A leap year... The next one will be in what, four years? I'll be twenty five or twenty six by then. That sounds so far away when I write it down. I will be living a radically different life by then; this one will be unrecognizable to me.

(I just noticed that I made the assumption that I will be alive in the future, that the future can be mine. I used to not do that. My new way of living & of trying to be better has made its way into my subconscious.)

It's cold & grey, dull. It feels like winter. I expected something more... ceremonious for leap year, in the same way that I always assume it will snow for Christmas despite the fact that it never has. Over & over again I assume the best, the ideal & over & over again I am proven wrong, but it doesn't stop me & somehow, I don't mind.

The sky today reminded me of the sky last night which reminded me of the poem “Tulips” by Sylvia Plath:

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.

It was something about the openness of the sky, despite the fact that there are clouds again. There was this patch of clouds & sky that looked like an eye somehow. I prefer cloudy days.

School was difficult. Sitting in my math class, there was so much noise: papers & breathing & chewing. It was hard to smile at the professor’s jokes.

Driving home, I saw a license plate that read BETR♥NOW. The sky was so expansive.

I made dinner after getting home: rice & veggies & eggs & my dad got upset that I didn’t cook the chicken I’d asked him to thaw out. He never told me he took it out of the freezer. He kept getting angrier & angrier at me, & then he asked if I’d even bothered cooking dinner for anyone else, like he’d won the “argument.” (I don’t think it can be called an “argument” when one person barrages the other.) I did cook dinner for everyone though. & he was embarrassed about how he had spoken to me, but it was too late. Not that he said sorry. No one ever says sorry to me. I brought my food to my room & cried over my bowl. This is all I hear from my family, constantly, that I’m doing something wrong: making them dinner wrong, or I’m eating the wrong amount of sugar, or I didn’t put away the spoons correctly, I’m not smiling enough, I didn’t say hello the right way, I’m not allowed to sit in the living room because they don’t want to see me, I’m not allowed to be in the kitchen when they’re in there, unless it’s to cook for them. It’s so… degrading. And what is there to do about it? The last time I asked my dad to be nice to me, he yelled at me for half an hour & watched me cry after he told me that he was going to kick me out. He didn’t even mean it either. He said it to watch me cry. At some point, what is there left for me to do? It’s like a stone, being worn down by water. What more can you ask of a piece of stone? How do you ask it to be stronger?

I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to my dad again after I move out. He doesn’t know that. He thinks we’re a close father & daughter. He doesn’t know anything about me. He doesn’t ask anything about me. He gets upset at me when he sees me sitting on the couch. He gets upset at me when I surprise him with the wrong dinner. There’s no one in my life who hates me so thoroughly, to the point where seeing me elicits contempt, & we still say I love you every night before bed. I hate living this way. He acts like it’s normal. I act like it’s normal because I’m afraid he’ll kick me out.

I tried going for a walk afterwards, but I kept crying. I put a movie on & I cried during that too: Whisper of the Heart. There’s this scene when this woman is moving out of her parents’ house & they’re sad to see her go. I wish I had people in my life who would miss me if I were gone. The only reason anyone here would miss me is that there would be no one left to insult, which for them would mean no reason to speak again; it's all they're good for.

Despite all of this, despite the fcat that I am crying as I write this, I’m okay. I'm BETR♥NOW.

Sleepy & content, with little to write. I've spent the past couple of hours cutting out artworks that I printed & arranging them on the walls near my bed. I'm about halfway done. I ran out of tape. Looking at these artworks is inspiring to me.

I wish I had more to say... I'm just really tired all of a sudden, like a weight has fallen over me, but a pleasant one: That of a person or a blanket.

In a more contemplative mood & I’m feeling some relief from my emotions. Last night I opened up to my friend E over text. See, I was writing this presentation for class over bipolar disorder & over & over again, everything said: Ask for help. Ask for help. Do not be afraid. Ask for help. Do not be afraid child, ask for help. & something about the room, about being awake into the late hours of the night, by myself, with only a candle to keep me company, somehow it made these perpetually neglected words take on meaning to me, so I texted E.

When we spoke the Friday before last, she told me if I needed help, that all I had to do was ask for it. I’ve realized that in my mind, there is a significant difference between speaking about negative feelings & asking for help: One is difficult & the other something I will avoid to the point of… deterioration. I will let myself wilt before I let anyone water me. I think it comes from the desire to not want to be burdensome & the belief that I am not deserving of care. I had written some time ago within these past few weeks that I think I hate myself. I feel better now, but this fact is still true. Even if it has not surfaced like a bloated corpse on water, the reality is this belief still guides my hands and my voice to some extent. This thought, realization, was particularly painful because the insight didn’t grant me any peace or any change; I didn’t know what to do with it. It was like I looked down & realized I had been walking around with my organs rotting inside of me, barely functioning, & I had accepted it as normal, as a fact of my existence. The worst part was that this rot had come from self neglect: This February the way I felt can only be described as deep & severe depression. I feel I can say that now that it’s passed.

While I had lamented the fact that the realization of my self loathing had not given me anything but heartache & stomachache, I’ve come to understand that I need to do things in spite of it. I need to show myself that way of thinking is wrong & corrosive. I don’t want to degrade myself anymore. I may not have thought this to myself as I texted E, but I do think these thoughts were present & were guiding my hands.

Emboldened by the fact that I was writing & not speaking, I told her that this past month I have not been okay, that I have tried my best to act as though I am okay, but that it is not true. The wording I used was “manageable,” actually. I had told her earlier that I haven’t been doing well, but I made an effort to present it as something small, something I can handle. I told her that I have been barely handling things, that I have not been handling things & that I’ve felt afraid, that after being deeply depressed & barraged by constant suicidal thoughts that I had begun to feel well again after the course of only a day, & that this was concerning to me. I asked that in the coming days, if I seem out of character or overly talkative or irritable, that I want her to say something to me, in case this is the beginning of a (hypo)manic episode. I explained that I have not told anyone this, but I am now telling her.

This self-disclosure has opened something in me & I feel like I set something right, the way you set a broken bone. I told her it was embarrassing to say these things, but that it’s a relief. The embarrassment has diminished, but I still feel better for it all. Despite the fact that it was an act of humility, asking for help & concern felt like something that has elevated me, has given me equal footing. Before, I had felt so guarded, & like I had something to hide. I felt ashamed, & that my friend, my dear friend who is without hyperbole the most kind person that I have met, resented me somehow, even if it was imperceptible to her.

With this newfound openness, as I gave my presentation on bipolar disorder to the class, I began to speak from the heart & to my personal experiences. We had these anonymous feedback forms that our classmates fill out & many of them thanked me for speaking the way I did.

Tonight, I feel like I can hold my head up high & that I don’t need to bow inward with shame. I have nothing to hide. It felt almost like… I don’t know. I write candidly, but it is another thing to speak candidly. I felt like I brought two parts of myself together, in a way that helps me make sense of things.

I still have worries, but right now, I can say that I'm proud of myself.

Doing good again, doing great actually. I say “good” & not “well,” because that sense of guilt has vanished & has become a sense of goodness that is shining so brightly that it is hard to see. Sometimes it feels as though I’ve committed a sin just by existing, that God hates me & me specifically & sometimes it feels like I could arm wrestle with God, even though I’ve never won an arm wrestling match in my life. You know, I read about these rabbis once far back in time that had proposed actual measurements for God’s hands. I think about that fact often. There was a time when I would write G-d and not God, but that time is not now.

I had a lot of poetry in the heart today, but my heart has been a winged thing & winged things are meant to be looked at & not held. I’ve seen parrots in everything too. Though I like poetry, I do not think I want to write it, at least for now. I find it to be constricting rather than freeing & words, like the heart, are winged things that are meant to be free.

I’ve had a hard time catching up lately, with my heart, with the things around me, with myself. Before, I couldn’t keep up with anything around me, not work, not school, and to some extent, that is still true: I have a presentation that I have to give tomorrow that I have not written, but right now, it’s not because I can’t keep up with it, it’s that I can’t keep up with myself. It’s hard to focus in a different way than before. I tried to write earlier, but my typing could not keep up with my thoughts & it was so frustratingly slow instead of frustratingly fast.

I’ve been having trouble sitting with my thoughts lately. I’m someone who likes to take baths, but I have been unable to do that lately, because the tub begins to feel like the world’s smallest prison cell. A recurring thought that comes to my head is myself as Ophelia, but a really shitty version laying dead in the bathtub with its skin sloughing off & no longer the right size for my body. Today, it was Marily Monroe: I poured too much bubble bath in & the whole tub was filled with bubbles, made the tub seem bigger than it was. I couldn’t see my body. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I lay in the tub & watch my pulse through my stomach- omphaloskepsis. This time, I couldn’t see it & did not contemplate, but I wasn’t able to lay alone in the tub for very long. I made it twenty minutes & it felt like much longer. I felt like I couldn’t sit alone with myself in a different way; I felt like I needed to sit with my desk & write, but then I tried to write & it was all too fast for me to record.

I scrubbed the tub with bleach powder before I got in. I was having a hard time cleaning these past few weeks, (I’ve realized I’ve been saying that I was unwell for days & not weeks, but weeks is more accurate), but today I scrubbed the tub. It felt good. I scrubbed it in a tank top & skirt. I’ve been having difficulty with my clothes & keep wearing the same things over & over: McDonald’s sweatshirt, blue corduroy sweats, Snoopy T-shirt (wearing right now), & purple faux-corduroy pants (wearing right now). It was uncomfortable to feel the neck of my tank top graze my skin. I slept in it, but it was hard to wear during my waking hours.

I got a lot of my to-do list done (or half done): Woke up before my alarm, refreshed; Quit feeling suicidal; Washed & dried laundry but have not hung it up yet; Read some of Giovanni’s Room but did not finish it; Lit a candle which I am watching right now; Cleaned my bedding, but only half of it, so all Vashti has is a comforter tonight; Ate food, finally; Have a presentation due tomorrow that I have started & that is open in another tab, waiting to be finished. Why am I avoiding it? Normally it’s because I have a fear of failing something, but this time it’s the opposite, like I have more important things to do, like watching the candle’s flame. I should say a prayer tonight.

Okay Vashti, think about consequences. We need to think about consequences. Normally you feel so anxious that any unfulfilled deadlines gnaw away at you, but you felt so good you forgot some of your math homework that was due Friday & you haven’t started your presentation that is due tomorrow afternoon. You haven’t practiced it, haven’t even written it. The only person who can look out for you is you, because people think just because you feel happy it must be a good thing, but we both know happiness can be a trick.

A radiant sense of joy that is somewhat suspect. Everything felt like a revelation today.

I’m going to go to bed soon. I haven’t been sleeping well & I should make an effort to right that. I slept five hours last night & didn’t feel tired at all, not at all, not at all. I woke up & the whole world was gentle & blue. If I go to bed early tonight, maybe I can see the sunrise. When was the last time that I saw a sunrise? Normally I wake up at the height of the day or when the morning is so early it’s still nighttime & only morning by name.

I want to bless everything that I can see.

I'm not overflowing yet.

I can't tell if I should question how I'm feeling.

I don't want to work my stupid fucking job today.

Isn't it incredible the way I can go from absolute despair, wishes of death punctuating my every thought, on cue with my heartbeat, crying in the bathtub to feeling very good in less than a day, less than half a day? Exultation is what this is.

I will probably wake up & want to kill myself tomorrow. Somehow, that makes these feelings even more authentic, in that they are so... severe.

Mary Oliver said, "If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, / don’t hesitate. Give into it." Unfortunately for me, I don't think Mary Oliver was bipolar.

Stop sleping for either three hours or twelve hours. Stop waking up & laying in bed for half an hour. Start lighting candle. Stop thinking about sticking your hands over them.

Went for a walk & tried to feel something, anything. It didn't work. I wish I were dead. Actually, I want to kill myself.

