started therapy and just started addressing my past. So, talking about this stuff is making it increasingly difficult to go throughout the rest of my life when I'm not in therapy. My class starts in an hour, so I still have time to get dressed and get there. I just.... I'm not okay. I'm still shaken up. I'm supposed to go to work today (which can be relatively stressful because my bosses definitely treat the student workers like shit.) I'm not sure I can handle that. But then I'm the only student worker on Fridays and they need me to run errands. But then I'm worried that freak out again. Well.....I'm not going. It just wouldn't be good for me to go. What I want to do is curl up in bed into a small little ball, under the covers, safe from.....everything. I think that's what I'm going to do. I know I should get some studying in and all that productive stuff but.... I'm not okay. Hmm... this whole "being an adult and addressing the issues from childhood" thing is not easy. Or fun. Did I mention its not easy?

2009-10-14T09:04:00.001-07:00

"From the sublime to the ridiculous is only one step.”
-Victor Hugo, “Cromwell"