femmealunettes: (brokenhearted boy : Gabriel)
My dad just pointed out to me that 1) I have barely left my room for the past week, not even really to eat, 2) I'm quite obviously avoiding my therapist, 3) there is something going wrong with me that I can't/don't want to talk about, and 4) I really need to fix whatever the problem is. He also figured out that I haven't been sleeping very well, not that THAT's hard to tell.

Knowing that someone realizes what I'm doing is kind of surprising, even though it shouldn't be. He especially would know, he's the king of avoiding talking about his problems.

But if he's the king, I'm the royal heir, because if I was any better at avoidance I'd even be able to ignore myself.
femmealunettes: (you cry sometimes)
Okay. So.

I really can't do this without talking about it.

Heather Ratface has cancer, as I've mentioned before. The tumor started under her left arm a couple of months ago. Now it's as big as her head.

talk of putting a pet down, feel free to skip it because it's depressing )

dividing by zero sounds about right.

  • Nov. 24th, 2008 at 12:25 AM
femmealunettes: (Rahm divides by zero.)
So, today abruptly started to suck around dinnertime (which is a late event, for me), and it is not getting much better.

First, Heroes proved that they really want me to die or get frustrated enough to stop watching. I would say "try harder, bitches," but then they would probably kill off everyone I care about, so I will not tempt fate.

Then, I started getting all PMS-y and manic on top of THAT. Which is a fucking awful combination.

I had a brief moment of victory in an otherwise shameful situation... I made a Gears of War fan community for women, because someone on [livejournal.com profile] fandomsecrets stirred up the female gamer population, and I'm a fucking do-gooder. I almost killed something trying to get the header to center properly, so when I actually got it to work, that was pretty fantastic.

But then I was made to feel like a total jackass for something I did a year ago, and I hated myself for it then, and now I'm hating myself for it now, and what the fuck am I supposed to do with all this self-loathing? And on top of that, I'm feeling hypersensitive and ignored and just plain unhappy.

And my rat has cancer, did I mention that? And it just keeps growing, and I don't know at what point it would be more humane to just put her down. It's not like I'm even a very good rat owner, but she's been with me for a long time now, and I still remember the little ratling in the feeder rats tank coming up to sniff my fingers and climb into my hand... :/

And Butcher won't even let me pet him.

I'm all fucked up, completely out of left field, and it sucks, and I still haven't got an appointment with the shrink's office my sister goes to, and it snows here every goddamn night, and. and.

and I really really REALLY wish I could just call up George and go drive around with him and Michele for a couple of hours, or walk down the street and bust in on Jenz and Kelly and Lacy and Thomas, or hike up the Court Street mountain and hang out with Amber and Kevin. Because I fucking miss my friends so much it's like someone's stabbing me in the throat.

Whatever. It's supposed to help to get this stuff out, but I still feel like I want to punch a wall, or break a window, or just take a few ambien and sleep for twenty-four hours in a row.


femmealunettes: (why hast thou forsaken me?!)
Thunderstorms on Saturday. I think it'll be a good day to not be me.

This article is as stuck in my fingers as honesty is stuck in my throat. What we have here is a failure to communicate. I won't even stop lying when I'm talking to my cats.

cut for waaaaaangst, in the morning )

Yeah, it's four in the morning. And my jaw is clenched too hard for me to unlock. Fuck the article, fuck it all. I'm going to get four damn hours of sleep and face the day like a firing squad.


May. 25th, 2006

  • 2:15 AM
femmealunettes: (long road ahead. : Supernatural)
I think I might have lied about feeling okay? I just had a tiny little series of tiny little panic attacks. Which is much better than the big long panic attacks I used to have, but still, being reduced to tears for what aren't very valid reasons at all? Lame.

I don't know. Am I the only person who looks at people and just thinks 'what if they die before I see them again?' Thinking about Poppy got me thinking about Nana and Grandma and Gramps and how I didn't really think any of them were going to die when I left. Two of those three died the day after I saw them last. And my parents are driving up to Maine, and they could get into a car accident, and my dog could get hit by a car any time she gets out of the yard, and...

Everything is so easy to kill. It just takes one thing to go wrong and then that's it, you don't get the chance to see them anymore.

I'm a lot less scared of my own death than I am of everyone I love's deaths. And this stupid, navel-gazing kind of worrying is useless, but it's got me crying three times in the past hour and I'm wondering what the hell is wrong with me because normal people don't think like this.


