tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76730604491280673352024-02-18T21:34:59.673-08:00<3Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-54496287589760649252009-09-07T15:58:00.000-07:002009-09-07T19:06:45.800-07:00Update on fish stockingI've decided that I'm going to persue a space themed tank! I'm going to get a 2 (to start) either bubble eyed or celestial eyed goldfish (celestials are more expensive...), name them Buzz and Galileo and be done with it. <br />
<br />
I was going to end up doing a goldie tank all along...its just when I have too too much time to think about things I start trying to top each idea and since my brain never runs out of ideas...well...<br />
<br />
and then I get sent crashing back to earth when I realise that what I can do and what I can dream up are two entirely different things. <br />
<br />
But now, instead of fretting over stocking I can focus on how I'm going to pull off a planted tank with goldies... :)Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-18469286440757124242009-09-06T19:19:00.000-07:002009-09-06T19:19:24.008-07:00Liftoff!So my tentatively space themed 29 gallon aquarium has liftoff in the form of Tahitian Moon Sand...see what I did there? 20 pounds of TMS & Flourite and she's a whole new woman..err tank. And since I'm in the baby selling industry I've managed to trade 13 babies for some plants and labor. <br />
<br />
...and I'm very excited. I splurged on the TMS because I haven't been self-destructive in one month! <br />
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In related news, I'm also back riding every Saturday...and I'm going to lease this October! <br />
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Things are, on a larger whole looking up. Plus I just, legit just now, found a 25 dollar itunes giftcard...hells yes!Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-24312191912370198582009-09-06T19:15:00.000-07:002009-09-06T19:15:03.356-07:00Ever Tactful, My Mother is...I was just told by my mother that a desk we own is "too good" for me. Now, you must understand that this desk is at least 10 years old and has been sitting in the corner of our living room for about 5 years collecting dust. What that makes me, but I think it means I'm lower than trash...<br />
<br />
<br />
One (Wo)mans trash is another persons treasure...thats how I think of it...Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-12604162105809966562009-09-06T19:13:00.000-07:002009-09-06T19:13:38.003-07:00Nrghhh.I do not like Green Eggs And Ham. I do not like them, Sam I am. FYI Green Eggs And Ham equals, stupid-no-good-faux punk-insecure punk bastards (but we will refer to them as Green Eggs And Ham). I mean, they're nice when you're hanging around and bored because they always make it something. But when they're eye raping you one minute and dating someone else the next it does tend to aggrivate one. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div> </div>But, well, I guess it is kind of nice when you realise that you built them up to be more...and now you can look at (and maybe even zoom in) on their flaws and laugh your ass off. <br />
<br />
<div> </div>Ohhh my. I do love typing my thoughts out. I was, literally ten minutes ago tearing and whimpering like a pitiful tween...but for the past five I've been laughing my ass off because I realised the following:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>he has a lazy eye </li>
<li>he has a cleft chin </li>
<li>he smokes pot (something that I was willing to overlook for him, loveblind much? I don't date pot smokers.) </li>
<li>he's unreachable as in he doesn't have a cellphone, never calls back when he says he will, sleeps till like 3 every day. </li>
<li>Lies. Apparently his craptastic band has gotten 3 record deal offers. Pfff. And they turned them all down? Double pfff. </li>
<li>Is a sweet talker. He always says exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. And I cannot handle perfection. </li>
</ul><br />
<div> </div>So today was a very happy day. I went for a nice walk with my dog, its beatiful, I wore a dress. I don't know when exactly, but whatever stick I had up my ass previously...it's gone. Or maybe it turned into a flower. I don't know...but I like it. I really like it. I mean, even just a few months ago I would have been distraught. But now, I've laughed my arse off. And I'm fine...not I'm-gonna-say-I'm-fine-but-I'm-really-dying-inside fine...but fine fine. <br />
<br />
<div> </div>It's like I've taken ativan...but I'm not sleepy. It's rather marvelous actually.<br />
<br />
<div> </div>Later That Night: Just saw a picture of his new girlfriend...lets just say they deserve each other xD. I pray they don't procreate.<br />
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<div> </div>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-53385317237181791972009-09-06T19:08:00.000-07:002009-09-06T19:08:30.781-07:00Burying The HatchetSo when I wrote this in my big yellow notebook (which I carry around in case inspiration strikes en route) it was basically a teen angsty rant about how much I hated a certian individual. But then I realised that a) my hate was, however well I could justify it, was useless and 2) the circumstances surrounding the drama were, in retrospect absolutely hilarious. <br />
<br />
And so I walked out of family therapy...and I just texted her having had her "stumble upon" our school (who she had previously shunned) in Harvard Square. Basically her life is like that quote from the new Jennifer Anniston move (haven't seen the thing, only the trailer...) "my life is a study in bad choices" or something...<br />
<br />
So I just kinda texted her and was like 'so that was fun to see you in harvard square' and she was like 'yeahhh, but I didn't get to talk to youuu' and so we kinda talked and now parents and scheduals permitting we're gonna chill at the ZombieLand march. <br />
<br />
And along the same lines of burying the hatchet...there was this guy who I met through a friend who I really liked...and we met up at warped and he went off with his friends and toked up and I got kinda pissy about that because I don't generally hang around with pot smokers and he is a complete d-bag when he's high. <br />
<br />
But anyways, my dad kicked me out of the car over the Allman Brothers...and so I was walking home and because it was kind of a long walk I figured I'd call someone...and so I don't know why...but I called him. And so we just kind of started talking and smoothed over the cracks of whatever it was we had. I left it kind of 'ehhh'...so it was good. Plus, I have his CD and he needs to get back ;) <br />
<br />
So anyways, I was the idiot in both of these scenarios. I was closed minded and thought that both these people hadn't changed at all. I was adamant that I hated these people and I didn't really ever want to see them again. So please learn from my mistakes; people can change. <br />
<br />
Its one part of the attitude that I've been trying to embrace that I hadn't really even considered. I mean, as insignificant as both of these things may sound. This really was truly eye-opening; and humbling. <br />
<br />
In my original draft of this...I had quoted Sublime's 'What I Got' but now I'm gonna quote PATD: <br />
<br />
Things are shaping up to be pretty odd<br />
Little deaths in musical beds<br />
So it seems I'm someone I've never met<br />
You will only hear these elegant crimes<br />
Fall on your ears from criminal dimes<br />
They spill unfound from a pretty mouth<br />
And everybody gets there, everybody gets there<br />
And everybody gets their way<br />
I never said I missed her when everybody kissed her<br />