Listening to an 80s French song between classes, Sans contrefaçon par Mylène Farmer. I think "contrefaçon" means "counterfeit," but I could be wrong. I haven't been keeping up with my French studies. Haven't been eating. Haven't been working my full schedule. Haven't been getting my schoolwork done until right before it's due. Haven't been reading. Isn't it amazing all of the things I'm not doing? Incredible, isn't it? I was going to say, "Isn't it incredible how lazy I am?" but I'm not going to talk down to myself. I don't want to do that anymore.

I think I am going to start folding origami when I feel pent up like this, like I need to do something with my hands, like I need to do anything. When I tell myself that this isn't a current & I'm not a jellyfish, that I'm a woman & I'm walking around in a circle.

I brought my parrot Sonny Angel with me in my pencil case today. I keep seeing parrots, keep thinking about parrots. The pencil case is from E. She gave it to me on Friday- Pochacco.

I feel kind of hopeful. I don't have anything left.

I am not doing alright. I came to school early today, because I couldn't sleep & had a bad dream that I missed an assignment deadline. I feel sick & my chest hurts. It's probably just anxiety. "Just anxiety," as if that's not worse than the times I'm "actually" sick. I want my mind to stop beating me down & dragging me around like dog. Normally, it feels as though I'm dragging a dog around, a big dog, one that doesn't want to listen to me. Now I'm the one being dragged, nails in the dirt & on the pavement. I just want a bit of normalcy. I don't want to feel my heart beat in its chest like this. I feel... afraid. Of everything. I just want it to stop. Please.

I feel so bad. Why shouldn’t I? If anyone else were to treat me the way I treat myself, I’d hate them. I would think that they were an awful person. I feel like I’m rotting.

I’ll wake up tomorrow & I’ll start again.

I wish that I could voice how bad I feel right now. It's not that I'm feeling sad, I've felt that way for days, it's that I feel so accutely aware of how... awful I am? I feel like I'm looking at myself for the first time in a long time, making eye contact, trying not to flinch. I feel so sad, but it's directed towards who I am as a person. Disappointment, maybe. Self blame. I don't know what to do with this feeling. I don't think I've ever felt this way before. Horrible self awareness.

It feels like I just broke something inside myself while carelessly stumbling & groping around.

I didn’t write yesterday because… I don’t know. (Stop saying I don't know!) I skipped school yesterday. At the park, a parent & child were flying a dragon kite, but from far away it looked like a tropical bird. Loulou the parrot.

I thought that I should do something special with the time, anything with the time, but what is there that's "special?" The only thing that has made me feel good is burning my hand & taking a hot bath, which made my hand hurt more.

Deep in thought yesterday, walking in the evening, I realized that I think I'm having an issue with control, or perceived control: Burning my hand felt like I was taking control of my emotions. Not eating, not doing my schoolwork until its deadline, wearing the same clothes over & over: All forms of self neglect & punishment make me feel a sense of control. This is just another facet of "justification," of me not feeling justified in my feelings. It's like I'm trying to do bad things to justify feeling bad. I try to make myself seem disgusting to justify feeling disgusting.

Why? Why am I doing this to myself? I would say that I feel worthless, but you don't pay worthless things any mind. Really, I think this feeling is self-loathing. I think I hate myself, deeply, to the point of self abuse.

The caveat with self-realizations such as these, understanding the reasons why we do things, is that it doesn't solve anything. Just because I recognize that I'm being irrational does not make me rational. The only thing that can solve anything is action on my part. Maybe kind, positive actions can act as a form of control, to give me the security that I want so desperately.

I came to another realization last night: I'm just a stupid animal. Why should I torture myself?

I burned my hand at work today. Somehow, I didn’t even cry out. As I put my hand under cold water, some of the skin started to slough off as though I were shedding a membrane. The next layer of skin underneath was wet and slimy, glistening, like the film that grows on unbrushed teeth, but clean. As I left work, the skin on my hand continued to peel & was reminiscent of snot, chunks of snot in a childish way, like a child used the back of my hand as a tissue. It was so simple & so repulsive. As I write this, my hand is scaled like that of a reptile. The area that I burned myself is raised. I’m taking a geography class right now & I would get bonus points if I submitted my hand & said it looked like a topographical map.

I don’t actually mind burning my hand, not at all. I’m glad that I burned my hand. I would like to be injured again. I would like to injure myself, but I won’t do that. For a long time, I’ve had the suspicion that a sudden jolt of pain would snap me out of things, would make me feel better, for lack of eloquent words. I always have the nagging thought, the gnawing thought, when I am not feeling well that I just need to hurt myself, one simple cut, or in this case, one simple burn, & it will make me feel better & I was right. Something about it was so… good. I don’t know if I can call a burn “good,” but it felt good.

In a way it felt clean: a simple, clean feeling. Pain. Simple pain. Pain that doesn’t need to be questioned. Pain that makes sense. Pain that has a justification. Pain with only one thought: I am in pain. Simultaneously, it felt repulsive, but its repulsiveness was simple & clean in that it made sense: Injuries look disgusting. They should look disgusting. More than that, I feel disgusting. I’ve felt disgusting for days. I feel as though I should look disgusting, that it’s the only accurate way for me to be. In short, it was as though my outside was matching my inside for the first time. I’ve described this feeling I’ve had these past days as a burning, an uncomfortable burning, like Joan of Arc if she were guilty & should have been burned alive. It’s only fitting that I be burned then.

I used to not bathe when I felt depressed, for a week, two weeks at a time. It felt sisyphean to me, something absolutely pointless to the extreme, & this burned hand is similar. I think in not showering, it was a physical manifestation of how I was feeling. This burned hand is the same, only the hand was an accident. I’m good now. Now people say they’re proud of me. I feel miserable & I shower & I brush my teeth & people say I’m good. To not bathe is a degradation in others’ eyes. A burn is not. A burn that is not self inflicted is nothing to them, so I am thankful for it.

These past days, I've thought over & over to the point of redundancy that I wish I were dead. Now I just wish for some pain. I hope I scrape my knee, cut myself in the kitchen making food- I just want to draw a little blood. Maybe it's good to have something like this to hope for, or maybe wishing for pain is an improvement on wishing for death. I don't know. I'm tired of improvement. I just want to lay down for a while, for a long while. It feels like I have nothing, that there's nothing in particular I'm here for, which just means I'm living for the sake of living. Maybe it's not so bad when I phrase it that way.

I want to burn my hand again.

I don't even know.

I just want everything to stop.

Saw the beloved E today. We got boba together. I had the day off of work. We talked for four hours or so.

I suppose I did a poor job of veiling my feelings & softening them to a palatable, “normal” amount, because she was saying things along the lines of “people would miss [me] if [I] were gone,” & “suicide is a terrible idea,” etc. I was unaware that I came across as so… dire. She didn’t say any of it in its typical demeaning way, didn’t try to prescribe me psychiatry or therapy & listened to me when I said I would only try those things again if I thought I were at imminent risk of death, that I would rather be sick than try that medicine again. I don’t know. I didn’t want to worry her. I told her a few days ago that I felt trepidation at the thought of seeing her despite how much I wanted to, because I didn’t want to be a drag. I think “a drag,” was the wording that I used. Maybe I said “a bummer to be around.” I have a tendency to use silly little words like “bummer” when I actually mean “disgusting,” “repulsive,” “repugnant,” “depressing;” “someone that ruins things.”

Upon realizing that the ruse was up & that I seemed horribly depressed, it became considerably easier to say things that I really mean, to speak the truth. I said I feel guilty. & that when people think of a depressed person, they think of someone lethargic & low, but that it’s the opposite, that I feel wound up & energetic like a happy person, like a manic person, but simultaneously miserable. I talked until I felt like I was going to cry & then I stopped. She said in Japan people don’t talk about things like this, even with people that they’re close with, & that it’s nice, in a way, that she didn’t know how to help me, but if I needed something that I can ask for it. What would I even ask for? Last night I asked that she return my copy of Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto if she still has it, because it’s my go-to book when I wish I were dead. “I wish I were dead.” I don’t even know if that’s true. Sometimes, I think I just say it because “I want to kill myself,” doesn’t sound very nice. “I wish I were dead” is so much more passive. I want to be passive. I don’t want to be wound up like this. I told her it feels like I’m tearing myself up inwards & that I can deal with any amount of sadness, but I don’t understand how to combat the guilt I feel about it. I said I feel it in my body, I feel sick every day now.

I feel ashamed of myself. She said I should feel proud of myself. Maybe both of these things can be true at the same time.

We were very casual about all of this. It was like any other topic of conversation, which felt good. It made me feel normal. We talked about other things too, like the Japan trip, how we would celebrate my birthday together this year. I think she said I have these things to look forward to. If she didn’t say it, it’s what she meant underneath everything else.

I picked up some groceries with her & took the bus home. I felt really weird, really bad taking the bus. My chest hurt & it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Maybe I didn’t seem well as we parted ways, because she gave me some food, some rice crackers to eat on the way home. She’s like a mom in that way; she’s always carrying snacks. She brought me Aspirin for a headache too.

My little brother texted me as I was walking home from the bus, asking to play Minecraft with me, but my Switch is broken, so I told him I couldn’t. It’s weird how things can go on like normal, as though they’re going on without me, while my chest hurts & I feel a sense of unease that feels like imminent death. It’s nice, a reminder of my unimportance. I felt like I was going to pass out on the walk home, to the point where I considered sitting outside of a convenience store for a little while, but dark clouds were coming in & it seemed like it was going to rain.

There was no rain, but the wind picked up in a strange way, (apparently there's going to be a cold-front tomorrow), and with those feelings of (physical) pain & dread, I felt almost good for a bit, almost really good. I felt “alive.” That's what I thought to myself, that I felt really “alive.” It was beautiful. & I walked my walk that felt like the brink of collapse, but also thought that in this moment, I was happy to be alive. Two contradictory feelings. Sometimes, oftentimes, I wish I could feel clean, simple feelings, but maybe it's a gift to be able to feel good while feeling bad. Maybe thoughts & feelings like that are what keep us alive.

I keep having to remind myself that there are no dichotomies, that I can feel & experience contradictory things. I told E that sometimes I felt sad & it was okay, but sometimes I felt sad & was disgusted at myself for being sad, & that's where my troubles really come from.

After getting home, I ate & almost immediately threw up. I just repeated like a mantra, like a prayer: Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up. E said that she would pray for me. She's devoutly religious, so it really means something when she says it.

I tried going for another walk, to try to feel that brief moment of almost-happiness again, but it didn't work. The walk was a few minutes & I almost keeled over & threw up on the pavement.

Lately it feels as though everything I say is a confession & something that needs a disclaimer stating that I am not going to kill myself.

After going to Walmart after dark with my mom for no reason, I went upstairs with my brother while he brushed his teeth. He saw me in my McDonald's sweatshirt, the one I got from the Goodwill bins up in Oregon, & he asked why I even had a McDonald's sweatshirt. I told him it was my favorite thing to wear. He thought I said my "favorite thing" & got offended that he wasn't my favorite thing. I joked that he was at least in my top ten & tried listing my top ten things. I couldn't do it. I couldn't list ten things that made me happy. I asked him what made me happy, only half joking & in his child's voice, he said he didn't know.

Work was abysmal today. I was so… angry. I’ve been tearing myself up, but at work it was all outward. It’s like I realized claws aren’t meant to be used on the self. They gave me tomorrow & Saturday off, which is nice, because I feel like I’m really close to losing my grasp on things. Or rather, that I’m grasping too many things. My fingers are going to dislocate themselves soon.

Talked with my older coworker about his dead mother today. Asked him if it had hit him yet, if it had felt real. He said it did & it didn’t at the same time. He took all of his mother’s photos off of the walls of her house. He said he’ll “probably break down at the funeral.” I nodded my head. He asked if he should wear a pinstripe suit or a plain black one. I’ve never been to a funeral, so I had no answer.

I see E tomorrow. We’re getting boba. It’s almost like she’s indulging me, because I’m not quite sure that she even likes boba. I asked her if she could return my copy of Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto, because it’s my go-to read when I wish I were dead.

