Yesterday I paid a visit to a man in a white coat. He warned me that if I were to ever go back to my old lifestyle I would only have a couple months to live as he casually handed me a slip with incoherent scribbles. I have to go buy some little white pills so I can prolong this meaningless existence. How did I convince myself that coming here was a good idea? Paying someone 50 dollars to tell me I’m teetering on the edge between living and dying is not what I had in mind. I think I’m supposed to have a revelatory experience now that I know how closely I’ve evaded my own expiration date. I should suddenly feel enlightened and insightful. Maybe plan a trip to Italy as a last hurrah. But, in actuality, I’ve only become more aware of the vicinal misery. The sun is shining, overwhelming my pupils. The flowers are in full bloom and animals are emerging from their isolated hibernation. It’s like all of nature is ridiculing me, mocking my impending death. I can’t face the people so I retreat back to my one bedroom apartment to find solace amongst the silencing loneliness. Lying in bed, avoiding reality, a million ideas start flying in my head. I could take a gun and shoot myself…but that would be much too messy. Even in my grave I’d feel bad for the sick fuck who would have to clean up my bloody bits. Maybe I should swallow an indigestible amount of pills. But what if they do an autopsy and discover all the drugs. I’d look like a coward and a mental bat.
Through it all, I can’t stop thinking about Jack. Seeing him would be too painful. He would finally see the wreck that I was destined to become and realize how weak I really am to lose this battle. I’d rather he just read about my death in the obituaries. At least there is more dignity in the mystery that an obituary leaves. My phone rings, startling me out of my dismal day dreams. I realize it’s just the alarm I had set the night before. How depressing, my call log is filled with doctor’s offices and nothing else. It’s been 6 weeks since I’ve seen him, 42 torturous days that seem to get longer and harder as they go. It’s burning me inside, how could he move on so effortlessly, without a fight, without a tear?
When we decided it was over, in the back of my mind, in the deepest, most vulnerable kernel of my broken heart I told myself it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. It was just a phrase lovers spoke to give their minds closure, to allow themselves to move on from the remains. But in due time they reconnect and fall in love all over again. I was so steadfast on planning a homecoming, with an outfit already in mind; I hardly took the words seriously. But the way he walked away so quickly, how he shed not even a single tear, it felt so cold and unbelievably sad. And that was the last time I saw him, the last time I heard from him…six weeks later, it’s as if somebody is torching me alive. I want to know that he is equally thrown, that he’s grown a full beard out of love-scorned apathy, that he’s lost 15 pounds because he’s sick to death of missing me, that he’s got the darkest circles under his eyes from a string of sleepless nights spent thinking of me and regretting the moment he decided to leave.
So quickly I get lost in this whirlwind train of memories…I tell myself to end the pity party and start getting ready for the real party which is starting in just a few short hours. My friend, Cecilia, is having one of her infamous get-togethers that always attract the local artists, who are so eager to shake hands with the right trust funds and make the right kind of noise. Every time I go I’m bombarded by either the newest rock prodigy who sees himself as Sid Vicious resurrected (and is too reckless for his own talent) or the newest vision of originality who sees life through a “unique lens” and is dying for his latest Edie Sedgwick. There have been moments when I’ve wanted to throw myself at these fresh faces for nothing more than a mere spice of my own mundane life. But at my most vulnerable moments, when even a doorman could have provided comfort, I held back from these creative charlatans because to be a transient muse, a beauty that is beautiful only for a season, is more devastating than to just accept the loneliness. I shudder at the thought of being replaced so arbitrarily.
6.18.2013
Should I liiiike write a book?
I have toyed with the idea of writing a book for a few years. Several times, I even began the first chapter, but something always made me throw away the draft. Partially because I did not think it was good enough to catch the eye of a stranger, but mostly because I felt the sentences lacked a certain level of personality. I was trying to write with skills I don't actually have. I've never been a writer, in the true sense of the word. It is especially difficult for me when I must fabricate the lives of fictitious characters. With this shortcoming in mind, I have decided to simply write the facts. I will not dwell on flowery speech or deliberate over the extent of character development. I will allow myself the freedom to write truthfully.
I begin this storytelling with honest intentions to convey the facts of my life and the events that have occurred to bring me to who I am today. I will not try to impose unnecessary emotions where they are not warranted. If these stories evoke in the listener the kind of sadness only reality can cause - then I guarantee it was not under contrived efforts. Countless moments that I have lived, while relevant to this story, may seem theatrical and perhaps even authentically questionable. In light of this, I have to reiterate, the words I will write are my truth. Not yours, not my best friend's, not my family's...but my own personal truths.