Now I'm the only one to blame<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
I want to go where everyone goes <br />
I want to know what everyone knows<br />
I want to go where everyone feels the same<br />
I never said I'd leave the city<br />
I never said I'd leave this town<br />
A falling out we won't tiptoe about<br />
When everybody gets there, everybody gets there<br />
And everybody gets their way<br />
I never said I missed her when everybody kissed her<br />
Now I'm the only one to blame<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
I feel the same, and I say<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
(Well, things have changed for me<br />
Come on every body, let's dance and sing)<br />
I feel the same, and I say<br />
(I'm singing it all night long<br />
So come on everybody and join the party)<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
(Well, things have changed for me<br />
Come on everyone, let's dance and sing)<br />
I feel the same, and I say<br />
(I'm singing it all night long<br />
So come on everybody and sing along)<br />
Things have changed for me, and that's okay<br />
I'm on my way, and I say<br />
Things have changed for me" -PATD, That Gren Gentleman (Things Have Changed) <br />
<br />
That song pretty much sums up my newly adopted and 95% realised attitude. If you dont have this song...but it! I'm in love with this album...I only became a fan when they released this album...they REALLY grew up. Their other stuff was like emo stuff and it was cool...but it was more of the same. <br />
<br />
P.s. did you hear they broke up? Yup, the guitarist and the drummer started a new band called 'The Young Veins'.Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-38535070849554112592009-09-06T19:00:00.000-07:002009-09-06T19:00:55.353-07:00And they said it couldn't be done....<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cs0KHZCaz7b5XsVOK1cGIy5nK79clzkU6WEklprRqEjyDKNfcehMFHJel-CVhXaYBdl2zNHXz3zWTAUWdlZ6LjIrZUbkgWjjm_u73lHSEvpOyzB5bBhXSxv8nW2WrYHXgoWvpedpQeco/s1600-h/Picture0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" lk="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cs0KHZCaz7b5XsVOK1cGIy5nK79clzkU6WEklprRqEjyDKNfcehMFHJel-CVhXaYBdl2zNHXz3zWTAUWdlZ6LjIrZUbkgWjjm_u73lHSEvpOyzB5bBhXSxv8nW2WrYHXgoWvpedpQeco/s320/Picture0003.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">So I went from the above to the below. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtT_3WhMo2VB31dTecDyMCa0Sel1vuwhyphenhyphen8hNiXdj1eWPAL4bl3TRlF-uTOa1ZJG95t9RVchGlrD5wzB1-skXdraVpXky33Rw4fB8sjODeABwr0c6s1x3byu8CfGpI1UdikWepGQasEZjK1/s1600-h/Picture0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" lk="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtT_3WhMo2VB31dTecDyMCa0Sel1vuwhyphenhyphen8hNiXdj1eWPAL4bl3TRlF-uTOa1ZJG95t9RVchGlrD5wzB1-skXdraVpXky33Rw4fB8sjODeABwr0c6s1x3byu8CfGpI1UdikWepGQasEZjK1/s320/Picture0034.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhBaG_403f0ct7u6ARdz1fadD2rRNjFuq8rVUO9JcFTTTR6jWI5oZYUmqvLXQW11ZNw1MNe-FytQCXo8rC-vCqE-H1vxQ2NgBdaT8bdMl3q7mIYBIILc7Qnuj2I2bz2p7rLjysEEfZn0-/s1600-h/Picture0056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" lk="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhBaG_403f0ct7u6ARdz1fadD2rRNjFuq8rVUO9JcFTTTR6jWI5oZYUmqvLXQW11ZNw1MNe-FytQCXo8rC-vCqE-H1vxQ2NgBdaT8bdMl3q7mIYBIILc7Qnuj2I2bz2p7rLjysEEfZn0-/s320/Picture0056.jpg" /></a></div><br />
bah, humbug! Whoever said that Bettie Paige bangs made you look fat was clearly just jellin because they wish they could rock 'em. <br />
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Personally, I think I pull them off rather well ...Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-48978942907192067962009-09-06T18:53:00.000-07:002009-09-06T18:56:55.169-07:00Hi, My Name Is Gabi & I'm Addicted To Docs...Dr. Marten Addicts Anonymous. If there isn't one, someone needs to get on that. Hi. I'm Gabi and I'm addicted to shoes. Has a nice ring to it...maybe I'll make it my forum sig. But I digress, shoes in general are awesome...but ever since I lost my first pair or Dr. Martens (don't ask, don't tell applies here) I've been looking for a sturdy pair of boots to replace them with because as much as I love those Rielly's (Vans.com)...waterproof they aint. And then, like every single moving object I've ever walked in front of, it hit me: another pair of Docs.Below is a picture of the hoped new addition...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzACwe_WN00N7XXdfAPGADsOsB6EZRaxTxmHQ0R5AeWjeoaH_fhaM5La9h-n7fzxvxjpIme3j2L008zPDyF9HIPvY0G__9ockFzR_ET9Mc3HfVJ0XskhzJuarkhnlDWWTVG_Cil1GaVp3z/s1600-h/11821107%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" lk="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzACwe_WN00N7XXdfAPGADsOsB6EZRaxTxmHQ0R5AeWjeoaH_fhaM5La9h-n7fzxvxjpIme3j2L008zPDyF9HIPvY0G__9ockFzR_ET9Mc3HfVJ0XskhzJuarkhnlDWWTVG_Cil1GaVp3z/s320/11821107%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">do I win or what? </div><br />
But seriously, DM's are classic. Albeit a punk classic, but still. One must appriciate the juxtaposition of the Dr.'s and the pretty Etiole pattern. I mean, in my life (which centers around music, brown sugar poptarts and cool/weird clothing) these are the essence of me. And they will be mine. See the words? Mark 'em!<br />
<br />
My shoe fetish has always been one of the things I've been able to use to my advantage...socially more than financially. See, I have precious few female friends...I just don't seem to mesh with the average female. So instead of forcing my male friends to come shoe shopping with me I found someone maybe a little less colorful, peirced, and geneally more subdued...but who LOVED shoes. <br />
<br />
Not only did she teach me how and where to get good shoes for wicked amazing cheap...but she also taught me that just because someone doesn't look like you, or run in your circle...it doesn't mean that they aren't fucking awesome (and she is). I got my first pair of heels with her...they were 10 'Wizard Of Oz' ruby shoe 4 inch heeled stunners. My mom was not pleased...and one day when I was at school she sent them to a nice farm upstate New York. You'd think they'd have gone for NYC, but apparently they had a Lisa Douglas streak in 'em. <br />
<br />
By the way, just google 'Zsa Zsa Gabor quotes and you will learn everything you need to know about being a woman ever. And for those of you who aren't up to date enough on your TVland shows to understand how I got from shoes to Zsa Zsa Gabor, Zsa Zsa played Lisa Douglas on Green Acres.Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-43983935771362134582009-09-06T18:46:00.000-07:002009-09-06T18:46:20.637-07:00We're The New Face Of Failure"Prettier and younger but not any better off/Bullet proof lonelyness at best..." <br />
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My mother just stormed out of the house after having a fight with me, and blaming dad for it and then getting in a fight with him...but wait! Look up in the sky! Its a bird! It's a plane! It's FALLOUT BOY!...a bit anti-climactic, but a rescue nonetheless. (Note to all knights in shining armor...this would be where you would whisk away [insernt name of person who I'll never be her] *sigh*). <br />
<br />
Ahh, PATD. Green Gentleman...my ipod is going for a hat trick ladies and gents. <br />
