The whole world's dirty so no one's taking showers anymore.

Happy Halloweener dudes. ha.
So I didn't end up hanging out with the God of Fuck. (or GOF for abreviating purposes.) Matt came over for a bit and we watched shitty reality tv and he went home. I think we're both pretty comfortable with just being friends, and it kind of freaks me out. In a really good way, though.
But back to GOF. So I got my upstairs housemate, Jamie a job at the restaraunt where I work, and we were there together tonight. He's actually how I met GOF, and he was saying some pretty unflattering things about him. Apparantly GOF has at least three girls who think he's their boyfriend? Now I know what everyone is thinking. "Stay the fuck away from this kid. He's trouble. Blah blah blah." Well my friends--here's the thing. This is totally going to play out like a bad chick flick from the 90s, but hear me out. So I really have no idea who all reads this, but I'm praying that there is at least one woman on here that likes to fuck with fuckers, and that woman can completely relate. All the rest of you probably think I'm nuts, but I think it's important to clarify that there is no possible way that I will ever EVER start to have serious feelings for this dude. Fo' sho. So I'm thinking...it's lookin' like GOF needs to be taught a lesson. Now I don't need anyone feeling sorry for this schmuck. He lied to me already like, a thousand times, and we've only hung out once. So to reiterate: I'm going to have a fucking BALL with kid, and he deserves every bit of it. I'm super great at manipulation and making men fall in love. Usually I don't do it on purpose, but I'm going to work extra hard on this one. In a couple of weeks, if I haven't tired of GOF, he will be eating out of my fucking palm. =] Vindictive, much?
It's actually going to start tonight. I decided to have a Halloween party; a kind of sequel to the disasterous evening Friday night. [In case I didn't mention it, I threw a huge Halloween party, costumes were required, and ended up passing out at 10 oclock and no one could get in. haha. But seriously, while it sucks hardcore, imagine how fucking funny they all looked in their various ridiculous costumes, holding packs of beer and banging on the door. lmfao.] I'm going to look so bloody sexy and of course GOF will be here, and I will be the generous hostess; flirting terribly with all of the men right in front of his face. This will work, as it works with Gods of Fuck universally, and soon, the world will be right. I'm actually being a saint of sorts; a true fighter for the cause of women that constantly get taken advantage of. Thank me later.
I had a relatively decent day today. I didn't cry at all, and I didn't really feel the need to. I will be heading to GNC to stock up on vitamins and shit, as I'm a vegetarian and I have several major deficiencies, and I'm also going to grab some herbal anxiety/depression remedies. I think that getting my body back on track will be a very redeeming feeling.
So you guys all have a great night, and a happy halloween.
feel free to talk to me. =]

I've made love; I've been fucked. [So what.]

Matt and I broke up a few days ago. There's not a lot I really want or need to say about it, besides that I am confused and scared that I have made a poor decision. Well, I guess it's best to be honest. I'm almost completely sure that I made the right decision; I'm just lonely as hell. Sleeping alone is so difficult when you know that you will not be waking up next to someone who loves you. I won't even do the thing where I reassure everyone that this break up is for real and there is no chance that we will ever get back together. Because I don't know. I'm taking it one day at a time. I broke up with him Thursday and I've seen him only once since then. We got dinner and watched a movie... he ended up staying. We did nothing but cuddle, and while I know it made us both happy to feel so safe and secure, it was not a good idea. I'm not sure if he even realizes how serious I am about all of this. So much for not having much to say about that, ha.
I've already fallen back into that bad habit I have of becoming relatively promiscous after any serious breakups. I fucked some kid that I met at a party last night, or should I say he fucked me. And it was really good, don't get me wrong. I haven't had sex that...invigorating for awhile now. He's hot and more dumb than not. I haven't decided if he's arrogant yet. Last night was presumably a one night stand, which is perfectly fine with me, but I'm not going to make this a trend. Making out or whatever is one thing, but I feel kind of ashamed of myself for actually doing someone. Especially so soon after Matt.
Fuck it. I don't feel that bad. If Matt knew I'd feel awful, but he doesn't need to, and he never will. The kid from last night was nothing more than an amusing lay...even if he did tell me that I "intrigue" him. Hell, I don't even know why I let him into my pants to be honest. I was drunk and horny and lonely. He had no where to go because he was too drunk to drive. Sleeping on the couch turned into sleeping in my bed. Shit, I suck. Hah. [Speak of the God of Fuck himself. He just texted me wanting to hang out. gggggggahhhd.]
School is ruining me. I had a full fledged panic attack during a math test the other day. It was humiliating. My depression is starting to take over hard core; so many changes are going on and I'm having a very hard time keeping up with everything.