As humans, we have an evolving perception of the world around us, and as our minds shift, so do our eyes. They rotate to see what was once hidden from us. What seemed to be black in the past, can suddenly appear white to the same person. This kind of skill, unique to mankind, is simultaneously marvelous and terrifying. Our capacity to control how we feel, to change what we see, and to adapt to our surroundings is partially why I have decided to write this book. I am hoping that by putting the heart-wrenching past into written words, I will somehow find a peace that I've been searching for and with this peace may come a new set of eyes.
I begin this storytelling with honest intentions to convey the facts of my life and the events that have occurred to bring me to who I am today. I will not try to impose unnecessary emotions where they are not warranted. If these stories evoke in the listener the kind of sadness only reality can cause - then I guarantee it was not under contrived efforts. Countless moments that I have lived, while relevant to this story, may seem theatrical and perhaps even authentically questionable. In light of this, I have to reiterate, the words I will write are my truth. Not yours, not my best friend's, not my family's...but my own personal truths.
As humans, we have an evolving perception of the world around us, and as our minds shift, so do our eyes. They rotate to see what was once hidden from us. What seemed to be black in the past, can suddenly appear white to the same person. This kind of skill, unique to mankind, is simultaneously marvelous and terrifying. Our capacity to control how we feel, to change what we see, and to adapt to our surroundings is partially why I have decided to write this book. I am hoping that by putting the heart-wrenching past into written words, I will somehow find a peace that I've been searching for and with this peace may come a new set of eyes.
6.12.2013
Tinted Aviators
With a heart full of hypsie love and a past filled with broken memories, I'm moving to SP...where the land is fresh, the air is pure, and the people are complete strangers. The locals say it’s a magical kingdom promising the free spirits of the world an everlasting supply of the most sinful desires...it has appealed to a weak bone in my body. But in due time, when the fire fades and the funds are depleted, after my secrets are exposed but the wounds have healed... I'll return home...with only a faint recollection of my adventures in the village of SP.
i stepped off the bus with only a ragged bag in hand, emptier than my own heart...i escaped from it all...the life i once knew became unbearable...i couldn't be that character any longer...to say the truth hurt more than to just run away without a word...and now in an unknown land, i hope to find the girl i was meant to be...people are staring at me, just like they used to back home...except now, my outside matches my broken insides...do they know how many secrets i keep...can they sense my loneliness...a pulsating look with a stranger and i crumble inside...my heart races at the thought of inviting someone into my deepest secrets...the relief i could feel afterward...the burden has reached an all-time high, higher than my greatest trip....i want to reveal the darkness but fear is holding me back.
I wandered aimlessly on the cobblestone streets…until the darkness overwhelmed my eyes and the lingering shadows overtook my sanity…a fear nestled inside my troubled soul as I watched the approaching storm wreak havoc all around me. There was a strangely enticing beauty about the chaos…an exquisite attraction that was pulling me towards disaster…as I ran further away from the world that had defined me, I fell deeper into an abyss of anonymity. the scattered leaves fallen from the destroyed trees drew a perfect circle.
strolling the streets, with nowhere to go, nobody to phone, i am truly alone. i try forgetting the past but it proves more difficult than i ever imagined.
I can’t figure it out…what it is I am missing that has kept me from finding someone to love, honestly and openly. I don’t see the same shades of grey that the world sees, it is easier to just be alone with my thoughts, to quietly observe from afar, where I am in no danger of being hurt. Perhaps in this new life I build, I can be that spirit I’ve dreamt about, the envy of society, the unchallenged beauty who knows no limits and has no fears. With calculated charm, I will create a niche for me that is rightfully so, and with grace I’ll handle every twist and turn life throws my way. In due time, nobody will have any recollection of my questionable past that so few in the world were privileged to know about.
i stepped off the bus with only a ragged bag in hand, emptier than my own heart...i escaped from it all...the life i once knew became unbearable...i couldn't be that character any longer...to say the truth hurt more than to just run away without a word...and now in an unknown land, i hope to find the girl i was meant to be...people are staring at me, just like they used to back home...except now, my outside matches my broken insides...do they know how many secrets i keep...can they sense my loneliness...a pulsating look with a stranger and i crumble inside...my heart races at the thought of inviting someone into my deepest secrets...the relief i could feel afterward...the burden has reached an all-time high, higher than my greatest trip....i want to reveal the darkness but fear is holding me back.