I had the thought that my insides feel filthy, like they’re lined with the chunky goop from the bottom of a trash can. Unidentifiable parts that have come together to make something unrecognizable and repulsive- Another way to describe my cells.

Music doesn’t even sound good right now. & every time I eat, I feel sick. & every time I don’t eat, I feel sick. I don’t want anything & I don’t want nothing. I feel like I’m being pulled apart by horses, drawn and quartered.

On horses, I had my first clear thought in a while this morning, right after waking up: ”Imagine that you are not able. Imagine that you are not a horse.” I’ve taken it to mean that I need to relinquish my need for control, to stop holding desperately to nothing. Helplessness; to stop being helpless. Horses can be symbols of freedom, but they can also be controlled by humans. Regardless, horses are strong animals. I am not strong. I need to accept that. I cannot tell myself where I need to go right now. I am not my own horse.

Can't think of anything to say, or anything worth saying. Monotonous pain.

Deeply miserable. No use expounding upon it when I can get some sleep. I don't feel well. Not at all.

Couldn’t sleep last night & fell asleep at 4:00 AM or so. It feels like an uncomfortable burning inside of me. I feel like Joan of Arc, but if Joan of Arc were guilty. Joan of Arc if Joan of Arc should've been put to death.

A frothing at the chest that hasn’t quite reached the mouth. E asked how I felt yesterday, to expound upon the word “gross” that I used & I told her it’s like vomit being caught at the base of your throat, but with tears; an inability to cry despite needing to. I wish I could force myself in the way of fingers down a throat. Something in me feels stuck & like it’s thrashing around inside, like a fish on land.

All I did today was ignore my feelings. Is that a good thing?

I wish I had someone in my life who could help me.

Reverse choking: Something stuck on the way out rather than the way in.

I wish someone could help me. I wish that person were me.

I'm at school waiting between classes & I have that sick feeling in my stomach like I'm about to cry.

It feels like there’s something empty & unfillable in me. Can we be blamed for the absence of things?

I’m going to start sprouting mushrooms soon.

I baked brownies & a carrot cake that I'm waiting to frost with homemade cream cheese frosting. I wish I were dead.

Why do we feel emptiness in the chest & fear in the stomach?

I called into work today, because I woke up, saw that it was raining outside, & felt like I was going to cry.

I went for a walk & discovered that as long as you don’t hesitate trying to navigate through puddles, your feet don’t get wet. All you need is a steady pace, to keep going. This feels like an important fact.

I had the thought today that “I need to set things right.”

A lot of my troubles come from my perception of how things should be & the reality of things; Feeling sad is okay until I no longer think I should be sad. Then I turn those emotions inward & try to tear myself to shreds & if there’s nothing to tear, I gnaw away at this empty feeling, never realizing that my gnawing isn’t getting me anywhere; I’m just grinding my jaw to grind my jaw, like an animal on an old bone. Old bones. Sometimes, I feel like a dead person. Not like a ghost, but like a corpse. Today, I felt very human. I went for a walk in the evening & the sky was glowing & it made me feel human.

When I say “I need to set things right,” I mean I need to continue, continue living. I don’t mean that I need to stop feeling this way. I always have this urge to fix any perceived wrongs, to quickly patch over any improper emotions, good or bad. I think it’s perhaps just a form of hypervigilance, of trying not to fall back into another mood episode, a pit, a hole in the ground that you have no way of knowing of.

Today, laying in the bath, I felt like one of those cartoon characters who hop into a pot thinking it’s a tub while someone cuts vegetables & tosses them in, cooking the character into soup without them realizing. Or being a punch line. I’m so tired of trying to be a certain way. I just want to be myself. I want to write bad & incoherent things. I want to be bad. I don't have to be good.

As long as I'm alive, this is a good life. It's a mistake to think that it needs to meet certain standards, Vashti-imposed requirements & permits.

I thought it would be fun to upload scans of my old journals to the site, to give another layer of insight into who I am, but I made the mistake of opening the journals to read them. Now I understand why I keep them shut & boxed away:

”Thursday March 10 2022 11:25 PM / Things are getting bad again.”

”Wednesday March 23 2022 12:22 AM / Wishing I were dead again. Nothing new. Just harder to ignore than usual. I can’t sit alone with myself without some sort of distraction.”

”What’s even happened in the last 13 days? It’s all a terrible amalgam, blurry & undisectable. The only constant is the beat of sorrow and I’m getting beaten. Thump, thump, thump! I’m Houdini”.

”9:44 PM / Last Sunday I gave [my dog] a bath. I didn’t feel like it & [my dog] hated it. But I did it anyways because [my dog] deserves to be clean. I did the same thing to myself today; I gave myself a bath. I didn’t feel like [it] & hated [it] & realized [my dog] and I are the same- we’re silly, dumb, little, warm, breathing animals that deserve to be clean.”

”Thursday March 24 2022 1:57 PM / I wish I were dead but I refuse to kill myself. That’s because I’m the most hopeful creature in the world. When I go to bed I hope that I don’t wake up; When I wake up I hope that this will be the day I wake up and feel fine. It doesn’t matter. I will hope for anything because anything is better than this.”

I haven’t changed. Nothing has changed. Two years have passed & all I’ve done is walk in one miserable circle.

When I was in high school, I threw all of my diaries away one night because I read them & realized that years & years had passed & that nothing had changed; years of wanting to die. The realization brought me to tears during a time when tears were normally out of the grasp of my numb hands.

I haven't changed. I haven't changed at all.

Everything feels hidden from me. I hate being awake. I want comfort & I don't want anyone to look at me.

I probably told myself I wish I were dead at least a hundred times today, punctuation between thoughts.

"A hundred times." What a childish thing to say. A child's idea of a big number.

Whenever I speak or write or think, I feel like I should be shot.

I feel deeply insecure & all of my thoughts feel like confessions that I have to hide. I had this thought earlier today that I'm at the end of my rope & that rope is a noose.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

I feel bad & disgusting & repeatedly on the precipice of crying. I feel disgusting. I feel disgusting. I feel disgusting.

A sudden twinge of anxiety. Where is it coming from?

It's a bit chilly, but I have the window open anyways because it's good for the soul. Went on a long walk & the sky was beautiful. I mean, I always think the sky is beautiful, but this time I saw someone else stop to take a picture of it- corroboration; I'm being a reliable narrator tonight. Saw an owl too. It looked small perched on its tree, swivelling its head around like it was an action figure or a doll, but when it flew, you could really see how big its wingspan was. It didn't flap its wings, but glided in a deep & long arc through the evening sky; such a regal animal.

Feeling… amped up. It was hard to focus in class. It was so boring. We have these rolly chairs & I just rocked back & forth for the hour and a half, taking notes & asking questions & feeling so bored, so bored. I got up to get some water & the fountain had a distinct & nostalgic taste to it. It was some of the best water that I’ve ever had.

I don’t think I’ve ever written down my typical morning, my school or work day:

1. If I’m at my dad’s house, which I usually am, I wake up at 5:20 AM or so & ride in the car with my dad to this city, the one my mom lives in, where my school & whatnot is. I either sleep in the car or read a book. If I read a book, I stay up for a few hours before going back to sleep.
2. I get to my mom’s house & either go to sleep immediately or I read & then sleep. I get up to leave at 10:45 AM on school days, between 9:00 AM & 10:00 AM on workdays.
3. I spend about ten minutes getting ready, because I normally make breakfast the night before. If I haven’t made breakfast, I wake up a few minutes early & make myself a smoothie.
4. If I’m going to school, I walk a little over a mile to the bus. It takes about twelve minutes. I walk uphill for a portion, out of the neighborhood, & cut through a grassy area & a parking lot & then it’s a straight path to the bus stop.
5. On the corner near the bus stop, there’s a convenience store. Sometimes I buy a snack or a drink.
6. I wait for the bus which is almost always late. I get there early & normally have ten to twenty minutes to just sit & wait. They just put benches & a pavilion up, so I don’t mind.
7. From the bus stop, I look at the sky & telephone wires. I listen to music during my walk & have my headphones on until the bus stops, when I pop them off to say hello to the bus driver.
8. My school gives us free bus fare in the way of a digital pass, which is a QR code you have on your phone. I miss the QR code multiple times underneath the bus' scanner, invariably between thirty seconds to a minute and a half, whenever I’m not wearing my glasses, (which is most of the time). Sometimes the bus driver tells me to go to the back & use the other scanner so he can start driving.
9. I ride the bus to school, small, & usually empty. I think there are only thirty seats or so, forty at the most, & it’s normally me & a small group of people, different every time.
10. I’m normally talkative, but I rebuff anyone who talks to me when I’m walking to or riding the bus, because I like listening to my music. When I'm feeling down or upset or otherwise bad, I have bus-specific music I like to listen to. (The Katamari OST, Serani Poji, & Halcali Bacon.) I was in a good mood today, so I just shuffled my music: Peng! 33 by Stereolab & Duvet by Boa.
11. My school is less than three miles from my house & it takes me an hour to get to school with the walk & the waiting. The bus does not drive directly to my school. I don't mind. I like the bus & I like the sky & I like my snack or my drink or my breakfast that's waiting for me. It's one of my favorite parts of the day, only for me, always just for me.
12. I say thank you to the bus driver, normally in the form of a bellow because I sit in the back of the bus, & get off. I'm at school & class starts in ten minutes.

All I really did was goof off today. I have an assignment due tomorrow & I’ve only done half so far… I don’t know. I feel really happy, but maybe that should rouse suspicion. Maybe I feel too happy & I’m going to have another episode. Maybe not. Hopefully not. I slept seven hours last night & haven’t done anything crazy. Maybe I just feel a normal level of happiness that normal people feel.

I think that this is the problem: I spent the day coding, making a new design for my site & I had so much fun doing it, so much so that part of me wants to stop writing this & keep going. When I first came back to this site after making it & doing nothing with it, I was in the middle of a manic episode, well the beginning of it. & the reason I went back to this site was because I was having so many thoughts & I needed to put them somewhere. & I’d stay up late into the night & I wouldn’t feel tired, not at all, & I’d just write & code & write & code & it was so much fun, but even then, I had this feeling that something was wrong, that things were going too well for me, writing:

”Not only have I been getting by, I've also been refreshed by only 4 or 5 hours a night, for almost the past month. I don't understand where this energy came from. It's constant, like a heartbeat. It's electric, like a heartbeat. It has to be one of the best feelings I've ever had- that I can just keep going and going and going. Sometimes it feels like it's not up to me, like my mind will drag me along with it, no matter [what]. I'm in a car, going where I want, but I am not the driver. I hope the driver will keep driving me where I wanna go.”

& “Just came to the realization that I have a soda brain. It's all fizzy and fun but as yummy as it is, it's uncontainable. Everywhere I pour it I make a mess. Everyone else's brains feel like stagnant pools of water when I talk to them, so boring. Not that it's their fault. If it feels like everyone else is the problem, it's probably just you that's the problem I've found. Water isn't as yummy as soda, but it's good for you. You can see yourself in still water; Soda moves too much and too fast.”

& “​​My energy and motivation is more like a fire than a hammer and chisel. It's all consuming and hard to direct. I think I'm a person of extremes- it's either a flurry of activity or total apathy. I don't understand what dictates it at all. There's no pattern to it. I'll go weeks or months in one mode then switch to the other. I normally don't even notice it until that switch has occured (sic). I can confidently say I prefer this mode over the other. Anything is better than nothing, right?”

I don’t really talk about my mania, because it’s somewhat embarrassing to me, the lack of control, being a victim to myself & my impulsivity, but… I shouldn’t feel ashamed. I am ashamed. I shouldn’t be. Even typing this alone at my computer, I’m bouncing my leg up & down & up & down & trying to arrange the right words in the right order to soften what I’m saying. I’m taking long pauses between sentences & telling myself to start again. It’s not a topic that I feel comfortable speaking about, but I should, I’d like to. It’s my life. It’s part of who I am as a person, how I experience the world, but talking about it makes me want to hide my face & muffle my voice.

