9/10/2015 – Day Twenty – Four


The weather has been changing. Before you know it, it’ll go from sunny days to overcasts skies. From summer skin to winter coats and layers. I hate the summer and it’s over exposure of skin, that I never feel comfortable showing. I am in no way a prude but my insecurities seem to make me more conservative. It’s a piece of myself I never like to show. Its this never ending process of learning to love your body, when you’re still in the process of accepting this skin.

I could lose all the weight and still feel self conscious of my skin, and the abnormalities of my body. I’ve watched my body go from big to medium to large again. I’ve watched my skin stretch and rest on different parts of my body. And all I’ve wanted is to cover up never show the world. Hide under layers of clothes to distract myself from what’s underneath. I wonder if I will ever get over this feeling. If being so body conscious changes over the years. They say it changes when you get older, but what if it doesn’t. I have to pretend to be comfortable and accepting, when I just want to rip my skin off. Take this image I see of myself that I know no one else can see, and pretend it doesn’t exist. I want to hide behind trees and behind overcast skies. Where shadows can mask my body and its abnormalities. We are praised for our bones and our skin that stretches over our skeletons. Sometimes when the weather changes you can’t help but remember this is a process. Bodies have this ability to change but I don’t feel like that.

I have become so comfortable with hiding at home and avoiding the outside world. Avoiding a million different emotions, in favor of hiding in this misery and self pity. It’s the heat that drives me crazy. That makes me believe I can’t be myself.  I can’t hide from the heat, I only expose myself more to keep from being hot. But in the cold, I hide behind layers of fabric to hide what I don’t love about myself.  I’ll never be perfect and I’ll never be pretty. I’ll be stuck under this skin that stretches for as long as I can see. One day I’ll be more accepting, but in this unforgiving heat, I can’t see myself pretending.

Inside out.


I stare out of windows so often, I forget I am inside. Forget that I am stuck inside when the world is outside living. How lively my surroundings that screech and scream in vibrant colors. And I find myself too afraid to notice. Afraid of the world that continues to go on, day after day. The vibrant colors that beckon me to come outside, but I am too afraid to listen. Too afraid to go.


It was the inside that allured me. The inside that called me home. The inside that kept me like an outsider, just wanting to go home. I am on the inside but I often feel like the outsider. That I am looking inside at everyone else. The sun goes from glowing to dim, and I watch light jump from building to house, through trees and even this window. The light it glows golden sparkling within the pinks and the violets of the afternoon. It beckons me. Calls out to me, to outstretch my hands to reach out and touch the sky. But still I sit, still I stay. You can call me out but I won’t play, call me out but here I stay.

I stare out windows so often I forget I am inside, but inside I stay.


Some Boys.

I wonder if you’re all the same.

The same thoughts, the same process, the same cool demeanor.  While I sit here wonder, analyze and change everything. I keep asking myself, what I should be doing. Should I be changing, should I be asking different questions, engaging you in what you want to hear? What am I doing here?  Should I be pretending to be everyone else, under a veil of vulnerability. If what you say and who you are, are completely different people, then who are we really? First impressions mean everything and yet we can’t help but pretend to be different people, hiding under veils of insecurities.

This feels stupid, this feels silly. This lack of self control is slowly going out of control. I calculate my actions so delicately and watch my words fall like chess pieces on the board. It’s all a game and we are all here for taking. What I want and what you want, and seeing how everything evens out. How strong and cool in demeanor you are and how I can’t help but gravitate to those ways. How mysterious the mystery of people really are. How a person can change how you look at things with out doing much of anything.


I don’t know you. For a brief second, I think I know everything. I don’t. I don’t know anything about you but yet I still want you around. I want to know what darkness harbors underneath your light. All I want is to take apart all your parts and see what makes you tick. It was easier with the other boys. It was easier with the legions of people before.  It frustrates me. It frazzles me. How I wish to pick everything apart but it takes the fun out of everything. The fun out of the adventure. The fun out of the story.  Giving me just enough to keep me coming back for more. All I want is a sign that this will be something. Something, anything from this over analyzing frustrated feeling. This lack of self control drives me insane and yet I embrace the challenge. This isn’t love, this isn’t like, but it feels like something like it. And I just can’t turn it off.

