This has been a nearly impossible semester, but it is finally, blessedly over.

Last summer hit me this semester. One night stands turned into life-long plans without my having a bit of a say over any of it. I was inspired. I was saddened. I was deprived. I was cherished. My mother got on a red-eye and flew across the country to be with me when I needed her.

I auditioned for a part in a play.

I got a part in the play.

I was in the play.

All was full of love, and I learned about myself and the nastiness and dirtiness of my soul – and some things about its beauty as well.

I learned about the necessity of silence, and of space. I learned that life comes at its own pace no matter what you do to speed it up or slow it down. I learned that I can fail, and that I can choose to fail. And that sometimes choosing to fail at something is the bravest decision a person can make. I made the decision to fail in some things this semester. It was hard to let go. There are still fingernail prints in my palms.

I learned that I have an almost limitless capacity for forgiveness, but that I sometimes cannot figure out how to stop the anger. I learned that I can love and hate at the same time, that I can cry and then be okay, but not. I learned that closet moments are sometimes safer than being hospitalized.

I learned that the hospital is a bad, bad angry place with scary lights.

I learned that sometimes, what I will give to you isn’t what you asked for – but it’s what I have to give, and it’s what I need to give. And that’s okay.

I learned to scream.

I learned to say goodbye.

I learned to smile again.

I learned.


It’s looking like I’m going to be able to stay here. No getting kicked out of school – at least not yet. I’m still withdrawn from those two courses, and I still have a final tomorrow morning.

I’m strangely unfazed (unphased) by this.

Sparklepants made a comment about craving a clear mind, and I am so there right now – not having a clear mind, but craving one. I saw a lot of people who are very special to me this afternoon, and it made me miss parts of myself I didn’t even know were gone. They’re not gone, they’ve just been shoved on the back burner as one confusion after another slams itself over my head. Our shared professor came into the Library and I immediately ran barefoot through the assembly room and cuddled myself into her back. Somewhere inside of me there is this person who is more than this fucked up shell of psychosis and insecurity.

I was officially inducted into Pi Sigma Alpha today, Alpha Chi chapter. I wore a pretty dress and did my makeup and everything. I watched my gorgeous friends who are graduating this year get their honors tassels and whisper/bitched through the whole thing with a dear friend I miss way too much. And then we stood around and bitched some more after – when they gave us free food. Everyone is getting ready to leave, to go somewhere that is not here. Hong Kong. Central America. Little pieces of Chapel Hill sparkling their way out over the face of the globe.

All I can think is how terribly I’m going to miss their sparkling right here with me. My loss is the world’s gain, but I’m not ready for that loss yet.

I forgot about that part of college. The ending part.

You know, I have no idea what the fuck I am.

I’ve changed my AIM screen name. For the moment I’m still connecting to the old one, but in a few days it’ll be completely gone. If you’d like the new name, email me or leave a comment with your email address.

I am keeping this blog, but I removed myself from social bookmarking sites. I’m thinking of changing my name, hailing a cab and buying a ticket to the middle of nowhere as soon as school is out. None of this is working, no matter how hard I try.

So I’m coming down from two of the worst days of my entire life, during which I spent most of my time attempting not to throw up, staying out of my house, going to the lake and … oh, right, there was that bit where the cops came to my apartment because someone called my University and alerted the Dean to the fact that I was suicidal. Which was funny, because I wasn’t. But at least now we know that the City of Chapel Hill takes its random student phone calls very very seriously.

The problem is, I’m already on record as being “suicidal” from back in March when they hospitalized me (I wasn’t then, either, but I finally got to hear the notes from the meeting with the therapist and damn if she didn’t make me sound like I had a gun in my mouth). I had to fill out all this paperwork to stay in school and not have to, you know, get thrown out on a medical and have to reapply after taking a year off – something I really thought I was going to have to do two months ago… something I cannot cannot do now.

So now there are reports filed with the Dean saying that, in fact, I am still a head case. The same Dean who had to be convinced I wasn’t so I could continue going to school.

And the girl who called… to whom I’d said all of “I’m having a bad day” before saying we’d meet up at the pool in my complex that afternoon to hang out and cheer me up… now says she’s sorry if I hate her, and if I got thrown out of school, but it was “better safe than sorry.”