Nov. 24th, 2005

  • 12:54 PM
femmealunettes: (you cry sometimes)
Thanksgiving has been a hassle to me since my parents got their jobs with the Salvation Army. Before then, we lived in a town with the majority of my extended family. Thanksgivings were marked by going to Grandma's house, talking to my aunts and uncles, listening to my great-grandparents tell stories, beating lovingly on my cousins, and some fucking incredible food courtesy of Grandma.

Then we moved away, and my parents got a corps, and every year we have a soup kitchen Thanksgiving dinner that like 200 people come to. No family. The house is empty. No dinner, we just have the leftovers from the one at the building. The only family I've seen since waking up is the cat, one of the dogs, and my brother. It'll be all I see until probably 4 pm, unless I get dressed and go over there, which... yeah, I'm not feeling all that volunteering today. They have enough people; Thanksgiving is the one day a year we have too many volunteers. No one wants to give up some time on a weekday in December, though.

Thanksgiving just leads up to Christmas, too. This chaos is just prep for the hell that is December. And this year we're not going to Grandma's house for Christmas. My family's so fucking broken down there right now that I'm sort of relieved Grandma didn't have to see all of it happen.

Not the usual Thanksgiving post. Sorry. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it, have a nice Thursday to those who don't. I'll probably make a more appropriate post later.


your eyes tell the stories

  • Oct. 14th, 2005 at 2:10 AM
femmealunettes: (will you love me if I'm a mess?)
I should be in bed. I should always be in bed by this time, which is when I usually look at the clock and think absently "oh, I should be in bed" and then by the next time I look it's 3:30 and I know my day at work will be shot.

But tonight no one else is up. Some people are sick, some people are smart enough to go to bed when they have work the next day, some people I don't know why they aren't here which makes me worry more. Even though it's two fucking am and they should be in bed anyhow. Like I should.

I'm too attached to things, and this recent string of non-capitalist consumerism (which I suppose might be a more accurate term than non-consumerist activity, which is still less accurate than just saying shoplifting) is only emphasizing this fact. Given I'm not only taking to have, I'm taking to give back out, but I can't take everything I want and my bills are racking up and I'm too lazy or undriven or scared to even finish a fucking Stewarts application, a goddamn gas stop convenience store application. Not labor-intense work. But I have no drive. Or no spine. Or no something, I'm obviously lacking something, because I'm okay with sitting at a desk at the Salvation Army handing things out to people and pretending to listen when they pour out their woes to me, getting a less-than-minimum-wage paycheck every two weeks, staying up to the asscrack of dawn and pretending to be a million people other than me.

it only gets worse from here. cut to keep innocent skimmers from my cyclic whine-ass bullshit. )

Clearly it's not the late night that's the problem. It's the loneliness. I'm going to fold my clothes and go to bed.


well I miss you so far

  • Oct. 2nd, 2005 at 4:57 AM
femmealunettes: (will you love me if I'm a mess?)
I just organized my pictures folder. pre-college, 03-04, 04-05, and summer 05.

I can't look at myself two years ago. That's not me. I'm not her anymore, she was prettier and more idealistic and she had a purpose, or thought she did.

What turned her into me? Was it the stupid way she wore her heart on her sleeve and got it run through? Was it the pot? Was it the anime, the ramen, the dorm living, the sudden freedom?

Is this just genetic? Was she doomed to end up me the way all children turn into their parents, and it looks like I started out mom but am turning dad, running to depressed and fat and sleeping all day or wanting to.

Is this just me? am I doomed to hate myself more with every year, every failure to communicate, every kiss I wish I'd given or with I'd kept to myself, the moves I should have made earlier or not at all.

I have pictures of him and if things ever changed I would jump through hoops on fire to get the chance with him I never had.

I have pictures of the aftermath between breaking and being fixed and I was still more beautiful then than I think I will ever be again. I was miserable, I wanted to kill myself, but I was beautiful.

And it wasn't a very good fix. The patches came off, the pins wouldn't hold, the CD got scratched and the tracks are out of order and I'm all fucked up again with no Prince Charming this time to talk me through the late nights.