I wandered aimlessly on the cobblestone streets…until the darkness overwhelmed my eyes and the lingering shadows overtook my sanity…a fear nestled inside my troubled soul as I watched the approaching storm wreak havoc all around me. There was a strangely enticing beauty about the chaos…an exquisite attraction that was pulling me towards disaster…as I ran further away from the world that had defined me, I fell deeper into an abyss of anonymity. the scattered leaves fallen from the destroyed trees drew a perfect circle.
strolling the streets, with nowhere to go, nobody to phone, i am truly alone. i try forgetting the past but it proves more difficult than i ever imagined.
I can’t figure it out…what it is I am missing that has kept me from finding someone to love, honestly and openly. I don’t see the same shades of grey that the world sees, it is easier to just be alone with my thoughts, to quietly observe from afar, where I am in no danger of being hurt. Perhaps in this new life I build, I can be that spirit I’ve dreamt about, the envy of society, the unchallenged beauty who knows no limits and has no fears. With calculated charm, I will create a niche for me that is rightfully so, and with grace I’ll handle every twist and turn life throws my way. In due time, nobody will have any recollection of my questionable past that so few in the world were privileged to know about.
6.04.2013
Arctic Freeze - My heart’s on lease
Dear Mr. Diary Man:
With all my love,
ElyVas
The memory of us is still haunting me in every step I take. I anticipated the heartbreak. But I never expected to feel so frozen…so incredibly debilitated. I wish there was a timeline to these emotions. I wish my heartache came with an expiration date. It’s too much to live each day with the burden of our past still so fresh in my memory. It feels like an open wound that refuses to scab. When will I heal?
I had no reason to believe the ending to this story would be hopeful. I had no guarantee I would find happiness. There would be no pot of gold at the other side of the rainbow. And yet I chose to walk the line...a thin line between what my rational mind sought and what my starved heart desired.
And to every yin there is a yang. To every Good there is a Bad. To every coin - there are two sides.
It was hard enough to swallow the reality that you and I will never be an “us”. But to simultaneously cope with you leaving forever is a little much. It’s taking quite a toll on my fragile soul. I’m only a girl. The universe must have mistaken me for someone strong and resilient. But unfortunately, I am neither strong nor am I resilient. It physically pains me to lay awake at night with the fear of a never-ending sadness. It feels like a black hole inside of me that refuses to be filled.
The way you spoke my name softly yet passionately. The way you gently held me close to you. The way you looked into my eyes, it was powerful and electrifying. It took my breath away. You take my breath away. And yet you have caused me so much grief. My heart is truly confused. How can something so good be so bad? These emotions are too intense and polarized that I struggle to channel the energy into anything meaningful. I simply feel stuck and lost. It’s despair and longing and complete frustration.
With all my love,
ElyVas
6.03.2013
Chippa-whhaa, Chippa-whooo
Ever known a girl who you just instantly label "plain-Jane"...."vacant upstairs"....."boring-betsy"....."square-ass-broad"
Well, this post is here to educate you all on what the actual term is that your mind is struggling to come up with - CHIPHORSE.
Chiphors-ism is a congenital disease...and unfortunately, it's chronic. Once a chiphorse, always a chiphorse.
Some examples to help you visualize - JenAniston.
Some synonyms to give you a better idea about what chiphorse entails: non-threatening, blahhhh-dom, boring-as-fuck.
They may or may not have chipmunk cheeks that need to be deflated, STAT. they may or may not. just saying.
Don't let a butta-face, bobble-head broad wearing yoga-pants and sipping a kale-infused smoothie fool you...because underneath that façade lies a struggling-chiphorse.
There is a manual being written (currently, as we speak, this very moment...) - to help y'all understand this phenomenon of chiphorsing and chiphorses...who they are, where they come from, and what the fuck to do about them.
until next time,
chipnight
Well, this post is here to educate you all on what the actual term is that your mind is struggling to come up with - CHIPHORSE.
Chiphors-ism is a congenital disease...and unfortunately, it's chronic. Once a chiphorse, always a chiphorse.
Some examples to help you visualize - JenAniston.
Some synonyms to give you a better idea about what chiphorse entails: non-threatening, blahhhh-dom, boring-as-fuck.
They may or may not have chipmunk cheeks that need to be deflated, STAT. they may or may not. just saying.