If they ask they receive. If they listen they will see. I wonder if all boys are the same, or if it’s just some boys. How some boys will sing their blues to anyone that will listen. Or is it just you.

Some boys don’t know how to love.


9/9/2015 – Day Twenty – Three.

I could spend countless hours being upset for all the wrong reasons. Most of the times I do just that. Become angry for things beyond my control, or angry for things I shouldn’t be angry about. I often forget there are other things bigger in this world. My hate and my anger over power all my light and I turn completely dark. I am the monster that is green with envy for a million different things. At this point, I don’t even know why anymore.

When you are hurting you forget about human kindness. When the paranoia of the world happens, you tend to forget about the kindness of humanity. You become angry with your surroundings, that has caused you to look differently at people. That life is meant to be used and hurt, and you’ve become very good at playing the victim. Lately I’ve played my victim role with pristine condition. I feel like everyone hates me for obvious reasons that I can’t understand. Hates me for every little thing that’s caused me to be paranoid toward everything and everyone. Everything I do is wrong. Everything everyone else does is always right. I can’t sleep when its these thoughts that keep me up at night. I watch people become ghosts to me and because I am too fucked up to listen, I allow them to be. At the same time, I don’t want my negativity to transfer to them. So I keep a close distance away from everyone until I no longer feel I am doing harm to anyone else.

Every so often people make you forget that. A smile from a stranger, a hello from a friend, something that shows you’re alive. Something that makes you feel alive, that people can crash into you and make you feel something. Something, anything. From this numbing feeling inside that takes away all your light. It’s not that I feel dead inside. I just feel sick. That a body snatcher has taken reign of my body and oozing out this sickening feeling. I hate it. It’s weird how simple conversations can change your whole mood. I feel angry for so many things beyond my control. Angry for the fact that I am angry. Upset over the fact that I can’t control how I feel anymore. Is this who I really am? Is this what sadness can do to a person? Make them a shell of their former self. I can’t be honest with people, with out terrifying them with reality. My reality is far more complicated then I show. All I do is go through the motions and cover everything up the best that I can.

I didn’t believe that anything could take away this anger. I was so overwhelmed with this feeling of darkness, I didn’t believe the light could come in. Somehow words snap you out of your feelings and before you know it you’re smiling again. Laughing, thinking, feeling human again. When you are seconds away from a meltdown, someone says the words to snap you out of that feeling. You feel it from your toes to your fingertips. Anything but the feeling you felt before. It’s weird how nice people are to you when you’re seconds away from a meltdown. As if they can sense all your problems and take them away from you. I guess I have been so used to everything going wrong that when things go right, I am afraid of what to do. All it takes is a few words from a stranger to bring me back to life. Sometimes that’s all we need to feel alive. Something to take away all this dark, even if it’s just for a little bit.

I didn’t have a meltdown today. I am slowly starting to feel like myself again.

9/8/2015 – Day Twenty – Two.


I was suppose to go to a baseball game tonight.

Everything was going to be alright. I printed out my tickets, laid out my clothes and had every intention of going. Anything to get out of the house and keep driving. Anything to clear my thoughts. But I didn’t want too. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. People will say it was because my team has been playing terribly, but I knew better.  When you’re depressed even the things you love become burdens in your life. Going to that game felt like a burden to me. I didn’t have it in me to go and feel stuck. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be alone, I just didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to go through this whole routine, this whole superstition.  I didn’t feel good, I didn’t feel safe, and for the first time, nothing felt right.  I hate admitting that. Admitting I have flaws in all the wrong times for all the wrong reasons. I just couldn’t bring myself to do something I loved, out of fear of my own emotions. I can’t control them anymore.