It's hard to exist.

Should I hang out with Jimmy the One Night Stand who is no where near smart enough to hold anything longer than a 5 minute conversation with me?
Should I study for all of the tests I have this week?

I know what I should do. I should go take Matt the stupid fucking book he needs to borrow from me at work so I don't have to deal with his incessant interrogations tonight and go right the fuck to sleep.

I'm High & I'm Happy & I'm Free.

Is it sad that I've begun to use weed to self medicate? I would say yes. I mean, I've been smoking it for almost five years; you would think that the novelties of being high would have worn off by now. Writing all of these things down may help me, as well. Knowing that at least one person has a portal into my mind and can judge me justly and fairly from the things that I am so openly writing about gives me a sick kind of comfort. So, with that being said, I think today I'll delve into the fucked up period that was my childhood.
I didn't meet my biological father until I was 14. My mom married Dan when I was three years old, and I was conditioned to call him "daddy" from the very beginning. I don't remember much or any abuse inflicted by Dan until after my first little sister was born. (Again, I will not be using their real names as to not embarrass.) Ashley was (and is) a beautiful little girl who quickly took on the roll of the favorite. Because after all, I was not Dan's real child, and he had no problem reminding me of that often, starting when I was about four. Things got even worse when Annie was born. Not only did Dan completely stop paying attention to me, he would beat me, tease me, and encourage my sisters to do the same. Of course, it wasn't their fault that they were instigated into making my life a fucking hell on earth, but I was young, and I began to hate them nonetheless. My mom was also subject to Dan's abuse, but fortunately for her, she had a driver's license, a car, and the town bar to go to in order to escape his torment. [Note: my timeline is kind of off from my childhood, so dates and ages are all approximate.] She knew the way he treated me, and yet she left me at home with him night after night after night, and I was fair game. If Ashley or Annie did something wrong, I would get beaten for it, though he knew perfectly well who the real culprit was. If I spilled a drink, I would have to stand in the corner for hours on end. By the time I was six, I had been dragged down the hallway by my hair; I had bruises all over my body, and I hated coming home from school. I remember sitting on the school bus every day for years, dreading the rest of the evening with Dan and my sisters.
Dan and my mother would often get into physical altercations, usually around the holidays, and they would end with Dan being on top of my mother, smacking her and punching her, and screaming at me "Is this what you fucking want?! Are you fucking happy now?!" No, I wasn't fucking happy.
Though there were countless nights in which I was abused, the night I remember most began with my mom going out to the bar. She always looked and smelled so pretty; it was hard for me to be mad at her for abandoning me. "Be good," she'd say. "Don't give him any reason to yell at you. Stay in your room and read." This one particular night, however, I was determined to get him to love me. I wanted to be as good as my little sisters; I wanted him to bring me presents like he brought me and take me to see his parents whom I adored. So not only did I want to be good, I wanted him to see how good I was being.
As was custom, Dan began his evening by grabbing a beer from the refridgerator, sitting on his recliner, and turning on the television. As a 7 or 8 year old little girl, I was not much interested in the football he was so obsessed with, but I opted to stay in the same room anyways, and lay on the couch that was across the room from him. I ended up falling asleep for a little while, and woke up, ecstatic to not have been yelled at once. Haha. That was not to last though, however. When I stood up to go back to my room, I knocked over a beer can. Now even as a young child, I KNEW that he had planted that fucking beer can right under my fucking feet. I told him I was sorry, but he beat the shit out of me anyways. I waited for my mom to get home from the bar and I told her how good I had been and how I had knocked over Dan's beer and how he had beat me for it. Finally, my mom stopped going out at night.
When I was about 12, after I had endured about nine or so years of abuse, Dan did something which at the time, I didn't think to be much worse than anything else that he did, but apparantly my mom was unaware of how bad things were. (That's what I'd like to think.) I don't remember what I did, or even if I did anything at all, but Dan was on one of his rampages. He was screaming and swearing at me, and as was custom, I retreated to the top bunk where I slept to escape his punches and anger. Dan was not having that, however. He ended up chasing me into my room, and grabbing me by the hair and literally trying to drag me off the bed through the railing and in between the ladder. Now if any of you are familiar with bunk beds, this is an unfortunately tight space through which entry is pretty muc h impossible. Now most of this I don't remember; my mom told me about it, but she said that when she walked into the room, Dan had my body so contorted that she thought my back and one of my arms were broken. She grabbed my little sisters, threw some suitcases into our rooms, and demanded that we pack up and be ready to leave in 15 minutes. And that's when we moved into my grandmother's house.
Now, it is what it is. Nothing I write about is intended to induce any kind of sympathy out of anyone; as of now, no one I know is even aware of the presence of this journal. I'm trying to read in between the lines though. I want to know what all of this did to me, and if contributes to the way I am now. Of course, I should have turned out a lot worse than I am. After we left Dan, my mom picked up where he left off and often took out a lot of her rage on me--resulting in scratches on my face, bruising, beatings, having things thrown at me, and my favorite: a visit from child services. She has since apologized frequently, and I have stopped blaming her. Her life has been hard. Mix in the Orthodox Presbyterian upbringing with child abuse (mental and physical) and you're bound to have a recipe for some intense emotional problems later in life. I don't want anyone to think that all I do is wallow in self pity and live in the past and blame other people for my problems. I just want to get this shit out. I want to write it down, read it, and figure out how I feel. (Not to mention, it wouldn't hurt to brush up on my writing skills, lmao.)
Is anybody out there? Can anyone relate? Talk to me.