I have a difficult relationship with the things that I’d liked during my manic episode, obsessed over. It’s like overindulging in food to the point of sickness & becoming repulsed by it, no matter how much time has passed. I would describe mania itself as being sickeningly sweet. The first bite or two is the best thing you’ve ever tasted- it’s all you want to eat- until you realize you don’t have a choice- you’re being force fed. & I say this, but it wasn’t completely bad, because I lacked self awareness for the better part of it. In fact, I’d thought that my depression had been cured, that I was finally feeling normal. Things became easy for me for the first time in a decade & I thought that was how things were for everyone. I didn’t have a “normal” to compare it to, because I hadn’t experienced “normal.” I still haven’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. It’s guess work. It’s somewhere between science & divination & I’m a master of neither. & for a while, I was just happy, so happy, happier than you will probably ever feel, unnaturally happy, grandiose, the best in the world & I had so much energy. (A coworker pulled me aside at work one day & asked if I was on speed.)

Eventually, my mood started to deteriorate & it wasn’t in the obvious way, I didn’t begin to feel worse, I began to feel too good, too amped up, irritable at times, because no one could keep up with me. It’s like laughing until your stomach hurts, but you can’t stop, you physically can’t. & I had this lapse in self awareness, or rather it was the other way: I became cognizant for a short period of time, feeling really good, questioning it, & feeling really good again. & I remember, I began to feel… afraid. It felt like something was wrong with me, with my body & how I was acting & no one seemed to notice, no one listened to me when I mentioned it. I remember, I was talking on the phone with a friend, because I was so talkative, all I did was talk & it wasn't a conversation, it was just me talking & I told her that I thought something was wrong with me, that I was having a manic episode. She told me I was being dramatic. My concern was completely overtaken by euphoria & a sense of rightness in the world & I went to the doctor for a check up, because the last time he had seen me I was severely depressed, I wanted to kill myself but didn’t tell him & so he set an appointment up for a month away to check on me & I waltzed into his office & told him that I don’t need a check up, that between when I last saw him a month ago & then that I was cured of depression, that I was happy now, that I didn’t need his help. & then he told me that he didn’t think that he was equipped to help me anymore & that I needed to see a psychiatrist & he told me if i couldn’t see one within the week that I needed to check myself into a psychiatric hospital.

I did manage to find treatment, somehow, but it was a long time until I was well again, months of meds upon meds upon meds; pill cocktails to the point of alcoholism & stupor, so divorced from my own body, but everyone around me finally understood that there was an issue as I spiraled deeper into things & became unmanageable. I don’t remember that period of time very well, but I remember that in the car one day, my dad told me to stop talking, just stop talking for a minute, because I’d been talking for half an hour or so, sometimes just repeating myself; I remember saying over and over again that the sky was so beautiful, so beautiful & he told me to just stop talking for one minute, one literal minute, like the quiet game that children play & I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even go thirty seconds without talking.

My recovery was a slow one, about half a year I would say, but even when my most glaring & obnoxious symptoms had been smothered out of me by a barrage of antipsychotics & anticonvulsants & sedatives, I still wasn’t myself for a while. I was still obsessive with things & I blew almost all of my money. On what? I can’t even say. & in the sense of being repulsed by this still, I overcorrect for it: I feel genuine anxiety when I order something online. I put off ordering my friend E’s Christmas present for over a month, just because I felt scared to buy anything. This was recent too, this was last Christmas & I’m talking about this January. & this is why the fact that I’m having so much fun coding my site is making me feel anxious when it’s very possible that there’s nothing wrong. Maybe I just feel happy & inspired. Even if I feel both of these things, I still feel scared. & there’s no one to talk to. No one in my life understands this, the constant vigilance, & no one knows me well enough to tell me if something is wrong.

These are the only times that I feel lonely, when I realize that even if I did want someone, that there is no one, or rather that this is not the choice that it feels like, that this state comes from a lack of options. It feels like the opposite of independence, even in being by myself. It's a contradictory & disgusting feeling. Oftentimes I think that loneliness is something society tries to impose on me, telling me that I should feel lonely, that I should want more friends & a girlfriend, but I usually don’t. I live in my own world & realize that not even I understand me & what is there to do then? Who is there to ask for help?

I say all of this, & still, most of me feels happy.

Lazy happy day that I’ve spent on little things: the dishes, a walk, a bath, some coding. My stomach is a bit upset. I’m going take a nap & see if I feel better when I wake up.

I feel… happy. I’m sitting on my mattress on my bedroom floor & I feel so happy. I would jump up & down on my bed like a child, but it’s on the floor. If I were glowing right now, it wouldn’t surprise me. I wanted to kill myself for years & now I can feel happy alone on my floor, isn’t that something? I was contemplating my life’s regrets, & I don’t think I have any. Obviously there are things that I would’ve done differently, but I did the best that I could & that’s all I can ask for. Maybe this is what self forgiveness feels like, to look at myself like a person. It feels good. Not only can I look at myself like a person, I can look at myself in the eyes. I’m glad that I’m me, that I’ve allowed myself to continue being me, up until this moment.

I’ve been dancing a lot lately. I listen to music a lot, but lately I keep dancing down the street & around the kitchen, like I'm something I can't contain, like there's a bird in my chest.

I wish I had something profound to say, but isn’t it enough to say something good; not to say it well but to speak of good things? Isn’t it enough to be happy? I think so.

The middle of the night last night, languishing on my bed, a futon- an old futon, an American futon, not the traditional sort- I gave up. Every time I lay on this bed, I have the sensation of pin pricks & of small bugs crawling over me. I can feel its metal bars in my back. I pulled its mattress, barely a mattress, thin enough that I can feel the bed frame on my back, & laid it on the floor. I made my floor bed, the comforter nice & neat & slept flat on my back. It was one of the best sleeps of my life. I am in no pain right now. I feel good even, well rested. All of my back pain, gone, cured.

I bought a bottle of chocolate milk from the convenience store on the way to the bus. It’s a chilly day. Maybe it’s spring now. A glance at the nutrition label told me that this chocolate milk was the unhealthiest thing that I could ingest in a fifty mile radius, behind perhaps a hunk of uranium, but even if the chocolate milk doesn’t nourish my body, it nourishes the soul. People often neglect this idea that we can eat things just for the sake of taste & of the feelings they give us, & it ruins their relationship with food. When I eat, I try to eat something that will nourish my body, nourish the soul, or ideally, both (home cooking). Another way to phrase it is that I don’t mind being indulgent as long as I’m enjoying the act of indulgence. I just make it a habit to really enjoy whatever food I’m eating. As long as I’m enjoying it, then it’s okay. Food is something to be enjoyed & it pains me when others forget this simple fact of life.

I had a dream about reincarnation & suicide & haven’t gotten it out of my head all day. I feel happy & refreshed from my good sleep & my good chocolate milk & my good breakfast that I brought from home.

While making pasta after my nap, I picked up the pot to drain the water & had this sudden thought- feeling- something in between: If you keep holding this pot in your hands, something horrible is going to happen to you. It's going to spill all over you & you'll scald yourself. It will be so painful. The pain is almost imminent. Stop right now. I poured the pot into the collander as fast as I could & nothing happened.

My dad washed the pot after dinner & the handle popped off. It's never done that before. I really would've burned myself with boiling water if I had held the pot any longer.

Read some of Giovanni's Room & took a nap again, curled up next to a pile of still warm laundry from the dryer. My blinds were open & my door was open & I just pulled my blanket over me & slept. It’s a crochet blanket, a bit too small to be of use most of the time, made by my mom, though I feel no sentimentality towards it; none at all. Because I so rarely use this blanket, it was only today that I realized rather than laying completely flat, because of its stitches, it made a small blanket cave around my head. Sleeping underneath this blanket reminded me of when I was a kid & we had a giant parachute we’d play with in gym class. We’d puff it up & the entire class would sit underneath, in its own colorful world on the gym floor.

Blue skies again. Windy day. It's so nice to walk in the door & still smell the food you cooked earlier.

At work today, it started to smell like rain & I saw small grey circles appear on the pavement outside, too slow & heavy to be a drizzle, but enough to smell it, the smell of freshness & of nature cutting itself through the concrete wasteland. It’s very hard to find beauty in where I work, a run down (rat infested) fast-food place surrounded by highway & the constant sound of cars, but today beauty made itself known to me, even in my greasy cage.

My body & heart were sore as I worked & as I drove home, I saw a rainbow, a double rainbow that had forced itself through the clouds & over the litter of buildings on the horizon. Even in such a filthy, soulless place, a rainbow can appear to comfort me.

I was reading Blue Horses by Mary Oliver during my shift & it reminds me of these two excerpts:

From ”Angels”

You might see an angel anytime
and anywhere. Of course you have
to open your eyes to a kind of
second level, but it’s not really
hard. The whole business of
what’s reality and what isn’t has
never been solved and probably
never will be. So I don’t care to
be too definite about anything.
I have a lot of edges called Perhaps
and almost nothing you can call
Certainty. For myself, but not
for other people. That’s a place
you just can’t get into, not
entirely anyway, other people’s
heads.

I’ll just leave you with this.
I don’t care how many angels can
dance on the head of a pin. It’s
enough to know that for some people
they exist, and that they dance.

From “Good Morning”

”It must be a great disappointment to God if we are not dazzled at least ten times a day.”

I read this & felt so… down, so slogged down, that I tried to list ten things that had dazzled me & had given up at four. This was before the rain & before the rainbow, & out of character for me. Here in my bedroom, right now, I can list ten things easily:

1. The flicker of the candle.
2. My white blankets.
3. The weight of my body on this bed.
4. My sore feet.
5. The soft lavender scent that has followed me since my bath.
6. How tired I feel.
7. The howl of the train that will inevitably come.
8. The book sitting next to me, waiting to be read.

And of course:

9. The smell of the rain on pavement &
10. the double rainbow.

& as I had written, the train just passed me by in the distance. I'm very tired. I'm going to read, & then blow out my candle with a small prayer, & then sleep.

Worked again today. It suddenly became strangely dark during my shift. It reminded me of when I saw the eclipse at work, but this time it was only rain clouds.

I don't feel very well. I took a nap after work which I never do & feel a bit sick to my stomach.

I was taking a walk as dusk had set in & was overcome by an exultant sense of joy, one I could feel throughout my body. I danced to my music down the street, talking to myself & saying only good things.

Suddenly feeling low.

No way to explain how happy this concert made me. Smiling without meaning to, jumping, screaming: Things I don’t normally do. Nothing else to say, just radiant happiness.

Today has been... fine. I slept in & ran into my mom as I was walking out the door to head to the bus stop. She asked if I wanted her to give me a ride, to which I told her no, then she asked again, & I told her no, then she asked again & I told her no & I told her that if I stand here talking to her, I'm going to miss my bus. She yelled at me on the phone about how I'm always asking for rides to places, you know, because my dad totaled the car a couple of weeks ago & I don't have a fucking car, but she wants me to ask her for rides so she can say that she does so much for me, she sacrifices so much, & poor her, poor her, poor her. She wants people to rely on her & she wants them to feel guilty for doing it. I don't care. If independence is walking a mile or two to take the bus to school, who cares? She asked if I wasn't talking to her & I said that I was talking to her right now, but I know that's not what she meant. Why should I talk to her? She just wants me to say that shes right & I'm wrong & she wants me to feel sorry for her. Why should I? The only thing I ask her for is a ride to work or school every other week, because again, our car is totaled, & she wants to throw that in my face. She's graduated from physically grabbing me & hitting my face to attempting to do so with words & actions. She wants to hold things above my head, but I'm not a kid anymore & I'm just as big as her now, so it doesn't work. That's all she does for me, so now I don't have to hear her talk about how she does so much, because now she's doing nothing other than gnawing away at my psyche.

