My heartache is reawakened. I thought it was supposed to lessen with time...yet here I am, only more upset, more lonely than ever before. I'm uncertain if I'm longing for a love or if I'm in need of love. What is it about these days that feels so hopeless? The future seems too abstract and too bleak to plan for.
The further I get from the memories, the stronger my pain grows. I was wiser back then. The calm that comes with being in love & feeling love - it is the highest sense of clarity...and with clarity comes enlightenment. But to an equal extent, unrequited love not only brings unbearable torture but it leaves you unhinged at your core.
Heartbroken,
ElyVas
12.25.2013
11.10.2013
Gutter Rats
Whether it’s through love, art, or spontaneity…to be inspired is magical. And the more magic you feel, the more fulfilled you live. When the powers of fate grace us with true love, beautiful art, sensational experiences – it’s easy to be inspired…you would be crazy not to embrace the magic. The challenge is when you must create your own magic. When you must search inside yourself for a reason, a goal, an incentive to keep going. Without purpose, how far could you drive through a fog...how far would you drive?
For as long as I can remember, I have gravitated towards people and places that represent the antithesis of my own surroundings. The destroyed neighborhoods at the battered corners of a pristine town…..the row homes with the beaten down doorways…symbolizing the lives of its occupants: broken souls shunned by society. The addicts, the criminals, the mentally ill, the morally deranged….they were the gutter rats, the abandoned throwaways deemed worthless.
What exactly appealed to me about such an unfortunate situation? Perhaps it was the stark contrast between the world I knew and the world I witnessed that really heightened my affinity. At home, with my family, my friends – I lived through a constant series of filters. It was exhausting to say the least. I grew tired of the burdens that censorship necessitates. It felt dishonest and impossible to continue for an entire lifetime.
When I would come across the kinds of people my mother labeled as "nobodys"...Rejected by society because of poverty, disability, or simply bad luck - it didn't matter....because I saw much more than a nobody. I saw the torture in their eyes, the love in their hearts, and most of all, I felt the honesty in their situation. They weren't hiding behind excuses, they couldn't rely on luxuries, they weren't concerned about an image....they had only reality. Nothing more, nothing less.
Whether it was an 85 yrs old hospice patient, a 55 yrs old handicapped homeless man, a 35 yrs old single mother on welfare, a 25 yrs old talented writer battling addiction....the quality they all shared was the vulnerability that comes from adversity...and in that vulnerability, humans are much more open, they are much more real. I appreciate that beyond words. I respect them for their realness, for their bravery, for their truth. Ironically, it seems that the supposed "lost souls" of humanity are the ones who helped me find the way to my own magic...truth inspires me. Truth is magical.
10.21.2013
A Solas
It is not death that I am uncomfortable with....it is the suffering that comes before it. the physical suffering of having only half your strength. the mental suffering of accepting defeat and coming to terms with what you have become. the emotional suffering of dying alone.
But more than any of that...it is the silent suffering that begins decades before we are supposed to die. Ignited by unfulfilled dreams, unmet goals, unpassionate love ... continues to persist as we live half-heartedly. It stays with us, subconsciously .... thickening our blood, fogging our vision, misguiding our hearts away from happiness. There are no fits of crying, no overt signs of the sadness, but an overwhelming, ever-growing sense of emptiness. the pain is insufferable...and you allow yourself to feel it... in silence, a solas.
But more than any of that...it is the silent suffering that begins decades before we are supposed to die. Ignited by unfulfilled dreams, unmet goals, unpassionate love ... continues to persist as we live half-heartedly. It stays with us, subconsciously .... thickening our blood, fogging our vision, misguiding our hearts away from happiness. There are no fits of crying, no overt signs of the sadness, but an overwhelming, ever-growing sense of emptiness. the pain is insufferable...and you allow yourself to feel it... in silence, a solas.
Haunted by the loneliness...it has reached a new pinnacle in my life. The world feels cold and unjust. I do not relate to it. My emotions continue to cycle through their own pattern so distant from the expected norm. I am uncertain whether I lack some critical component or whether I possess an additional wall ...that is keeping me from "belonging."
It is a frightening thought...to consider I may never belong. I may spend the rest of my life being held hostage by the irrational anxieties...that stem from living without purpose. There are so many tangents of emotion always running amuck inside of me...and no guidance to focus the energy. It scares me to think I won't ever figure out how to channel this chaos into productivity. And I will waste my life trying to fit into other people's norms…yet always coming short of “good enough”…and constantly apologizing but resenting what I am surrounded by.
I don't want to keep pretending I am content with my circumstances. I don't want to wait for my moment of peace. Something must change.
It is a frightening thought...to consider I may never belong. I may spend the rest of my life being held hostage by the irrational anxieties...that stem from living without purpose. There are so many tangents of emotion always running amuck inside of me...and no guidance to focus the energy. It scares me to think I won't ever figure out how to channel this chaos into productivity. And I will waste my life trying to fit into other people's norms…yet always coming short of “good enough”…and constantly apologizing but resenting what I am surrounded by.
I don't want to keep pretending I am content with my circumstances. I don't want to wait for my moment of peace. Something must change.
10.15.2013
Easy/Lucky/Free
I may not be alone but I see nobody along side of me as I walk down these streets. In the dark of the night.
They all deserted me hours ago... I had pleaded with them to stay longer...fearing i wouldn't survive this loneliness...but my efforts had not been enough to keep them. As the sun began to set and my own shadow slowly disappeared....I felt the flame of hope flickering away. Silently I wept. I begged for salvation. for my spirits are delicate you see. I am a fragile being.
Just a few hours ago I was surrounded by people....indulging in the social high that comes from being the life of a party...so engaged in conversation that the mind hasn't a chance to contemplate. the guests, the venue, the love was undeniably grand. It was a comforting scene...it always is.
I took my seat as the best man began his toast. I had been in good spirits all afternoon. I had no apparent reason, no obvious trigger to fall into another dizzy spell of anxiety. But in that moment as I took my seat at a table full of strangers ... I suddenly became so unbearably aware of the love all around me. Everyone was madly in love. And I know no such thing. It was as if I had been struck without warning... a painful blow to the heart...I was truly alone...and I felt it.
But it was not the time to face these realities...I was at a wedding after all! So I cleared my throat in an attempt to keep the tears at bay...and I put on my "so happy right now, my life is perfect, i love everything" face. I know it's fake but hell, sometimes you have to be...for the world is ruthless and full of judgment. It sees you in all the wrong lights at all the wrong times.
With that in mind, I have concluded it is far easier to be perceived as a one-dimensional carefree ditz than to have your layers of truth be unraveled....and run the risk of having your weaknesses be exploited. It is for this very reason that I chattered away for 20 minutes about how comfortable my stilettos were even while walking in the sand. I would rather be misjudged as that girl than have anyone know it has actually been anything but easy walking in these shoes of mine. To keep the image alive (no matter how distorted) means I must continue the charades...It's forced and it's fraud...but it's essential to staying afloat.
And though unfortunate, it is a real fact of life. Because the world will only know you by the words that you speak and by the things that you do. If you are lucky enough, every once in a lifetime, someone may come along and know you for the truth that you feel....and love you regardless. with an open heart, free of judgment. It is a treasured rarity, a remarkable bond....that brings you hope ... and gives you meaning. and amidst a forest full of fakes, its purity shines through...like a breath of fresh air... to love is to liberate.
Vivere e Amare
ElyVas
They all deserted me hours ago... I had pleaded with them to stay longer...fearing i wouldn't survive this loneliness...but my efforts had not been enough to keep them. As the sun began to set and my own shadow slowly disappeared....I felt the flame of hope flickering away. Silently I wept. I begged for salvation. for my spirits are delicate you see. I am a fragile being.
Just a few hours ago I was surrounded by people....indulging in the social high that comes from being the life of a party...so engaged in conversation that the mind hasn't a chance to contemplate. the guests, the venue, the love was undeniably grand. It was a comforting scene...it always is.
I took my seat as the best man began his toast. I had been in good spirits all afternoon. I had no apparent reason, no obvious trigger to fall into another dizzy spell of anxiety. But in that moment as I took my seat at a table full of strangers ... I suddenly became so unbearably aware of the love all around me. Everyone was madly in love. And I know no such thing. It was as if I had been struck without warning... a painful blow to the heart...I was truly alone...and I felt it.
But it was not the time to face these realities...I was at a wedding after all! So I cleared my throat in an attempt to keep the tears at bay...and I put on my "so happy right now, my life is perfect, i love everything" face. I know it's fake but hell, sometimes you have to be...for the world is ruthless and full of judgment. It sees you in all the wrong lights at all the wrong times.
With that in mind, I have concluded it is far easier to be perceived as a one-dimensional carefree ditz than to have your layers of truth be unraveled....and run the risk of having your weaknesses be exploited. It is for this very reason that I chattered away for 20 minutes about how comfortable my stilettos were even while walking in the sand. I would rather be misjudged as that girl than have anyone know it has actually been anything but easy walking in these shoes of mine. To keep the image alive (no matter how distorted) means I must continue the charades...It's forced and it's fraud...but it's essential to staying afloat.
And though unfortunate, it is a real fact of life. Because the world will only know you by the words that you speak and by the things that you do. If you are lucky enough, every once in a lifetime, someone may come along and know you for the truth that you feel....and love you regardless. with an open heart, free of judgment. It is a treasured rarity, a remarkable bond....that brings you hope ... and gives you meaning. and amidst a forest full of fakes, its purity shines through...like a breath of fresh air... to love is to liberate.
Vivere e Amare
ElyVas
10.10.2013
Brainwashed Brilliance
It seems I lost all hope for greater things somewhere during my twenty-years spent getting "formally" educated. The truth is I haven't learned shit from textbooks. I've got letters after my name that stand for bull-shit-more-dumb .
From the very first day of school....you get placed inside a box. You are told exactly "what to think".... without any training in "how to think." You are told what is "right" and what is "wrong". If you deviate from these norms - you get labeled a "rule breaker", a "bad seed", a "delinquent." Those are some harsh words to swallow at any age...let alone at a young age.
At some point in life, everyone learns that people's age does not directly correlate with their level of maturity. Before you figure out that nobody actually knows shit in life...you are left to believe what "adults" tell you. You take their words as the truth. And if the words you repeatedly hear are negative...it becomes a real problem. It's expensive undoing all the damage from your childhood ... (especially when most psychiatrists don't even take insurance).
The worst part is that by the time you develop your own opinions...and begin to question what others are saying...it's almost too late. Some Type A anal retentive control freak had labeled you a "disciplinary-dilemma" or "lacking initiative" or even worse "a C-minus student"....what exactly is C-minus anyway? like what the fuck does C-minus indicate??? "Dear (ten-years old) Tommy, you don't qualify for a C...b/c you aren't even "average", but just a smidge below-average. Perhaps you should just cut your losses and give up on this whole school situation."
Anyway....all these labels do more harm than good. They discourage kids from trying. They foster unwarranted hopelessness .... which may persist and become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I think it's a shame that we are told what our own potential is before we are old enough to decide for ourselves. We get assessed on how obedient we are ... how well we follow directions ... and how we perform on exams made for classrooms. When the real world is not a classroom. The kid who got straight As is not any better trained for the real world than the kid with C-minus running down his report card.
The majority of our lives are spent filtering through the nonsense of daily life .... while maintaining some sanity and awareness for what the fuck our purpose is. It is not spent filling in bubbles on a scantron or regurgitating facts on an oral exam. It becomes a challenge to determine which skills will translate into real-world success. And it becomes an even bigger challenge when a kid is positively reinforced for actions that will do him no good later in life. That kid will become delusional about his own capabilities....and will probably end up having a meltdown when his boss tells him something he has never heard before: "you are not good enough". Oh honey, you were never good enough...but don't jump a cliff over it....life goes on.
It is the tenth day of the tenth month ....one of my favorite nights of the year has finally arrived. kol tuv darlings.
ElyVas
From the very first day of school....you get placed inside a box. You are told exactly "what to think".... without any training in "how to think." You are told what is "right" and what is "wrong". If you deviate from these norms - you get labeled a "rule breaker", a "bad seed", a "delinquent." Those are some harsh words to swallow at any age...let alone at a young age.
At some point in life, everyone learns that people's age does not directly correlate with their level of maturity. Before you figure out that nobody actually knows shit in life...you are left to believe what "adults" tell you. You take their words as the truth. And if the words you repeatedly hear are negative...it becomes a real problem. It's expensive undoing all the damage from your childhood ... (especially when most psychiatrists don't even take insurance).
The worst part is that by the time you develop your own opinions...and begin to question what others are saying...it's almost too late. Some Type A anal retentive control freak had labeled you a "disciplinary-dilemma" or "lacking initiative" or even worse "a C-minus student"....what exactly is C-minus anyway? like what the fuck does C-minus indicate??? "Dear (ten-years old) Tommy, you don't qualify for a C...b/c you aren't even "average", but just a smidge below-average. Perhaps you should just cut your losses and give up on this whole school situation."
Anyway....all these labels do more harm than good. They discourage kids from trying. They foster unwarranted hopelessness .... which may persist and become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I think it's a shame that we are told what our own potential is before we are old enough to decide for ourselves. We get assessed on how obedient we are ... how well we follow directions ... and how we perform on exams made for classrooms. When the real world is not a classroom. The kid who got straight As is not any better trained for the real world than the kid with C-minus running down his report card.
The majority of our lives are spent filtering through the nonsense of daily life .... while maintaining some sanity and awareness for what the fuck our purpose is. It is not spent filling in bubbles on a scantron or regurgitating facts on an oral exam. It becomes a challenge to determine which skills will translate into real-world success. And it becomes an even bigger challenge when a kid is positively reinforced for actions that will do him no good later in life. That kid will become delusional about his own capabilities....and will probably end up having a meltdown when his boss tells him something he has never heard before: "you are not good enough". Oh honey, you were never good enough...but don't jump a cliff over it....life goes on.
It is the tenth day of the tenth month ....one of my favorite nights of the year has finally arrived. kol tuv darlings.
ElyVas
10.09.2013
Heir to a Hennessy
I received a letter in the mail this week. It was addressed to: Ella "belle" Vasconcelos. Though it had no return address... I knew who had sent it. Only a few people have ever called me "ella" and only one person has ever called me "ella belle".
My sophomore year in college...sometime in November....I fell into a "misanthropic blues" period during which time i abandoned all my sorority sisters, broke up with my boyfriend, stopped attending ticket parties....and rediscovered the color black. From partying with kappa delta to philosophizing about franz kafka...it was the classic renunciation of a lifestyle that had gone from promising liberation to breeding loneliness. the freedom it once symbolized now felt like self-imposed imprisonment. It was the inevitable epilogue to a life spent searching for anarchy. i stood for nothing and it ate me up inside. i was struggling to evolve as my social scene remained resistant, stagnant.