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Mom's back. Expect mad updates...and by updates I mean crossposts...Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-56372040477762508452009-08-28T04:33:00.000-07:002009-08-28T04:33:07.622-07:00Marley & MeTaylor Swift is stuck in my head. Its that song about a girl who is crushing on her best friend, but he's got a girlfriend or something. It's not the 'Teardrops' one...its the newer one, the one where they're going to the prom. I don't even know where I heard it. I mean, I'm not exactly a fan of Taylor Swift...I'm sure I could put my ears through worse...but I'd much rather listen to Gallows...or Sonny Moore. <br />
<br />
But it seems like they end up getting together, and it made me think about my friend, Marley. Marley and Freddy are, or rather were friends. Apparently, now they're dating. Now, it's not at all like me to get involved in my friends personal choices (with the exception of drugs, pregnancy or in certian cases fast food) but this is just a bad idea. Oh, and they're not even exclusive...nope, they're in some sort of pseudo-pseudo open relationship. Which means that she is "free to feel and mack with any attractive lesbian she can find" and he is "going to stick with Marley until I find someone better...I probably won't, but who knows". <br />
<br />
Basically, she is going to go around slutting it up and he is going to continue his (rather hopeless) search for a mentally stable female companion. <br />
<br />
But I guess necessity is the mother of invention. And they both find relationships necessary to function. So it was a marriage (or relationship) of convienence. I hope. <br />
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This (blogging about my anger at her/him) feels wickedly self-indulgent. But suprisingly enough, the feeling is actually not that bad...and its calorie free!Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-87122184818854863302009-08-27T19:19:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:19:53.591-07:00Suffering Pt. IBuhdda had it right: life is suffering. <br />
<br />
But why suffer alone? It doesn't make it easier; it makes it downright harder. Having myself, gone at it both alone, with a well oiled support structure and with a crappy support structure I can say for sure that the well oiled support structure is your best bet. Your second best would be going it alone, and your least helpful option would be the crappy support system. <br />
<br />
For me, I tried to go it alone and then I met Colin. Colin was my crappy support structure, and after him I was wary of trying to find another one. And when I did end up finding my well oiled support structure, it was only because my parents got smart to what was going on. Now, I know that not everyone has as good a relationship with their parents as I do my own...so where do you turn? What do you do?<br />
<br />
For me, it was hurting myself...but in the case of substance abuse I've heard of the most succsess (archaic though it may be), coming from the cold turkey, handcuff and radiator method. Which is exactly what it sounds like: you are handcuffed to a radiator and detox. Usually there are some buckets involved: one filled with water, the other filled with stale french bread (to encourage even more drinking) and one empty in case you get the pukes. <br />
<br />
This method is usually done with a friend. My "friend", lets call her Jessie had her 22 year old boyfriend rent a cheap apartment for one month, in which time she stayed in all day and simply was. We all took turns when we could, keeping her company. She is 2 years sober. <br />
<br />
But thats not for everyone, for that you have to be a fighter. I still think, as much as I hate to involve people who don't know what the shit they're talking about in my own personal matters...that rehab clinics work. They're the swift kick in the posterior that some people just need. <br />
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But let's say your problem isn't substance abuse...lets say you're cutting, or hitting. Those are harder, self-harm is often best dealt with not by quiting cold turkey (CT never works with this kind of stuff and failure only instills deeper self-loathing which only leads to more cutting) but by finding purpose. For me, that was writing and running. Writing (or blogging) got it out of my sytem and on paper so I could organize and anylize my thoughts. And running left me so physically drained I just slept the rest of the day away (I reccomend taking one BIG nap at least once a week). <br />
<br />
So find something you love, take a photography class, blog, get a job...anything that happens consistently and where you have to exert minimal effort to make it happen will work. <br />
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You can always use one suggestion for a different problem...they'll all work with pretty much anything. However, the one thing your succsess hinges on is your ability to admit to your flaw. You cannot tell yourself you need to quit if you don't think you've got anything to quit, redundant though it may seem. <br />
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This is just the first in what I hope is a many post series about finding and keeping a (good) support structure.Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-7867833399898314152009-08-26T16:33:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:21:45.960-07:00My Failed Foray Into Vegan Desserts<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I sat down to write this entry, I was prepared to write a glowing review of them (highlighting my baking prowess as well)....well, I can't. They taste like pretzels...they're an abomonation...and rather disgusting. It's a shame too, they were supposed to be my birthday cupcakes that I was to take into school tomorrow (fyi, my birthday was in July...we were still at school then...). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So not only did I have to bake them myself, I had to bake them vegan (so a particular class member could digest them properly), and they suck. So now I have no birthday cupcakes, and tomorrow I'll have to deal with a very whiny vegan (this person is a rare breed of vegan: the fat kind...I don't know how it happened...but it did.) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But up until I tried one, my day was going okay. I'd managed to stay home, and slept away the better part of the day, rising only to draw some rudimentary sketches of my ideal fish tank and to finish 'Porno' (Welsh, Irvine) and 'The Long Dark Teatime Of The Soul (Adams, Douglas). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I also baked the rest of my peanut butter cookie and sugar cookie dough that I've been saving...for thrice defrosted and refrozen they're not bad. And they're coming in very handy as I try to console myself RE: the failed vegan cupcakes. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The only thing I really got right with those cupcakes is the cleanup bit. And thats only because I had mom standing over my shoulder giving me step by step instructions on how to wipe the crumbs just so. Which I of course, ignored as soon as she left the room. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But I guess it doesn't matter because Eloise (per her usual birthday celebration) is treating the entire school to ice cream. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now, I don't want to come off as obsessed and hyperfocused with Eloise. I'm not (well, maybe just a smidge) but this blog is really the only oppourtunity I get to vent and express myself to the fullest extent (oh anonymity, how do I love thee, let me count the ways). I'm a lot less jealous IRL.</span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-87121745678819210972009-08-26T04:05:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:22:24.217-07:00R.I.P Lance Fizke<a href="http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2009/08/26/a_fathers_dreaded_final_duty_funeral_home_director_prepares_son_for_burial/">I knew this guy.</a> Albeit, not well, but still well enough to be moved to tears. I knew him through (of course) Colin and I was also friendly with his girlfriend, Joslin. This is what we generally try to avoid, this whole death thing, and yet, kids like Colin and Lance live their lives on the edge. And sometimes, it just doesn't work out. Some people do it beautifly and effectively...but some...well, this is what happens. <br />