I've never told her this, but in my brief stint in therapy, I was told to just stop speaking to her. & before that, as a teenager, I had to see a therapist & after a few sessions, she said she'd rather talk to my mom instead of me, & then my mom never took me back, because that meant she would have to acknowledge how her actions harm others, and how she's not a perpetual victim. My mom doesn't seem to know this, but after I graduate in the spring, I will have no reason to visit her or to ask her for anything. I will be going to school in another city & will not be working near her house anymore. I wonder who she'll beg for sympathy then. What will we talk about when her knees aren't bruised "for me" anymore?

Oh well. As I walked to the bus stop, I found that it was a warm day. A tank top & shorts & I was warm, even in January. Things are changing & time makes its march forward. A year from now & I'll be living a completely different life, a few months from now & I'll be living a completely different life. I'm doing all that I can, & just by virtue of that, my life is good.

A phone call with my mom made me lose my appetite. I spent so long preparing the bruschetta & noodles for tonight's dinner. I'd been planning this meal for a while. I kept telling myself to not let it ruin things, but I found I couldn't force myself to feel the way that I wanted. Going through the effort to find a sunny place & water & good soil & realizing that your work was for nothing. What do you do when everything remains barren? What else is there to try?

I ate my food & it tasted like nothing.

Everyone tells me that I only have one mom, but I only have one woman who treats me this way, who elicits the feeling of disgust & of being disgusting.

I slept in because I was having strange dreams. In the last dream that I had before waking, I was eating elk, red hunks of flesh in a pot.

After waking, I put a tea kettle on the stove & prepared breakfast:

1. I cooked 1 ½ cups cold rice (from the fridge) in a large pan on the stove, coated with vegetable oil. The rice was cooked last night, but I wanted it to become crispy.
2. Occasionally stirring the rice, I cut up a few green onions. Upon having eaten my breakfast, I wish I added more.
3. I then beat three eggs and some mentsuyu in a mug.
4. I poured the mixture into the rice & scrambled it, adding the green onions after the eggs had cooked a bit.

My breakfast was delicious & the eggs had a subtle smokey scent. With my breakfast, I drank Passion Tea, a blend of hibiscus, orange peel, rose hips, & passion fruit. I had it iced with milk. When making my tea this morning, I used less water than usual to steep the tea (per Lisa's advice), poured it over ice, & filled the rest of the glass with milk. Before adding the milk, I added a tiny bit of sugar, a fraction of a spooful. The tea & milk makes this beautiful purple color. It's become one of my favorite teas.

Breakfast didn't take long to make, & I listened to Frederic's Oddloop EP. As I finished eating, its last song had ended, perfect timing (twenty nine minutes).

I went for a walk, but feeling a bit lazy after my breakfast, my walk was pretty short. It's a sunny day again. I'm probably going to eat some more of my coffee jelly, & then after that, I'm not sure. The day is mine; the empty day is mine.

After letting a crimson candle burn for a few hours, its flame humming at my desk- strangely tall & strong, I said a few prayers over it & put it out. As I blew on the flame, it flickered wildly into all sorts of shapes, like a firework, or a silhouette of a flower. Upon blowing hard enough to put it out, a pool of red wax had been disturbed my breath & had gushed downward, like blood, like I had killed it. I don't mean blood in a metaphorical sense either; it truly looked like blood & I had to remind myself that it wasn't.

I spent much of the day in thought, contemplative. About what, I couldn't tell you. After school, we stopped by the store & I picked up some sprigs of mint & two new tea blends: hibiscus, orange peel, rose hips & passion fruit & then a cinnamon, orange peel & cloves one, which came in a tin & had little "sachets" rather than bags. I don't think I've ever bought such a nice tea before: As I peeled the plastic from around the lid of the tin, I could smell the aroma of the tea, without even opening the box.

We got home somewhat late, so after taking a walk, dusk began to seep into the sky. I had some more of my chicken pot pie & took a bath. As I laid in the tub, I got bitten by ants a few times- strange, annoying, & enough to make me get out of the tub early. I have the tendency to feel as though something is crawling on me, bugs in particular, so I knew that being bitten by ants, no matter how few, would fan my paranoid inclinations. I think it's a vestige from my manic episode. In the midst of it, I had the sensation of bugs crawling on my skin & it's happened occasionally since then. It's not frequent enough for me to say it happens often, but it happens enough to where it's not an unusal occurence.

I have neither school nor work tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep now, to enjoy my day to its fullest.

I thought I had homework I needed to do before my class at noon today, but it seems I already did it. Thank you, past Vashti! Now I can have a peaceful breakfast before I head to the bus, overnight oats that I prepared yesterday. Thank you again, past Vashti! I'm glad that you're taking care of me, even if it's hard to do at times.

I just heard the train & it sounded as though it was just outside my window, & it sounded very ghostlike, a howl like a ghost. I normally think of trains as howling things, howling animals specifically. As a child, when I would hear another train a bit far from here as I laid in bed at night, I convinced myself that it was wolves howling in the woods behind my childhood park. I don’t think I took a lot of convincing; I liked to think that way. It was very storybook. I still have the tendency to think that way, to dress things up in my mind into something they aren't, to put them in disguise & forget that it's a disguise.

I managed to get some sleep last night, nine whole hours, enough to make me feel like a person again. When I feel bad, I feel less like a person & when I feel good, I feel completely like a person, a sense of wholeness. I suppose that in my mind, being a person is the best thing you can be, the best that you can hope for.

I spent a lot of the day in the kitchen: I made coffee jelly, absolutely decadent, & I made a pot pie, a delicious pot pie for dinner, golden brown crust. I went back for seconds & then thirds. Normally I eat until I no longer feel hungry, (that is, if I feel hungry in the first place; oftentimes hunger is a sensation largely absent from me), but this time I ate until I felt full. It was delicious. I wish I were more of a food critic. I love making food, but I have no words to describe it beyond “good” & “delicious.” I prepared some overnight oats for tomorrow’s breakfast: yogurt, milk, oats, peanut butter, berries. One of my New Year’s resolutions was to eat more good food, by which I meant delicious food, but it has now evolved into me trying to nourish my heart & my body, a sense of fulfillment physically & mentally, emotionally. It’s a way for me to take care of myself, to tell myself that I am something worth being taken care of. It feels good to be purposeful like this, sweet to myself.

Opened my window for a while & went on a couple of walks. Did a bit of schoolwork. I have some more to do before I sleep tonight, though I could do it tomorrow morning if I wanted to.

I read a poem today that has encapsulated recent feelings, Missed Time by Ha Jin:

My notebook has remained blank for months
thanks to the light you shower
around me. I have no use
for my pen, which lies
languorously without grief.

Nothing is better than to live
a storyless life that needs
no writing for meaning—
when I am gone, let others say
they lost a happy man,
though no one can tell how happy I was.

Hot soup & hot tea. Please give me a good night’s rest.

Dead tired, though I’d imagine the dead aren’t tired at all, considering we tend to view death as an eternal sleep. Perhaps ghosts would be tired. They are restless spirits after all. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

I told myself no coffee for a while, but I have work & I am so, so tired. (What a prototypically adult thing to say, how boring.) A tumbler filled a little over halfway with coffee, milk to fill the rest of the cup & to make it cool enough to drink immediately, (just tolerable enough to not burn my tongue,) and one spoon of sugar. I feel like something that died & was sloppily reanimated, thoughtlessly. Like Frankenstein’s monster that was not a monster. Today I am overly conscious of the fact that my body is just electrical signals & meat, meat with a sore back. I slept more last night than these past few days, a little less than seven hours. I don’t think that I’ll have enough time to nap today, if I wanted to. I barely have enough time to write this. When I finish writing, I’m going to make my bed, do a perfunctory cleanup of my room, (to get it over with quickly, not because it feels good; Normally it feels good,) & get dressed for work. I will bring my book with me, my only saving grace. That is not a term I use a lot. I don’t know why.

A plain day. Worked & when I came home I realized that I forgot to make my bed, but that I still had made sure to tuck my stuffed frog in, so only one corner of the bed was smoothed out.

I put away groceries after getting home; I’m going to make a chicken pot pie, buttered noodles with bruschetta as an appetizer, coffee jelly, & rice with egg & green onion. If we finish our leftovers, then I’ll make chicken and rice soup one day. I told my sister on the phone what we were going to eat this week & she asked who was going to cook all of that, to which I replied that I would, & she told me no I wouldn’t. She knows nothing about me. I told her that cooking is the thing I like to do the most right now & she said that was sad, but I disagree. I’m fortunate that the things that make me happiest are simple & always within my reach- A blessing.

Drinking some chamomile “sleepy time” tea as I write this. I don’t know if it will help, but the intention is there, which is worth more than you know. At the very least, there is no caffeine in this drink. I poured a bunch of milk in, the way I do with my coffee, without thinking about it & now it just tastes like strange milk- strange, good milk. I quite like it. It tastes familiar, though I can’t remember the last time that I had chamomile tea. It must’ve been years, at least.

I did little of note today. Well, I always tend to do little of note, this time I simply have no thoughts to share. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. It’s a foggy day again today. My mind is a bit foggy too, though I still feel alright.

Pros:

• I am getting a lot of reading done.
• I feel just as well emotionally, no toll.
• I have a lot more free time.
• Everyone seems impressed when I tell them I wake up at 5:00 AM or so each morning, (even though I don’t like it.)

Cons:

• Instead of coffee in the afternoon or evening, I have relegated myself to chamomile tea.
• When I wake up in the middle of the night, I don’t know what to do with myself.
• One night I outlasted the battery of my book light.
• This could be a prodromal symptom indicating an impending mood episode, though I have no other symptoms to speak of, so I doubt it. Hopefully.
• While I feel fine for the most part, I sometimes feel as though my body is a corpse that I am dragging forward.

Solutions:

• ???

Stayed up until 3:30 AM last night reading, got four and a half hours of sleep, & did not feel tired today- still don’t. Shift went by well enough, I made a lot of money, but my boss’ boss was there all day, haunting the place, so instead of leaning against a wall reading, I actually had to work. It was busy all day, so I suppose I wouldn’t have had time to read anyways… The sun came out & I realized I hadn’t seen it in weeks once my coworker pointed it out to me. Weird, but auspicious; Maybe that’s why I made so much money today. After my boss’ boss left, I went into the kitchen to make myself a burger & went home.

At work I declared that I would go home & not do any schoolwork, which I upheld. I took a walk, (blue sky above, reflected in puddles below), a bath, (candle flickering), & then made myself pancakes, scrambled eggs, & a coffee. As I ate, I made it a point to think of nothing but the food, how it tastes, how it feels in my mouth, & this exercise made it even more delicious.

I’m going to lay in bed & read & that will be that.

Listening to Kyojaku.

I wonder if this figure is supposed to depict someone specific. It appears to be holding prayer beads, so I thought I should treat it with a certain amount of reverence, if only out of politeness. I took him home with me & he's now lounging on my desk beside my candles. I picked him up without a second thought. He was on the ground & then in the pocket of my raincoat in one simple motion.

Home from school. Read in the car, took a walk, read in the bath. Thinking of penning my friend & telling her that she’s hurt my feelings. She has a tendency to make tentative plans & being in limbo in this way makes me uncomfortable. I would prefer her to tell me “yes” or “no,” & that’s it. No vague plans, no possibilities. I'm just hesitant to do so because I think it’s my own neuroticism that’s affecting me, not anything she’s done, but at the same time we are close friends & I think it is a reasonable request to ask that in the future she be more… What's the word? Straightforward? I think it’s because I interpret this behavior as thoughtless: She suggests we hang out. I give her my schedule for the upcoming week & ask when she would like to hang out. No response. I don’t like that. It’s because she’s busy with school, but I am too, & I have a job. It’s not as though I don’t have things to do, but maybe I’m holding her to unfair standards, by which I mean my standards. The problem is that I think in her position I wouldn’t be busy, which is probably true, but it’s unfair. She’s not me. I can handle things like this better than her. I’ve taken several classes with E before & she works herself to death doing the same things that take me no time at all. It's just how it is, so there isn't sense in feeling upset over it.