I'm still unsure what precipitated it? Perhaps I had taken one-too-many philosophy courses or perhaps I had had one-too-many frat-party-hookups (without a call back the next morning...without any sense of security). Nothing sparks unrest quite as strongly as the sense of rejection. And I felt rejected on another level...it was unbearable. I was "done with all the bullshit." I needed more from my "one life, one chance" than just the mundane routine of collegiate life. I considered seeing a life-coach/therapist/spiritual-healer/ghost-whisperer....just someone-with-answers....but seeing any of those people would involve listening to my own (faux-valley-girl) voice....i had had enough of my own voice. I was sick and tired of listening to the same redundant problems. I needed clarity about things that went beyond which dress to wear to the next formal. I needed to feel more self-worth than what comes from knowing you are dating the hottest guy in SAE....I needed enlightenment from a higher power.
Point of all this is to explain who on gods-green-earth sent me a letter .... and whaaaat did it say! Well, during my short-stint as an altruistic "morality-snob"...I spent most evenings at a homeless shelter shooting-the-shit with recovering alcoholics/ex-junkies who were now subsisting off nasty soup and cheesy mantras recited at their AA meetings. They were surviving on the possibility that tomorrow would bring better things...they were hanging onto the last sliver of hope. From one moment to the next. It was a depressing environment and yet it was magnetic. It appealed to some strange curiosity I couldn't ignore.
This is where I met Kellen.....born in Marennes but shipped to a New England boarding school as a teen .... "and the rest is not worth reliving" as he would say. It took me a while to understand that Kellen was not just any European import. His legal name was Richard de Mun Hennessy, III.
Kellen was in fact a Hennessy by birthright and an alcoholic by choice. I had the privilege (and pleasure) to get to know Kellen as the man outside his fortune and outside his disease. as the man who had successfully picked up the pieces that he shattered violently during his two-decades-long reckless oblivion. Unfortunately kellen passed away last week. from complications of his long-standing liver damage. inside the envelope addressed to EllaBelle, there were two sheets of paper. one was a heartfelt handwritten letter from Kellen. The other was a copy of his living-will.
my eyelids are feeling so heavy and my eyes are filling up with tears of exhaustion. I have to get to bed. until next time .
EllaBelle
My sophomore year in college...sometime in November....I fell into a "misanthropic blues" period during which time i abandoned all my sorority sisters, broke up with my boyfriend, stopped attending ticket parties....and rediscovered the color black. From partying with kappa delta to philosophizing about franz kafka...it was the classic renunciation of a lifestyle that had gone from promising liberation to breeding loneliness. the freedom it once symbolized now felt like self-imposed imprisonment. It was the inevitable epilogue to a life spent searching for anarchy. i stood for nothing and it ate me up inside. i was struggling to evolve as my social scene remained resistant, stagnant.
I'm still unsure what precipitated it? Perhaps I had taken one-too-many philosophy courses or perhaps I had had one-too-many frat-party-hookups (without a call back the next morning...without any sense of security). Nothing sparks unrest quite as strongly as the sense of rejection. And I felt rejected on another level...it was unbearable. I was "done with all the bullshit." I needed more from my "one life, one chance" than just the mundane routine of collegiate life. I considered seeing a life-coach/therapist/spiritual-healer/ghost-whisperer....just someone-with-answers....but seeing any of those people would involve listening to my own (faux-valley-girl) voice....i had had enough of my own voice. I was sick and tired of listening to the same redundant problems. I needed clarity about things that went beyond which dress to wear to the next formal. I needed to feel more self-worth than what comes from knowing you are dating the hottest guy in SAE....I needed enlightenment from a higher power.
Point of all this is to explain who on gods-green-earth sent me a letter .... and whaaaat did it say! Well, during my short-stint as an altruistic "morality-snob"...I spent most evenings at a homeless shelter shooting-the-shit with recovering alcoholics/ex-junkies who were now subsisting off nasty soup and cheesy mantras recited at their AA meetings. They were surviving on the possibility that tomorrow would bring better things...they were hanging onto the last sliver of hope. From one moment to the next. It was a depressing environment and yet it was magnetic. It appealed to some strange curiosity I couldn't ignore.
This is where I met Kellen.....born in Marennes but shipped to a New England boarding school as a teen .... "and the rest is not worth reliving" as he would say. It took me a while to understand that Kellen was not just any European import. His legal name was Richard de Mun Hennessy, III.
Kellen was in fact a Hennessy by birthright and an alcoholic by choice. I had the privilege (and pleasure) to get to know Kellen as the man outside his fortune and outside his disease. as the man who had successfully picked up the pieces that he shattered violently during his two-decades-long reckless oblivion. Unfortunately kellen passed away last week. from complications of his long-standing liver damage. inside the envelope addressed to EllaBelle, there were two sheets of paper. one was a heartfelt handwritten letter from Kellen. The other was a copy of his living-will.
my eyelids are feeling so heavy and my eyes are filling up with tears of exhaustion. I have to get to bed. until next time .
EllaBelle
9.21.2013
Bleeding Anhedonia
The incurable ennui of modernity....it persists without any foreseeable light at the end of this metaphorical tunnel. Amidst all the apparent blessings...despite drowning in an ocean of material wealth.....my soul weeps out of hunger.
Because the appetite for a meaningful life, an authentic life - it is the only appetite that cannot be tricked with reason...it cannot be satiated by a substitute. I cannot seem to rationalize my constant dread of what lies ahead...and I cannot explain my simultaneous indifference towards the outcome. Is it truly apathy? Some days I wonder if my reaction to life's obstacles is actually a "non-reaction"... like a numbing disillusionment...that chews away at the core of my heart.
And the longer you neglect to feed your soul, the deeper the hunger grows - until eventually the starvation becomes unbearable. The poverty of love mixed with the sensation of loneliness...and you've got a quality of life that has deteriorated to a mere existence. Inevitably, your mind is stripped of all clarity. And each moment becomes more painful than the last. Unspeakably more painful. Like a gnawing hurt, that just won't quit.
To be aware of these thoughts, to acknowledge them as legitimate thoughts....it only worsens my baseline hunger. What an exhausting way to live. No wonder I am vulnerable to restless nights and insomnia that warrants a serious intervention.
Time for a med change? or an address change? orrrr a job change?
#FlyingAwayToNeverNeverLand
ElyVas
Because the appetite for a meaningful life, an authentic life - it is the only appetite that cannot be tricked with reason...it cannot be satiated by a substitute. I cannot seem to rationalize my constant dread of what lies ahead...and I cannot explain my simultaneous indifference towards the outcome. Is it truly apathy? Some days I wonder if my reaction to life's obstacles is actually a "non-reaction"... like a numbing disillusionment...that chews away at the core of my heart.
And the longer you neglect to feed your soul, the deeper the hunger grows - until eventually the starvation becomes unbearable. The poverty of love mixed with the sensation of loneliness...and you've got a quality of life that has deteriorated to a mere existence. Inevitably, your mind is stripped of all clarity. And each moment becomes more painful than the last. Unspeakably more painful. Like a gnawing hurt, that just won't quit.
To be aware of these thoughts, to acknowledge them as legitimate thoughts....it only worsens my baseline hunger. What an exhausting way to live. No wonder I am vulnerable to restless nights and insomnia that warrants a serious intervention.
Time for a med change? or an address change? orrrr a job change?
#FlyingAwayToNeverNeverLand
ElyVas
9.20.2013
Saga of Jack - Part III
Saga of Jack Part I
Saga of Jack Part II
I’ve been practicing this scene for months because deep down I knew we would run into each other, sooner or later. After a disastrous summer travelling the globe, forcing myself to forget every memory I had of Jack, I came back to my one-bedroom flat on the Upper East Side feeling more wrecked and more upset than ever before. Not to mention, the extra 10 pounds I had put on from the self-destructive nights that always began with good intentions but ended with me crying to some foreigner about how my lover back home had abandoned me in the most undignified way. Now there are hundreds of men running around Europe who have the most pathetic image of American women: desperate, alone, and terribly needy. I would take it all back if I could.
Healing my wounded heart was not the only reason I decided to take a sudden and private vacation, I think my mind, body, and soul were screaming at me to check out from the debauched social scene. My self-destructive habits were all catching up with me and my health refused to sacrifice anymore than it already had. And despite my claims of immortality, behind the invincible attitude, I knew I was running myself into an early grave, but I also knew I couldn’t bear the shameful reality of “getting help” and being exposed as the out-of-control person I had become. So, either I could keep living the way I was, or figure out (on my own) how to get better. This is usually when I stopped thinking about the future and went on pretending like everything was okay. One Wednesday afternoon, as I was getting ready for a dinner date with Jack, he unexpectedly showed up at my door with a serious “we need to talk” look. He threw an ultimatum at me, claiming that he couldn’t watch me slowly kill myself (which I felt was a bit dramatic), so if I didn’t seek help within the next two weeks, he would break up with me.
Why was he doing this, didn’t he love me enough to stay with me through this? This sensationalized speech, was it just a way to get rid of me, relieve himself of the dead weight in his life? Suddenly, I felt paranoid, questioning if I meant anything at all to Jack. These feelings were followed by an intense rage. He had no right to treat me like a child and scare me with threats. My irrationality got the best of me that night, and I said some things (that I probably wouldn’t say, if I were given another chance). But, to my surprise, Jack didn’t fight back with equally scornful attacks, he didn’t reassure my fears and doubts nor did he entertain my allegations. When I finally spoke the words that ended it all, and told him that I never even loved him, he simply kept a calm face as he walked closer towards me. Although I didn’t mean what I said, I was testing him, dearly hoping that he wouldn’t take it to heart. But, even worse than feeling pain caused by my hollow yet dreadful words, he felt nothing. He felt so much “nothing-ness” that he managed to say goodbye in the most composed and collected way, as I watched him walk out the door, without once hesitating or looking back.
Saga of Jack Part II
I’ve been practicing this scene for months because deep down I knew we would run into each other, sooner or later. After a disastrous summer travelling the globe, forcing myself to forget every memory I had of Jack, I came back to my one-bedroom flat on the Upper East Side feeling more wrecked and more upset than ever before. Not to mention, the extra 10 pounds I had put on from the self-destructive nights that always began with good intentions but ended with me crying to some foreigner about how my lover back home had abandoned me in the most undignified way. Now there are hundreds of men running around Europe who have the most pathetic image of American women: desperate, alone, and terribly needy. I would take it all back if I could.
Healing my wounded heart was not the only reason I decided to take a sudden and private vacation, I think my mind, body, and soul were screaming at me to check out from the debauched social scene. My self-destructive habits were all catching up with me and my health refused to sacrifice anymore than it already had. And despite my claims of immortality, behind the invincible attitude, I knew I was running myself into an early grave, but I also knew I couldn’t bear the shameful reality of “getting help” and being exposed as the out-of-control person I had become. So, either I could keep living the way I was, or figure out (on my own) how to get better. This is usually when I stopped thinking about the future and went on pretending like everything was okay. One Wednesday afternoon, as I was getting ready for a dinner date with Jack, he unexpectedly showed up at my door with a serious “we need to talk” look. He threw an ultimatum at me, claiming that he couldn’t watch me slowly kill myself (which I felt was a bit dramatic), so if I didn’t seek help within the next two weeks, he would break up with me.
Why was he doing this, didn’t he love me enough to stay with me through this? This sensationalized speech, was it just a way to get rid of me, relieve himself of the dead weight in his life? Suddenly, I felt paranoid, questioning if I meant anything at all to Jack. These feelings were followed by an intense rage. He had no right to treat me like a child and scare me with threats. My irrationality got the best of me that night, and I said some things (that I probably wouldn’t say, if I were given another chance). But, to my surprise, Jack didn’t fight back with equally scornful attacks, he didn’t reassure my fears and doubts nor did he entertain my allegations. When I finally spoke the words that ended it all, and told him that I never even loved him, he simply kept a calm face as he walked closer towards me. Although I didn’t mean what I said, I was testing him, dearly hoping that he wouldn’t take it to heart. But, even worse than feeling pain caused by my hollow yet dreadful words, he felt nothing. He felt so much “nothing-ness” that he managed to say goodbye in the most composed and collected way, as I watched him walk out the door, without once hesitating or looking back.
9.16.2013
Alone in a Crowd
Not sure how much of my "against-the-crowd" mentality stems from my parents' overbearing and sky-high expectations .... and how much is a result of being inherently, genetically "foreign." I'm convinced I was essentially brainwashed from the ages of five to fifteen. Despite being grossly negligent and unaware of their parental duties, my parents somehow drilled their ancient beliefs into my soul. For how little we actually "communicated" they sure as hell communicated enough to give me a fucked-up perspective of the world.
The number of times they simply forgot to pick me up from school or forgot to come to a parent-teacher conference....crossed the line from "busy parent" to outrageously delinquent. It really didn't bother me. I couldn't care less about how "involved" my parents were in my life. Well, I admit - some days, I did get anxious about the logistics of getting-home after school...but that was wayyy before I started making friends with older (licensed) kids. But every few weeks, there would be a verbal message....regarding my intelligence/behavior/overall competence...that would let me know how I was doing....along with subtle daily reminders about the importance of maintaining distance from my peers. Because to remain detached and emotionless - to be robotic and heartless, it was the only way "to succeed." My parents sound liiiiiike .... members of Hitler's posse....ummmm...it wasn't thaaat bad.
Despite the nazi regime reigning over my childhood...I somehow managed to keep "the crazy" separate from the "non-crazy"...... Just long enough to develop my own issues....and now I've lost my balance, lost my sanity.....and have forgotten the purpose of this blog post? Oh whatttttamess....this situation has just gone to hell in a hand-basket. God have mercy, I am prone to panic attacks...you still love me, don't you?
What precipitated this sudden "my parents ruined my life" vent??? To be totally honest, I think I became agitated at some chick at work who continued to respond to my questions with a flat "I dunno" (in a tone that screamed: "I-don't-give-a-shit"). After being dismissed for the fourth time....I happened to notice her hair was braided - held together with blue/white/red ribbons. Something about her overt-patriotism combined with her lack-of-concern for her job...just set me the fuck off. She is the kind of girl who wears argyle vests, red pea-coats (falling at that awkward length that is neither stylish nor flattering), and has a boyfriend named John Smith from NEW JERSEY. And she probably loves jesus christ, loves her nights out with the "girls", and has Sunday dinners with her mother, father, and blonde-haired brother.
Ughhh I am obbvviouslllllyyyyy exaggerating at this point.... bitch does not love jesus christ. she is probbbbably a closeted satan worshiper with a boyfriend named Lucifer. Starving and exhausted...when is starbucks going to start delivering? Do I return Andy's 3rd missed phone call from the other wknd? Do I accept a dinner date with an unassuming nice guy Patrick? Or should I introduce him to patriotic-braids-girl - assuming she isn't dating her John Smith from new-jay....now i'm confused. too many new names. Can I get a day off from work to sort out my over-booked social calendar that needs to take a backseat to my building dependencies. in a serious fog about life. way too many sedatives.
C'est la vie
ElyVas
The number of times they simply forgot to pick me up from school or forgot to come to a parent-teacher conference....crossed the line from "busy parent" to outrageously delinquent. It really didn't bother me. I couldn't care less about how "involved" my parents were in my life. Well, I admit - some days, I did get anxious about the logistics of getting-home after school...but that was wayyy before I started making friends with older (licensed) kids. But every few weeks, there would be a verbal message....regarding my intelligence/behavior/overall competence...that would let me know how I was doing....along with subtle daily reminders about the importance of maintaining distance from my peers. Because to remain detached and emotionless - to be robotic and heartless, it was the only way "to succeed." My parents sound liiiiiike .... members of Hitler's posse....ummmm...it wasn't thaaat bad.