I drank for the first time in a long time last night. Drank just to keep my nerves from going insane. It’s weird how alcohol makes you feel when you haven’t had a lot of it. Maybe I am crazy. Everything that I once loved is turning into everything I hate, and I can’t understand it. I feel as I am not good to anyone. I have disconnected myself from the world and watching everything happen in fast forward. Alienating myself away from everyone. I don’t want my negativity to rub off on anyone. Therefore I keep everything to myself and just find way to pass time.

Anything, everything and moving on.


I was suppose to go to a baseball game and prove to myself, I could still do things that I love. Still have this feeling that at any moment I could fall in love all over again. Instead I opened the blinds and watched the sun rise and the sun fall from the sky. Cascading vibrant colors and begging me to go outside. It didn’t seem right to waste the day. Didn’t seem right to feel this way, but I did. I couldn’t help myself but continue to look out the window and watch the seconds turn to minutes and then minutes to hours. I don’t want to be here, but I’m too afraid too leave.

9/7/2015 – Day Twenty – One.


I spend a lot of time in my car. Which is normal to say the least when you’re living in the central valley or any other region in California. We in the State of California spend a lot of time in our cars. Our cars take us to and from places. Our car takes us where we need to be, from point A to point B. Being in my car after three weeks of walking and cab rides, makes you feel more isolated. I always thought walking was very solidarity, then when I get in my car I didn’t realize how much space I had. I found myself talking to myself to see if the words would fill the empty spaces in my car. Then I started to realized how much time I have spent in my car and it made me want to be home alone.

Obviously that is an exaggeration. The only instances where I feel any sense of privacy is in my car. From the moment I turn on the engine and start playing my favorite song, this is my time. I could lose track of time being in my car. Driving down familiar roads, getting lost in the melody of songs that intertwine with the street lights. It’s these moments when you’re heading home that you feel more alone with your thoughts. Alone with the sounds, the lights, and the lyrics that seem to carry you home. I could make a collection of songs the soundtrack to my life. All these moments spent in my car, filling all the empty spaces with thoughts I would never say out loud.

I love the way the road sounds in the dark. Giving into the soundtrack of melancholy you recite to yourself daily. Drive to a million places on a million streets but none of these streets feel like home. I could get lost here, there, everywhere. Get lost in the sounds that accelerate your heart rate. If my dashboard could talk, the thousands of stories of happiness, heartbreak and woe, it would tell you. My car knows all my secrets, all my fears, and all my wishes that I have wished upon a thousand falling stars. On the days where I can stand it. The space doesn’t bother me. I watch the inside of my car fill up with words, wishes and hopes for my next journey. On to next adventures and even more memorable journeys.

Lately, I don’t want to drive in my car. I don’t want to be lost in my melodies of my favorite songs. I don’t want the roads to lead me home. I just want to stay home and be completely silent. Be completely still and not think about a thing.

This is 33.

On October 31, I’ll be 33.

I’ll have a few more strands of grey hair. I’ll have another wrinkle between my eyebrows. Another year under my belt. Another year of adventures, experiences and memories. Another year that I survived from this mental hell that I feel daily. I could have died a thousand times, but here I remain among the living. I didn’t think I would live this long. I never expected life to turn out in the way that it did, but in a way life has a way of surprising us.

I will be 33. Further away from my 20’s, even further away from my teen years. Further away from my past and midway into my present. Yet, still I sit here feeling that I have cut myself wide open, exposing all this pain I feel before me. It’s hard for people to read it, it’s hard to people to hear it, and it’s hard for anyone to understand it. Still its hard to say that one day I won’t be here, and one day all I’ll be just a memory to my peers and to my friends. One day I will cut myself deep enough that it will let the light in. At 33, I feel too old to feel this way. Too old to continue feeling each and every single strand of these emotions. Every single pain, every single happiness, every single bit in the emotional spectrum. After 33 years, I am tired.

