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
9.21.2013
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
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