Despite the nazi regime reigning over my childhood...I somehow managed to keep "the crazy" separate from the "non-crazy"...... Just long enough to develop my own issues....and now I've lost my balance, lost my sanity.....and have forgotten the purpose of this blog post? Oh whatttttamess....this situation has just gone to hell in a hand-basket. God have mercy, I am prone to panic attacks...you still love me, don't you?
What precipitated this sudden "my parents ruined my life" vent??? To be totally honest, I think I became agitated at some chick at work who continued to respond to my questions with a flat "I dunno" (in a tone that screamed: "I-don't-give-a-shit"). After being dismissed for the fourth time....I happened to notice her hair was braided - held together with blue/white/red ribbons. Something about her overt-patriotism combined with her lack-of-concern for her job...just set me the fuck off. She is the kind of girl who wears argyle vests, red pea-coats (falling at that awkward length that is neither stylish nor flattering), and has a boyfriend named John Smith from NEW JERSEY. And she probably loves jesus christ, loves her nights out with the "girls", and has Sunday dinners with her mother, father, and blonde-haired brother.
Ughhh I am obbvviouslllllyyyyy exaggerating at this point.... bitch does not love jesus christ. she is probbbbably a closeted satan worshiper with a boyfriend named Lucifer. Starving and exhausted...when is starbucks going to start delivering? Do I return Andy's 3rd missed phone call from the other wknd? Do I accept a dinner date with an unassuming nice guy Patrick? Or should I introduce him to patriotic-braids-girl - assuming she isn't dating her John Smith from new-jay....now i'm confused. too many new names. Can I get a day off from work to sort out my over-booked social calendar that needs to take a backseat to my building dependencies. in a serious fog about life. way too many sedatives.
C'est la vie
ElyVas
9.15.2013
Barneys over Boonies, Fashion over Family
They asked me how I could be so calm amidst all the chaos. It's not as if I was fucking rocking in my chair like a god damn Mr. Rogers? I was simply choosing to ignore the hurricane of drama brewing around me.
Perhaps because I was still processing my own drama that I had just left behind in New York. After receiving a panicked and incoherent voice-mail from my mother...about "premature labor, exposed secrets, and heart attack" .... I packed up my bag of party favors, cancelled my plans for the following day, and checked out of my hotel a whole 12 hours early. Once again, my dysfunctional family was off creating a circus and urgently needed me there for......not sure exactly?
It was bad enough I had been forced to give up my highly coveted seats at Centre548. Every woman (...and gay man) I know would certify me insane for leaving New York during one of the most party-heavy/fashion-frenzied weekends of the year. Yea I wanted to see Rodarte's spring collections the following day. But honestly, it was not the fashion scene that was hard to abandon. It was actually the rooftop party that I was at....when I received the dreaded voice-mail from my overly-dramatic mother.
The breeze, the music, the drinks - an ideal setting for a perfect evening. I was casually people-watching, sipping on a margarita...contemplating whether I would get shit-faced...when I spotted an ex-boyfriend of mine...dancing with a brunette I did not recognize. This entire past winter I had been bombarded with rumors/updates about how Andy, the perpetually unfaithful ladies-man had finally found "the one". I had my doubts....until I saw the (nauseatingly pseudo-romantic) Facebook pictures. At some resort in Maui, on some weekend in last May...Andy had gotten married. (No, i was not invited.)
It didn't really shock me that Andy had done what he had vowed to never do....get married! I mean, yes, it stung that the very reason we had broken up (the chance that there would be a forever between us was soooo unlikely)...and yet somehow this girl had convinced him to ask for her forever. It did shock me that the girl was the most plain-Jane, un-glamorous chick I had ever seen. And here was Andy, four-months into his marriage, already back to his old tricks. Isn't "four months" still within the "honeymoon phase"? Shouldn't he still be overwhelmed by newlywed love?
Anyhow, I suspected it was only a matter of time until Andy would recognize me and walk over. So ten minutes later, I watched as Andy gave his brunette a kiss goodbye and started walking towards me. At that exact moment, my phone began to ring - it was my mother. I chose to ignore it. Andy and I exchanged painfully appropriate small-talk for what felt like forever.......until Andy stopped mid-sentence and confessed "it's not going well...becky and i are not getting along." [Becky was his wife]. Then he looked at me, as if waiting for my opinion/counsel.
Ummmmmmm....then my phone buzzed again "One New Voicemail"....Almost in an effort to avoid the conversation at hand...i told Andy I "haaad to listen to this voicemail." (oh whatttta lie that was). So that's when I heard my mother's ridiculous message. I told Andy I had to go...(but my inner-drama-magnet was dying to stay)
He seemed upset...and asked if we could talk over the phone later. About what exactly - I was fucking unsure. These boys and their erratic behaviors, i swear.
It was a 4.5 hours drive from the city to the middle-of-nowhere. Four-and-a-half hours to ponder over what had happened. Sure, it was not as heavy as my usual drama....but I was so confused about so many things. I wonder if Andy ever cheated on me. I have always given him the benefit of the doubt (not because I am a "good" person, but because my ego could not bear the thought of him being unfaithful to me). I knew it would be deemed "inappropriate" to really talk to him over the phone...given the fact that he was in my past....but a part of me wanted to help him sort out whatever the fuck mess he was currently in.
During my drive, I get a text from my friend...Apparently, after my departure, Andy began to take shot after shot after shot...and was now wasted...demanding to speak to me. Oh boy, how unattractive! Yet intriguing! Another text from a different friend notifies me that Becky has changed her relationship status on facebook. Liiike, who the fuck cares, people? (But keep the texts coming).
By the time I got to my destination, aka the boonies...I was still struggling to process what Andy wanted to talk about and why the fuck I had actually left NYC. I got to the hospital where my cousin gave birth, 3-days earlier than expected. three days is hardly anything to panic about, mother!!! And thank goodness nobody had had a heart attack. So, the voice-mail was just a false alarm.....aka the usual family bullshit. the drama-queen-gene must run in all our blood.
So, to answer the question - why I am so calm? Perhaps because y'all's drama is like ....not even hitting my radar.
Note to self: Next time.....choose Barneys over Boonies....and nyfw over family fiasco.
Perhaps because I was still processing my own drama that I had just left behind in New York. After receiving a panicked and incoherent voice-mail from my mother...about "premature labor, exposed secrets, and heart attack" .... I packed up my bag of party favors, cancelled my plans for the following day, and checked out of my hotel a whole 12 hours early. Once again, my dysfunctional family was off creating a circus and urgently needed me there for......not sure exactly?
It was bad enough I had been forced to give up my highly coveted seats at Centre548. Every woman (...and gay man) I know would certify me insane for leaving New York during one of the most party-heavy/fashion-frenzied weekends of the year. Yea I wanted to see Rodarte's spring collections the following day. But honestly, it was not the fashion scene that was hard to abandon. It was actually the rooftop party that I was at....when I received the dreaded voice-mail from my overly-dramatic mother.
The breeze, the music, the drinks - an ideal setting for a perfect evening. I was casually people-watching, sipping on a margarita...contemplating whether I would get shit-faced...when I spotted an ex-boyfriend of mine...dancing with a brunette I did not recognize. This entire past winter I had been bombarded with rumors/updates about how Andy, the perpetually unfaithful ladies-man had finally found "the one". I had my doubts....until I saw the (nauseatingly pseudo-romantic) Facebook pictures. At some resort in Maui, on some weekend in last May...Andy had gotten married. (No, i was not invited.)
It didn't really shock me that Andy had done what he had vowed to never do....get married! I mean, yes, it stung that the very reason we had broken up (the chance that there would be a forever between us was soooo unlikely)...and yet somehow this girl had convinced him to ask for her forever. It did shock me that the girl was the most plain-Jane, un-glamorous chick I had ever seen. And here was Andy, four-months into his marriage, already back to his old tricks. Isn't "four months" still within the "honeymoon phase"? Shouldn't he still be overwhelmed by newlywed love?
Anyhow, I suspected it was only a matter of time until Andy would recognize me and walk over. So ten minutes later, I watched as Andy gave his brunette a kiss goodbye and started walking towards me. At that exact moment, my phone began to ring - it was my mother. I chose to ignore it. Andy and I exchanged painfully appropriate small-talk for what felt like forever.......until Andy stopped mid-sentence and confessed "it's not going well...becky and i are not getting along." [Becky was his wife]. Then he looked at me, as if waiting for my opinion/counsel.
Ummmmmmm....then my phone buzzed again "One New Voicemail"....Almost in an effort to avoid the conversation at hand...i told Andy I "haaad to listen to this voicemail." (oh whatttta lie that was). So that's when I heard my mother's ridiculous message. I told Andy I had to go...(but my inner-drama-magnet was dying to stay)
He seemed upset...and asked if we could talk over the phone later. About what exactly - I was fucking unsure. These boys and their erratic behaviors, i swear.
It was a 4.5 hours drive from the city to the middle-of-nowhere. Four-and-a-half hours to ponder over what had happened. Sure, it was not as heavy as my usual drama....but I was so confused about so many things. I wonder if Andy ever cheated on me. I have always given him the benefit of the doubt (not because I am a "good" person, but because my ego could not bear the thought of him being unfaithful to me). I knew it would be deemed "inappropriate" to really talk to him over the phone...given the fact that he was in my past....but a part of me wanted to help him sort out whatever the fuck mess he was currently in.
During my drive, I get a text from my friend...Apparently, after my departure, Andy began to take shot after shot after shot...and was now wasted...demanding to speak to me. Oh boy, how unattractive! Yet intriguing! Another text from a different friend notifies me that Becky has changed her relationship status on facebook. Liiike, who the fuck cares, people? (But keep the texts coming).
By the time I got to my destination, aka the boonies...I was still struggling to process what Andy wanted to talk about and why the fuck I had actually left NYC. I got to the hospital where my cousin gave birth, 3-days earlier than expected. three days is hardly anything to panic about, mother!!! And thank goodness nobody had had a heart attack. So, the voice-mail was just a false alarm.....aka the usual family bullshit. the drama-queen-gene must run in all our blood.
So, to answer the question - why I am so calm? Perhaps because y'all's drama is like ....not even hitting my radar.
Note to self: Next time.....choose Barneys over Boonies....and nyfw over family fiasco.
9.07.2013
Ipse Dixit
I've rushed to the bathroom three times today....to deal with panic-induced vomiting.....something I've never experienced before. What exactly is my purpose here....is all this worth "it"....what is "it"?
Oh but tonight is really not the night to free fall into an existential crisis .... my mind and heart are physically ill - This ridiculous so-called "internship" at some hospital...is turning out to be such a life-or-death hammock of horseshit. It's taken an unexpected toll on my emotional stability. Simply witnessing another death may put me over the edge...let alone, participating in the "care" of those dying souls. What "care" exactly? Crushing a few ribs before we crush their already-failing heart? Pounding a dead woman's chest as her son is crying at her bedside, begging you to keep going... when you know she's been dead for 10 minutes....what kind of "care" is that? where is the dignity in that?
I feel like I need to vomit again.
I'm sorry but sometimes people die...I fucking want none of this bullshit on my conscience. I don't want these daily reminders about my own eventual death. about my parent's death. I don't want to think about these things because it's a perspective I"d rather gain through age. Not through traumatic, scarring events.
As for my own death, I sincerely hope it can be a peaceful goodbye while I am asleep. or an instant goodbye, via fatal car crash. Someway, anyway ---- that nobody has to witness it...and I don't have to feel any pain.
Its not healthy but I can't control it....I'm starting to accumulate immense guilt about all the sick fucks dying around me. I don't want to be a part of their medical care....there are too many glitches, pitfalls, mis-communications. Attempting to optimize patient-management once you've become aware of the systemic flaws - you are disheartened at the uphill losing battle right before your eyes. It is a true shit-show behind-the-scenes. I am by no means above the flaws...but observing the consequences of these flaws....it throws me into a serious panic attack....I can't be part of this fraud circus...i can't be promising people we will make them better....when we know their ticker is ticked the fuck out...their lungs are filled with fluid and infection....and their kidneys are just about to fail....
real-talk-only: you should've quit smoking 25 years ago. you should've stopped eating donuts when the scale was tipping at 200 lbs. you should've taken those blood pressure meds like you were instructed to do. real-talk-only - you've got 4 kids and no job, a different baby-daddy for each kid, getting child-support is as unreliably inconsistent as drug dealers in brooklyn. life is fucking hard and you don't have time to think about your failing heart or your diabetic insulin needs. you've only got time (and $) for a bag of Cheetos plus a diet pepsi. and maybe smoke a fag in between...because it feels so fucking good in the moment. pleasure-seeking, instant-gratification, life is so horrible, so why not give me the good stuff NOW NOW NOW.
I'm nauseous because I'm overwhelmed by fear....fear that I don't have the answers and may never find the answers. It's not enough to understand and "really get" the problem.....you have to have solutions, otherwise you are fucked. and end up vomiting all over the god damn hospital.
My one and only (cop-out) answer to all of this is: Ipse dixit
But until I find a more substantial theory: zofran & zanax, to sleep thru these trainwrecks
i don't think any of the above made actual sense. still in mild-shock. will clarify tomorrow.
Oh but tonight is really not the night to free fall into an existential crisis .... my mind and heart are physically ill - This ridiculous so-called "internship" at some hospital...is turning out to be such a life-or-death hammock of horseshit. It's taken an unexpected toll on my emotional stability. Simply witnessing another death may put me over the edge...let alone, participating in the "care" of those dying souls. What "care" exactly? Crushing a few ribs before we crush their already-failing heart? Pounding a dead woman's chest as her son is crying at her bedside, begging you to keep going... when you know she's been dead for 10 minutes....what kind of "care" is that? where is the dignity in that?
I feel like I need to vomit again.
I'm sorry but sometimes people die...I fucking want none of this bullshit on my conscience. I don't want these daily reminders about my own eventual death. about my parent's death. I don't want to think about these things because it's a perspective I"d rather gain through age. Not through traumatic, scarring events.
As for my own death, I sincerely hope it can be a peaceful goodbye while I am asleep. or an instant goodbye, via fatal car crash. Someway, anyway ---- that nobody has to witness it...and I don't have to feel any pain.