In thinking about it, I’ll give her more time. If at the end of the week or so, she still hasn’t responded, I’ll tell her that I’m not angry at her, (because I’m not,) but I’ll tell her that it hurts my feelings when she leaves plans open like this, that it strikes me as thoughtless, & as though she doesn't value my time. As long as I talk about my own feelings, I think I’m within my right to speak confidently about how this makes me feel.

Friendships are sometimes hard for me to navigate because I have few friendships that I can compare this to, & a tendency to think that others despise me... It'll become easier as I get older. It just takes time. As long as I'm honest & forthright, I don't think anything can go wrong, because that's all I can do. No sense in festering in my own insecurity & no sense in weighing imaginary scales knowable only to myself.

It's raining outside. I'm going to calm my mind, make some coffee, & do my schoolwork. I like the satisfaction of being so far ahead in everything, the ease that comes with it.

A car with a siren went by- probably an ambulance because my school is across from a hospital- and it sounded so strange & distorted, like it was horribly wrong. All of this fog reminds me of Wraithmarsh from Fable II. I used to speed throught that area as fast as possible whenever I replayed, hurrying along as though the monsters in the screen really could hurt me. It didn't matter how many times I replayed, (which was dozens, I would play it all the time, my favorite game for years,) I was always frightened throughout that portion of the game, regardless of how many times I had experienced it before. I've always been a frightened child, now a frightened adult. Still feels like I'm carrying a scared kid on my shoulders though, constantly whispering warnings & caution into my ear, no matter how erroneous or harmful. She tries her best.

I said before the start of this semester that I would be more sociable, more personable, that I would pass conversations given to me back & forth, & I have yet to do that. At school next week, I will talk back when people talk to me. I’ll carry conversations forward. This is a promise!

I’m in a good mood, as I have been for the past few weeks. My spirit isn’t soaring, but it is gliding, gently, quietly, unperturbed.

It’s been grey these past days, but not in a gloomy way. I find it very calming, the way the light around me seems so soft. I said last night that I was so tired that sleep was imminent, but I opened a book before bed and read for a couple of hours, like a child again, with a book light.

Having stayed up late reading, I woke up late in the morning, and took a bath. The bathroom, my mom’s bathroom, was dim & the light diffuse, but I found it beautiful & soothing & didn’t turn the light on. I took a bath with some salts, the water as hot as I could get it, which in her house is not very hot, but very comfortable. As I washed my hair, I found novelty in the fact that my wet hair was so short that it made a mist as I ran my hands through it. The mist matched the weather outside. I brought my book in with me, but didn’t read it, just laid with my own thoughts, watched my heartbeat through my stomach, my aorta, I think. I thought of how I paid it no mind at all, but if I were to be missing one, I’d be dead. I thought of how my internal organs were the same as anyone else’s, but I was different. Then I drained the tub.

When I drain the tub, I stay lying down until it’s empty. I like the sensation as the slight weightlessness of being submerged in water leaves you. It makes you feel as though you’re being pulled down, or pulled with the water. I find it pleasant.

I came downstairs to find my mom had prepared breakfast, & had not put it in the fridge yet so it would be warm enough for me to eat: hash browns & sausage & gravy. As I ate, my mom took a shower & once she was finished we went to the dollar store. I bought bubble bath, lavender & cherry blossom, a few candles, & a small box of dark chocolate Piroulines.

After the dollar store, we stopped by the grocery store, to which I found that despite it being my childhood grocery store, I could not remember where anything was, nor did I remember the brands she prefers to buy. The store hadn’t changed, but I had. It made me realize how infrequently I visit my mom now. It felt subtle, but strange, and almost brought me a bit of satisfaction, a way that I had demonstrably changed, even if it could be attributed to a failure of memory.

I stopped writing for about half an hour or so to go on another short walk before it got too dark. I went on three walks today. The first was near my mom’s house after we had finished with the groceries, a short trip. There’s a large pond at the park near her house, which has a path circling it. The recent rains have made the pond swollen, to the point where it cuts off part of the path & you need to make a U to go around it, backtracking, rather than a full circle. It happens any time it rains; I don’t think there was a lot of thought put into paving the path. There’s a small bridge too that has a tendency to flood, cutting you off from the majority of the park. Today though, I was free to walk & watched a few crows. I’ve been seeing them more frequently lately. I saw two at first, which is a good omen, welcoming joy. I found that the water of the pond was almost black, a reflection of the grey sky above.

I took my second & third walk near my dad’s house. On the second one, I found that if you wear a raincoat, you can hear the pitter patter of raindrops right above your head, a blessing. As I’d mentioned a month or so back, I only just recently have owned a raincoat, in preparation for my December trip to Oregon, (where I didn’t need it, the rain was too gentle). Before that trip, I’d never seen a reason to own one, because it rains so infrequently here. It’s a nice jacket though, thin & red & covered in white polka dots, very playful. On my walk I stopped to watch the raindrops hit a newly formed puddle, watched it ripple. It was beautiful & I tried to take a photo, but to no avail. My photos never come close to depicting what’s happening beyond the physical, no emotion included. The closest I come is in my pictures of the sky.

On my last walk, I found that in the dark & in the mist, the windows of houses seem to glow more brightly, orange and yellow. The sky had a soft glow to it too, like an echo of last night’s sky. During my walks, I listened to a new & already beloved album: Kokou no Gadan by Kyojaku. I can’t find it anywhere except for a single video online, with every song in order, so I listen to it in its entirety. It’s amazing. It reminds me of Okurimono by Hyakkei, my favorite album. Amazing to think, to remember, that there are things to love, just hiding out of sight, waiting to be found.

Overcome by a total & sudden exhaustion.

Went on a walk around dusk & the bold yet gentle glow of the sky was arresting. The wonderment of it was like being hit, and almost brought me to tears; It was being brought back to my body & remembering that I was alive, having someone bigger than you carry you when you're tired. Nothing I say will adequately describe it, no words & no photos to describe it. Even if someone were to have been standing next to me, it wouldn't have been the same for them. It exists only for me in that moment.

Trying not to fall asleep now so I don't wake up before sunrise, but all I can think about is how nice it would be to feel my weight sink into the bed, to think about nothing but the sensation of lying down, and of breathing, the soft haze between wakefulness & sleep.

I slept surprisingly well last night, probably because of the rain. I love the sound of the rain on the roof of the car.

A bit sleepy, in the library between classes, doing schoolwork. A bit tired, a bit hungry, listening to Lamp.

I haven’t written in what, a day or two? That’s a new record, one I hope not to break.

I shaved my head & had a quiet weekend. I had ample time to write, but simply didn’t. I’ve spent the past three hours cleaning out my closet, only to take my headphones off & hear the sound of rain outside, gentle rain & a rhythmic thumping, or at the very least motion, from the ceiling. It sounds like some sort of machinery pumping, but I’m unfamiliar with the sound. Maybe we left the faucets dripping in case it freezes again..?

The wind just directed the patter of rain to my windows, which are very thin, and it’s making such a pleasant sound. I’m writing this at my desk, which I cleaned off a week or so back. I’m writing this by candlelight, which I’ve found myself enamoured with these past few days. My favorite part of using candles is when I use one to light another, the moment where the second wick catches flame & everything suddenly becomes brighter, the two flames burning in unison. If I pay attention, the sway of the flames is hypnotic, the way the blue effortlessly fades into orange into white. Imagine trying to imitate that with paint, how much skill it would take & how the flame does it by nature, without thought. The flames are so calming that they make me tired, though maybe that’s because of all of the time I spent cleaning. I’ve been more tired lately. I think it’s my lack of a sleep schedule & perhaps just the winter itself. I went to bed early last night, didn’t set an alarm, and found that I slept eleven hours.

I have homework due tomorrow, but my class begins at noon, so I’ll probably just do it tomorrow morning, like I did last semester. I had lots of time to do my homework, but chose not to. I’ve spent a lot of time this weekend reading, reading in the bath especially, reading at the kitchen table too. I actually traded my desk chair for a dining room chair tonight. Somewhat austere, but far more comfortable. I thought that the reason I preferred to do my schoolwork & writing at the dining room table was because it was clear, but I found that after clearing off my desk I was still sitting at that table, even if it was noisy & difficult to focus. I realized that I just find the dining room chair more comfortable, I think because it is smaller & lacks arm rests. I also like that it allows me to sit with my legs crossed, the way children sit on the floor. It’s the perfect height too. It’s not a particularly nice looking chair, but I think I’ll ask to take it with me when I eventually move out. It’s just a bit silly, because my sister asked me for my desk chair, asking if I’d give it to her since I was giving away all of my things. I told her no, but here I am & there the chair is, sitting in her room, waiting for her to come back from school.

After I finish writing this entry, I’m going to pack my things for school, & to visit my mom, by which I mean my little brother who is at her house. I promised him that I would come home on Monday & stay the night. He got his first phone & the way he texts is so endearing. He’s such a thoughtful, sweet boy. I couldn’t ask for a better brother. He randomly texts to tell me that he loves me & he has a tendency to address his messages to me with [Vashti], saying my name in front of each new set of messages. I love him so much. His dog died this weekend & he’s very saddened by it. He has a stronger grasp of death than I would anticipate from a child of his age, of the afterlife too. He said his dog was, “[his] friend and [his] brother.” I told him that I’d try to print some pictures of them together, but our printer just broke. If I can’t get it working, I’ll try to print them at the library. I’m unsure of how to be more of a comfort to him, but I think it will become easy, natural in person.

Tired & running my hand through my newly shaved hair.

Feeling good. I might stay up late reading. I had a good day today. Work has been more agreeable, because I have been more agreeable. I think the word is acceptance. I plan on quitting in May or June, before my trip, & with this in mind, hating my job until then will do me no good, so I’m trying to enjoy it, to be content, & it’s working. I’ve spent my downtime during my shifts reading. Read in the car on the way home. Read in the bathtub later in the evening. I can confidently say that I enjoy reading again, like I did as a child. I don’t have anything more to say, because I’d like to read some more before bed. I work tomorrow, but I don't mind.

I went for a walk in the cold with wet hair from my bath, did schoolwork by candlelight, & had some of the best instant coffee that I've had in a while. All is well with me & I feel good.

Got out of the shower & the bright red of my knees reminded me of an Aya Takano painting. Took a shower & not a bath so I would have ample time to clean out some more of my closet tonight. Ate chocolate ice cream before getting in the shower. Craving chocolate lately. I'd like to bake a decadent chocolate cake, a tiered one. Cooking & baking have been in my thoughts lately. It's quickly become one of my favorite things to do. It's calming somehow.

Told myself that the only thing I have control over is my own reaction to things, that for the most part I can choose whether or not to give things that anger me a place in my thoughts, and ended up having a good work day. Started reading a new book at work- Cold Enough for Snow by Jessica Au. Enjoyable conversations with my coworkers & despite it being a slow day, good fortune: $11.50/hr in tips & after work I found a damp $10 bill on a walk. I never walk that way either... I just felt the urge to for some reason.

It feels good to come home to an empty & spotless room, very calming & open, open to possibilities.

It's supposed to rain next week & all is well with me.

Just got out of the car with my mom. At work now. Annoying. She's annoying. She put her dog on my lap & it was crawling around the front seat. & she acted confused as to why I wouldn't want a fucking dog on me. She started freaking out when she ran a stop sign & the dog flew off of my lap & down to my feet. As if that's my fault. She kept telling me, "The dog wants to look out the window! The dog wants to look out of the window! Hold her up so she can see! Hold her up so she can see!" I held the dog up for about five seconds until it occurred to me 1) The dog obviously doesn't care & 2) This is stupid. So I set the dog down & she had a fit. As I was leaving the car, I pulled the dog off my lap by her harness, which my mom told me to do & said "Get off," to which my mom had another fit. She told me I'm mean to animals, which I'm not, so I didn't even respond. I could've said, "You know mom, maybe the reason I don't like having this new dog is because you let your boyfriend beat the shit out if my childhood dog, so I don't think you should own animals you fucking hypocrite. You know mom, pretending that things never happened doesn't make them go away, it just makes you seem fucking crazy." But instead I said nothing. Now we can pretend things never happened. It's working out so well for us.

