The Devil and God Are Raging Inside of Me.

Ten years doesn’t seem like a long time. When you still refer to everything in the past as 2006. Ten years ago, man. Ten years ago. 2006 was such a pivotal year of growing up for me. I find myself going back to that year in photographs, nostalgia, and through listening to albums that seem like came out yesterday.

Ten years ago, I sat in my parents guest bedroom, staring out the window. I laid in my bed watching the clouds go from grey to slate. Hearing every cloud rupture with anger and sadness, as the rain fell from the sky. In a room I didn’t grow up in. In a room, I felt like I kept coming back too. I was in-between places, still trying to figure out what I wanted. This wasn’t home but Fresno wasn’t home either. Where do I belong? Where do I fit in?

Ten years ago, I didn’t want to go back to school. Even though I knew getting older meant it would be harder for me to do things. My odds were against me. I was finding myself fearful of people and a fear of my peers is what always told me not to go back to school. It takes me 10 minutes to get out of my car to do simple tasks, without feeling like the world was against me. I didn’t realize I was sick. I didn’t realize that this wasn’t normal.


Ten years ago, I let the wrong people in. I let people hurt me. I let people use me. I let people cloud my judgement of what good really was. Instead I harbored a pain so great that caused me to cut open my outsides, to understand what my insides were feeling. I was burning in this vessel of a body, with this need to please everyone. To be there for everyone, while people have done nothing but watch me fade in the background.

Ten years ago, I thought I was going to marry a variety of different people. A drummer in one band, a bass player in another. Plotting how one day they would look at me differently then they had in the past. That I wouldn’t be self-conscious. I wouldn’t be awkward. They would look straight into me, as I have looked up at them, many times before.

Ten years ago, I feel in love too easily. Always someone different. Always people I shouldn’t have loved. But I wanted to love as I always felt in the deep depths of my heart. How they play out in movies and we see on the big screen. I was hopeless in wanting something I wasn’t prepared to understand. In a way I used people. I just wanted what everyone else had. A hand to hold to keep themselves from falling apart. Because sad was better than lonely. And now I can’t remember the name of the first boy I kissed.

Ten years ago,  I wanted amazing things to happen to me. I wanted to stand in an open place and watch life happen to me. In a big city, miles away from my mediocre small town. Far from the same people I see every day. Maybe if for once instead of running, I would finally allow things to happen. Watch love open doors, see my careers unfold, watch myself change from strange into something beautiful. I waited forever for things to happen. I waited for people to move. I waited for things to happen. I waited too long and feel as if I am running out of time.


Ten years ago, an album came out that changed my life. I didn’t think it would. Many albums come and go and still I remember this as if it was yesterday. From the weather changing from the warm fall days to the chill of cold of the soon to be winter months. How it felt wrong to buy it from some mass production corporation, how I needed to purchase the album how I had purchased all their albums. Straight from the band, straight from the source. How I ripped open the package and watched my life change in front of my eyes. No one understands how that feels. How something so simple as opening a padded envelope could change your life in so many magical ways. How I needed to get out of my house and play every song loudly. Loud enough to where my insides would wake up. How every cigarette I smoked, I exhaled out the smoke and watched the smoke slowly leave my lungs open to the cold air. The rain kept falling, as this soundtrack continued to play. How perfect this seemed. My favorite band, playing the songs that for that moment I didn’t understand. It didn’t matter how many times the windshield wipers wiped my windshield clear, the rain still managed to leave a mark. Which is how I feel about this album. No matter how many times I try to wipe this away, a small mark still remains. I could write forever about every line in the songs. I could. I have. But today, I want to live in it’s memory.

Ten years ago, I didn’t understand. Ten years later, I finally know. We are not suppose to fit in. We are not suppose to be normal. Sometimes you don’t realize how bad you’re hurting until the years pass and you become someone else. Someone completely different then the person you were ten years ago. Its hard to come out of the darkness and back into the light. It’s hard to understand that even though we feel completely alone, we are never truly alone. Even when you think you can’t start over, life throws you something completely unexpected.

Today, I watch the rain fall from the sky to the tops of each tree and rooftop, from some place far from home. I think back on those memories. I think back to my sentiments and feelings.  Ten years ago, I had no idea where I was going. I stopped believing in love. I stopped believing in myself in the years in took to get here. I stopped wanting to marry the boys that would never love me. I stopped dying for a hand to hold. Ten years ago, seemed like such a long time ago. Now, I sit here wondering what happens next.

Ten years ago, man.

10 years.



It doesn’t hurt, I am okay.
No duele.

Jump to your feet.
Dust yourself off.
Pretend it doesn’t hurt.  While the tears are forming at the corners of my eyes.

No duele. No pasa nada.
It doesn’t hurt, everything will be okay.

Be strong. Fuerte. I am bigger than my cuts and my scrapes. Bigger then my falls and failures. Bigger then the embarrassment of the hurt I feel inside.

It doesn’t hurt, no duele.

It hurts. Straight to the core. In the deeper depths of my soul. I could paint the wound any color, but it never stops hurting. How strong am I suppose to be? How strong am I suppose to allow the world to see?

Levantate. No pasa nada. Pero todo duele.

Everything hurts. From my skin to my bones to the very depths of my soul. I have been programmed to make every scrape disappear. Every broken blood vessel nonexistent. But it hurts. It hurts every inch of my skin and I am too afraid to say so. I was brought up to believe that if you can’t see pain, the pain doesn’t exist. Cover up every cut, bandage every bruise and broken bone. If it’s not there, it doesn’t exist.