Its not healthy but I can't control it....I'm starting to accumulate immense guilt about all the sick fucks dying around me. I don't want to be a part of their medical care....there are too many glitches, pitfalls, mis-communications. Attempting to optimize patient-management once you've become aware of the systemic flaws - you are disheartened at the uphill losing battle right before your eyes. It is a true shit-show behind-the-scenes. I am by no means above the flaws...but observing the consequences of these flaws....it throws me into a serious panic attack....I can't be part of this fraud circus...i can't be promising people we will make them better....when we know their ticker is ticked the fuck out...their lungs are filled with fluid and infection....and their kidneys are just about to fail....
real-talk-only: you should've quit smoking 25 years ago. you should've stopped eating donuts when the scale was tipping at 200 lbs. you should've taken those blood pressure meds like you were instructed to do. real-talk-only - you've got 4 kids and no job, a different baby-daddy for each kid, getting child-support is as unreliably inconsistent as drug dealers in brooklyn. life is fucking hard and you don't have time to think about your failing heart or your diabetic insulin needs. you've only got time (and $) for a bag of Cheetos plus a diet pepsi. and maybe smoke a fag in between...because it feels so fucking good in the moment. pleasure-seeking, instant-gratification, life is so horrible, so why not give me the good stuff NOW NOW NOW.
I'm nauseous because I'm overwhelmed by fear....fear that I don't have the answers and may never find the answers. It's not enough to understand and "really get" the problem.....you have to have solutions, otherwise you are fucked. and end up vomiting all over the god damn hospital.
My one and only (cop-out) answer to all of this is: Ipse dixit
But until I find a more substantial theory: zofran & zanax, to sleep thru these trainwrecks
ElyVas
9.04.2013
CTRL+Z
Like a cancer in a young person. Like a fat girl in a sorority. Like mismatched whites. Some things just don't make sense ....they don't belong. It's how I feel at work. It's how I feel at home. It's how I feel on meaningless dates, carrying on meaningless conversations. And there's no cure for this but to remove the offending factor. Surgical excision of the tumor. Lipo for the fat. Outfit change for the mismatched whites. And a runaway Ely...far away from this life I know.
At the risk of sounding hopelessly psychotic...at the risk of losing all your empathy...and proving that I am perhaps the very cause of my own problems, that I perhaps deserve all the misfortune in my life - I have to confess regardless... I am anticipating going into horrible withdrawal in only a few short hours. As always, I regret my drug use, I regret the impulsive bullshit I pull when I'm feeling helpless. Because the aftermath is always so much fucking worse.
I've been awake for 34 hours. I'm not even tired. I'm fucking deliriously strung out and I am dreading what awaits me. Nobody has any sympathy for the drug users. I can sense the judgment. I'm like the cancer in the young person...nobody knows how to help me. I'm scared and I don't know how to deal.
oh lord, can i get an IV drip of HELP. syzzzuuurrrrup for my sadness?
To make my impending doom worse, I am currently at work being forced to listen to Chatty Cathy's talk about their need for diuretics, their fat lesbian in-laws, their children's field trip to Knoebles, their craving for donuts.....alll whilst listening to country on the radio.
Jeeezuz Fucking Christ, can I get some pain killers. My ears are bleeding.
Chest-Pain-ing & Head-Aching,
ElyVas
At the risk of sounding hopelessly psychotic...at the risk of losing all your empathy...and proving that I am perhaps the very cause of my own problems, that I perhaps deserve all the misfortune in my life - I have to confess regardless... I am anticipating going into horrible withdrawal in only a few short hours. As always, I regret my drug use, I regret the impulsive bullshit I pull when I'm feeling helpless. Because the aftermath is always so much fucking worse.
I've been awake for 34 hours. I'm not even tired. I'm fucking deliriously strung out and I am dreading what awaits me. Nobody has any sympathy for the drug users. I can sense the judgment. I'm like the cancer in the young person...nobody knows how to help me. I'm scared and I don't know how to deal.
oh lord, can i get an IV drip of HELP. syzzzuuurrrrup for my sadness?
To make my impending doom worse, I am currently at work being forced to listen to Chatty Cathy's talk about their need for diuretics, their fat lesbian in-laws, their children's field trip to Knoebles, their craving for donuts.....alll whilst listening to country on the radio.
Jeeezuz Fucking Christ, can I get some pain killers. My ears are bleeding.
Chest-Pain-ing & Head-Aching,
ElyVas
9.01.2013
Relative Truths and Absolute Fallacies
I watched a man shake, seize, scream his way to a damn painful death. How does a 55 year old guy without any medical problems just have a massive heart attack....all of a sudden....out of the fucking blue. And if our mortality is assigned to us before we even take our first breath...then what is the use of trying to shock him back to life or restrain him down as he is begging to leave. Perhaps humanity's inherent optimism is to blame. We are all born far too idealistic for our own goods.
I actually really miss that quality about childhood...indulging in those idealistic views. Giving into the naive assumption that my parent's love was unconditional. Giving into the fantasy that perhaps some things in life are truly free. And I miss the irrational comforts - like knowing that every Wednesday after school, rain or shine - my dad would take me out for ice cream. It was our time together and nobody could take it from us. I yearn for the comfort I would feel simply from jumping into my parents' bed and begging them to tell me the same bedtime story I had heard a million times before. I would fall asleep feeling like "it" would all be okay no matter what (not actually knowing what "it" was.)
Then something strange happens to us as we age...the trite affairs of life combined with the inevitable heartbreaks we are bound to experience...begin to wear us down...we lose what made us blissfully pure...we become ugly inside...we become "human". What we once perceived as "optimism and hope" starts feeling like "naivety and ignorance." There is something awfully terrible about growing up. It's fucking isolating. It's lonely.
And yet, there are days when I am reminded of how unpredictable life can be - and that perhaps if I stopped being so ungrateful, I could realize how precious it is. We are guaranteed not even our next breath of air. Is that not fucking mind-blowing. Does that not make every moment of our lives so incredibly valuable? Regardless of whether you live to be 25 or 85....life is truly short. So why, then, would I spend even a minute focusing on the nonsense that ruins me.
I hate that watching a dying man be electrically shocked is what shocked my own self-awareness. I hate that watching a man take his last few breaths is what triggered me to appreciate my next few breaths. I hate that it takes such sadness to awaken my soul..
As I walked away from the crowd of people who had just tried yet failed to revive the guy...I felt so damn guilty. He had died and I had stood there watching him...I didn't ask to be a part of his last minutes on this Earth. I didn't want to take up space in a room filled with strangers. His own family should have been in that room. His own children should've been there. Not only did I fail to help him physically, but I failed to provide any comfort. He was crying, shaking, screaming for help. And none of us could help him.
I desperately wanted to know what it was he was crying about the most. Was he longing for his family who he never got a chance to say goodbye to? Was he crying about past regrets - of not doing all that he could? Regrets about the mistakes he had made and the people he had hurt? Was he crying out of fear of the unknown....the afterlife?
Fuck all this death talk has made me violently sad.
Labor day Lemons .... fuck lemonade.
until next time,
ElyVas
I actually really miss that quality about childhood...indulging in those idealistic views. Giving into the naive assumption that my parent's love was unconditional. Giving into the fantasy that perhaps some things in life are truly free. And I miss the irrational comforts - like knowing that every Wednesday after school, rain or shine - my dad would take me out for ice cream. It was our time together and nobody could take it from us. I yearn for the comfort I would feel simply from jumping into my parents' bed and begging them to tell me the same bedtime story I had heard a million times before. I would fall asleep feeling like "it" would all be okay no matter what (not actually knowing what "it" was.)
Then something strange happens to us as we age...the trite affairs of life combined with the inevitable heartbreaks we are bound to experience...begin to wear us down...we lose what made us blissfully pure...we become ugly inside...we become "human". What we once perceived as "optimism and hope" starts feeling like "naivety and ignorance." There is something awfully terrible about growing up. It's fucking isolating. It's lonely.
And yet, there are days when I am reminded of how unpredictable life can be - and that perhaps if I stopped being so ungrateful, I could realize how precious it is. We are guaranteed not even our next breath of air. Is that not fucking mind-blowing. Does that not make every moment of our lives so incredibly valuable? Regardless of whether you live to be 25 or 85....life is truly short. So why, then, would I spend even a minute focusing on the nonsense that ruins me.
I hate that watching a dying man be electrically shocked is what shocked my own self-awareness. I hate that watching a man take his last few breaths is what triggered me to appreciate my next few breaths. I hate that it takes such sadness to awaken my soul..
As I walked away from the crowd of people who had just tried yet failed to revive the guy...I felt so damn guilty. He had died and I had stood there watching him...I didn't ask to be a part of his last minutes on this Earth. I didn't want to take up space in a room filled with strangers. His own family should have been in that room. His own children should've been there. Not only did I fail to help him physically, but I failed to provide any comfort. He was crying, shaking, screaming for help. And none of us could help him.
I desperately wanted to know what it was he was crying about the most. Was he longing for his family who he never got a chance to say goodbye to? Was he crying about past regrets - of not doing all that he could? Regrets about the mistakes he had made and the people he had hurt? Was he crying out of fear of the unknown....the afterlife?
Fuck all this death talk has made me violently sad.
Labor day Lemons .... fuck lemonade.
until next time,
ElyVas
8.26.2013
Simon Says - Fuck the World
Two million dollars. That is how much Lindsay Lohan was paid for doing an interview with Oprah (almighty) - during which she proved to the world she is a pathological liar....I just wonder how many people truly believed that she has only tried cocaine "10-15x in my whole life". Waaaait, whaaaat? Is she for real? That is as absurd as if Oprah decided to publicly claim that she weighs 140 pounds. Ain't nobody buyin' that shit.
To make matters worse, she did not even try to be vague about it...."oh I've only dabbled with coke, here and there." She had to go one step beyond and put a number on it. As if that makes it more believable? Is she clinically insane? Witnessing someone tell such a blatant lie makes everyone listening so fucking uncomfortable. It's like a universal reaction. I cringed as she spoke.
(Can you imagine if Oprah really tried to claim she was 140 pounds?)
A part of me is concerned that she is actually psychotically delusional and believes herself. Another part of me is beyond infuriated at how transparent her lies are and yet Oprah did not even call her out on it. I thought Oprah was the queen of real-talk-only. Oprah ain't got no time for fraud. (liiiike, reference: A Million Little Pieces by James Frey). So why did Lohan get immunity? Oprah, why did you let Lohan off the hook? The interview progressively became more agitating until eventually I almost threw my shoe at the television. And when I say "almost"....I mean "I actually did throw my shoe at the television".
Meanwhile...in the land of ElyVas....I am at the verge of being fired because I've got a medical condition that prevents me from being anywhere on time. I swear...it's, liiiiiike, a real fucking disease. You can test for it....like you can test for cancer. I basically have cancer. And my boss wants to fire me. And Lindsay Lohan is smoking crack cocaine, lying to Oprah, and collecting a check for 2 million dollars.
Simon Says, this makes no fucking sense.
I joked about having cancer....to find humor in a shitty situation. There is obviously nothing funny about cancer. And there is definitely nothing funny about possibly getting fired from my job.
Upon request from my boss - (as part of my "damage control" protocol) - I have been thrown to the wolves (i.e. psychotherapists) to "sort out all my prahhhblems." After seeing three different people, essentially wasting ten hours of my life.....exhausted and sick of listening to my own voice whining about this-or-that...I have decided to no longer entertain their ideas of "what ails me".
Personally i don't care how many letters you have after your name. I don't care if you went to Harvard or Howard. As far as I am concerned, you are all incompetent just the same. I don't need a psychoanalysis about why I am the way I am. I don't consent to being the topic of your next research project about crazy chicks living normal lives. while i may have initially had good intentions...at this point, i am so frustrated, i demand you write me a script for my so-called "panic attacks"....a script for my so-called "broken heart"...a script for my so-called "ennui of modernity".
To make matters worse, she did not even try to be vague about it...."oh I've only dabbled with coke, here and there." She had to go one step beyond and put a number on it. As if that makes it more believable? Is she clinically insane? Witnessing someone tell such a blatant lie makes everyone listening so fucking uncomfortable. It's like a universal reaction. I cringed as she spoke.
(Can you imagine if Oprah really tried to claim she was 140 pounds?)
A part of me is concerned that she is actually psychotically delusional and believes herself. Another part of me is beyond infuriated at how transparent her lies are and yet Oprah did not even call her out on it. I thought Oprah was the queen of real-talk-only. Oprah ain't got no time for fraud. (liiiike, reference: A Million Little Pieces by James Frey). So why did Lohan get immunity? Oprah, why did you let Lohan off the hook? The interview progressively became more agitating until eventually I almost threw my shoe at the television. And when I say "almost"....I mean "I actually did throw my shoe at the television".
Meanwhile...in the land of ElyVas....I am at the verge of being fired because I've got a medical condition that prevents me from being anywhere on time. I swear...it's, liiiiiike, a real fucking disease. You can test for it....like you can test for cancer. I basically have cancer. And my boss wants to fire me. And Lindsay Lohan is smoking crack cocaine, lying to Oprah, and collecting a check for 2 million dollars.
Simon Says, this makes no fucking sense.
I joked about having cancer....to find humor in a shitty situation. There is obviously nothing funny about cancer. And there is definitely nothing funny about possibly getting fired from my job.
Upon request from my boss - (as part of my "damage control" protocol) - I have been thrown to the wolves (i.e. psychotherapists) to "sort out all my prahhhblems." After seeing three different people, essentially wasting ten hours of my life.....exhausted and sick of listening to my own voice whining about this-or-that...I have decided to no longer entertain their ideas of "what ails me".
Personally i don't care how many letters you have after your name. I don't care if you went to Harvard or Howard. As far as I am concerned, you are all incompetent just the same. I don't need a psychoanalysis about why I am the way I am. I don't consent to being the topic of your next research project about crazy chicks living normal lives. while i may have initially had good intentions...at this point, i am so frustrated, i demand you write me a script for my so-called "panic attacks"....a script for my so-called "broken heart"...a script for my so-called "ennui of modernity".
oh my apologies, your license does not permit you to write for medications? You spent a decade in training just to provide (shitty) therapy to people?
Simon Says, you should all be fired. (and leave ely alone).
Shit is hitting the hypothetical fan and I am growing numb to all my problems.
Existential Hangover - Until next Time,
Elyvas
Shit is hitting the hypothetical fan and I am growing numb to all my problems.
Existential Hangover - Until next Time,
Elyvas
8.24.2013
Second-Floor-Sorority-Snobs
My lunch hour begins precisely at 11:59 AM....do not even consider approaching me from 11:59 to 13:00. This morning's workload warranted a quad-venti for lunch. Maybe even an extra shot of goose...given the extra grey skies. It's Friday - which apparently signals the world to act stupid-happy. "T.G.I.F" they keep chanting ...."oh fuck off" I keep repeating under my breath.
Anyway, I grabbed my bag...and was headed for the elevator...until I saw through my peripheral vision that my boss was also waiting by the elevators. At which point, I thought "Oh not todaaaay!" Immediately, I took a sharp 90 degrees turn away from the ellie and towards the stairs. As I was skipping down the three flights of stairs....ready to get the fuck out of this building...I see Mallory, queen bee of the "Band of Bitches" from the second floor. My department actually refers to them as the "Second Floor Snobs" ... Nobody knows exactly what those chicks do...but apparently they are on the payroll.