Don't let a butta-face, bobble-head broad wearing yoga-pants and sipping a kale-infused smoothie fool you...because underneath that façade lies a struggling-chiphorse.
There is a manual being written (currently, as we speak, this very moment...) - to help y'all understand this phenomenon of chiphorsing and chiphorses...who they are, where they come from, and what the fuck to do about them.
until next time,
chipnight
C.L.A.P. Triggers
CLAP stands for "cursing lunatic, angry psycho"
There is an extensive list of triggers that makes me go from "sweet girl" to "CLAP"-mofo.
One of them just happens to be when I hear a snobby, unemployed, overly-privileged bitch-of-a-lifetime justifying the need for three nannies (who are bilingual, mind you)....all to take care of one child. like, honey, what? it's called competence. and you can't buy that shit.
another one just happens to be the rudeness of bartenders/waitresses/service-providers when they somehow assume you are an "airhead/dumb-blonde" or conclude you are "wasted/retarded/mentally-handicapped." Being facetious does not equal any of the above. Being witty does not translate to any of the above. I'm sorry you are so incredibly slow that you can't understand my humor. I'm sorry I have my hair dyed blonde for the current season. It only enables you fucking fools.
All the sleeping pills I just haphazardly stuffed in my face along with the cheesecake and coca cola....is starting to take a toll on my mind. Getting kind of deranged/drowsy. But also having some respiratory difficulty. Perhaps if I go into anaphylactic shock I can get out of going to work tomorrow? These are the things I ponder over late at night.
Big day at work tomorrow. Finally get to present my ideas for the 2013-Resort Collection. If they aren't approved, I will literally pack up my office and quit my job. Even the blind could appreciate what I have designed.
Here's to a night of restful sleep. May I wake up tomorrow with all the Yoga-Leaves/Barbies/Chippies-In-Training/Plain-Janes out of this zip code and moved far away to Chiphorse-City. But that's wishful thinking....It's like the grown-woman's equivalent to "I want a fucking pony for my birthday daddy." ..... But then again, I did get a pony for my 9th birthday...so you never know!
xoxo,
I'm fucking chipped-out
P.S - honorary mention of new chiphorse - JenAn. Honey, getta personality!
There is an extensive list of triggers that makes me go from "sweet girl" to "CLAP"-mofo.
One of them just happens to be when I hear a snobby, unemployed, overly-privileged bitch-of-a-lifetime justifying the need for three nannies (who are bilingual, mind you)....all to take care of one child. like, honey, what? it's called competence. and you can't buy that shit.
another one just happens to be the rudeness of bartenders/waitresses/service-providers when they somehow assume you are an "airhead/dumb-blonde" or conclude you are "wasted/retarded/mentally-handicapped." Being facetious does not equal any of the above. Being witty does not translate to any of the above. I'm sorry you are so incredibly slow that you can't understand my humor. I'm sorry I have my hair dyed blonde for the current season. It only enables you fucking fools.
All the sleeping pills I just haphazardly stuffed in my face along with the cheesecake and coca cola....is starting to take a toll on my mind. Getting kind of deranged/drowsy. But also having some respiratory difficulty. Perhaps if I go into anaphylactic shock I can get out of going to work tomorrow? These are the things I ponder over late at night.
Big day at work tomorrow. Finally get to present my ideas for the 2013-Resort Collection. If they aren't approved, I will literally pack up my office and quit my job. Even the blind could appreciate what I have designed.
Here's to a night of restful sleep. May I wake up tomorrow with all the Yoga-Leaves/Barbies/Chippies-In-Training/Plain-Janes out of this zip code and moved far away to Chiphorse-City. But that's wishful thinking....It's like the grown-woman's equivalent to "I want a fucking pony for my birthday daddy." ..... But then again, I did get a pony for my 9th birthday...so you never know!
xoxo,
I'm fucking chipped-out
P.S - honorary mention of new chiphorse - JenAn. Honey, getta personality!
Yoga Leaves & Tool Face
I'm just besides myself tonight. I saw a picture of Barbie & Ken. It was a trigger for me.
I can't deal with girls who do yoga all-the-fucking-time...as if they are getting paid for it. Then they go and eat plants for lunch. Leaves for dessert. and fucking apple-seeds for extra-indulgence. Midnight snacks must never include apple-seeds. Eat the fucking pie, please. Then these characters (let's just call them "Chiphorses-in-training") wake up at ass-crack of dawn to begin their morning routine which most definitely includes YOGA. and YOGA PANTS. and APPLES. fucking spare us all. you know?
you must be thinking this rant is unwarranted. after all, I have been in a chipper ass good mood this weekend. But it's always on Sunday nights when suddenly, all my problems come crashing down. And I realize "oh shit...I got praaaahblems!".