<br />
And is a real shame too; the few kids I know who were still on good terms with him said he'd been doing better.<br />
<br />
I wish I had a snappy, powerful closing paragraph for this...but I'm to upset to give anything but raw emotion.Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-85053996658665259832009-08-24T18:50:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:24:40.310-07:00Day One: Day Of Dissapointments<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm writing this at about twelve. I've gotten through a little over half of the school day and while there were many postive suprises and unexpected things afoot...it is still not where I want to be. And things, for the most part, have not changed. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Marely: Marley is this very weird, very "creeper-y" (her words, not mine) girl. She used to date my friend Joshua and they were one of those on again off again couples (that ended with both of them being fed up with the opposite gender and deciding to focus their romantic affections on their own gender). She started crying in the middle of morning meeting, and just lost it. She left the room, per her usual method of dealing with the sudden onset of tears which she finds to be a very effective means of garnering sympathy. I am, out of all of the adolescent females in my life, the closest to her. But its hard when she is always talkig about lesbians, having babies with lesbians, raping people and people of Asian descent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Freddy: Freddy is Marleys best friend/lesbian lover (her words, not mine). He is 100% straight, and 100% male (I shall not divulge the circumstances under which I affirmed this...but they are not sexual, they just involve nakedness). He is also her enabler; he allows her to hang off of him, grope him, play the "are you nervous game" (you slowly move your hand up somones inner thigh asking are you nervous) but instead of doing it the right way she just gropes his package. I don't know about you, but for two 16 year olds to be playing this game, in school, in public is rather atypical. Freddy, for lack of a better explanation, simply doesn't get it. He succeeds, sure, but he doesn't get the mechanics of it. He does have good timing; this I must give him credit for. He might not always say funny, nice of PC (I'm not a sucker for PC-ness, but jew jokes do get old...) but the timing with which he does say them is immpecable. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eloise: Eloise is one of those people who MUST, at ALL costs be the weirdest one in the room. She is into anime, and hair dying and techno raves. I suppose another thing that bothers me about her is her absolutely remarkable ability to please everyone. She ALWAYS says the right things, and if it weren't for her massive pores and lack of ability to correctly apply foundation I'd say she had perfected life. But because of the above, and because she has breasts the size of pluto everyone male (including Emma) is absolutely smitten with her. And because everybody and the kitchen sink in love with her she somehow came to conclusion that everybody wants her advice, approval and presence. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eloise I have the biggest problem with, she is remincent of the Headmistress...and we all know that story (well, you, dear reader know some of it, perhaps one day I will feel like typing it all out...but you know the basics). But because Marley, Freddy (and occasionally William and Seamus) flock to her like waterless people in a desert flock to an oasis, I can either go it alone or give in and sit on the fringes of their conversations where I never really feel welcome. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't really expect much else, and I've decided regardless that for however long I'm here (which should be at most the first sememster) I will focus purely on acedemic success. I cant imagine that will be easy with their constant chattering...but I suppose it won't be the hardest thing I've ever done...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(sidenote: this was written durning the day, I just never got the oppourtunity to post it because they finally got around to putting a password on the wireless.)</span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-35268050187819106242009-08-24T13:43:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:25:22.666-07:00Missed Connections<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know all those ads in the 'missed connection' sections of craigslist or wherever? They were made for people like me; I keep botching chances to make new, non-druggie/alchie/depressed/self-harming friends. And it annoys me, because I never think before I talk, so something that could end up with a name, or a phone number ends after a few words. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This has happened twice, and I am determined not to let it happen again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was this one kid I met at Warped Tour in the Gallows pit. He was like 5'10-6', sandy blonde hair, a wrestler, he was 19...and lived in whitman. Oh, and he had his ears gauged big enough for me to ask (and get) to stick my finger through. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, I saw this kid at Dew Tour. Tallish, curly shoulder length hair, braces...on that day he was wearing grey jeans and a red plaid...with a white I think it was T-shirt. He had one of the passes that let him go down around the park and take waters from the same cooler as Tony Hawk and Ryan Sheckler. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So Whitman I haven't seen since, and I think it would be a divine coincidence if I ever did. But Dew Tour I saw today at a class trip, I walked over to him and was like "you were at Dew Tour?" and he was like "...yeah," and we talked for like five minutes and then my friends called me away so they could splash me with water. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I swear I'm not a stalker, but that was weird. He was cute too. But on the ride back to school I was like "awww, fuck." and then I tried to rationalize with myself by saying "no going back now." To which I begrudingly agreed. So I guess that's the end of that, I mean, I have no solid information to facebook search him with other than that he probably lives around subury/concord/any of the surrounding towns. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But really, this is something that, especially if I plan on existing in the outside world, that I need to work on. Maybe this is a reasonable goal...