Mallory is the epitome of "slutty-sorority-girl" who is struggling to transition into a "young-professional." She is one of those girls whose self-worth is based on 3 things:
Mallory's boyfriend broke up with her this morning (via text message....using the classic line "it's not you, it's me.") .... my initial reaction is: who the fuck still uses that line to breakup with people? But regardless...the fact that Mallory has been dumped is liiiiike earth-shattering news (apparently)....like "alert Perez Hilton" level of news. Get Larry King on the line... someone page Oprah. Because sorority girl is fucking flooding up the stairwell. Lifetime movie-in-the-making. Don't mind the fact that there is a potential hurricane on the horizon....that Syria is currently blowing itself up....and i'm pretty sure the entire continent of Africa is either starving or has AIDS or BOTH. oh and global warming is still....liiiike, killing us, or whatever. And I might as well just mention, yea, my roots still need to be colored.
So given the global mayhem, I really struggled to empathize with Mallory's first-world problems. It also did not help that I am not familiar with the usual cliched comfort phrases. At one point, I told Mallory, "There are many fishermen in the sea...or wait, there are lots of fishes and seamen...or men in the sea? Fuck Mallory, you were cheating on the guy for months, what did you expect?"
Something about what I said (or didn't say) must have hit a nerve...because Mallory stopped crying. Then, in true mean-girl frenemy-mode, I joked, "Maybe you just need to lose a few more pounds..." Thank the lord Mallory was able to find the humor in my ill-intended insult disguised as a joke. Maybe she's got more to her personality than I have given her credit? Maybe I should quit judging a book by its cover...(i.e. quit judging a queen-bitch by the jewels on her crown).
BambyBuzzed HandlebarHigh,
ElyVas
forgive this shit post - ill fix it in theAM
Anyway, I grabbed my bag...and was headed for the elevator...until I saw through my peripheral vision that my boss was also waiting by the elevators. At which point, I thought "Oh not todaaaay!" Immediately, I took a sharp 90 degrees turn away from the ellie and towards the stairs. As I was skipping down the three flights of stairs....ready to get the fuck out of this building...I see Mallory, queen bee of the "Band of Bitches" from the second floor. My department actually refers to them as the "Second Floor Snobs" ... Nobody knows exactly what those chicks do...but apparently they are on the payroll.
Mallory is the epitome of "slutty-sorority-girl" who is struggling to transition into a "young-professional." She is one of those girls whose self-worth is based on 3 things:
- how many guys she's fucked (other than her boyfriend...I know, I know...Karma is even a bigger bitch than you are Mallory)
- how much weight she has lost since last week. She is chronically plateaued at an unsightly 129 lbs. (The fact that I know how much she weighs tells you how vocal she is about HERSELF. "My name is Mallory. M for me me me me.")
- how much $$$ her parents have (it's too bad money can't buy you a personality...)
Mallory's boyfriend broke up with her this morning (via text message....using the classic line "it's not you, it's me.") .... my initial reaction is: who the fuck still uses that line to breakup with people? But regardless...the fact that Mallory has been dumped is liiiiike earth-shattering news (apparently)....like "alert Perez Hilton" level of news. Get Larry King on the line... someone page Oprah. Because sorority girl is fucking flooding up the stairwell. Lifetime movie-in-the-making. Don't mind the fact that there is a potential hurricane on the horizon....that Syria is currently blowing itself up....and i'm pretty sure the entire continent of Africa is either starving or has AIDS or BOTH. oh and global warming is still....liiiike, killing us, or whatever. And I might as well just mention, yea, my roots still need to be colored.
So given the global mayhem, I really struggled to empathize with Mallory's first-world problems. It also did not help that I am not familiar with the usual cliched comfort phrases. At one point, I told Mallory, "There are many fishermen in the sea...or wait, there are lots of fishes and seamen...or men in the sea? Fuck Mallory, you were cheating on the guy for months, what did you expect?"
Something about what I said (or didn't say) must have hit a nerve...because Mallory stopped crying. Then, in true mean-girl frenemy-mode, I joked, "Maybe you just need to lose a few more pounds..." Thank the lord Mallory was able to find the humor in my ill-intended insult disguised as a joke. Maybe she's got more to her personality than I have given her credit? Maybe I should quit judging a book by its cover...(i.e. quit judging a queen-bitch by the jewels on her crown).
BambyBuzzed HandlebarHigh,
ElyVas
forgive this shit post - ill fix it in theAM
8.22.2013
RTO, awy
I really do hope the storm clears out....and the capricious moment of love can be more than just a moment. Referencing the seventh heaven and the tree that stands at the edge of it......your words can leave a girl speechless.
hoping for enlightenment,
ElyVas
hoping for enlightenment,
ElyVas
Rendiez Grace, Ayez Pitié
I was visiting a family friend's little girl in the hospital the other day. She had suffered a serious concussion playing field hockey. Fortunately, she is doing much better. I stepped out of her room to make a quick call in the waiting room. While in the waiting room, I overheard a family discussing the fate of their youngest son.
From what I gathered...Cody was their 13 year old son...who had suffered damage to multiple organs after an almost-fatal car accident. He had spent the last three weeks in a coma. This weekend he opened his eyes for the first time. He was conscious again. But the excitement was short-lived...by Sunday night Cody was back on life-support. And the family's sentiments were bittersweet. While awake, Cody seemed "different" ... like he was "unaware of his surroundings." The doctors had mentioned something about anoxia and permanent brain damage. The family was unfamiliar with the terms...but were now facing some tough decisions.
I pretended to be busy on my cell phone but I was fixated on their conversation. The parents looked distraught....like they hadn't slept in weeks. Cody's two older siblings Becky and Mike looked to be in their 20s... were equally distraught. But Mike seemed to be the only one with some emotional stability. He suggested they pull the plug on Cody which triggered his parents to scream angrily, "How can you be so inhumane? That's your brother!" Mike responded, "Exactly! He is my brother and I'd rather he live a normal life or not live at all."
This is when I should have walked out of the waiting room...stayed out of their business. But I couldn't control myself...I felt compelled to meddle in their private family affairs.
I told them Mike was right... (as if I was some fucking fortune teller or a medical expert?!) They all paused, looked at each other, then looked at me...."Excuse me? Who are you?" asked the mother. Ignoring her question, I continued:
Again, the mother spoke, "I don't know who you are...but it's very rude of you to just barge into our family discussion like this." So, I tried to explain myself...
Give Thanks, Have Mercy. Amen, y'all.
ElyVas
From what I gathered...Cody was their 13 year old son...who had suffered damage to multiple organs after an almost-fatal car accident. He had spent the last three weeks in a coma. This weekend he opened his eyes for the first time. He was conscious again. But the excitement was short-lived...by Sunday night Cody was back on life-support. And the family's sentiments were bittersweet. While awake, Cody seemed "different" ... like he was "unaware of his surroundings." The doctors had mentioned something about anoxia and permanent brain damage. The family was unfamiliar with the terms...but were now facing some tough decisions.
I pretended to be busy on my cell phone but I was fixated on their conversation. The parents looked distraught....like they hadn't slept in weeks. Cody's two older siblings Becky and Mike looked to be in their 20s... were equally distraught. But Mike seemed to be the only one with some emotional stability. He suggested they pull the plug on Cody which triggered his parents to scream angrily, "How can you be so inhumane? That's your brother!" Mike responded, "Exactly! He is my brother and I'd rather he live a normal life or not live at all."
This is when I should have walked out of the waiting room...stayed out of their business. But I couldn't control myself...I felt compelled to meddle in their private family affairs.
I told them Mike was right... (as if I was some fucking fortune teller or a medical expert?!) They all paused, looked at each other, then looked at me...."Excuse me? Who are you?" asked the mother. Ignoring her question, I continued:
"Is it inhumane to pull the plug on Cody and let him pass on with some dignity? Or is it inhumane to keep him alive artificially? Then, have him wake up (assuming he wakes up) - incontinent, crippled, and with half the brain he had before? I wonder how morally satisfying it will be watching your 13 yr old son struggle to feed himself, unable to communicate, unable to bathe himself."I should have been more sensitive to their situation. I think the devil took over me. The parents were visibly upset about what I had said. Becky looked like she was in shock. But Mike seemed to actually understand where I was coming from...he was able to hear past the cruel words and see the reason in them.
Again, the mother spoke, "I don't know who you are...but it's very rude of you to just barge into our family discussion like this." So, I tried to explain myself...
"It's not my intention to be rude. You think you're helping your son by preserving what's left of him. You are refusing to listen to what the doctors are telling you about his condition. So I'm speaking to you in a crass way because I think it might get through to you better. Whether I am polite or not is not going to bring Cody back to what he was. It's the reality...it sucks but it's the reality. You think you are saving him now....but have you wondered who will take care of him once you and your husband die of old age? Are Mike and Becky going to find the energy to give up their own lives to sustain Cody's half-life? Will Cody end up at some government-funded home for the disabled...where he will probably develop bedsores and sleep in his own shit for days because the nurses are fucking lazy and lack the incentive to really care for their patients? Nobody is saying these things to your family because they think it would be "rude" .... they think you are grieving and can't handle the truth ... but the truth is what you need, whether you know it or not. Don't be a victim of your own guilt .... there should be no guilt in dying with dignity. But there will be tons of guilt in watching him live with half a brain."Oh sometimes I really do talk too much. The mother was so angry with me that she told me to leave the waiting room. I apologized for hurting her feelings and left. Honestly, if I were in that woman's shoes...I would've been grateful to hear an outsider's perspective. The hospital's ethics committee is a group of dip-shits more concerned with being politically correct than with helping families make sound decisions.
Give Thanks, Have Mercy. Amen, y'all.
ElyVas
8.21.2013
Sunsets on the Eastside
We ran towards the car...my hair still wet from the ocean. He held my hand as I climbed into the jeep. I was refreshed and exhausted at the same time. As he drove down the unpaved roads, I slouched in the passenger seat...soaking up the last rays of sunshine...half-asleep, half-entranced. Pia Kayser's gentle yet solemn voice singing in the background, "You can choose what you wanna feel. Thinking locks you up inside. Stop thinking and open up your eyes." Oh how fitting, I thought! If only I could stop thinking and open up my eyes!
I had spent all afternoon alternating between being forcefully charming and dreadfully silent. Intermittently, my mind would jump back to memories of happier times...causing my heart to race... as my body froze in the moment. My eyes glazed over - betraying how disengaged I was from the rest of the group. It was rude of me...I was embarrassed by my own rudeness. By the sixth comment about my blatant disinterest, I could tell even Derek seemed annoyed. He had spent so much time and energy planning this weekend. And I had been showing my appreciation, halfheartedly. So each time he jolted me out of my daydreams, asking me if I was okay...I felt increasingly more pressure to compensate for my noticeable apathy. What would follow was a short-lived spike in my energy .... I was hoping my feigned excitement could charm the group and convince them that I was truly having the best time. How many times did I have to repeat "how fun this weekend has been so far..."
I had spent all afternoon alternating between being forcefully charming and dreadfully silent. Intermittently, my mind would jump back to memories of happier times...causing my heart to race... as my body froze in the moment. My eyes glazed over - betraying how disengaged I was from the rest of the group. It was rude of me...I was embarrassed by my own rudeness. By the sixth comment about my blatant disinterest, I could tell even Derek seemed annoyed. He had spent so much time and energy planning this weekend. And I had been showing my appreciation, halfheartedly. So each time he jolted me out of my daydreams, asking me if I was okay...I felt increasingly more pressure to compensate for my noticeable apathy. What would follow was a short-lived spike in my energy .... I was hoping my feigned excitement could charm the group and convince them that I was truly having the best time. How many times did I have to repeat "how fun this weekend has been so far..."
Halfway down milestone road, Derek gradually slowed down the car until it came to a full stop. I sat up and removed my sunglasses to ask him why he stopped. He turned his body towards me...took a deep breath and then told me he was falling in love with me. I laughed and turned my face towards the window, unsure if he knew what he was saying to me. When I turned back around to look at Derek, his eyes were glistening. Suddenly I felt insensitive. He had meant to say something serious and I had laughed in response. I sensed that his heart (and ego) had hoped for a different reaction. But before I could speak, Derek took my hand and spoke softly, "It's okay." It was his way of letting me know he didn't expect me to say anything back. That alone touched my heart more than any piece of jewelry he had bought or any elaborate profession of love he had made thus far....his feelings for me were independent of whether they were reciprocated. I thought that was beautiful.
The sun had set...and the cool august breeze had become a faintly crisp autumn wind. I shivered...prompting Derek to grab his sweatshirt from the backseat. Then he placed his hand on top of mine....as we drove home in silence...allowing our senses to take in what the moment had to offer. It was the last weekend we would spend together for a long while. The summer had come to an end...and perhaps also our romance. Without the backdrop of the ocean, the island, the almost-utopian life...I wondered how much love could really grow between us.
But I must admit...I have fallen in love with Derek's idea of me...I have fallen in love with playing the part of a naive and normal girl. And I've done everything in my power to perpetuate his initial misconceptions of me...as a girl who knows no emotions but happiness. I've talked about my "perfect childhood." I've gushed about my "blessed present life." Through all my stories I've watched Derek fail to pick up on the subtleties, neglecting to know the real me (the one who is a drama queen in perpetual crisis)....and choosing to know the even-keeled, vanilla girl who lacks any depth. According to Derek, I've come to symbolize "all-good-things in life." To be seen as such an unburdened angelic being....it's a vacation for my own mind. Sadly, however, it's only a matter of time until he discovers the truth. But I would rather we part ways before he opens his eyes....before he realizes that what we have is a perfection that only an image could bring. Real life, by definition, is never so picture-perfect. And real love is never captured through image...it's felt through your heart. And only once the image is shattered, can you begin to plant the seeds of a true & lasting love.
The sun had set...and the cool august breeze had become a faintly crisp autumn wind. I shivered...prompting Derek to grab his sweatshirt from the backseat. Then he placed his hand on top of mine....as we drove home in silence...allowing our senses to take in what the moment had to offer. It was the last weekend we would spend together for a long while. The summer had come to an end...and perhaps also our romance. Without the backdrop of the ocean, the island, the almost-utopian life...I wondered how much love could really grow between us.
But I must admit...I have fallen in love with Derek's idea of me...I have fallen in love with playing the part of a naive and normal girl. And I've done everything in my power to perpetuate his initial misconceptions of me...as a girl who knows no emotions but happiness. I've talked about my "perfect childhood." I've gushed about my "blessed present life." Through all my stories I've watched Derek fail to pick up on the subtleties, neglecting to know the real me (the one who is a drama queen in perpetual crisis)....and choosing to know the even-keeled, vanilla girl who lacks any depth. According to Derek, I've come to symbolize "all-good-things in life." To be seen as such an unburdened angelic being....it's a vacation for my own mind. Sadly, however, it's only a matter of time until he discovers the truth. But I would rather we part ways before he opens his eyes....before he realizes that what we have is a perfection that only an image could bring. Real life, by definition, is never so picture-perfect. And real love is never captured through image...it's felt through your heart. And only once the image is shattered, can you begin to plant the seeds of a true & lasting love.
8.17.2013
No Return Address
dear mr. diary man
at the risk of sounding crazy....i miss you (like crazy), ahhhhhh.
- sinus rhythm
(i liked the bday post, thanks)
at the risk of sounding crazy....i miss you (like crazy), ahhhhhh.