Not gonna lie. Worried about passing a piss test in a few days. Not gonna lie. Just popped some pills to help me sleep. Chugged caffeinated soda to down-the pills. Counterproductive? Fuck yea. Then stress-ate a slice of cheesecake. Then, popped another pill out of pure lack of impulse-control.
And then after all this internal chaos....I see a picture of Barbie & Ken. I fucking lost it. I don't need a reminder of what Mattel considers plastic-perfect. But hell, that reminded me, I need to call my plastic surgeon in the AM. Need a fucking corrective rhinoplasty. I just know that once my nose is perfect, my whole life will fall into place. (Hashtag-I'm fucking delusional)
Who hires professional photographers for a "brunch"? Barbie does. Do you all know how much it costs to photograph a 2 hr-long brunch? Enough to feed a small nation. Just kidding, I have no fucking clue....but I would imagine it could feed this filthy city's homeless population for a good month.
I am ranting. But I am pissed. The soda I drank earlier has made my sore throat even worse. Now I am coughing like a fucking 75-year old chain smoker with COPD and possible lung cancer. It's all just a mess over here on my end. May the good lord save us all.
xoxo,
spare me
I can't deal with girls who do yoga all-the-fucking-time...as if they are getting paid for it. Then they go and eat plants for lunch. Leaves for dessert. and fucking apple-seeds for extra-indulgence. Midnight snacks must never include apple-seeds. Eat the fucking pie, please. Then these characters (let's just call them "Chiphorses-in-training") wake up at ass-crack of dawn to begin their morning routine which most definitely includes YOGA. and YOGA PANTS. and APPLES. fucking spare us all. you know?
you must be thinking this rant is unwarranted. after all, I have been in a chipper ass good mood this weekend. But it's always on Sunday nights when suddenly, all my problems come crashing down. And I realize "oh shit...I got praaaahblems!".
Not gonna lie. Worried about passing a piss test in a few days. Not gonna lie. Just popped some pills to help me sleep. Chugged caffeinated soda to down-the pills. Counterproductive? Fuck yea. Then stress-ate a slice of cheesecake. Then, popped another pill out of pure lack of impulse-control.
And then after all this internal chaos....I see a picture of Barbie & Ken. I fucking lost it. I don't need a reminder of what Mattel considers plastic-perfect. But hell, that reminded me, I need to call my plastic surgeon in the AM. Need a fucking corrective rhinoplasty. I just know that once my nose is perfect, my whole life will fall into place. (Hashtag-I'm fucking delusional)
Who hires professional photographers for a "brunch"? Barbie does. Do you all know how much it costs to photograph a 2 hr-long brunch? Enough to feed a small nation. Just kidding, I have no fucking clue....but I would imagine it could feed this filthy city's homeless population for a good month.
I am ranting. But I am pissed. The soda I drank earlier has made my sore throat even worse. Now I am coughing like a fucking 75-year old chain smoker with COPD and possible lung cancer. It's all just a mess over here on my end. May the good lord save us all.
xoxo,
spare me
6.02.2013
Pop goes the Weasel (Pumpkin)
It was my first date with my married knight. I was fully aware that pumpkin was a natural aphrodisiac for men and wanted to impress my handsome stud by having the seductive aroma of freshly baked pumpkin pie in my home. While sitting on the couch, we heard an explosion. A bomb in my kitchen.
He rolled up the sleeves of his $900 custom-made Giorgio Armani shirt, casually throwing his tie over his shoulder…kneeling down on the nasty wooden floor of my kitchen… and cleaned my oven on our “first date.” Perhaps, I should have taken the hint. The universe was clearly sending me a sign. But I ignored it with both eyes open. My heart later paying the price...feeling worse than the pumpkin burn onto the undercarriage of my stove.
He rolled up the sleeves of his $900 custom-made Giorgio Armani shirt, casually throwing his tie over his shoulder…kneeling down on the nasty wooden floor of my kitchen… and cleaned my oven on our “first date.” Perhaps, I should have taken the hint. The universe was clearly sending me a sign. But I ignored it with both eyes open. My heart later paying the price...feeling worse than the pumpkin burn onto the undercarriage of my stove.
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