Feeling weird... I always feel this way when I visit my mom's. Going to try to sleep it off. I just feel low when I'm here, and disgusting. Verminous & small. Maybe because this is my childhood home?

Didn’t write an entry last night, because I was busy with my room. I find that I can get swept away with action & neglect to record anything if I’m feeling happy enough, energetic enough. It’s the reason I always forget to take photos when going out with friends, or even by myself, though I’m more contemplative when by myself, so maybe that isn’t completely true. The cliche & trite way to describe it would be “living in the moment,” but I think cliches have their place, sometimes, if we use them thoughtfully, & I try to use all of my words thoughtfully. To be thoughtful is one of the best things you can be.

My room is clean now & most of my things are gone, so much so that I have many empty shelves. Most of what I have left are books. No clutter, no claustrophobia; Just my white duvet & a vacuumed carpet, scrubbed baseboards. It feels good, light, like a breeze- Comfortable. The only thing on my desk is a candle. It feels freeing. In my newly cleaned state, I read my tarot cards & went to sleep in my freshly made bed. It feels good. I’m going to try making my bed every day from now on. It always seemed so sisyphean, & maybe it is, but that doesn’t mean it can’t feel good.

Of what’s left, I’m going through my clothes & donating them, going through my closet. Harder for me, but not insurmountable. It feels necessary & it’s easy to do things once I consider them necessary. The trouble comes when I find it unnecessary to eat, or to shower, to carry on. I don’t live like that anymore though. I refuse to. Every part of my life, no matter how insignificant, is necessary, because it has to be. It’s the only way that I can go on. For a very long time, even if I didn’t feel like killing myself in the moment, I had accepted that eventually I’d just succumb to everything, that I’d end it all, probably soon, that no future was waiting for me, because my future self would eventually take anything I had from me, because I saw her as weak-willed, easily overcome, because I saw myself at the time as weak-willed, easily overcome. I had no hope for my future, because I didn’t trust myself to go on. I’d always felt like I was on the very edge of losing it all, that it was just a matter of time. This is a very pernicious way of thinking, but a comfortable one, because it requires nothing of you, because everything was pointless, so why bother with all of those unnecessary things. The fault in this way of thinking is that it assumes permanence; I thought that I had no chance of change, which isn’t true. This way of thinking strips you of any agency, doesn’t even allow you to think of the possibility of a different life. This way of thinking is obviously wrong. It’s just a way to accept self neglect & self abuse. The only reason I thought this way was because I hated myself. It’s embarrassing to admit to self loathing, no one likes doing that, no matter how acute & all consuming the feelings are, so instead I blamed my future self for things, someone who didn’t exist yet. I decided, accepted, in my mind that surely this person who hasn’t come to be would end it all for me, that there was no point in creating anything, because I believed I would eventually destroy it. It’s a strange thought, because the assumption was that I, as in myself in that moment, had no control over my future actions, which is wrong. The future doesn’t exist yet & has no dominion over me. It’s the other way around: I control my future, it doesn’t control me. Realizing this, I began to understand that this was just an elaborate way to avoid doing things, important & necessary things, because I felt undeserving. When I was nineteen or so, I just decided one day: “You will not kill yourself.” It was that simple. No matter what, I will not kill myself. It’s a choice, & it’s not one that I will accept. And if I’m not going to kill myself, then I need to live like I have a future, because I do. I need to take care of myself. It’s necessary. I need to do what’s necessary.

I was talking about cleaning my closet though, my closet. Right now, I’m finding it necessary to get everything sorted. It feels like putting my affairs in order, almost, but for a new life, not my death. I guess a new life means the death of this one, so they’re really one and the same. Like I’ve said before, I’m killing my self, all of these parts of my life & my existence that I don’t care for. To say I’m killing my self sounds violent, like killing myself, so you you could also describe this process as pruning: a targeted, selective removal of the diseased parts of myself. It’s a lengthy process, because I’ve found that there are many of them.

E is going to go through my old clothes before I donate them, & outside of cleaning my closet, I plan on redoing the walls to my room, which I’ve spoken about before. I've purposefully saved this step until last, as something to look forward to. I didn’t want to let myself feel swept away by cosmetic changes & mistake them for true & genuine change, so I’ve consciously left this until last.

Thing are going well for me, going right for me. I feel proud of myself & I feel comfortable saying it.

My father is annoying me. He has forbidden me from entering the kitchen. I’m not allowed to turn on the rice cooker, because my step-mom is working from home, something she does every fucking day. What’s different this time? My guess is she has a deadline she’s nowhere near completing because she spends all of her workday taking naps & smoke breaks. The only difference is that today my dad is here, so now she’s in the kitchen typing away at her laptop. Stupid. This is stupid. & then he had the audacity to get upset with me because I hadn’t done the dishes, in the kitchen that he told me I’m not allowed to set foot in. He always calls my mom crazy, & maybe that’s true, but if I were at her house I’d be able to cook fucking food in the kitchen. The kitchen. The place made for making food. Whatever. Marcus Aurelius says we need to be tolerant of others & strict with ourselves. So I will let the neuroticism that is my father wash over me like a breeze. Doesn’t even matter if he’s crazy. Who cares? Who cares? One day we’ll both be dead & I won’t even have the capacity to be bothered by things.

Made buttered & parmesan noodles which I ate with a small English muffin toasted & smeared with butter, sprinkled with garlic powder. Drank a glass of water with it. Fulfilling meal, physically & emotionally. Listened to this playlist as I cooked & ate was pleasantly surprised to hear a Sufjan Stevens song. I've found that food tastes much better when I take the effort to make it myself.

My dad made us coffee in the French press earlier after which he spilled his entire cup on the floor & screamed. I know he was in a car accident earlier, but being near someone screaming frightens me, so I excused myself to wash the coffee from my pants.

I've been awake since this morning when his phone call woke me up, but it feels as though I haven't done much. The day did not go according to plan, but it hasn't bothered me the way it normally would. I found one of our old e-readers & set it up so I could save PDFs from my phone to it. I was looking to buy books online, but even used they're too expensive. I don't want to pay for something that I'm not even going to keep & I almost always donate my books when I'm through reading them, unless they're especially important to me. The trial & error process of factory resetting the e-reader & figuring out how to access my PDFs & EPUBs took a while, let alone actually downlading the files, so who knows how long I spent on that? I never got frustrated though; I was too excited at the prospect of no longer having to read books on my phone.

Beyond that, I went for a walk in the cold, which made me feel so tired. Maybe it's because I'm not used to this weather, but walking in the cold like this makes me tired in a half hour or so, when I could walk for hours under the heat of the sun. The grass was pale & white too, like it grew up in the dark or something. I guess that's just what frost looks like, but it's strange to me. Took a bath too. Too hot, made my skin bright red & brought this dream, nightmare, from last night back to memory, a rather disgusting one. I've already recorded it elsewhere, so rewriting it here would be superfluous, redundant. I have nothing to add. Not sure what else I did, but I know I did more than that... Oh! I was reading Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, worked on the site for a while too. That's where all of my time went. I wish I'd read this book a long time ago. Talked to E too. Cleaned the kitchen.

Content day so far. About to set up a planner for myself, continue to methodically arrange my room. I've been doing it more slowly these past few days, and in shorter intervals, now that my room is clean. It's cold out & there's no rush, no need to hurry.

Finally taking down this cork board that's been up since high school. Her dreams are still mine, just different.

My father called frantically crying that he’d gotten into a car wreck, & to give the phone to my step-mom. He’s fine, physically, but he did not drive the car home, so it must’ve been pretty bad. He dropped my sister off at her dorm & heading back the car spun on ice & crashed into a concrete wall, but at least he’s okay. I can’t tell if he was crying due to the fear of his own mortality, or out of guilt because we have no money & no longer have full coverage on the car… I told him that the fact he’s alive & unscathed is all that matters, but he wouldn’t hear it.

Feels strange to write anything following that, but life doesn’t have clean breaks or breathing room & just goes on after misfortunes & tragedy. The phone call woke me up from my sleep, but as I waited for my dad to come home, I found I was no longer tired. The day is mine, by which I mean this room is mine, because I'm not leaving it anytime soon, at least not til my classes on Wednesday.

I feel happy & jubilant & like I don't want to sleep.

Washing my mattress cover & just vacuumed my floor, so good & so clean. Found $160 in coins under my bed. I know the amount, because I took the trouble to put them into those coin wrappers but forgot about them. My room feels so different now. Now that I’m finished with cleaning the room itself, I’d like to redo the wall decorations. I’ve had this bulletin board by my bed that has an assortment of poems & the like, sort of like a years old, physical version of my /dangerous page. I feel ready to retire it now, though I can’t explain why. Those sentiments are still true, but they’re somewhere different now. I carry them with me day to day. Before I take it down, I’ll take a photo to commemorate it. Maybe I'll update it, make it anew. That's really what the walls of my room are, covered in papers I find evocative, beautiful, & inspiring.

I’ve been thinking of buying a nice notebook or planner to use, but I’ve decided against it for now. One, I’m trying to be frugal. Two, I think to buy it would be to buy the possibilty of it, in that owning a notebook & using it are different things. The experience is comparable to buying many art materials & not using them, getting a thrill from the possibility of doing something, when really you’re just buying things. The only difference is buying craft supplies & letting them sit around is more acceptable for whatever reason.

I'm going to scrub my desk. I just scrubbed my window sills & base boards. It feels good; It feels good.

I went to bed early last night & slept in until 10:00 AM today, maybe eleven hours or so. It’s what I needed, because all is well again & very cold. It is very cold. It’s below freezing out & it has everyone feeling afraid, because last year & the year prior, we had a week of cold weather in January that shut the state down. No rain this time though, which means no ice & means all was well enough for me to take the car & sell my old books. In the car, my sister told me I was like a monk now, having given away my things and all, & because I’m going to shave my head soon. I made $6.55 off of what had to be over a dozen books, so I’m just going to donate them next time. It was enough for me to get The Brothers Karamazov & Anna Karenina for free at least. I had to argue with one of the employees to even let me sell my books though. They needed an ID for whatever reason & didn’t want to take my temporary paper license. Then I asked in what world would this license be acceptable for me to drive around with but not to sell my own books with? Stupid. Then she took it & inspected it all over like it was counterfeit & said she was checking when it expired, to which I told her the year it expired, to which she told me back that she already knew that. It felt more like she was wasting my time. Maybe that’s why I got less money this time… Last time I got $25.00 or so for my books. I’m not going back there again, not even to buy books. I sound like such a grouch, but whatever.

I took my sister with me & talked my dad into giving us money for coffee, so I’m sitting in a Starbucks as I write this. When I get home I’m going to finish my room. It’s clean now, I really just mean arranging my things. I think it’s cleaner than it’s ever been already. Going to make onigiri today or tomorrow. I wanted to make matcha pancakes, but our matcha powder went bad & it’s too expensive to buy. I might try making pancakes by mixing in my powdered chai. Not sure yet.

Went on two walks today, will go on another when I get back. Going to start another book too. Which one to choose? I can't believe it's already the middle of January. My sister is really annoying me. Her timidness in barely even being able to order a coffee by herself is grating.

Tired- body is sore. Quick entry, computer is about to die & Vashti wants to go to sleep.

Work today, but who cares? Slow, dull work day. Finished my book though, Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, about Christopher McCandless, or Alexander Supertramp. He’s both a folk hero & a cautionary tale in my mind. It felt somewhat comforting as I worked my dismal fast food job that he worked at a McDonalds for some time. I can’t explain why.

Other than my sore body, the only thing of note was the sky today, the beautiful sky. I couldn’t stop looking at it on the drive home. It was incredible; The expanse of sky that I was looking at had every sort of cloud that you could think of, like a patchwork quilt of different clouds. It seemed so immense & I felt drawn into it. & for a few moments it made me rememeber how small I am, when compared to all things, a good reminder.