- sinus rhythm
(i liked the bday post, thanks)
8.15.2013
The Human Condition
If everything happens for a reason then should we find solace in our sadness?
Nobody chooses to grieve the loss of a loved one. Nobody wants to cry
over the agony of a painful breakup. Nobody hopes to die a slow death
from metastatic cancer. But in life these things happen and you do what
you can to get through them.
over the agony of a painful breakup. Nobody hopes to die a slow death
from metastatic cancer. But in life these things happen and you do what
you can to get through them.
To suffer is to be human. To feel loss, to feel joy...it is a part of the journey. And there is comfort in knowing that our tears are not shed in vain...that whether we laugh or whether we cry - it all has a deeper meaning or comes from a higher power. So should we embrace pain as openly as we would embrace pleasure? If we blunt the intensity of these emotions with medication...are we stunting our experience of the human condition? In the process of maintaining control in our lives as we struggle to cope, do we end up losing an essential piece of the puzzle... (the essential piece being enlightenment) ?
What did people do before the era of advanced pharmaceuticals? Did people experience sadness in a different way?....in a functionally less debilitating way? Were they inherently stronger because they were forced to deal with life without using xanax or prozac as a crutch. Instead of the luxury of paying a stranger to listen to you bitch and moan ...instead of the convenience of popping a pill so you can feel comfortable in your own shitty reality....back in the day - people were more likely to rely on each other for emotional support. Did they develop stronger social bonds as a result of that? Back in the day - people were more compelled towards action rather than waiting for things to change. Without a safety net, without any lifelines, the human spirit fights for survival...it is the conveniences of modern life that have weakened our survival skills. The luxuries have handicapped us...and left us doubting our inner strength. We have become mere victims of fate rather than masters of our destiny.
Guilty as Charged. Where my drugs at...where my shrink at...Someone call the waaambulance. Is there an app for this? Can I get a pill as a prophylactic measure...so I never feel anything but amazing? Can I get a rain-check for this drama-fest? Does feeling emotionally handicapped get me parking privileges?
on metaphorical crutches,
ElyVas
Guilty as Charged. Where my drugs at...where my shrink at...Someone call the waaambulance. Is there an app for this? Can I get a pill as a prophylactic measure...so I never feel anything but amazing? Can I get a rain-check for this drama-fest? Does feeling emotionally handicapped get me parking privileges?
on metaphorical crutches,
ElyVas
8.14.2013
No Alarms, No Surprises
A friend of mine, Candace....at the tender age of 9...had the misfortune of finding her father hanging from his bedroom ceiling.
Earlier that afternoon, Candace had waited for her dad at the bus stop. She usually walked home with her older brother, Dan. But today her mother had taken Dan to a dentist appointment. So today her father was supposed to pick her up from the bus stop....but he had not. Restless and hungry, she decided to walk home. As she walked up her porch steps she noticed the newspaper was still on the grass...she wondered why her dad hadn't read the paper today? Stepping inside, she yelled out "Daaaaad, I'm hoooome! Did you forget about me?" She paused, listening for her dad's footsteps. But she heard nothing. She figured he must be in his bedroom. Calling out again as she skipped up the steps, "Daaaaaddy where are you?" She reached the top of the stairs....she could hear music down the hall .... "this is my final fit, my final bellyache, with no alarms and no surprises..." it was her dad's favorite band. She walked towards the music...banged on the door to her parent's bedroom. "Daddy?" She turned the knob...pushed the door open....and found her 39 year old father, with a rope around his neck, his body hanging limp...lifeless.
There was an envelope on the bed with the words: "To Candace and Danny" written on the front. Candace doesn't remember the hour between finding her father dead and her mother and Dan coming home. She says her mom found her sitting silently in the neighbor's yard. When her mother asked her what she was doing over there, Candace did not respond. It was not until several months later that Candace finally returned to school. And it was not until years later that Candace told me what unraveled in the aftermath of such a horrifying incident.
After the initial shock subsided, Candace's mother went into a psychotic period during which she would disappear for weeks at a time, leaving Dan and Candace to care for themselves. Eventually, her mother was involuntarily committed to a psychiatric facility. She was deemed incompetent and court-ordered to remain there until she regained her mental capacities. A month later, when Candace's mother returned home, she was only a shell of her former self. She had gone from being a bubbly, animated woman to an expressionless zombie. Each morning and evening...she would take a cocktail of medications prescribed by some psych(o)...and as each day passed, she became less and less like her old self. Her soul had surrendered to the power of pills.
I met Candace in the 7th grade. We both had after-school detention (I had been caught leaving school early...she had been caught smoking cigarettes in the girl's locker room). We must have seen ourselves in each other because we shared an instant understanding that went beyond words. I think we both were rebelling against the unrest in our lives but despite our misbehavior...we wanted nothing more than stability ....and conventional happiness. Candace later found that happiness in the form of a wonderful husband and a beautiful baby girl.
It's been almost 20 years since that fateful day. I've watched Candace go through the highs and lows of life. And at times I've watched her struggle to keep going ... But no matter how high the hurdle, Candace has always managed to remain fearless. No matter how trying the situation...she never lost hope for the possibility of better days ahead. Now a loving wife and a proud mother....her dreams from yesteryear have finally become a reality. Knowing what she's been through and how far she has come, I think Candace is truly one of the lucky ones.
ElyVas
Earlier that afternoon, Candace had waited for her dad at the bus stop. She usually walked home with her older brother, Dan. But today her mother had taken Dan to a dentist appointment. So today her father was supposed to pick her up from the bus stop....but he had not. Restless and hungry, she decided to walk home. As she walked up her porch steps she noticed the newspaper was still on the grass...she wondered why her dad hadn't read the paper today? Stepping inside, she yelled out "Daaaaad, I'm hoooome! Did you forget about me?" She paused, listening for her dad's footsteps. But she heard nothing. She figured he must be in his bedroom. Calling out again as she skipped up the steps, "Daaaaaddy where are you?" She reached the top of the stairs....she could hear music down the hall .... "this is my final fit, my final bellyache, with no alarms and no surprises..." it was her dad's favorite band. She walked towards the music...banged on the door to her parent's bedroom. "Daddy?" She turned the knob...pushed the door open....and found her 39 year old father, with a rope around his neck, his body hanging limp...lifeless.
There was an envelope on the bed with the words: "To Candace and Danny" written on the front. Candace doesn't remember the hour between finding her father dead and her mother and Dan coming home. She says her mom found her sitting silently in the neighbor's yard. When her mother asked her what she was doing over there, Candace did not respond. It was not until several months later that Candace finally returned to school. And it was not until years later that Candace told me what unraveled in the aftermath of such a horrifying incident.
After the initial shock subsided, Candace's mother went into a psychotic period during which she would disappear for weeks at a time, leaving Dan and Candace to care for themselves. Eventually, her mother was involuntarily committed to a psychiatric facility. She was deemed incompetent and court-ordered to remain there until she regained her mental capacities. A month later, when Candace's mother returned home, she was only a shell of her former self. She had gone from being a bubbly, animated woman to an expressionless zombie. Each morning and evening...she would take a cocktail of medications prescribed by some psych(o)...and as each day passed, she became less and less like her old self. Her soul had surrendered to the power of pills.
I met Candace in the 7th grade. We both had after-school detention (I had been caught leaving school early...she had been caught smoking cigarettes in the girl's locker room). We must have seen ourselves in each other because we shared an instant understanding that went beyond words. I think we both were rebelling against the unrest in our lives but despite our misbehavior...we wanted nothing more than stability ....and conventional happiness. Candace later found that happiness in the form of a wonderful husband and a beautiful baby girl.
It's been almost 20 years since that fateful day. I've watched Candace go through the highs and lows of life. And at times I've watched her struggle to keep going ... But no matter how high the hurdle, Candace has always managed to remain fearless. No matter how trying the situation...she never lost hope for the possibility of better days ahead. Now a loving wife and a proud mother....her dreams from yesteryear have finally become a reality. Knowing what she's been through and how far she has come, I think Candace is truly one of the lucky ones.
ElyVas
8.12.2013
When it Rains...it Downpours
It was a Thursday morning, in the middle of last spring. I was startled awake by the shrill ringing of an old school telephone. Haphazardly rolling out of bed, I looked around the room trying to figure out where the night had taken me…whose bedroom I had finally surrendered to. I was in an over-sized white t-shirt. My own clothes were nowhere to be found. My hair had the faint smell of vomit and perfume. For a minute I wondered whether I had actually dreamt the horror. But the flashbacks were too vivid and my shock was too profound. It had been one of those nights….but so much more. It had snowballed into one of the worst nights of my life.
Once again, I heard the deafening shrill of the telephone. I picked up the receiver then slammed it down. Suddenly it occurred to me: who keeps a land-line anymore? Had I spent the night with a fucking 75 year old? Jeeeezuz, now I had a migraine. And how was I still unsure of where I was exactly?
I heard a vibration coming from under the bed. I bent down on my knees, cursing loudly at the entire situation. As I had suspected, it was my cell phone - that now had a cracked screen. Poor baaaby! 27 text messages. 3 missed calls. 2 voice-mails. Some bullshit event invite on Facebook. And only 2% battery remaining.
And it's on those especially stormy nights when I am most vulnerable. Thinking back to the previous day .... and the series of unfortunate events that began with good intentions...but ended with me evading arrest for a potential DUI. I was dumbfounded at how things had escalated so quickly.
It all started with me sulking at the Four Seasons...half-way through my second martini...when an older woman named Seline approached me. Adorned in pearls and elegant couture...with a silk pashmina draped around her...her entire essence was oddly comforting. Irrationally comforting. It felt like she had come to save me from my melodramatic pity party. I instantly felt safe around her. Seline's niece was getting married that weekend to some "money-hungry exec at Goldman Sachs" who according to Seline went through wives like she did Louboutins. She predicted they would have two years of wedded bliss before their "irreconcilable differences" would become enough reason to file for divorce. Seline had flown in from South Carolina where her own daughter lived. And now was waiting for her husband to get showered so they could go to dinner. She asked me who I was waiting for...what I was doing there. I paused ... contemplating whether I should speak the truth - that I come to the four seasons and drink alone...most nights of the week - because at 24, I am already jaded/alone/and an alcoholic-in-the-making. That I am two days away from finishing grad school and beginning my future...and yet I am anything but excited. That all my friends are out celebrating with their families while I am engaged in a cold war with my own family. That I am knee-deep in a quicksand of addictions and can barely take a step forward without doing another line of coke. That my ex-boyfriend just got married last week to a woman who is far more stable than I will ever be! Or should I just fabricate some glamorous story for why I was downing martinis alone at the Four Seasons like no-big-deal? I went with a less abrasive version of the truth.
Seline gently put her hand on my arm, looked me in the eyes, and told me I was far too young to be so sad. Then she said, "It gets better, I promise." A minute later, Seline's husband came down, ready for dinner. She invited me to join them. I politely declined...explaining that I too should be getting home for dinner. Oh what a lie that was! We parted ways, she hugged me goodbye...and I was on my way...to nowhere.
After leaving the hotel...I drove through the city like a reckless drunk. It was only a matter of time until I got pulled over. So when I heard the sirens behind me, I obediently pulled over to the side of the road. But as I was sitting there...with the cop car's lights flashing behind me....a panic came over me: what if he made me take a breathalyzer? I would fail. So I stepped out of the car...praying to God the cop wouldn't notice. I didn't dare look back as I walked away. Literally abandoning my car. As I turned the corner, I heard the cop yell out "Hey, get back here!" While deciding whether to run or hide, I saw an inconspicuous sign on a glass door: "HM crisis response center." Without thinking, I walked in...half of me wanting to escape the cop, and the other half of me seriously needing a crisis intervention. It took me only a couple seconds to realize I had just walked into an inner-city psych ward. As I approached the second set of double-doors...I heard a loud (insensitive) voice: "Are you suicidal or homicidal?"
Angered by the way he had spoken to me...and upset at the fact that a psych ward was my alternative to jail....I yelled back: "I don't fucking know you fucking asshole!"
Next thing you know I’m being stripped of all my belongings...and being forced to piss in a cup...as a broad-shouldered, butch-looking security guard stood behind me making sure the urine was actually mine. Requesting some privacy was a mistake...she just laughed in my face, unconcerned about the spit that was flying everywhere. Two and a half hours later....after telling "my story" to eight different people...I was deemed stable. They handed back my car keys and cell phone....and released me from their care.
It was after I left the crisis center that things became foggy. I was physically drained...emotionally cold...and had lost all rational thought. I was ready to act out my crazy.
Violently exhausted from all of this writing....Perhaps the events that occurred after leaving the crisis center to waking up in a stranger's bed are best left unsaid. Or perhaps I will find the words in my next post.
until next time,
ElyVas
I heard a vibration coming from under the bed. I bent down on my knees, cursing loudly at the entire situation. As I had suspected, it was my cell phone - that now had a cracked screen. Poor baaaby! 27 text messages. 3 missed calls. 2 voice-mails. Some bullshit event invite on Facebook. And only 2% battery remaining.
I scrolled through the 27 messages, almost in a rushed panic.... forgetting to breathe as I scrolled... desperately hoping he had responded.
A bunch of “where are you?” texts from coworkers (some angry, some concerned). One from an old friend reminding me about our weekend plans. A couple one-word texts from unsaved numbers - "no"....and.... "nah sry." Immediately recognizing the numbers, I sighed...regretfully. Hating myself for trying to score drugs but hating them more for not having any. Fucking drug dealers. So unreliable.
Don’t care, don’t care, next. I had finished reading all 27 messages. My heart sank...he had not responded. Suddenly, I felt unwell. It was bad enough that I had lost so much dignity in one night...but the additional agony of unreciprocated love...oh how it stung! He had left me hanging...the whole world had left me hanging last night. When it rains, it pours. It fucking downpours.
Don’t care, don’t care, next. I had finished reading all 27 messages. My heart sank...he had not responded. Suddenly, I felt unwell. It was bad enough that I had lost so much dignity in one night...but the additional agony of unreciprocated love...oh how it stung! He had left me hanging...the whole world had left me hanging last night. When it rains, it pours. It fucking downpours.
And it's on those especially stormy nights when I am most vulnerable. Thinking back to the previous day .... and the series of unfortunate events that began with good intentions...but ended with me evading arrest for a potential DUI. I was dumbfounded at how things had escalated so quickly.
¨¨¨¨¨
It all started with me sulking at the Four Seasons...half-way through my second martini...when an older woman named Seline approached me. Adorned in pearls and elegant couture...with a silk pashmina draped around her...her entire essence was oddly comforting. Irrationally comforting. It felt like she had come to save me from my melodramatic pity party. I instantly felt safe around her. Seline's niece was getting married that weekend to some "money-hungry exec at Goldman Sachs" who according to Seline went through wives like she did Louboutins. She predicted they would have two years of wedded bliss before their "irreconcilable differences" would become enough reason to file for divorce. Seline had flown in from South Carolina where her own daughter lived. And now was waiting for her husband to get showered so they could go to dinner. She asked me who I was waiting for...what I was doing there. I paused ... contemplating whether I should speak the truth - that I come to the four seasons and drink alone...most nights of the week - because at 24, I am already jaded/alone/and an alcoholic-in-the-making. That I am two days away from finishing grad school and beginning my future...and yet I am anything but excited. That all my friends are out celebrating with their families while I am engaged in a cold war with my own family. That I am knee-deep in a quicksand of addictions and can barely take a step forward without doing another line of coke. That my ex-boyfriend just got married last week to a woman who is far more stable than I will ever be! Or should I just fabricate some glamorous story for why I was downing martinis alone at the Four Seasons like no-big-deal? I went with a less abrasive version of the truth.