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know if this is really worth posting, but I'm going to because as part of my process I'm trying not to second guess myself so much. Plus, I have another entry documenting my first day of school on the way. It just needs to have all of the profanities swapped out for their more acceptable but still just as nasty counterparts. </span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-9086914243188698722009-08-24T03:49:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:25:45.184-07:00Back To School: The Morning Edition<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Woke up at 6:00am (well, 6:10ish but what Mom doesn't know wont hurt me) today. And as it turns out, 6:00am and I do not play well together. But regardless I rose from my cocoon of sheets as if Frankenstein was the new black. Is that an 'ei' or 'ie'? Please let me know....this new netbook doesn't have a dictionary handy and I don't feel like fussing with vista (or as it is affectionately called in my house "the kamekazi operating system"...we are a mac people) at such an ungodly hour. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So, it took me barely 30 minutes to touch up the ironing job on my hair, a quick eye job (i.e. a little liner at the corners/bottom and a quick sweep of mascara) and viola! I can't quite call the hair thing an "instant feelgood", because I slaved over a hot blowdryer and iron for about 30-45 minutes last night. But the point is I feel presentable, regretably I don't feel 'pretty' or 'hot'...but I can't ever really remember feeling like that....or maybe this is what pretty feels like. I dunno.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I figure its worth the extra effort since there will be new people there, some of whom are potential friends. I understand its not terribly likely...considering the apparent lack of people like me in the 14,15,16 mature-for-their-age female demographic. But, with 10 new kids and the potential that some people have grown up over the summer...who knows. I just think its going to really awkweird if people find out I'm trying to leave. Even the teachers treat you like a traitor. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">You'd think, seeing as myspace is full of these 13-16 emo kids there might be someone out there who would enjoy my school...but nope. I guess I just have to grin and bear it...I mean, Marley is the girl whom I'm closest too in that school. But she has her own (severe social) issues and given the oppourtunity she'd much rather allow the popular kids to reject her than sit with me at lunch. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But I'll get to see Oscar. That'll be cool....he's my gay friend; he's "almost too gay to function" (quoting Mean Girls there). He's the kind of kid that you can't really get too close to, because he becomes very clingy. I guess I have tendencies to become clingy...I just haven't had anybody to apply it too. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Anyways...I was trying to stave off hunger/desire to read the comics while Dad goes and gets a pumpernickle bagel (my favorite). More later : /</span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-5074609037602723432009-08-23T18:32:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:26:49.817-07:00Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ahh yes, Back To School. More stressful than last minute christmas shopping. But with better sweaters. Usually, for me, back to school is a mixture of "oh my god, routine change", "oh my god, I look horrible" and "oh my god, I can't wait to get out of the house". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But this year, things are different. I'm only experiencing the first symptom of Septemberitis (I know its August, bear with me here). Let me explain it to you the way I explained it to my father: The Tony Hamilton School's motto is "a school's not a place; it's people", so if these are no longer my people. Does this mean it's no longer my place? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The answer, in case you haven't guess by now is yes. A resounding, whole-hearted yes. It's not that I hate the school...well, some parts I do. In effect, I hate the few things that you really can't hate if you want to enjoy a school. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Things I (strongly) Dislike About The Tony Hamilton School</span><br />
<ol><li><span style="font-family: Arial;">The headmistress. My headmistress, sweet and good intentioned as she is, is one of those people (much like her son) that must be weird. She feels as though she must be eccentric and odd; at that schools its like a competition to see who can be the weirdest. And she has a highly spastic teaching style. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">The headmistresses son. He's one of those "I have to be more fabulous, better dressed, more outrageous and make more obscure references that highlights my unique upbringing" than anyone in the room. He's also entirely wishy-washy, he's always telling me to not be my mother (another one of his favorite past-times, mocking/cracking jokes about my mother; he seems to have inherited it from his mother) and telling me that I "shouldn't be a victim of my environment [my mother]" Which is absolutely hilarious considering he is his mother, except perkier and more frequently hung over at work.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">The means by which the school functions. The school functions (by functions I mean gets paperwork done, plans assignments ect.) by either wild coincidence or mistake. Which means that it is a) totally unpredictable and b) totally unprofessional. The latter I can handle, but the former I cannot. They do manage to function that way, but I need to have security; I need to know whats going on. That is not one of the services that they offer. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Their idea that they can take liberties with my (and other's) anxiety/depression/aspergers. For example, this summer I went to a school run summer-camp. They told us to bring an extra T-shirt, because we were climbing a mountian. So I asked what kind of shirt, and the counselor Eliza, could not give me a straight answer. So, left on my own to make this desicion I tried on six or seven T-shirts becoming increasing anxious and tactile defensive. I broke down, didn't bring a T-shirt. (That camp was a complete travesty. I don't know where they got off thinking they could run a camp if they couldn't even handle a school but that's a blog post for another day). They think they know me, and so the treat me the way they think will help me not have problems anymore. But they don't know "real me". </span></li>
</ol><span style="font-family: Arial;">That said, outside what I don't like about that school, it has not failed me. Exactly the opposite really; it's worked so well that I no longer need it. Now all that's left to do is convince them of that. The headmistress told me she thought I was being an "imbicile, moron and republican" for even thinking that there was a better place for me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She really ought to let that be my burden to bear. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">(I meant to quote some David Bowie lyrics to tie into the title, but I guess I remembered some of the lyrics wrong...so it doesn't quite fit).</span></div>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-31815911700282193362009-08-23T16:23:00.000-07:002009-08-23T16:23:32.871-07:00Reviving Connections Via Ichthyoids<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was...oh jeez, twelve or thirteen I got my first fish tank as part of a deal I made with my parents. I would go to a writing tutor and they'd get me a small fish tank. It was a 7 gallon Eclipse all-in-one and I put 3 mollies and a platy in there. I kept it running up until about 6 months ago when I finally got my hands on a 29 gallon tank with all the fixings. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">First, I tried Cichlids. I got a little Krib. That died because I had the wrong substrate. So I switched out my substrate and got some German Rams. They died. So I tried some angelfish. They died. So I just let my tank sit, with some Cories in it. Then I got a pair of parror cichlids, and adopted a pair of angels and 3 glass catfish. And then I took 2 rummy nose tetras and 6 bleeding heart tetras. And somewhere in the middle of all that I ended up with some livebearers. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So warmwater tanks evaporate. Fast. And between all my schoolwork, personal problems and lack of desire to aknowledge the state of my tanks, I couldn't keep up. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So today, I called up an old friend whom I have not seen since school let out and he told me he would take them and help me set up a coldwater planted tank, give me some plant clippings and give me deals at his work (he works at an aquatic plant farm). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So I packed up the two angels, all but two of my livebearers and all the tetras and decided to donate the two parrot cichlids to my school tank. And together as a family (we were invited over so my parents could enjoy "happy hour" and me, my brother, William and his brother Emerson could swim or go on the trampoline) we drove them down. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now, had it not been for these fish I never would have talked to William. I know they don't understand the signifigance of it....just being fish and all. And maybe I didn't wear a bikini (I didn't end up going swimming) but I made another connection. Not a bff, but a connection. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And I had fun. We chatted on the porch, watched William and Emerson goof around (they're two of the most hyperactive, crazy brothers ever) and just generally had a good time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It was nice.....I could get used to this. </span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-89572276872814835382009-08-23T11:31:00.000-07:002009-08-23T11:32:00.842-07:00I can't do it.<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't do it. The bathing suit thing, I mean, not life. I'm too, of jeez, I don't know...self-concious? I know that the crowd I'll be pool-ing with is probably the least judgemental and most friendly ever. But still, I can't. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I don't feel like making myself do that today. School starts tomorrow, so I have that going on. I already have neough stress zits (well, three, but still). This whole bikini thing wouldn't be a good idea. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My parents are disapointed in me. Dad keeps trying to get me to "just bring a swimsuit. Just in case." No means no. Plus, I took an extra long time to straighten my hair; and I feel really good about it. So no need to destroy a positive thing with a negative one. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Straightening my hair has always been an instant feelgood for me. And its also healthy in that I don't obsess over it to the point where I'm late for school or spending hours in the bathroom and frying my hair alive. My hair is increddibly sumbissive; I have to do something with it or else it goes into this weird state of Sweden. Not straight, nor curly or wavy; but a hybrid of all 3. Not frizzy, yet not quite sleek either. In my opinion it looks like the hair of a 70+ jewish lady. All weird and damaged and blown out...blah. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Another good instant feelgood is just a quick swipe with the mascara wand. It takes two seconds yet the psychological effect is astounding. Its kinda like botox for your brain; instant uplift. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So while I failed at the bikini, this gathering allows me to explore and be a part of a television program on kids "on the spectrum" i.e. diagnosed with Aspergers/NVLD. I was asked some questions by a Mom who has a son who I am kind of sclose to at school and it turns out she's working along side a TV station for this project. And apparently my answers to the questions were rather moving because I've been asked to be on the child advisory comittee. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But I did take 1 risk, albeit small, I'm wearing my size 9 acid wash skinny jeans. More cloth, same body issues. </span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-25198695897063222332009-08-23T08:22:00.000-07:002009-08-23T08:22:24.121-07:00Self- Acceptance: Swimsuits<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As I stand here, contemplating my bathing suit options I have two options. Knowing that I will be in a judgement free environment (save my self-judgement) I can either wear a bikini top and shorts or a swimsuit and shorts. What to do, what to do. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When we were on vacation last month, I was able to say "to hell with it" and wear a bikini. My therapist and I had discussed it previously and the agreement was I'd do it once. I did it three times. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I know that swimsuits are not exclusively my problem. They, I like to think, stress out even the supermodels among us. I mean, I've seen plenty of girls who did not seem suitable for a even a one piece swimsuit and yet they were in a bikini. Its kind of a punk thing to do when I think about it. Just saying "oh, sod it all". </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My father (and even my mother) assure me that I look fine. I mean, I have lost over 20...almost 30 pounds. I should be able to at 148ish wear a bikini and maybe not look the best...but look good and confident.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I mean, I will be the only girl there, so there will be no other bodies to compare mine to. But that means that mine will be the only one there to look at. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I used to be the overweight (not fat, overweight) girl who was clueless about her size, and wore whatever the hell she wanted. Why now can't I be that girl? As I got older and skinnier I lost what little self-acceptance I had. I got a little back after my bikini escapade on Sanibel. But regardless, its a toughie. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">....Oh, sod it all. I'm going to be the change. I suppose it was kind of silly for me to just sit around and wait for me to suddenly be happy with my body. After all, I promised my therapist my sleeping beauty days were over. </span></span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-74563479538049745692009-08-22T16:58:00.000-07:002009-08-24T18:36:06.211-07:00Colin<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I first met…lets call him *Colin, he was a sarcastic, intelligent, drug addled boy who said he was ready for change. I was, at the time also optimistic about the future and change. We immidiatley bonded on the basis that we didn’t really trust anyone else. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We became partners, him fighting his addictions and me fighting self-harm and depression. Our relationship, though absent of trust, was one of the deepest most fufilling relationships I've experienced to date. We bonded over the one thing that brings peopel like us together: we were broken. </span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started getting better. I was able to look in the mirror and my bruises started to fade away to that yucky yellow color. Colin was getting better too, he had signed up for some photography classes and instead of spending his money on smack or weed he opened up a bank account and was saving up for a nice Nikon and a lense. We both began to break even on things...me on school, him on girls. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it was short lived, it became abusive. He started doing X, and from what I hear dabbled in Heroin. This was not the Colin I knew; the Colin I knew always drew the line at needles. But like the friend I was, I stuck with him. I let him call me whenever he needed too. I remember one instance I had to get out of bed at 1am, mapquest directions and talk him through them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But my breaking point was when he called me one night. From a ledge. It was the scarriest goddamn hour of my life. He never told me what brought him to that, I don't really think I want to know. It was after this that I decided, that no matter how much I thought he needed me, I had to let go. This was not an easy desicion, and I still occasionally wrestle with the guilt. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But w</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hen you’ve gone through hell and back with someone, be it a death, addiction, depression or just the larger whole of your life it becomes hard to let them go. Its not a chemical dependency like drugs, but its equally as if not harder to let the person go. They become like the horcrux ring was with Dumbledore. They slowly kill you, and you allow them to do it in order to help them live. But unfortunatly more often than not they take for granted having someone like you and instead of being greatful. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But please, don't mistake my descion for lack of love. I love him (in a 100% platonic way, but love nonetheless). I wish so badly that he'd do right by himself so he could do what he wanted. It was always his dream, his one goal (other than the short lived Nikon) that he would be able to make a difference in other kids lives. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This blog was techically his idea. He said to me, I'll never forget it "I wan't you to tell every-fucking-body how much I fucked up. I see all these kids and they're always telling me I'm the shit. Dont let them be like me Doll." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So this is my answer to that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As of right now, I haven't heard from Colin in three or so months. I don't know what, if any ultimate fate he has met. But I do know that he would be proud of me for doing this.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">*name changed </span>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-56656714579076461642009-08-22T07:36:00.000-07:002009-08-24T18:32:14.892-07:00What To Expect<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Over the course of these past years, difficult though they have been; I have always had an interest in the science, psychology and social aspect of addiction, depression and everything else that falls under the umbrella term of teen angst. </span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So in addition to documenting my own personal struggles, I will be writing articles on... </span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Self-Harm: the different types of self harm, what to do when a loved on is self harming, hiding scars.</span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Depression: dealing with depression as a teenager</span></span></span></span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Emergency Situations: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">getting help fast, and holding on</span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Support Systems: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">finding and keeping a support system that works, the good kind, the bad kind and the poison kind</span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Peer Pressure/Social Issues Facing Teens</span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Abuse: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Relationship Dependancy, Abusive Relationships </span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Why should you care? Why should you care if you, or another person is self harming/suicidal/being abused. </span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> Holding Your Head Above Water: little tips and tricks to help you make it through the day</span></span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Being/Aspiring to be Straight Edge</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">•</span><span style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Addiction: The science behind it, the different types ect. ect.</span></div></div><div style="font: 16px Arial; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And more...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And just as a reminder, the purpose of this blog is not to be just a collection of reasons why you should see healthiness as your only option. The purpose of this blog is to give people like myself, struggling through what I did/am, something to relate to. And someone to talk to. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I will try to keep it as personal as possible (believe me, I have plenty of personal experience) but there will be a lot of hard truths and cold facts. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's the harshest reality that shakes us out of out deepest comas.</span></div>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-3495639950731454352009-08-21T16:50:00.000-07:002009-08-24T18:28:32.733-07:00Finding X<a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/87/210356528_050314538d.jpg?v=0" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/87/210356528_050314538d.jpg?v=0" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 310px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 394px;" /></a><span style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"Religion is for people who are afraid they'll go to hell. Spirituality is for people who have been there."-Unknown</div><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was never a particularly religious person. I was always under the impression that if indeed there was a God, that he wouldn't have let me suffer like I had, was or continued to. I suppose, in one regard, it made me strong. I didn't have religion to find or to fall back on. I had to grab my own bootstraps per say. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But then, on the other hand, death (pardon my french) scares me shitless. No question about it. So I became (for a short while) Agnostic, later graduating to liberal christian. I never really made up my mind on what, if any religion I was. I never had the luxury of being able to think logically at the time when religion would have helped me most. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">But, up until today in fact, I had smooshed religion and spirituality into the same category of 'Things That I Don't Want To Deal With Right Now'. But as it turns out they're two different things. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial, serif;">The dictionary on my fossil of a mac defines spirituality as "of, relating to, or affecting the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things". Does this mean a Deity? Or does it simply refer to 'X'. Some unknown, undefined non-secular something. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial, serif;">The presence of spirituality, in any life is certainly on a whole, beneficial. But spirituality is a concept involving the higher consciousness, and it is not a subject that one can think about for five minutes and then make a decision.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><def></def><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wish I hadn't been so ignorant, for a while, I blatantly dismissed religion. I wish I had come to recognize the power of simply believing. Albeit I had to almost con myself into that idea that there was something out there...it was incredibly beneficial. I can't say that had I had religion all along things would not have gone haywire like they did...but I think they would have healed faster. Like putting Neosporin on cuts. </span></span></def><//def></div><div><span style="font-family: arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial, serif;"><span style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"Spirituality exists wherever we struggle with the issue of how our lives fit into the greater cosmic scheme of things. This is true even when our questions never give way to specific answers or give rise to specific practices such as prayer or meditation. We encounter spiritual issues every time we wonder where the universe comes from, why we are here, or what happens when we die. We also become spiritual when we become moved by values such as beauty, love, or creativity that seem to reveal a meaning or power beyond our visible world. An idea or practice is "spiritual" when it reveals our personal desire to establish a felt-relationship with the deepest meanings or powers governing life." -Robert C. Fuller. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial, serif;">So have I found religion? No. But I see spirituality on the horizon. It will, as will everything on this road be a struggle to reach, grab and comprehend. But it will be a small step, small but necessary. Because, as redundant as it may sound, without something we have nothing. </span></div><div><def></def><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></def><//def></div></div>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7673060449128067335.post-54764043654595524172009-08-21T12:23:00.000-07:002009-08-27T19:50:07.410-07:00Hello Internet.This is my story. Its not a happy one, its not a romantic one and its not one that you're going to cuddle up with on a cold winter night. But is a true one, and its mine. And those are the two things I searched for more than anything: truth, and something to call my own. This may not be much, but its good enough for me. <br />
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After having suffered silently through what I later understood and had diagnosed as depression, Aspergers, Non-Verbal Learning Disability and OCD I, after months worth of setbacks finally decided that enough was enough. I decided that I was, no matter what, going to beat the muffin (my motto for life inspired by some sinfully good muffins I had on Sanibel Island). It's not easy now, it wasn't easy before, and I don't expect it to get easy. But I know it can get better. <br />
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<div></div><div><div>So here's my story: I was never a particularly well understood kid. In Elementary school I was alone, friendless, ally-less and confused. I was 'that' kid, the kid who was under the rock wall, slide or steps crying.</div><div></div><div>I'd been to 2 different therapists before I met the one I current work with. The first one I simply outgrew with age. The second I ended up biting in blind rage after she made (what I consider to be) a rather careless comment on my weight. <br />
To this day I do not share everything with my current therapist, but I share enough so that she feels she knows me, and I still feel safe. I don't like walls, but they have become necessary.</div><div></div><div><br />
As a result of my constant miscommunication with the outside world, I became violent at home. It is not a fact that I am particularly proud of, but the unfortunate truth of a thus far, rather unblessed life.</div><div></div><div>After having completed one week in 5th grade, I was sent to what was effectively a detention center for almost 18 months. This was another incident of what has come to be a theme of my life, kicked when I'm down. I served the punishment for an entire families (and school systems) dysfunction and inability to communicate.</div><div></div><div><br />
But things started getting better. I was living at home again, and got accepted into a school. This school, out of the ordinary by choice rather than simple inability to fit in, was at the time, the closest thing to accepted I had ever been. I did not completely fit in, but it worked.</div><div></div><div><br />
Things went great for about a year and a half, but towards the end of last year and the begining of this one they began to sour. My relationships with peers became increasingly strained due to their hunger for drama and my inability to understand, feed or tolerate that hunger. I broke down. I became self harmful, and was utterly disgusted by myself. I never had the best self-esteem or self-image in the world, but this level of self-loathing was new even to me. I often mused casually of suicide, as one would the days weather. I had hit (what I hope to be) my all time low.</div><div></div><div><br />
I was not, at the time on any medication. And despite my pleas for it, my parents were reluctant. I had been on medication as a child and it had, I guess only exacerbated my problems. None of us wanted that again.</div><div></div><div>But I continued to struggle privately. It hasn't been easy, and I don't every expect it to be. But if I am one thing, it is (regrettably or not) stubborn. I will beat this; I have to.</div><div></div><div>Things, at the moment, are doing rather well. I've leveled out so to speak; there haven't been any major high points...but on the opposite side of things, there haven't been any major lows. </div><div></div><div><br />
So for now, I'm stable. I've got no 'weapons' (I refuse, nor do I feel I'm obligated to divulge the exact means by which I self harm) and no access to them even if I wanted them. For that, I must thank my friend, though I think he will remain anonymous...he is, whether I care to admit it or not, reason I am typing this right now. He and I have gone through this together, his battle with "the beasts" as he calls them was a lot more public than mine....but he learned what he could, and passed it on to me. </div><div></div><div><br />
I remember feeling alone. Like no one understood. Plenty of people can say they understand, but they don't. I met maybe a half a dozen people who were supposedly "specialists" in depression, anxiety and self harm....none of them had ever participated or experienced their areas of expertise. So I decided, along with my therapist that this blog would serve two purposes....<br />
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1) It would give me a chance to share my story<br />
and 2) It would help me in giving teens like me what I wish I had: someone who knew what I was going through.<br />
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So on this, my own little piece of internet real estate I will document my journey from the shadows of my former self to my realization of life; whatever, and whenever that may be. </div><div></div></div></div>Dolliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11786555909659036641noreply@blogger.com