(1) I've watched you cakewalk on the immaculate conception for far too long.

My dog died on Saturday.
My mom called me on Monday as I was getting ready to go to the store with my boyfriend. She started off fine; she told me about what was going on with my younger sisters and her relationship, and asked me how I was doing. Then, out of nowhere, she began to cry hysterically, and all I could make out was "Nikki died...something something something...depression...something." Nikki has been my dog since I was five years old and she was a puppy, so she was 14 years old. My mom told me that she had to hold her while they put her down, and described how hard it was. Before I even had time to react to Nikki's death, she had switched gears to her depression that keeps coming and going, and her inability to stop crying. Unfortunately, I can completely relate, but more about that later. As I tried to reassure my mom and calm her down, I re-realized that I am an awful, selfish human being. Here I am, living in a house so much nicer than her own, playing house with my boyfriend and having little or no financial problems. I left her in that awful mobile home with my two little sisters, thousands of dollars of debt, and no one to talk to besides her own mother. My first instinct was to literally pack up everything immediately and move home to be with her. She needs me. However, I know that is most definitely not what she wants for me. I just detest looking at her life and feeling her sorrow and regrets for the things she did, the way things are, and the way things will never be for her. She is so lonely and sad and desperate for a soulmate to come sweep her off of her feet, and the men in her past have done nothing but emotionally slaughter her. (Again, more about that later.) Her boyfriend now, while incredibly nice and a generally good person, seems to have major commitment issues and an unfortunately immature sense of humor that humiliates her and undermines her intelligence. She loves him nonetheless.
I'm ashamed of myself for complaining about my petty problems and "stress." While I am depressed, I have nothing to complain about. As I previously mentioned, I have a house with a close friend, a damn near perfect boyfriend, an awesome group of friends who really understand me, a relatively decent job...the list could go on. The only real anxiety I have in my life besides all of that abstract shit that comes with depression is the anxiety that pretty much every goal-oriented person in school and work has. I'll break it down.
The Boyfriend. Matt is an awesome person. He does everything in his power to make me happy; he deals with my sometimes unbearable sarcasm; he just generally does a lot of shit for me. I would marry him in 5-10 years. But see, that's where the problem lies. 5-10 years is a long time, kind of. Is the rest of my life planned out? Is the finding and keeping of Love chapter in my life over? Am I selfish to want to feel the initial emotion of falling in love with someone? Yes. Yes I am. It is what it is, I guess. I kissed a boy at a party I had when one of my best friends was visiting me. I didn't tell Matt about this party because I felt as though he would ruin it somehow. Matt is pretty much incabable of ruining anything; that's my job. I don't even feel bad about kissing the boy. Well, not that bad. Love and sex and lust and friendship all get tangled up and confused and things happen. Especially when alcohol is involved. I kissed this boy because I was drunk, and I knew he had feelings for me, and I wanted to feel something different. Matt and I broke up for a couple of months when I went home for the summer, (we've been together for about a year and a half now...) and I did everything I could to "live in the moment" or "live it up." I got fucking wasted a lot, and I kissed a lot of boys, I fucked a couple of boys, I did drugs, I had fun. Matt took me back.