Seline gently put her hand on my arm, looked me in the eyes, and told me I was far too young to be so sad. Then she said, "It gets better, I promise." A minute later, Seline's husband came down, ready for dinner. She invited me to join them. I politely declined...explaining that I too should be getting home for dinner. Oh what a lie that was! We parted ways, she hugged me goodbye...and I was on my way...to nowhere.
After leaving the hotel...I drove through the city like a reckless drunk. It was only a matter of time until I got pulled over. So when I heard the sirens behind me, I obediently pulled over to the side of the road. But as I was sitting there...with the cop car's lights flashing behind me....a panic came over me: what if he made me take a breathalyzer? I would fail. So I stepped out of the car...praying to God the cop wouldn't notice. I didn't dare look back as I walked away. Literally abandoning my car. As I turned the corner, I heard the cop yell out "Hey, get back here!" While deciding whether to run or hide, I saw an inconspicuous sign on a glass door: "HM crisis response center." Without thinking, I walked in...half of me wanting to escape the cop, and the other half of me seriously needing a crisis intervention. It took me only a couple seconds to realize I had just walked into an inner-city psych ward. As I approached the second set of double-doors...I heard a loud (insensitive) voice: "Are you suicidal or homicidal?"
Angered by the way he had spoken to me...and upset at the fact that a psych ward was my alternative to jail....I yelled back: "I don't fucking know you fucking asshole!"
Next thing you know I’m being stripped of all my belongings...and being forced to piss in a cup...as a broad-shouldered, butch-looking security guard stood behind me making sure the urine was actually mine. Requesting some privacy was a mistake...she just laughed in my face, unconcerned about the spit that was flying everywhere. Two and a half hours later....after telling "my story" to eight different people...I was deemed stable. They handed back my car keys and cell phone....and released me from their care.
It was after I left the crisis center that things became foggy. I was physically drained...emotionally cold...and had lost all rational thought. I was ready to act out my crazy.
¨¨¨¨¨
Violently exhausted from all of this writing....Perhaps the events that occurred after leaving the crisis center to waking up in a stranger's bed are best left unsaid. Or perhaps I will find the words in my next post.
until next time,
ElyVas
8.09.2013
Old Habits Die Hard
I can remember the exact day, the very moment...the euphoric sensation...the overwhelming relief...and in that array of emotions, I knew inside that I would never stop. It was my first experience with drugs and I was already a full blown addict.
Ever since that day, my inner core has been rocked far from stability. Anything and everything I knew about normality disintegrated faster than I could form reason inside my brain. Each time I try and anticipate the crash...but nothing can prepare you for the depths of it. It's a wonder why people even dabble with the shit. But I think that is also the magic of drugs. The experience can not be articulated; only tried. It is the only way to really learn about the ride that so many people choose to take. The positives outweigh the negatives and that is why it is so hard to stop when you are still in control. Before the situation engulfs you and your logical mind, you must actively stop, or else you become helpless and a pitiful slave to the drug’s demands. And those there are many. Every day, it must be fed, sometimes every few hours. Your body won’t let you forget the absence; the headaches, the unrest, the fatigue...it all just screams at you until you feed the demon again. Under the influence, you feel better than you have ever felt before. A delusional sense of calm and control overcomes you. The world becomes more loving. Your capabilities shine grandeur. You feel invincible. and you feel like everything will be okay. The sensation is so fucking powerful. It's toxic. But as the drug takes effect, and the wondrous hours take count, the peak begins its sunset. At this point, you want to shut yourself out of society, run far away from everything you know, remain secluded so nobody observes this pathetic downfall. Becoming increasingly paranoid, you wonder where your fan club has gone...from just a few hours ago, but then you realize it was all just in your head. You’ve got nobody and the reality of being alone hits hard and all at once. Every anxiety-ridden thought finds itself inside of you, refusing to leave, not a single idea of spirituality moderates your breakdown. You can’t find the patience to explain these feelings to anybody, because in doing so, you would have to admit defeat and even worse...you would have to agree to never do the drug again. The mere thought terrorizes you, so you allow yourself to suffer, suffer long enough until you can get your next fix.This is the only thought that keeps you alive, that gives you the strength to keep going. Knowing that you will feel high again only in a few hours.
jonesing for some yayo,
ElyVas
Ever since that day, my inner core has been rocked far from stability. Anything and everything I knew about normality disintegrated faster than I could form reason inside my brain. Each time I try and anticipate the crash...but nothing can prepare you for the depths of it. It's a wonder why people even dabble with the shit. But I think that is also the magic of drugs. The experience can not be articulated; only tried. It is the only way to really learn about the ride that so many people choose to take. The positives outweigh the negatives and that is why it is so hard to stop when you are still in control. Before the situation engulfs you and your logical mind, you must actively stop, or else you become helpless and a pitiful slave to the drug’s demands. And those there are many. Every day, it must be fed, sometimes every few hours. Your body won’t let you forget the absence; the headaches, the unrest, the fatigue...it all just screams at you until you feed the demon again. Under the influence, you feel better than you have ever felt before. A delusional sense of calm and control overcomes you. The world becomes more loving. Your capabilities shine grandeur. You feel invincible. and you feel like everything will be okay. The sensation is so fucking powerful. It's toxic. But as the drug takes effect, and the wondrous hours take count, the peak begins its sunset. At this point, you want to shut yourself out of society, run far away from everything you know, remain secluded so nobody observes this pathetic downfall. Becoming increasingly paranoid, you wonder where your fan club has gone...from just a few hours ago, but then you realize it was all just in your head. You’ve got nobody and the reality of being alone hits hard and all at once. Every anxiety-ridden thought finds itself inside of you, refusing to leave, not a single idea of spirituality moderates your breakdown. You can’t find the patience to explain these feelings to anybody, because in doing so, you would have to admit defeat and even worse...you would have to agree to never do the drug again. The mere thought terrorizes you, so you allow yourself to suffer, suffer long enough until you can get your next fix.This is the only thought that keeps you alive, that gives you the strength to keep going. Knowing that you will feel high again only in a few hours.
jonesing for some yayo,
ElyVas
8.07.2013
Ely the Nutcase
My boss has discovered my health records. This is the same boss who I previously dated (unaware that he was actually married!!!). Needless to say, I am in shock. This defies any logic (wait until my lawyer hears about this!) Shouldn't it be illegal to snoop through your work-staff's medical records? I feel so betrayed and invaded .... and panicked! To be called in to your boss's (aka ex-boyfriend's) office - first thing, on a god damn Tuesday morning (which is by far the third-worst day of the week, right after Sunday and Wednesday)....
To be stared at like you are a mad-hatter on crack...then to be questioned about your sanity. If anybody (let alone your boss) asks you whether you are "well"....then, for fuck's sake, why on earth would you ever say no? Unless I'm bleeding out my left ear and my limbs are amputated...I have no fucking reason to divulge about how "unwell" I may feel. Christ's sake people....I don't walk around assuming the role of a god damn victim. I am well as far as you all are concerned. I AM VERY WELL, thank you for asking.
Mortified at the series of events that took place yesterday...and my poorly executed efforts to compensate. I thought i was an amazing actress....until i watched myself crash-and-burn trying to prove how "happy and well" i was to the entire office staff. I think at one point I was rambling about how I've traveled to such amazing places...and how my life is the epitome of quality bliss. Instead of coming off as "stable and happy"...I just came off as a fucking snob...and possibly perpetuated the "erratic-psycho" label.
Can somebody say Britney-batshitcrazy-Spears circa 2007? Can somebody say Lindsay-lunatic-Lohan circa...all her life? Paging Dr. Damage-Control.
Just as all the commotion was settling down...I started having chest pain. Talk about bad timing. Too afraid to cause any more drama, I didn't dare say anything about my potential heart attack. I figured if I ignored it...it would go away? But the pain just kept getting worse...so i retreated to the break-room to get some tea. I was leaning forward in my chair, with my head between my knees, clutching my chest....when one of the secretaries walked into the room....I didn't even hear her come in! She freaked out when she saw me sitting all funny in the chair....in a matter of seconds, she had alerted the entire office. I tried stopping her...practically begging her not to make a scene. I tried reassuring her I was totally fine...that I had no risk factors for heart disease. You know what she said to me? "Well, honey, you're crazy - that's a risk factor."
Ummmm, bitch, what do you even know about heart attacks? Next thing I know, I'm being wheeled out of the office, onto a stretcher, and into a fucking ambulance. I wish I was kidding right now. Liiiike, it was so humiliating...and then the humidity outside was giving my hair it's own version of a heart-attack. So now I will forever be known as the crazy girl with bad hair (....who almost had a heart-attack). In an unexpected twist of events, my boss intervened just as I was being forced into the ambulance. He took one look at me and realized the absurdity of the situation.
He brought me back to his office (for the second time that day) - and laid it out, cold...but honest. He had received an email from my shrink about my "fragile-state"...which had prompted my boss to look up my health records (how that is legal is beyond my comprehension). So much for confidentiality agreements! Why it was necessary (or what it even means?) to inform my employer that I have "red flag tendencies" - is a question mark. Then my boss said:
until next time,
ElyVas
To be stared at like you are a mad-hatter on crack...then to be questioned about your sanity. If anybody (let alone your boss) asks you whether you are "well"....then, for fuck's sake, why on earth would you ever say no? Unless I'm bleeding out my left ear and my limbs are amputated...I have no fucking reason to divulge about how "unwell" I may feel. Christ's sake people....I don't walk around assuming the role of a god damn victim. I am well as far as you all are concerned. I AM VERY WELL, thank you for asking.
Mortified at the series of events that took place yesterday...and my poorly executed efforts to compensate. I thought i was an amazing actress....until i watched myself crash-and-burn trying to prove how "happy and well" i was to the entire office staff. I think at one point I was rambling about how I've traveled to such amazing places...and how my life is the epitome of quality bliss. Instead of coming off as "stable and happy"...I just came off as a fucking snob...and possibly perpetuated the "erratic-psycho" label.
Can somebody say Britney-batshitcrazy-Spears circa 2007? Can somebody say Lindsay-lunatic-Lohan circa...all her life? Paging Dr. Damage-Control.
Just as all the commotion was settling down...I started having chest pain. Talk about bad timing. Too afraid to cause any more drama, I didn't dare say anything about my potential heart attack. I figured if I ignored it...it would go away? But the pain just kept getting worse...so i retreated to the break-room to get some tea. I was leaning forward in my chair, with my head between my knees, clutching my chest....when one of the secretaries walked into the room....I didn't even hear her come in! She freaked out when she saw me sitting all funny in the chair....in a matter of seconds, she had alerted the entire office. I tried stopping her...practically begging her not to make a scene. I tried reassuring her I was totally fine...that I had no risk factors for heart disease. You know what she said to me? "Well, honey, you're crazy - that's a risk factor."
Ummmm, bitch, what do you even know about heart attacks? Next thing I know, I'm being wheeled out of the office, onto a stretcher, and into a fucking ambulance. I wish I was kidding right now. Liiiike, it was so humiliating...and then the humidity outside was giving my hair it's own version of a heart-attack. So now I will forever be known as the crazy girl with bad hair (....who almost had a heart-attack). In an unexpected twist of events, my boss intervened just as I was being forced into the ambulance. He took one look at me and realized the absurdity of the situation.
He brought me back to his office (for the second time that day) - and laid it out, cold...but honest. He had received an email from my shrink about my "fragile-state"...which had prompted my boss to look up my health records (how that is legal is beyond my comprehension). So much for confidentiality agreements! Why it was necessary (or what it even means?) to inform my employer that I have "red flag tendencies" - is a question mark. Then my boss said:
"Listen, I know about your various hospital admissions. I know about the time your parents had you 302d. I know you're taking meds that they prescribe to "crazy people." But with all that said, I also know that you aren't crazy. You're a work of art, Ely, and you've got a heart of gold!"Swooooooon. No wonder I was (I am?!) madly in love with the man. He has a way with words. And he has a way of making me feel so incredible. He even gave me the day off today to recuperate from all the stress. The first task on today's agenda: fire my motherfucking shrink.
until next time,
ElyVas
8.05.2013
Saga of Jack - Part II
saga of jack - part I
I’m maneuvering through the crowd, doing my best to appear aloof with apathy. His presence goes unnoticed as I pretend to be too distracted to have realized the love of my life is standing across the room, in his perfectly ironed button-down white shirt. His hair is messier than I remember, falling just above his eyes, as he shakes his head to move it out of the way. I need to get out of this room, get some air, maybe a drink…or two. What could he be doing here? He’s probably weak to his knees with memories of me, colliding in his mind, not letting him take a single step without wincing in pain and regret. Or maybe he just knows a person who knows a person who knows the host? That’s usually how these city parties work. You can never anticipate whose going to show which makes you inclined to dress to the nines every time you leave your apartment. Even for a low-key affair at a close friend’s rooftop…which is what tonight was supposed to be! Thank god, I followed my instinct and did my hair.
I’m trying to forget how good we were because despite all the love, he did manage to upset me quite a bit. Even after I poured my heart to him, he refused to quit playing his stupid games. Constantly trying to prove something, he couldn’t help himself from sounding like a pretentious prick. But of course, I fell into the trap, and against my best judgment, would always give him one last chance. His apologies were rehearsed perfection. And were bandages for my bruised ego, encouragement to my naïve optimism. It wrings my insides to see him charm women...through lies, deceit, and hollow affection. I can hear him from the other side of the room, telling the same exact story he told me, the night I became enamored with his style and captivated by his personality. I want to yell to his fan club…"hey girls, the story ends with him realizing how essential it is for him to continue traveling the globe, and saving the neglected communities deprived of all the resources available to us, here in the states....BLAH BLAH blahhhh” And, the night will most likely end with all of you practically begging him to call you, because you’d “love to hear more about his adventures”. Please, I have been there, done that, absolutely regret (most of) it.
As I leave through the back door, I catch a sight of what looks like Jack stealing a quick glance in my direction. Could my eyes just be playing a trick on me…seeing what my unconscious desires are wanting? Perceptual dilemmas can really throw you into a frenzy...
...tbc
elyvas
I’m maneuvering through the crowd, doing my best to appear aloof with apathy. His presence goes unnoticed as I pretend to be too distracted to have realized the love of my life is standing across the room, in his perfectly ironed button-down white shirt. His hair is messier than I remember, falling just above his eyes, as he shakes his head to move it out of the way. I need to get out of this room, get some air, maybe a drink…or two. What could he be doing here? He’s probably weak to his knees with memories of me, colliding in his mind, not letting him take a single step without wincing in pain and regret. Or maybe he just knows a person who knows a person who knows the host? That’s usually how these city parties work. You can never anticipate whose going to show which makes you inclined to dress to the nines every time you leave your apartment. Even for a low-key affair at a close friend’s rooftop…which is what tonight was supposed to be! Thank god, I followed my instinct and did my hair.