If I could do it all over again I would never have missed a chance to walk down those stairs, I think. I would have started sooner, I would not have let the internet be my intermediary. I would have been charming and coy and an open book waiting for him to write something on my pages, even just 'hi'. I wouldn't have waited until I was fucked up to make friends.

I did it all wrong and I wish to god I'd been better then. I wish I'd been more than a rescue effort. I wish I'd been more than a puppy saved from being put down, because I feel like an old dog now and it would have been more merciful to end it then.

I have no idea what I'm saying. Half of this is fiction, half is hormonal emotion, half is regret I will never lose until I forget his name and my own.

Write my epitaph now. "She always had a regret." I wish I'd given him what I lost anyway. It would have meant more.

Ai warned me this would happen, but I never listen.

you can't take the sky from me

  • Sep. 30th, 2005 at 10:22 PM
femmealunettes: (married!OTP : Firefly)
Saw Serenity. Still crying.

My dad? Is an insensitive fucktard sometimes.

More later, if I don't just go hang myself in the backyard. Because, you know, being an emotional woman and all, I'm unpredictable.

*head. desk*

  • Aug. 29th, 2005 at 10:32 AM
femmealunettes: (you cry sometimes)
It must be a Monday.

Everyone's having nightmares. I had the nastiest kind, the kind that kills you and leaves you pale and shaking. Big ugly dog teeth ripping through the back of my neck.

It's not fair that I think I'm okay and then all this stuff happens. Bruises aren't supposed to hurt more when they fade. But my body doesn't want to cooperate. And my dad pushed me off to work anyway.

And EVERYONE keeps saying "oh, isn't school starting? aren't you excited?" and I want to punch them in their stupid smiling faces. No, I'm not excited, or happy, or anything. I'm miserable, okay? I hate not being there, I hate knowing that if I were there I'd just be fucking up again, I just hate everything about where my life is at this precise moment.

So I'm going to sit here and not run off to the bathroom to have a crying fit, because I'm the only one who answers the phones here. And I'm going to go home and clean like a fiend, because cleaning is easier than crying. And I'm also going to take ridiculous and probably unhealthy amounts of painkillers, because I'd rather get ulcers later than deal with the fucking awful cramps now. (why so bad NOW? they haven't been this bad in months.)

And now I'm going to try my best to put on a smile, or at least not kill the people walking into my office. And I'm going to sit here and answer the phones and fantasize about not being in pain, because that's about as lofty as my dreams are getting today.

it's too late to go home now

  • Aug. 24th, 2005 at 12:55 AM
femmealunettes: (will you love me if I'm a mess?)
So right now I'm allergy-ridden, angry at my sisters, angry at myself, feeling hopeless in general and useless more specifically, overlooked and, I don't know. I think too highly of myself when I can feel shunned by someone not doing something, reciprocity is a thing of the past, I don't know. I'm ranting.

I just want the last year back to do over. Maybe year and a half. You know what, just set it back to January 1, 2004. I'll do it all over from where it started to go really wrong.

*facepalm* I know I'm just miserable because I feel sick. But I feel sicker because I'm miserable, and I just don't really feel like getting well again, because whenever I do want to get well again no one wants to give me the help I need to do it.

I don't know. Fuck it. I'm going to bed early if I can get my sisters to go the hell away.


the flip of a card

  • Aug. 17th, 2005 at 2:58 PM
femmealunettes: (are you the one? could it be you?)
Last night was awesome fun. We all got drunk and played Drinking Trivial Pursuit, at which Jonathan pwned because he's a frightening repository of 80's pop culture. Then we switched over to I Never, which, you know, adopting the house rules here for future games. xD I really wasn't THAT drunk until the absinthe came out... just whoa. It's much better when it's not raw, that's for sure, but I'm definitely feeling the holes in my brain. xD

And I still feel vaguely... not so much drunk as entirely out of it right now. Out of step with the real world. And everything I'm doing, once again, is pissing someone off. Which really I should be used to by now, but still manages to upset me when I realize it. Whatever.

I'm just doing my (very) little part to make up for being a complete suck-ass while Shell and Kristin and Jonathan are at the Bronx Zoo. Because if I went, I would have passed out. But I'm not passing out here, at least not until I finish what I started. So I don't know. There was a point to this, and I'm pretty sure that it's I'm having fun here, except for the part where I'm a fuckup. Again.
femmealunettes: (lay off!)
There's a cricket right outside my window. Out of all the crickets I can hear in the cemetery, this one is probably sitting right under the corpse of a rose bush I helped my mom plant.