But maybe I should back up to why we initially took this little break. I started this blog to be honest about everything, and to not censor anything...and so I guess it's time to come clean to myself and everyone else.
There is one person in my life that knows hardcore how to fuck with me. I don't think it's intentional, but I suppose that's a possibility. It's going to get confusing if I don't use some fake names for people, so that's just what I'll do. Cheesy, but necessary.
The Triangle-esque Thing.
So once upon a time in High school, I became friends with these two fucking awesome girls, Jamie and Karly. We all had a lot of fun together, blahblahblah, things were awesome. All three of us had serious boyfriends for quite sometime for a little over a year, until we all decided to call it quits at about the same time. Karly's boyfriend, Nick and I had gotten to be pretty great friends at this point, and we stayed good friends even after he and Karly broke up. For the first 6 months or so, everything was completely platonic; the subject of most of our conversations was Karly and how we could get them back together. (For a long time, I missed them together as a couple and the good times we all had.) Eventually, the talk of Karly became a little more scattered and we just talked about lots of other shit. We hung out pretty damn near every day for a few months. We did lots of fun shit together, smoked lots of weed together, and just generally got really close. I thought about telling him that I was starting to have feelings for him, but I was advised against it by the two people who knew. After all, I was moving to Philadelphia in a month or so; I wanted to stay friends; I didn't want anything to be awkward, blahblahblah. Sooo, I decided against telling Nick how much I uh, well to be honest, how much I loved him. (I later found out he knew all along.) Well, lo and behold, Jamie and Nick started hanging out pretty frequently. I had originally wanted them to be friends because I really cared about both of them, and they'd had a history and didn't really get along. That didn't last. They kind of...cut me off, and after I moved to Philadelphia, I found out they were dating. Things were a little fucked up at this point, but we all decided to be friends.
And then Nick and Jamie had a big awful breakup, and started to hate each other. I got dragged into the middle of a lot of shit, and I had to determine who was a better friend and all of this other annoying nonsense, and ultimately decided that Jamie was and that I had a duty to tell her what the fuck was going on with Nick and Karly--they had began talking again behind Jamie's back. Of course by this point, the original girls; Karly, Jamie, and I were kind of in shambles...no one knew who to trust and Nick was talking to all of us and things were just insane. (Confused, yet? It gets better.)
Cut to about a year later. I'm friends with everyone again, though no one else is really getting along, I'm going out with Matt, and things are looking up for me. I had gotten over Nick, and I was coming home to hang out for the weekend, primarily with Karly and Jamie. Well, it turned out that Nick and I had decided to make plans for one of the nights I was home; drink wine, smoke weed, reminisce; the good stuff. And so we did just that. We smoked, went on a really nice burn run, drank a couple of bottles of wine....and that's where things get really messy. Remember, I'm still with Matt. Nick and I had never even held hands at this point; it was preposterous to even think about things like that with my now best friend X 2s' ex boyfriend. But, somehow it happened. To this day, I believe that the playing of the Arcade Fire and the "romantic setting" was meant to intentionally make me feel vulnerable, but I won't place blame on anyone but myself. After all, I was still with Matt, and Nick has been with both of my best friends. (We share everything? Ew. ha.) And that brings me to
The Break.