I spent my 20’s conforming to everyone else’s expectations of me. Doing everything that everyone else wanted and paying no attention to how I was feeling and how it made me feel. I closed myself off from the world and pretended that everything was fine. Getting into my late twenties, I spent those years making up and apologizing. Making it up to everyone that I’ve hurt in the process, apologizing for my actions and the way I am. Once again accommodating my life to everyone else’s expectations and needs. Because to people I am not allowed to be human. I am not allowed to make mistakes and to make attempts to redeem myself from these same mistakes. I am suppose to be happy all the time. I am suppose to make everyone else’s life easier and watch myself fall beneath and in-between the cracks. I have to apologize for being too vocal, too emotional, too contradicting, too human.  Nobody wants to hear when you’re hurting or upset. Nobody wants you to express your emotions in the only way you can. I’ve watched people fade into and out of my life, more times than I can count. I have seen people act differently around me or just ignore me.  I am tired.

All I do is find ways to apologize for who I am. That’s all I can muster up these days. I am sorry for being this way, sorry for who I am, sorry if I have hurt you in any way. I am sorry for my past and sorry for what spills into my present. I feel guilty for feeling all this pain. On average I feel like I am the worst person in the world and everything I do is wrong. I can’t help but feel like the worst daughter/sister/friend and everything I do is wrong. I apologize constantly and people may think it’s insincere but the reality is it’s the most genuine I can be.  It’s this paralyzing fear of letting everyone down and knowing I can’t do anything about it. Yet, all I do is spend the next year doing everything in my power to make up for my actions. All I can do is spill my guts out, out into the open for everyone to see. Truth is I am not okay. I am not even close to being okay. I am going to make mistakes until I can make everything okay. I am going to contradict myself. I am going to make plans and fail on them. I am going to hurt, cry, and fight myself through all of this emotional bullshit. I am going to be honest about how I feel. I am going to admit to myself that it’s okay to be selfish. It’s okay to say “No” every now and again. It’s okay to feel this hurt when the whole world is telling me it doesn’t exist. I can’t hide these scars anymore than I can hide my feelings. Long sleeves can’t hide scars, when all we have left are our hearts on our sleeves. I can’t sit and pretend it doesn’t hurt when people pretend that how I feel or what I am feeling doesn’t exist. Because it’s a part of me that I can’t escape.

At 33, I just want to be selfish. Say “No” to a lot of things that do not fit in with my life. Start accommodating myself to my own life. Stop apologizing for who I am and just find my own ways to be happy. At 33, I am not going to feel guilty about my emotions. I am not going to feel bad about who I am, when I know deep down there is good inside of me. At 33, I am going to do things that are going to make people upset but they are not living my life, I am. At 33, I am going to be okay with people leaving because I can’t make everyone happy. And at 33, I am going to do everything in my power to find happiness in everything that I do, even if it kills me, even if it scares me, even if it gets me out of my comfort zone. At 33, I am going to be okay, I won’t be perfect but I know I’ll be fine.

This is 33 and I’ll gladly accept the charges.

9/6/15 – Day Twenty.

I gave myself a break. Where I didn’t think about anything with the exception of what is in front of me. Something simple. Something sweet, anything to occupy my time away from these thoughts. How do you explain that one day you woke up hating everyone and their existence? That words from everyone close to you, make you shudder and shut down. Or that you can’t explain this need to be alone but you need to be. Why can’t words match what you feel in your heart?

People already think I am crazy, what’s more insanity with a little more misunderstanding. I don’t blame them for thinking that way, they’re only thinking what they can’t understand. I feel so misunderstood lately, that no one really understands me.  Not that it matters. I just don’t feel like painting my face like everyone else, when its not how I feel. I can’t force a smile when those are not the feelings I feel inside. Explaining yourself when you’ve run out of words to say. Its easier to talk about the weather, than say exactly whats wrong.