I’m trying to forget how good we were because despite all the love, he did manage to upset me quite a bit. Even after I poured my heart to him, he refused to quit playing his stupid games. Constantly trying to prove something, he couldn’t help himself from sounding like a pretentious prick. But of course, I fell into the trap, and against my best judgment, would always give him one last chance. His apologies were rehearsed perfection. And were bandages for my bruised ego, encouragement to my naïve optimism. It wrings my insides to see him charm women...through lies, deceit, and hollow affection. I can hear him from the other side of the room, telling the same exact story he told me, the night I became enamored with his style and captivated by his personality. I want to yell to his fan club…"hey girls, the story ends with him realizing how essential it is for him to continue traveling the globe, and saving the neglected communities deprived of all the resources available to us, here in the states....BLAH BLAH blahhhh” And, the night will most likely end with all of you practically begging him to call you, because you’d “love to hear more about his adventures”. Please, I have been there, done that, absolutely regret (most of) it.
As I leave through the back door, I catch a sight of what looks like Jack stealing a quick glance in my direction. Could my eyes just be playing a trick on me…seeing what my unconscious desires are wanting? Perceptual dilemmas can really throw you into a frenzy...
...tbc
elyvas
8.04.2013
Discussions with Davio
I looked around the waiting room. It was like looking in a mirror. These people were visibly destroyed...with defeat painted on their faces, they could no longer fight the resistance. Why was I here...what had possessed me to make an appointment? Seeing my reality in the eyes of strangers sent chills down my spine. My own reckless habits and countless mistakes had brought me here. Being "troubled" was no longer a charming flaw I could spin. I had spiraled out of control. And it was becoming increasingly more difficult to conceal.
¨¨¨¨¨
Davio asked me what it is that's bothering me the most…"Why exactly are you here?"
Ummm, isn't that what I'm paying you to tell me? If I knew what my problem was…then, I would’ve found a solution, you fucking genius!
(Supposedly, Davio is an expert in the field of drama queens suffering from perpetual crises. How fitting.)
"The thing bothering me the most is that I have spent so many years lying to myself ....that I forget what the truth is."
Davio looked puzzled. He was obviously stunned at my ability to sound so "philosophical." I'm sure he was hoping (or at least expecting) for a more straightforward answer. He must have assumed I was as emotionally stunted as I appeared.
¨¨¨¨¨
I am here because I do not know what is wrong with me. Or if there’s even anything wrong? I suffer from a post-modern view of life that leaves me always wanting more. Needing more. Like a spiritual hedon, I crave meaning, I crave experience, and I crave “feeling alive”. If I’m not being swept off my feet by a Romeo, if I’m not getting high off drugs, if I’m not buying new things…then, unfortunately, I feel dead inside.
I drive uncontrollably fast just to feel that momentary ecstasy of having the wind blowing through my hair, with the music blasting through my soul, and my mind feeling weightless. Like all my burdens have been suspended in the air. Granting me freedom to live in the moment. I am constantly chasing a high.
I am here because I do not know what’s an acceptable level of stable. I don’t know the number of times in a 24 hour day...that it is psychologically-acceptable to have an internal meltdown. I don’t know if it’s normal to constantly battle with your own mind. Is everyone else dealing with mental exhaustion and emotional detachment – like all the fucking time?
¨¨¨¨¨
Davio wants me to expand on "all my burdens" that become "suspended in the air." I warn him that my list of burdens alternates between serious-shit and.....laughable ("first world") problems. He wants to hear about my first-world problems...
My hair stylist is on vacation until next weekend. But my roots are growing in and my highlights are fading. I’ve got an upside-down ombre tone and a head full of unruly split ends – that require immediate attention. I asked Joey, my stylist, to return early from vaca....ready to pay him extra in addition to the $250 he charges for a couple hours under his magic scissors. He tells me he would love to oblige but is currently in Ibiza with his boyfriend's family. Too distraught to continue our phone conversation, I quickly threw out some cliched lines about love, boyfriends, and family...then, hung up the phone, in a serious panic. On a crisis scale of 1 to 10, this is an 11. Now, I will have to attend my friend’s birthday party looking like a hot mess who has really let herself go.....And no, I can't just go to another hair salon...it's not the same.
My parents are spending a few weeks in belize later this year. I'm supposed to meet them in placencia but there was all this confusion about travel dates and hotel confirmations. So I emailed them - asking all the necessary questions....because I need to know before I book my flight...to fucking mexico by accident. But neither of them have responded to my email. Liiiiike, it’s been more than 12 hours since I emailed them. This just feels unacceptable. Do they even want to vacation with me? Do they even love me?
Last winter I spent a few months assuming the role of a raging-alcoholic. I convinced myself I was method-acting (without the promise of any active film role). The worst part about regularly drinking to excess...is not the brain cells you kill....but the fat that you gain. I think the fat actually makes you dumber? Anyway, I've been sober for months...and after a two-week detox, I've been eating nothing but sashimi and organic nuts. Despite my efforts, I've managed to lose only five of the ten pounds I gained (...for my movie role?!) How much more can I really starve myself? Is this what getting old feels like? You can’t just starve your way thin(ner)? Do you think these pants make me look fat? Are you staring at my cankles?
I just got a call from my dry cleaners on greenfield ave. He notified me that they have lost my favorite half-leather, half-silk dress…."dress gone. we so sorry. we no find." If I was only “borderline suicidal" before….well this has certainly tipped me over the fucking edge. The guy's accent is aggravating to listen to just at baseline, let alone on a day when he has fucked up big time. It’s like a hushed mumbling of half-english half-gibberish. And exaggerated hand motions that have a life of their own. The man is a serious trigger for me.
Basically, I feel like a fat chick who is cursed with unsightly cankles and nasty hair. And my parents don't love me...but no wonder they don't love me, i mean, have you seen my cankles? Ugh, Davio, you're fired! ...I need a separate therapy session just to cope with the pain from this therapy session.
elyvas
7.31.2013
Essence of Humanity
Do my parents know something that I do not?
I remember when I was eleven years old, I overheard a private conversation between them. My father’s business partner, Jerry, had been stealing assets from the company. This business partner was supposedly one of my father’s closest friends. My father had helped him at a time when his own family had thrown him to the streets. He was a recovering alcoholic with no work experience and a work ethic that had been crippled by his family’s wealth. His money was his identity. His trust-fund was his ticket out of dealing with any consequences. My dad actually met the guy outside a phone-booth somewhere in Europe. He needed to make a call but had run out of pocket change. A few months later, my dad was financing Jerry’s stint in rehab. And a few years later, my dad was signing him onto be a co-owner of Elixir Enterprise. Over the span of five or six years, their small-town company transformed into an internationally-competitive machine. During those years, we saw so much of Jerry that he was practically my second dad. He had his own seat at our dinner table. He spent the holidays with us. It was Jerry who drove me on my first day of kindergarten. He taught me the letters of the alphabet and how to tie my first pair of sneakers.
I knew that Jerry liked his coffee black. That his favorite drink was a whiskey sour. That his shoe size was 11.5. And I knew that I was never supposed to ask Jerry about his “party days”. Eavesdropping on enough of my mother’s phone calls let me know why discussing Jerry’s party days was so taboo. He had lost his one true love in a horrible drunk-driving accident. The car veered off the road and into a tree. Jerry was driving and Haley, his fiancée, was in the passenger seat. Though he was at fault, Jerry was not charged. He was allowed to go on as if nothing had happened. But something had happened...he had lost Haley. The one person who had “understood” him for who he was. Brought up in a lifestyle identical to Jerry’s – Haley shared his jaded sentiments. It was as if the two of them had been cursed with an awareness. An awareness of a void that could not be filled by “things.” No matter how much they indulged, their appetite remained insatiable. And until they met each other, the only happiness they could feel was a counterfeit, contrived happiness they had learned from the people around them.
She was the one woman who had been able to calm him down with a simple touch, who had been willing to stay with him through the drunken nights when he was vomiting his insides out…crying about his high-society problems, begging to be saved from the torture. To have been responsible for losing Haley…to have nobody to blame but himself…to not be able to write a check and bring her back….it was an unbearable misery that was too real for Jerry. He described it to my father as “the sensation of being torched alive, slowly, without mercy, an agonizing pain worse than anything he’s ever felt.”
It was the wake-up call he needed. He was ready to be sober…but the months following the accident, Jerry struggled to maintain his sobriety. Each relapse was more reckless than the last until eventually his family cut him off financially…leaving him with just under fifty grand. It took Jerry six days to blow the last of his money. Suddenly, he was dirt poor without a single friend who gave a shit. Without money to cushion his fall, without alcohol to numb his pain, without Haley to heal his wounds…Jerry found himself stranded in an unfamiliar part of Switzerland, standing outside a phone booth, begging for coins. He had called his parents in New York, his cousin in Chicago, his brother in DC…nobody had picked up. He tried his parents again, shrieking loudly as he heard his mother’s voice on the other line “Sorry, we can’t come to the phone right now…”
He was all out of coins and all out of hope. Desperate and alone, Jerry told himself he would ask one more stranger for help...and if unsuccessful he would jump in front of one of the trains across the street. The thought of suicide was oddly comforting.
It was August 1992. My dad was in Zurich for some annual work-related conference. He was about to catch a train to the airport when a disheveled man standing outside the phone booth asked him if he could spare some change…
I've asked my dad countless times...what made him stop in that moment. Why didn’t he just keep walking...wasn’t he going to miss his train? My dad’s answer has always been the same: he could feel the desperation in Jerry’s eyes, he could feel the hopelessness....and to help another man in his time of greatest need – without expecting anything in return – well, that is the essence of humanity…without it, our lives are meaningless.
Despite all the love my parents had shown him, Jerry betrayed them in a way nobody deserves.
7.28.2013
Grief is a Freight Train
I have too much restless energy. This feeling…it won’t leave me alone. What is this feeling…I don’t understand it.
I never really learned to deal with emotions. Growing up, if something tragic happened, my family would jump into action-mode: contact so-and-so, send flowers, pray, bake a fucking cake etc. If you could be busy enough, then there would be no time to be sad. I began to judge the level of my parents' grief on how occupied they kept themselves. After my grandmother passed away, I watched my mom clean our house for seven-days straight. I swear to god the woman did not sleep. At the time I thought she had lost her mind...but looking back, I understand it was fear that was keeping her going...the fear of having to sit with her thoughts...the anxiety of having to accept the reality that her mother was gone.
According to my parents, no matter how awful you felt, you were not allowed to cry. You were not allowed to speak of how devastated you were…because these were all signs of defeat…they exposed your weaknesses. And once the tragedy had passed, we were not allowed to mention it because that would be a step in the wrong direction. We were only supposed to move ahead and think to the future. But that kind of coping mechanism has not helped me to become the stoic soldier my parents had envisioned. I’m weak and I’m emotional and I cry about so many things. It’s like I’m crying now for all the times I wasn’t allowed to cry as a kid.
The other day I almost broke down crying because the traffic light turned red as I was approaching it. Seriously? But maybe that didn’t happen…I don’t know if I am comfortable admitting to such unstable behavior.
I’ve felt so exceptionally empty lately. It’s as if I’m existing in this world just enough to keep going but each night I’m consumed by the emptiness. I’m overwhelmed by the insignificance of my days. It’s too much to admit that I am unhappy. So I take a bunch of uppers, waiting for the drugs to give me a surge of energy and then I throw myself into mindless labor. Hoping the physical distraction will somehow cure my sadness. But it is a losing battle, I know. Once the sun sets, I wrestle with my restless soul. I feel allergic to my own thoughts. I want to so badly take my pile of burdens and dump them into the ocean. I want nothing to do with the stories that have accrued under my identity.
I don’t know if my sadness has grown or if I’ve developed a tolerance to these pills. These doses are doing nothing to distract me from my emotions. Simply giving me horrible anxiety about this “feeling” I can’t define. Hmmm...perhaps if I took more. Or maybe it is time to call my shaman again. My druid tree symbol had warned me of this dead period in my life.
Whenever I have a string of these shit days...I just remind myself what I once said to a friend visiting from overseas: Here in America, happiness is only a theoretical state that we read about in books. In actuality, it's just a matter of who is less suicidal on any given day.
Alas, it was not the night to die. It was a night to be alive. So I lived. I lived like there was no tomorrow.
Time for a latte break. good riddance, you chiphorsing fools.
elyvas
I never really learned to deal with emotions. Growing up, if something tragic happened, my family would jump into action-mode: contact so-and-so, send flowers, pray, bake a fucking cake etc. If you could be busy enough, then there would be no time to be sad. I began to judge the level of my parents' grief on how occupied they kept themselves. After my grandmother passed away, I watched my mom clean our house for seven-days straight. I swear to god the woman did not sleep. At the time I thought she had lost her mind...but looking back, I understand it was fear that was keeping her going...the fear of having to sit with her thoughts...the anxiety of having to accept the reality that her mother was gone.
According to my parents, no matter how awful you felt, you were not allowed to cry. You were not allowed to speak of how devastated you were…because these were all signs of defeat…they exposed your weaknesses. And once the tragedy had passed, we were not allowed to mention it because that would be a step in the wrong direction. We were only supposed to move ahead and think to the future. But that kind of coping mechanism has not helped me to become the stoic soldier my parents had envisioned. I’m weak and I’m emotional and I cry about so many things. It’s like I’m crying now for all the times I wasn’t allowed to cry as a kid.
The other day I almost broke down crying because the traffic light turned red as I was approaching it. Seriously? But maybe that didn’t happen…I don’t know if I am comfortable admitting to such unstable behavior.
I’ve felt so exceptionally empty lately. It’s as if I’m existing in this world just enough to keep going but each night I’m consumed by the emptiness. I’m overwhelmed by the insignificance of my days. It’s too much to admit that I am unhappy. So I take a bunch of uppers, waiting for the drugs to give me a surge of energy and then I throw myself into mindless labor. Hoping the physical distraction will somehow cure my sadness. But it is a losing battle, I know. Once the sun sets, I wrestle with my restless soul. I feel allergic to my own thoughts. I want to so badly take my pile of burdens and dump them into the ocean. I want nothing to do with the stories that have accrued under my identity.
I don’t know if my sadness has grown or if I’ve developed a tolerance to these pills. These doses are doing nothing to distract me from my emotions. Simply giving me horrible anxiety about this “feeling” I can’t define. Hmmm...perhaps if I took more. Or maybe it is time to call my shaman again. My druid tree symbol had warned me of this dead period in my life.
Whenever I have a string of these shit days...I just remind myself what I once said to a friend visiting from overseas: Here in America, happiness is only a theoretical state that we read about in books. In actuality, it's just a matter of who is less suicidal on any given day.
Alas, it was not the night to die. It was a night to be alive. So I lived. I lived like there was no tomorrow.
Time for a latte break. good riddance, you chiphorsing fools.
elyvas
Subscribe to:
Posts
(
Atom
)