I'm wondering how many rose bushes it would take to get my mom to smile again.

I told my parents. And predictably couldn't say much because of crying. I hate my triggerhappy tear ducts.

My dad seemed a lot more okay with it than my mom. She's obviously really upset about it, but keeps saying that I need to do what will make me happy. I don't know what will make me happy. I'm trying to find out.

I don't want to go on medication, and my dad doesn't want me to, but if that'll help then I'll fucking take the pills and like it. Side effects can't be worse than this feeling of hopelessness.

If it doesn't storm tomorrow I'm going to take my mom's bike and just go. It's supposed to be in the 90s but I can find someplace cool to aim for. If it does, I'll stay in and clean. And read that EBW handbook. And try and rewrite that poem for Deana's wedding, the first draft was shit.

My family is going to Niagara Falls this weekend, with my mom's best friend from middle school who's coming up from Texas. If I go, that means at least eight hours in a car both ways with Julia and Rachael yelling. But on the up side, I like going places with my parents. If I stay, party with my friends, no siblings, general freedom to hang out with my brother and no one breathing down our necks... but when will I get another chance to do anything cool with my family?

I should go to bed. I have a lot to get done in the near future. Not the least of which is figuring out what the hell is going to happen the rest of this month.

spare you the starship of doom. )
femmealunettes: (there is truth and love is real)
So my mom just got on my case about packing up to go back to college.

Which, you know, just fuckin' great. Awesome. Just what I need to be hearing.

I told her I'll be going back to college as soon as I get in to see someone who'll certify my sanity. Which should be right around the time Hell gets a hockey team, the way things are going.

So the sunlight improved my mood a little and gave me a killer sunburn, and I'm right back to the pissed off and depressed again in one fell swoop. And now with added mindless comfort eating. Albeit it's apples and watermelon, but three apples one night and half a watermelon the next? Probably not that bright.

I'm sick of sleeping on my stomach already. Waking up every time I roll over kind of sucks.

So tomorrow involves work, paperwork, paperwork at work, and then zucchini bread and Gary Oldman and Tim Roth-athon with Mandy. :D Yay for that, at least.

I just realized today, too, that the office is closed for a week this month while we're all in MA for Deana's wedding. (Which I still have to do that poem for, oh god.) So that's a week's pay I was planning on having off my credit card that I won't, hooray.

*crawls under a rock* I want to be eleven again, please.


Aug. 5th, 2005

  • 11:14 AM
femmealunettes: (will you love me if I'm a mess?)
My dad just walked by and asked why I looked like I wanted to cry.

I guess the middle of the office isn't the place for honesty. I didn't even know I wanted to cry until he said something about it.

When I came in, Amber was on the computer, so I just sat in the chair and shut my eyes. Some fucked-up combination of cut grass and wet concrete and the fans made me think about the beach-- I don't know how, but I could smell the salt, hear the surf, feel the breeze.

and I just want to go to the ocean and swim out farther than I can swim back in.

God, I'm so emo.

I woke up late today anyhow-- thought it was a Saturday, not a Friday, and woke up ten minutes past ten. Made it to the building ten minutes after that. Yay for efficiency, I guess?

I feel sick. Like I could sleep for a week and still be tired. That whole cutting myself open morbid mental image? Back again. At least the bruise is gone from my arm.

It's got to be hormonal, or something. There's got to be some reason behind this feeling that I just can't see. But I can't see it, and I'm miserable, and I can't make it go away.

I just want to go out to the Atlantic and swim until I'm too tired to swim anymore. And then stop swimming.


she broke away....

  • Aug. 4th, 2005 at 11:56 PM
femmealunettes: (will you love me if I'm a mess?)
Why do things never work when they should?

Why don't I work at all?

I just suck, basically. Yay for being a complete lazy-ass useless idiot.

I just love letting everyone down. Especially myself.


no no no no no no no no no

  • Jul. 30th, 2005 at 12:50 PM
femmealunettes: (I find it hard to take)
I had a dream about going back and starting classes and on my first day walking into a differential equations class to see Professor Wilson there, and he was pissed when he saw me, started kicking around desks, bascially told me I was a horrible student and I shouldn't be in the class. And I begged to be allowed to stay, so he pulled out this.. poem, or something, some coded piece of riddle about four Italians and he told me to decipher it, and I was crying and trying to read it and finally I made the jump that Logan means Wolf (which it doesn't, it means meadow, I just looked it up) and figured out that one of the men had stabbed the other and when I said it through choking tears he looked at me in utter shock, like a moron had just conclusively proved the theory of relativity wrong. Like there was no way I could have come to a conclusion like that.