Half of the time I am not even sure whats wrong, and I am not sure I even want to say how I feel. But today I moved back from those feelings and washed those feelings right out of me. After a few days of living in my filth and not wanting to release these feelings, I am ready to start. Clean, brand new. Find new dreams and polish off the old dreams. Everything else just give it time to regroup itself. Through marathons of old shows and starting over with new shows. I watch what I love and what I fear, keep time with itself. Slowly coming in, side by side. I know I can’t hide from the world. I know I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. What I love and what I fear, will eventually walk side by side. Its then that I’ll admit that this pure fear is knowing that being alone is my burden and my strength. Every day I get closer to overshadowing my fears. I feel myself getting stronger. I feel myself getting better.  But everyone thinks I am crazy. That I have always been the crazy one.

It’s just hard to make someone understand, what they’ll never understand at all.

The ghost of you and me.

Disappearing is easy. You fall through the cracks and blend in with your over powering surroundings. If there was a how to guide of “How to disappear completely”, you’d have written all the books. It’s always harder to forget but you’ve made it easy to remember. You become a ghost of your former life, just a fragment of a story people tell at parties. The person you were and the person you used to be. All of which have nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with who we’re trying to be.

I can change.
I can be what you want me to be.

You didn’t have the time to wait and I didn’t have the strength to see myself. Through the darkness, the trenches, and the misery. That was then. People can change. I can change and I tell myself  constantly. I can be better then what you want me to be. I can be perfect. I can be happy. I can watch this madness take over my veins and infect my bloodstream, pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend that ghosts stop haunting even after the sun comes up. I was never good at hiding and you were never good at pretending.  Even I can’t pretend as good as you do.

Then you fail miserably.

Before you know it you’re right back to the drawing board. Reinventing yourself. Hiding all of your past failures and pretending a part of you didn’t exist. It breaks you up inside, but you never tell anyone. You bleed, you fall, and you never tell a single soul. You hide every flaw so perfectly, just as well as you guard every inch of your heart. You disappeared into the fog and like the mist you reappear. Reappearing only a fraction of the person you used to be. So hollow and vacant and still, I can’t help but want all of you.

I was wrong for everything. Wrong for wanting the imperfections and expecting perfection. Wrong for believing in changes that actions could never deliver. Wrong for believing in the ghost of you and me and all the memories that followed. Still I wanted it all. Everything and in-between. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I wanted more than I deserved. Still I wanted ghosts to reappear in the forms of you and me. But I can’t have you. I can’t be who you want me to be. The more time passes the more you become what you always were. A mystery to the people that you surround yourself with. Like the ghost you were, you disappear completely.

I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t need you anymore.
I don’t want anything to do with you.

Disappear and take all my memories with you.




9/2/2015 – Day Nineteen.

I am not here.

My things are here but I am far from here. Can you grow up in a course of a few weeks? Can you change your perception of things in the course of a few days? As I sit and look at everything in my room, I have never felt so detached from things. Its as if all these things were placed without my permission. Without my knowledge. I am seeing everything and wishing everything would disappear. I wonder why did I care so much for these material things, when I don’t need them. I look at these things collecting dust and filling up empty spaces with clutter, and wonder, why?

I want white walls and bare spaces.
I want a simpler way of looking at things.
I want to take everything I have and get rid of it all.

Take everything and give it all away. Nothing in this space feels like me anymore. Take every last piece of materialism and give it to someone else. It’s not welcome here.

I can’t hide forever. I can’t keep pretending that at any moment all these things will disappear. That someone will come and stake a claim on everything. Everyone deserves the world and to leave me with the scraps. I just don’t want anything anymore. Everything must go. As much as it pains me to unpack, I have to resume as everything is normal. That everything is okay. Even when it’s not in place.

The clothes back on the hangers, the socks in the drawers, and the toiletries back in their rightful place. But it still feels like I am gone. That I am going through the motions. I could state at the ceiling, wrap myself in blankets and wish it all away. We all know wishes don’t come true. As much as I close my eyes I have to wake up into this chaos. Separate what I want from what I need and hope with it comes bare spaces and white walls.