Went on two walks & did little else tonight. The sky was still beautiful as the sun set. Its clouds became these streaks of a dusty brown color, more beautiful than it sounds. My body is humming in a soft pain, but I still feel content somehow. I feel a bit dull though, my writing lousy.

Work today, but who cares? Continued rereading Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer during my shift; expect to finish tonight before bed or tomorrow at work. (Remember to bring another book with you!) After work: showered, got COVID shot, went to hot pot & ate shaved ice. The shaved ice was particularly delicious this time, coconut with extra condensed milk. Ate it on the way home, in the car, in the dark. Succumbed to a trance as I ate it, just me & my shaved ice; nothing else existed. As we ate hot pot, I suddenly became very cognizant of the fact that everyone at the table: me, my father, my sister, we’re all going to die one day & at some point we will be living without one another. The thought made me momentarily sick to my stomach & it became difficult to eat while contemplating our deaths. The meal just went on though, a good meal: beef tongue & crab & steak & mushrooms. I didn’t eat at all before the meal. My dad told me that we would be getting dinner after we got out shots, & instructed me to be hungry, so I didn’t eat at work. I told him that I ate nothing & received a scolding when I was expecting commendation or perhaps a fatherly pat on the back.

Very tired, having difficulty in trying to sleep in. At about 8:00 PM I wanted to go to sleep, until I looked at the clock & realized how early it was. I resolved to stay up until at least 9:00 PM, but ended up watching TV with my dad & sister & then started building a knock-off Lego chicken at the table while my sister & uncle made Legos. It feels weird to do such... family things. I don't have the word for it. The things families do in TV shows & movies, that saccharine stuff. That's what tonight was. It felt good, but not completely good, like I was a feral animal being fed, but still afraid, not yet tame, maybe never tame, going on twenty one years.

I’d like to carry a small notebook, small notepad around with me from now on, to record passing thoughts. I'll bring one to work tomorrow, maybe draw in it, maybe bring my sketchbook. Who knows? Work tomorrow, but who cares? The smell of grease & the infestation of rats cannot dim my spirit, my indomitable spirit.

I drove by myself for the first time today, but I’m still not allowed to drive myself to work. I went through the ceremony, passed the test, got my license, & nothing has changed. I traded one piece of paper for another, a license instead of a permit. The law says that I can drive anywhere, but my father does not & Vashti does not own a car, nor does she intend to. De facto, my license is the same as my old permit, only I’ve aged in this new photo. It’s the disappointment of a birthday where everyone asks if you feel different, but you just feel older.

My day felt disjointed somehow, but it wasn't bad at all. Maybe I even feel happy. Just realized that I didn't go on a walk today, maybe that's what feels off. Didn't cook anything either, just ate whatever I saw in front of me.

Another quick entry- leave for work in a few. Just threw up after gagging myself with my toothbrush.

I woke up at 7:51 AM this morning, but as I was contemplating whether or not I should go back to sleep, I fell asleep. Yesterday was long. I didn’t sleep well the night before because I stayed up late cleaning my room & then it was hard to fall asleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about failing my driver’s test. V came over & I figured she’d leave at 3:30 PM or so when my brother came home, but she stayed until about 8:30 PM, which I was not expecting. After she left, I took a bath, made more egg drop soup, read a book, & then fell asleep.

I spent my bath time contemplating the fact that people reach out to me & I don’t reach back out to them. Last semester, I was given all of these phone numbers & I didn’t use any of them… Why? I don’t think I like most people, nor do I dislike most people; I just feel indifferent towards them. Yesterday, I really did want to be left alone, even if it was nice to see V. Contradictory, but true. & as I thought more & more about it, laying in the hot water, I realize that my relationships with those around me are not stable ones; They’re constantly changing in my mind. Even though I feel indifferent toward strangers & acquaintances, when it comes to the few people in my life, whether I love them or not, I have a tendency to either be in the process of liking them more & more or liking them less & less- It doesn’t stay the same. With E, I like her more & more whenever I see her. In past friendships, I feel growing resentment towards my friends & don’t know where it comes from, maybe perceived slights. When someone cancels plans, it’s because they don’t like me anymore, or because they’re trying to be cruel to me on purpose. It’s a self-centered way of thinking that I just realized I hold. Maybe it comes from my childhood, feeling the need to measure what others think of me so I could stay safe & unharmed, even if it didn’t even work. I spoke about vestiges of my childhood, & I suppose this is another one: I need to make sure the people who care about me care about me perfectly, otherwise it makes me afraid.

I have to go get ready for work now. A stream of consciousness entry, almost.

I got my license; So much closer to independence!

Quick entry- didn’t realize that it was so late, got carried away cleaning my room. Room’s almost done, almost empty, clean. It feels more comfortable somehow. I’m impressed.

Packed my things for tomorrow: driving test & then staying overnight at my mom’s to watch my little brother. V is coming over… Nervous about the test, but it’ll be alright regardless. I need to get more comfortable with failure, so even if I fail again, it is what it is. Not to say that I don’t care; I’m just trying to have a calm & detached outlook about it, because it keeps surfacing in my thoughts like a dead whale about to burst.

Time to fall asleep.

Slept in this morning. Retreating inwards. Listened to Moenie & Kitchi as I made egg drop soup for breakfast. Sipping on a peanut butter & banana smoothie right now. Morning started with me asking my sister if she wanted egg drop soup & a banana smoothie & that conversation ended in her calling me a cunt. It lasted about forty-five seconds. When she goes back to her dorm, I’ll stay here but go back to ignoring her texts & calls. She never changes. No one here does. They’re stagnant beings. They shouldn’t have been born people, they should’ve been born stone statues. They’re more suited to it.

Going to finish my room, quickly. Most of what’s left is empty boxes anyways. Another windy day.

It was raining when I woke up today, like I didn’t leave Oregon last week. My phone now thinks my home address is my family’s house in Oregon & this struck me as sweet & somewhat sad. I went on a walk after waking up. It was really windy & I was afraid my umbrella was going to snap in on my head, so I moved my hand as far back as possible & held it like a shield in front of me, a shield quivering in the wind belonging to the most frail knight that there is.

I didn’t do much today… I continued cleaning my room, but with less vigor than before. I’m going to finish tomorrow. My friend V asked me to hang out tomorrow, but I knew that she’d cancel, so I didn’t bother actually planning on meeting with her & figured I’d finish my room tomorrow. I was right. She said she wants to meet Wednesday now. I told her no, but then I mentioned it to my dad & sister & they guilted me into agreeing, because they say someone like her needs a friend. Maybe they’re right, but I didn’t like the pitying tone in their voices. I’m busy on Wednesday, taking my driver’s test then watching my brother overnight at my mom’s house, but I told her she could stop by if she wanted. She hasn’t responded yet, but I’m fifty-fifty on her not showing up. I don’t really know which I prefer. I think I feel indifferent to it.

My relationship with her has never been a reciprocal one, because she’s an extremely reserved, taciturn person, very closed off. We’ve known each other for almost a decade, but I know so little about her. She’s like an acquaintance to me. When we speak, it’s as though I’m dragging our conversations forward & I’ve grown tired of it. I’ve quit initiating conversations & asking questions to prolong them. I used to not mind it, but I think I hold some resentment towards her. She asked how I was some time ago & I told her that I felt horribly depressed, because I’d felt horribly depressed for months on end at this point, something she was aware of, & she told me it was exhausting to hear me say that I felt bad all the time, after she’d asked me how I was feeling. I think it was at this point that I realized we’re not friends. Or I’m not friends with her. She thinks I’m her friend though, maybe. Maybe I am. I don’t know. If I’d known her for a shorter time than since our middle school years, I probably would have stopped talking to her at that point. Now I just talk to her about unimportant, trivial things on a barely monthly basis, & I don't think she's aware that our relationship has changed. I don’t even think she’s a bad person, just a bad friend. She used to be my only friend, but now E is my friend & I know what actual friendship feels like, so I don’t feel the need to talk to V anymore. When I phrase it like that, it sounds so clinical. What I mean is that E & I hang out regularly, we talk about everything, we text all the time, we tell each other I love you; We’re close friends. My relationship with V has never been like that (even though I've known her far longer than E) & I don’t want to bother with it. She cancels plans all the time, so I don't get why she even bothers setting them up with me. I'm not even disappointed by it anymore, barely even annoyed. It's nothing to me, which I suppose is indicative of the feelings I have towards her. Being friends with her just means my feelings will get hurt, because she's not what I want her to be & I don't think my expectations are unfair. I'm sounding so clincal again. I think I'm only speaking this way because this was once very hurtful, so I've thought a lot about it, given a lot of language to it. The language is still there, but the emotions aren't. The langauge of calling her my friend is there, but the emotions aren't.

I’m undecided as to whether or not I should clean more before bed, or if I should go to sleep now. I’m not tired, but I’m also not liking the fact that I’ve woken up at noon for two or three days in a row now. I understand that it’s arbitrary to attach a sense of morality to numbers, i.e.waking up at 9:00 AM is good and virtuous & waking up at 12:00 PM is lazy, but waking up later in the day makes everything feel off, makes my day feel shorter, because I’m not used to it. Maybe I’ll set an early alarm & go to bed early tomorrow night, set things right in one fell swoop. It feels like these past few days have been days of plans, plans overtaking my thoughts. I’m actually going to set up a planner tomorrow. I never fill in the premade ones, as cute as they may be, so I’m just going to set one up for myself in an old notebook. I think it will give me ease of mind. I've been talking about all of these plans, self-improvement & whatnot, but now is one of the times in recent memory when I've felt happiest with myself.

I’ve spent today & yesterday examining each & every one of my belongings & getting rid of the majority of them. I’ll probably spend tomorrow this way too, ridding myself of the vestiges of my childhood. I’ve found that this process is much easier than I’d thought it would be; It feels liberating & I’m realizing that I have little attachment to the things that surround me, by which I mean they don’t matter at all.

I think the easiness of this days long process comes from the fact that doing this makes me feel as though I’m living closer to my values: I do not enjoy work. I care little about money. It’s become obvious that I care little about material things too, beyond those that provide basic comforts. When I imagine my future living space, after I leave this child’s room, I imagine an empty one. And most of all, my dream of leaving, of moving around the world & teaching, is becoming closer to the point where it’s almost visible & I can’t take these things with me. They’re only a hindrance. In a way, I view this as a confirmation of my resolve too, a reminder of this dream that I’ve held for so long. It’s proof to myself that I’m serious about this, & that my future is closer than I think.

I’m also finding that this process of getting rid of things is making the things I find important more obvious to me: My clothes, some books, art materials. Out of my collections, the only ones I truly care about are my keychains, my sticker book, my stamps, my Calico Critters, & my Sonny Angels. I’m giving the rest to my sister, all of the figurines I’ve spent years collecting, I don’t care about them anymore. If I were to continue collecting them, it would be out of habit, not enjoyment. It would be out of an effort to maintain that part of who I am, who I was rather.

As I’ve spent the days ridding myself of these things around me, giving them away, it brought to mind something I read which said that this is what people often do before they kill themselves. In a way it feels like that, only I’m not going to kill myself. Well, it feels like I’m killing my self, the old parts of me that I’ve been dragging around whilst trying to maintain some sort of identity, some sense of continuity, stability, so I can use the same words over & over again to talk about myself, so it feels as though I’m happy with who I am; Something that prevents meaningful change & prevents yourself from becoming unknowable, because you’ve kept yourself small & in a tank like an atrophied & sickly fish that isn’t allowed to grow. My tank is this bedroom filled with years of clutter.

I think I found life’s meaning a while back & lost it somewhere. There was a time where I would ride the bus & the world felt so open to me. Maybe I left it on the bus. Maybe I dropped it when I was looking at the sky. I could retrace my steps, but for some reason I don’t want to go backwards, even if it’s towards a feeling of safety & contentment. I want to find something new.