You know, the aforementioned one where I turned into a moral-less lush and acted a fool for two months? Well, I think only one person knows the true reason I took this break, and she lives with me, hinthint, haha. I told Matt I needed to find myself. I told him I felt as though I didn't deserve him after what I did to him, which is in part true. (Yeah, I told him about the Nick thing...) I told him I couldn't look him in the face without feeling guilty, and that I doubted we'd ever be able to get past it. Yes, all of these have some level of truth to them. But the thing I couldn't tell him was that I wanted to see where things would go with Nick. Of course, they never went anywhere. We hung out a very limited amount of times while I was home, and those nights often ended up in awkward, drunken sex during which I felt extremely ashamed of myself and emotionally violated. Not to make him seem worse than he is; I just feel as though he took advantage of how strongly I felt about him and manipulated me into becoming a fuck buddy. So, instead of just realizing after a couple of weeks that nothing was ever going to happen with Nick (though I knew it all along because of the intense history and tangled love triangles) and getting back together with the one who truly and honestly loves me more than anyone, I decided to keep my single status and turn into an immature, boy crazy, 15 year old version of myself. And then, I came back home, Matt took me back because he is more than human, and here I sit, discontent in my relationship and in my life.
The Boyfriend, Part II.
I take him for granted. That's the first and foremost thing that I need to work on if I want to keep this relationship going. But that's the thing. Do I? Everyone always wants something more, and I don't believe that anyone is ever truly happy. Do we honestly know when we're with the right person? Usually there are definite signs that something is not working out; emotional or physical abuse, loss of sexual compatibility, incessant fighting, the list could go on. It's nothing like that with us, though. He's perfect, and we get along fine. We have fun together, and I know that I love him, and that I could see myself marrying him. But what is this awful fucking feeling of incompletion I feel? What if I spend the next several years of my life with him, and I suddenly realize what's been in the back of my head for the last couple of weeks--we need to break up and I need to learn how to be independent? It's so fucking hard for me though. I can't be independent. Even the couple of months I have been single out of the last 4 or 5 years of my life, I haven't really been single. There's always been at least one male there that I lead on and then drop at the first signs of "more than platonic," for lack of a better way of phrasing that. But what if Matt really is the one? I've already used my undeserved "break" and I could never do that to him again. If we broke up and after a few months I realized that I need him, I'd have to get the fuck over it and moveon. I can't make up my fucking mind, and it's driving me insane.
I Miss my Fucking Friends.
One of my best friends lives across the fucking country and the other one is at home, 6 hours away. Another one is in fucking North Carolina. Nick, that is. Yeah, we're still friends, and it has to be a secret. He's hated by everyone that I love, and I may be selfish for keeping him close, but I just feel like I have to. I have no more feelings for him other than that of a good friend, and that's how it will always be. But regardless. Can anyone relate to how fucking awful it is to move somewhere and not be able to truly connect to anyone? Fortunately, I've stayed in great contact with all of the people involved in the Love triangle fiasco, and they are the best, and I love them so much. This isn't starting to make much sense anymore, so I'll wrap things up for now.
I know what you're thinking.
And no, I honestly expect no one's sympathy or pity. I started this blog so I could get this shit off my chest, so I could let some of this fucked up shit out and get feedback. This is all just the beginning. My first blog. This is nothing compared to everything I want to say, and everything I will say. I haven't even covered the emotional bullshit that triggers my panic attacks and makes me want to...not exist. Or the religious epiphanies that I've had. Or my fucked up past. (Everyone has one, kind of.) That's for later! Don't give up on me though. I'm counting on anyone who might read this to empathize and respond.