Ask, Won't Tell. Don't Ask, Won't Say. I'll Be Fine When It's Over. Trust

The words to the feelings I have are inexpressible, ground up into the deepest tracks of my system, refusing to give up their sources. I sit alone, confused, in a deep, dark place of inexplicability, deeper, deeper, dug.

No desire to be six feet under, but even less will to be 5 foot 5 above. Goes on life, without me, unstoppable powers, time is weary, so am I. Make it stop, stop the clock.

Afraid to feel, even more of getting hurt. Cut off, only shoulders drenched with tears available, the only pain I feel. Others, only of others. Never of my own, a wounded heart brought to the brink and back. Fix me. Save me. Wake me.

Classes go by, a week or so gone, skipped. Lost. As am I. liquid surprises, nothing concrete. As always, busy, too busy. Save me. Please. Busy. Story of my life. Where’s everyone? Here. For you, not. Yes. No. sleep time. Please…?

Empty words. Filled with sarcasm. The pain builds, I’m in deeper. Love, it’s only love. Physicalities are impossible. See it, don’t you see. Want, so bad, unreal, it is. My hand, grab. Falling. Catch it. my head hurts, better. Kiss, yes. No. please. Fine.

Strings of words. Sense, of course, why?, none. Further, fall, further, deep. This is me. Save me please. 

My Cats Are Plotting To Kill Me

This is a brilliant website that I was given. It's amazing how accurate it is:

http://www.catswhothrowupgrass.com/kill.php, check it out.

18-25 is MY Demographic

As Zach Stanford's Associated Content points out the 18-25 demographic is the least likely to vote in any election. Zach attributes this to the mechanics of the election which basically states that voters must present themselves at stations in cities where they are registered, however this poses a major problem to college students who are away from home and for the most part comprise the demographic. 

There are probably dozens of other factors that keep my American counterparts away from the polling booths, however I'd like to draw to attention the fact that in this election, more than any other in history, MY demographic has made an astounding difference. 

Despite all the jokes that circulate about the laziness of my demographic, the media's constant pressure to vote and the teen movement that ensued certainly forced us to "Rock the Vote" in this election. Music videos, graphic design posters, all sorts of apparel, etc influenced the minds of all young adults across North America and encouraged MY demographic to stand up and vote for themselves. 

Finally the future's adults, the future's leaders and politicians, the future's handlers have some say in what's happening in the world. FINALLY, the young mind's of America have stood up and taken responsibility for the future. This is a powerfully historic moment, people and I truly feel like I'm a part of it because MY demographic is the one that took initiative. 

GO BARACK GO.

Am I Really Who I Thought I Was Not?

For years I've always prided myself on not being what my mother and the rest of society expected me to be as a female in this world: JAPPY. I rarely care about how I dress; opting for sweats and a hoody, never wear make up; rarely even lip gloss or chapstick, etc. Aside from my hair, which is just about my only observable appearance trait that I take care of, nothing else really matters to me. In addition, I've always claimed I wasn't a label whore, that I didnt purposely shop for brand names that supposedly boost my image.

Today however I was proved seriously wrong. For months (well really, years) I've purchased many pairs of pants that I should have shortened due to my vertical disorder.. however, as lazy as I am, I never made time to go to the tailor to have them reduced to my height. Today I did, after much pressure and an ultimatum from my mom.

So I went through my closet at warp speed, tried on every pair of pants I own to see if they needed to be "adjusted" to my height. Collected the TWELVE pairs that needed shortening and headed to Rockland Tailors ironically located in Cote St. Luc Shopping Centre. To my absolute HORROR, of the 12 pants, 6 were Juicy Couture, 3 were no names from Target, 1 was a pair of Rock and Republic jeans, 1  was a pair of Parasuco Jeans,  and 1 pair were Adidas sweatpants. 

Clearly I am a brand whore and I'm both sincerely ashamed and apologetic for lying to myself all these years. Of the 12 pairs of pants I've bought within the past 2 years that needed shortening, a whooping SEVENTY FIVE percent were labeled. 

Perhaps I'm the one who labeled myself incorrectly.

I'm Crazy by DSM-IV Standards

People always say the hardest thing to admit is that you aren't perfect... the hardest thing for me to admit is that I might actually be crazy. It's not like everything in my life doesnt point me in that direction. All the clues, hints and what not that have trailed along the way like little puzzle pieces just waiting to be picked up and fit within the greater framework. It's not that honesty is a quality that is lost on me, it's that it's a challenge I would much rather not take on head first.

Based on the five seconds of research I've done on symptoms and the hours of poring over my boring abnormal psych text book my third semester at Dawson, I think Borderline Personality Disorder isn't such a stretch. Moreover, it is clear to me that I am definitely a candidate for Attachment Disorder as demonstrated by my past few sessions with the Warden.

Now, I know it's very easy to pinpoint the DSM-IV criteria/symptoms to situations in my life that would make me believe that these disorders hit a lot closer to home than a chapter in my school textbook but I'm starting to believe that my whole life leads me to that conclusion.

My attachment to friends, people, songs, clothes, pictures and other memorabilia are just so indicative of this bullshit. I'm clearly not in the mood to get detailed. 

We'll make it a later date.