And I woke up crying. I hate waking up crying, it puts me in a miserable mood and gives me a headache.

I don't want to go back. Nothing has changed.

Yesterday my dad went to deposit my check for me. I told him to deposit the whole thing, and he said "what, do you owe that much?" and I said "no, I just want it where I can't spend it" which technically isn't true-- I owe more than that, on my credit card, and there's a lot of pulling for BPAL through PayPal, but still it's not going to drain my whole check. And when he came back he handed me a bank envelope with "Danielle-- you're doing a great job. Keep up the good work! Love, Dad" written on it and $40 in it.

I don't know what he thinks I'm doing a good job at. pretending to be okay? I know he loves me, but now I just feel GUILTY. That he'd do something like that while I'm trying to fogure out how to tell him I'm doing the complete opposite of a good job.

This isn't going to be a good day.

bloody truths

  • Jul. 28th, 2005 at 12:28 AM
femmealunettes: (greater love hath no man than this)
Agh I hate needles hate them hate hate hate. But my bloodwork was quick, mostly painless (oh god I hate the feeling of HAVING A NEEDLE IN ME, ugh ugh ugh, didn't hurt but UGH), and afterward I got to sit outside and wait to be picked up next to a little old lady who confided in me that the mammogram room was too cold and she had "goosebumps bigger than [her] breasts!" Belgian roffles, yo.

And after all the fasting and crap for that, my mom still wouldn't stop at Dunkin Donuts on the way back. When I was little, I used to get french fries after every shot. Now I get blood drawn and I can't even get a bagel. xD She did make me an omelet when we got home, though. And I got to watch the Doodlebops before work. So score.

At work, jesus, ALL THE CRAZIES IN THE WORLD. I swear. Every single one of them. And Monika was like "I'm a ghost! Woooo." and ended up calling me fat. "Because the ghosts have dance parties in your stomach and that's why you're chubby!" So, yeah, that whole losing weight thing! :D :D *stabs small child in the head* Also, my mother is crazy. xD

Um. Lots of mail came in today... I got my BPAL shipment, omgyey! Tulszcha, which smells like doublemint gum if it were a perfect world and gum smelled that good, and Miskatonic University, which is delicious Irish coffee and old books. *writhes* Plus frimps, two of which went to Kristin's starter kit and onw of which I'm deathly afraid will go the way of Alice and Sudha Segara and turn into baby powder on me. I'm praying not, because it smells SO GOOD in the bottle-- Dana O'Shee, by the way, which is "milk and honey and sweet grains", and either milk or honey goes powder on me in the worst way.

Also, the DVDs my mom ordered for me came in-- Dead Like Me season two, which, woo, Callum Blue is one of those things that can lift my spirits any day. Hel-looo, reaperboy. xD

My aunt called tonight-- the one that's getting married in August-- and she came up with this thing where all of my grandmother's daughters and grandkids and her best friends will walk down the aisle with roses, and put the roses on the chair she should be sitting in, and then go sit down. As like, a preliminary part of the ceremony. And she asked me to write a poem to go in the program about how the roses are holding Grandma's place, and we know she's watching, and... I think I'm going to fuck it up. ._. I just can't... I can't even think about Grandma without getting all stupid and choked up. So this is going to be really, really difficult.

And everyone keeps asking about when school starts. And am I excited about going back. And I just smile and nod and lie, because how can I tell them all that "hey, yeah, I don't even know if I CAN go back, and even if I can I don't know if I want to." And I've been trying to type that for a full day now without being able to, so. There it is. I don't even know if I want to go back for the fall semester. Because from here it looks like I have to push a boulder uphill just to get back in, and that fucking thing is going to roll back down on me at some point in the term, I can tell already. And it's not worth the effort to get it up there if it's just going to go to hell anyway.

So, yeah. Still depressed. Still all fucked in the head. Still can't actually talk to anyone about it, because even typing it makes me start crying. Time to stop now, I think.


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