I am so sick of better safe than sorry.

I am sick of a lot of things.

I am mostly sick of confusion and misunderstanding and frustration, and right now, El Boyo is bringing a lot of that into my life. Before I met him I was not sane, but I was pretty well established in my interactions with people. The people I knew I’d known forever, I could read, I could understand… this learning someone else thing is making me sick to my stomach. This not being sure if someone is trustworthy, or … just not being sure of anything really. I asked Diary of a Fangirl if she would have a problem with me if I were a lesbian, and she paused and then said “…no.” Because really, I think I am just much more comfortable with women and emotional relationships with women than I am with guys. I have guy friends and they drive me insane. I’m talking out of my ass right now because I have no idea what to even say about the entire situation. I am confused, and I am sick to my stomach, and El Boyo is confusing me and making me sick to my stomach (not cause he’s gross, just because my stomach is tied in knots). And finals are this week and I still don’t know if I get to, you know, keep going to school.

And that’s my life with entirely too many ellipses. Did anyone understand that?

One Day Blog Silence

Sweet cracker sandwich. Here I am in my living room, on the last day of classes. There are frat parties and…party parties going on everywhere. There’s even, in fact, a party in my pants – and everyone is coming. (Would you like to come to…the pants party?) I am silently watching Spongebob Squarepants, and trying to recover from the fact that I just drove to a town whose name is pronounced entirely incorrectly just so I could eat my weight in fried Tater Tots. And then I had ice cream. Oh yes I did.

There’s not a lot more than that to say. Finals are next week, so if you thought I was stressed before…I’ve also got a ton of stuff to get in to various committees and boards and organizations and individuals before they will give me my fellowship – and I have yet to hear back from anyone about summer school funding… I think classes start next week, so that shouldn’t be too stressful or anything. ;)

No, really, now I’m just looking around the room trying to find something to post about. I think I’m going to go have a life now. Or at least irritate my neighbors with my guitar.

I can’t begin to explain the way I’ve been feeling for the last few weeks. I don’t think there are words to explain it. I wrote the most incredibly personal final paper for my English 666 course and turned it in on Tuesday. There’s no doubt I’ll get a horrible grade on it, but it seemed like it marked a turning point in my writing. There was something more raw in it than there usually is in anything I say or do.

Maybe because I was actually telling the truth.

Things have been a roller coaster of insanity. I’m not sure whether I’m going up or down. Everything that should make me smile makes me cry, and everything that should make me cry makes me cry harder. I got to school early this morning and no one was in my Economics classroom, so instead of turning on the lights in this huge hall I just waited until my eyes adjusted and walked down to my usual seat. It’s completely dark except for the exit signs above the back doors, the light from the hallway way back behind the 50 odd rows of seats and this laptop monitor. I wish it would just stay this dark. I wish I could curl up in a ball on the floor, with all of the toe jam and old gum and empty water bottles of thousands of entitled Carolina students, and sleep for a million years. Sleep until it all made sense.

A question for those of you with sane and stable relationships: How does one go about being an emo and moody girl while dating a non-emo or moody boy? Especially when said emo girl doesn’t feel comfortable sharing her emo-ness because of said non-emo boy’s lack of it?

Through your house is not fun. Leaning into the bathroom wall while the water runs. Curling in a ball in the bathtub. Gripping the walls back into your bedroom. Falling against anything that will support your weight while you try to clear off your bed so that you can get into it.

And the pain. The constant pain and the spasms of sharper, deeper pain. Like hot, steel claws sliced through my kidneys and then liquefied and spread, attaching themselves to every cell inside of me and ripping it away from where it is supposed to be.

Oh. Sweet. Jesus.

Currently Reading

Eve Ensler, Insecure At Last

Brettell and Sargent, eds. Gender in Cross-Cultural Perspective

Quoth the Raven:

"Girls aren't beautiful, they're pretty. Beautiful is too heavy a word to assign to a girl. Women are beautiful because their faces show that they know, that they have lost something and picked up something else."

-Henry Rollins
May 2018
« May