Used

I am beautiful. I am a strong, funny, smart woman. I will be extremely successful and rich in under ten years. I am passionate, loving, I can cook really well and I can suck dick better than all of those bitches put together. In other words, I am not an easy find.
I am worth more than how I've been feeling and the only person I am blaming is myself.

These are all things that happen.
...to woman.

I wrote this early January. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written....

"The month of January is always something different. January is a leader, a go-getter, a starter, a trend setter. So here I am in the desert of Southern California. This is where everything started in the first place; all the growing up, all the sorrow, loss, and the constant need to just get the fuck out.

My three years in San Francisco went relatively well. My heart broke twice; once when I first got there and once right before I left. I struggled with money from time to time. I lived in some uncomfortable situations here and there, and i had some shitty jobs. But all in all, it was awesome and I learned all the things I needed to. How to not need a car, how to eat well, how to not wear a pound of make-up every day, how to chill the fuck out with weed, how to just…have a good time, really.

So when it came time to come back to the desert, it wasn’t that I wanted to be here. I had a good opportunity financially and for some reason I felt that I had more support here. I felt alone in San Francisco, living with an ex in the foggiest, coldest part the city. I was fleeing some damage I had done. I was running from all the mistakes I made before anyone found out. A few older woman in my life told me they hoped I wasn’t relocating for a guy. I wasn’t, I said. I pleaded. I yelled, even. But I so, totally did. Paul made it all possible for me. And though I would soon learn that I did not love him, that I could not and would not, I stuck around. And for some reason he hurt me more than anyone else has ever hurt me before. How could that even be possible when I didn’t even love him? This is something that will always boggle my little, confused mind.

I know that woman often think of the things they’d do to defend themselves in hostile situations. It’s the kind of shit we think about in the long, late night showers we take to de-stress. We are woman, strong, strong, lovely women and fuck anyone who fucks with us, right?

Things don’t always go as planned when things hit the fan. All those made up scenarios that I rehearsed, that I promised myself I’d do just didn’t end up happening. It wasn’t that I was scared or worried if I was going to die or not, I merely didn’t want to exist. But i wished that for the human race, the entire world, the whole fucking universe. I wished that nothing had ever been created so all the hurt and heartbreak in the world just didn’t happen because nothing was ever created. So i curled up into a ball just like I did when I was a kid. To escape, to disappear. 

The cops, the restraining order, the court dates, the hatred are all to supposedly keep him away from me. But really, I am pursuing such things to keep ME away from him. I’m so annoyingly forgiving, so understanding, so caring, and nosey, really. I am still the victim, you are still the suspect, the only suspect, the one in the total fucking wrong, but I am doing this to prevent me from going back. It’s so hard for me to loose people that are still alive. I don’t know how to say goodbye to people who are still here on Earth. That might clear a lot of things up for many of you.

I am getting out of this desert as soon as i can. It’s tainted, evil, and cursed. There’s so much hurt and boredom. Every path is a dead end.

So in just a while I’ll be living in Sacramento where I will live cheaply, intelligently, and safely. I will finish school there, find a career there, and hopefully start a family there.

I want to thank the people who’ve helped me through all of this. Without you, I would REALLY feel like i didn’t want exist." 

How Could You Think That?

Okay. Okay. I've been writing a lot actually. I usually post it for about ten minutes and realize I shouldn't expose such feelings and information, so i keep all of this good work private, for nobody to read, forever. It's all really dark, sad, and heavy because I guess that's how ive been feeling lately, but not really at the sametime? Damn, who knows.

The trip I took to Northern California took more out of me than what I took out of it. I can't handle the cold anymore. My strong body has taken it's will to get through harsh weather away from me. So I curled up and cried. I was alone in that room, with the door cracked in case somebody noticed me and wanted to comfort me. I didn't want to ask for the attention because i've sort of lost that right with the people I was with and I didn't even know why i was crying. As my tears got more and more painful, I squeezed my body into a tighter fetal position, still shivering, cold down to the bone. Raphael heard me crying while he was in the bathroom and rushed into the room to see what was wrong.
"I guess I'm just cold and it's making me sad. I don't know."
"Look, Nay..."
"She doesn't bother me. You guys don't bother me."
"I can tell you're uneasy. I know you."
"You think I would of left you if you moving on would bother me?"

And that was closure for us for the hundreth time or something.
If I never see him again, this won't have to happen again. It's simple.

How open can I get on here? Who reads this anyway? Each day as the amount of viewers grow, I stare at the number like it will tell me who's lurking. It's fine, this is what it's here for. This is what I want. I'm just nosey when it comes to these nosey things.

Vicodin. Oh you lovely, available, easy drug...how I love the dazy, numbing, distant feel that you give me.

I sit here quietly in my quiet room. Boy With A Coin by Iron & Wine is softly playing from my desktop. This song takes me back to the Daly City apartment. Hell, maybe it even takes me back to their Fair Oaks apartment. Nonetheless, I can imagine us four in the mini van, singing, debating, smoking, whatthefuckever. Our mini van stood for so much more than what it really was. It got us to and from Hayward and Sacramento. It transported our bikes, our things, ourselves in the rain and wind. It all began with that big, blue van. And it kinda all ended with it too.  We all move on, some faster and easier than others.

Just when I thought I knew myself to the "T", I discover more things that totally explain myself to myself.  And that, my friends, is what life is all about. I love that I know myself well. It's comforting. Against popular thought, I like typical and predictable things because when you live a stoney life like I do, it's just easier.

Please never forget that I need black and white in order to get the point. And please know that I am actually trying really hard and know that I am being a good, good, honest girl for once.

On Moans and Thinking Straight

I am back in a better state of mind.

Things have been going smoothly, from what I am recalling. I've been dazed and stoned on the daily, but I'm not hurting anyone and nobody is hurting me.

I sit here, quietly in a quiet room. I am sipping on my late afternoon coffee that I get myself everyday before I leave work. Hey, my day has just started. My evening will go how it has been going lately; internetting, some cleaning, some smoking, and probably some sex. These are the things that have been grasping my sanity.
"I know I've said this before and I know anyone can say this, but that was the best sex I think I've ever had." I said.
and
"Nobody has ever fucked me like that." I said.
I meant it because I admitted that I know it's an easy thing to say. It's one of the oldest tricks in the book; ya gotta make them feel good about it all so they'll come back. Well, this one keeps coming back no matter what I end up saying. But we're all replaceable and nothing is unconditional. That's what I have to be reminded of.

I just want to speak my mind always. It's the language that I know best.

Styrofoam is blaring from my desktop. This song takes me back to the Daily City house, or shit, maybe even their Fair Oaks house. I don't know. But it definitely takes me to the mini van. Oh how I loved that big, blue van. It signified so much more than what it was. It was how it all began; getting to Hayward, transporting the bikes, and moving.

My life changes so much, so often, all the time. I have never met stability. Is she pretty and nice like they say?

Handicapped

I slept the wrong way for hours last night. I woke up with the most painful stiff neck I've ever had. I also slept in too late, but hey, I'm off tomorrow too, so I can stay up 'til the wee hours of the morning to make up for it.

Luckily I have marijuana, beer, wine, and vicodin to treat this neck. It will take it all away and I will feel better. Then I will grow numb and won't think about the things I don't want to think about. It's that easy, really. This is why I can't have children. I'm always a borderline addict, which is enough to make me a terrible, irresponsible mother. So that's why I cringe when people say I would be a kickass mom. Rabbits and boys I like are different. So much easier to take care of. 

It's later now and I'm about ready to leave. I took pictures and complained about my neck pain all day. I have a lot of make up on and my hair looks healthy.