I will lie through my teeth. Clinching my fists to stop the tears from forming.

It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt anymore.

No duele tanto. Pero, duele suficiente.


Thinkin bout you.


I should have let you go a thousand days ago. Back to where you came from. Back to where you belong. If I close my eyes, I still see you. I still see the same episodes and replay these images as if they had happened yesterday.

Hit replay.
Hit pause.
Start it all over again.

I could never understand how a mind could become emotionally invested in something that isn’t there. Because you don’t see me, when all I do is see you. Why do we have to analyze everything? Why do we have to obsess over all the tiny details? Why do we care so much, when others care so little. If people are not meant to be in our lives, why do we obsess about them at all?

I can’t turn my mind off for the life of me. I replay these images and think about these thoughts, while thinking about you. I know I shouldn’t. It’s all a silly game our minds play that continue to play tricks on us. Because people in my mind are better then they really are in real life. These illusions we play with that pry on our vulnerabilities and existence. I give into it. I let it all go. Knowing very well I should have let you go a thousand days ago.

I am just another girl thinking about, all the insignificant consistencies of bullshit necessesites. I want to pretend that stupid signs mean everything. That everything means something. But it doesn’t. Instead I grow crazy just wondering if its all in my head.

It is.

But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know I should have let you go a thousand days ago. I know I should have, but I didn’t. Now I drive myself crazy with these thoughts of you. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I know I should stop, but I can’t get my mind to stop.

Do you think about me still?

Do you?

What it feels like for a girl.

Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about it.
Whatever you do, do not think about it.

What do I do? Of course, I think about it. It’s in my nature to think of everything. Everything I am afraid of. Everything I am running away from. Everything I said I wouldn’t think about. The more you think about it, the more you won’t be able to let go of it. Here I am thinking of every single detail. Every single insignificant thing, that makes no difference weeks later. I don’t know why I do it, but it’s driving me insane. Replaying moments that happened yesterday and analyzing things to see why I continue to do this to myself.

Do I bring this out of people?
Is there something wrong with me?
Am I really that awkward?

Its these insecurities that get the best of me. I am driving myself insane by overanalyzing everything, I can’t get my mind to stop thinking about. Every single moment is an episode that I can’t help but replay, over and over again. Dissecting words, going over every minor detail, and thinking of new ways to make things seem better. Because every word that comes out is wrong. Every thing I do or say, is always wrong. I can’t help myself. Is it me? Is it you? Is it the whole universe?  Am I just driving myself crazy? How am I suppose to act when I feel like I am tearing everything apart. It’s been so long since I’ve had interaction with people, perhaps I am a little rusty. I find myself fidgeting more than normal and I can’t help but feel even more nervous than before. This is perfectly normally right?


I am not crazy, but I sure as hell feel crazy. I can’t stop my mind from asking myself:

Did I say something stupid?
Did I say too much, or nothing at all?
Did I do something to make you believe something else?

People have a way of making you feel completely differently than how you normally are. How can I be so guarded when all I want is to tell my stories to everyone? And yet, words comes out like word vomit and I am saying everything that I don’t normally say. I don’t know how to act when I am around you. Have I always been like this? Do I normally act like this? There is always a part of me that believes I will never be good enough. These stupid insecurities that eat a way at my self confidence and drive me absolutely insane. If I had wore something different. If I had said everything I wanted to say. If I had looked a certain way, maybe I would feel less crazy. This is what it feels like for a girl. At least for me, and it’s absolute madness.

Stop that. None of that matters.

People who want to know you will keep the conversation going. Life may seem like one big popularity contest, but the right people will always find you. No matter what you wear, say, or do. No matter what you do, these little crazy feelings will always follow. We can’t help ourselves. Sometimes things work out, often times they don’t. But when they do, they are worth every moment. You can drive yourself crazy or keep moving forward. I think I will keep moving forward.



Some place good.

People have a funny way of disappearing. Coming in and out of your life as seasons change. I met you in the summer, and you lasted through fall and winter. By spring we couldn’t run away fast enough. We were so limited in our time together, and some days I feel like you couldn’t leave fast enough. You disappeared and expecting this all to go away. That leaving was easier than the need to stay. The winds of spring blew you away and the only thing I have left to show for it, are these scars of the coldest winter.

You weren’t suppose to leave, I was. I was suppose to tell you everything I felt and walk away from everything. You were suppose to have your heart frozen to stone and unable to sleep for weeks on end. You were suppose to replay my words until they become a recurring dream to you. To feel these words long after I have left. Haunting you like fog and disappearing through the clouds. You were suppose to be left with the corpse of who I used to be. But you left. You left and didn’t hesitate to look back. Here I am haunted by every word, as your face comes across every person I meet. You didn’t love me. As much as you implied it, you never once said those words. You seemed warm like fall but you were cold like winter. Never said a single word, unless it was to hurt me. I realize that now. After all these years I realized that what we had wasn’t love. And as much as I thought I loved you, in the end I knew deep down I didn’t. And it tore me apart. Because I wanted desperately to be with someone, to have that comfort in someone, but I knew it wasn’t you. I just wish it took me sooner to realize than later.

You were like all the seasons. Changing leaves to adapt to the ever changing weather. You only like someone for the moment when it’s convenient for you. Until you fly away and find someone new. I was a fool that believed in summer love that would last through fall, winter, and spring. I was stupid to believe that you would stay, when all you do is change color to who ever you want to adapt too. But this time I leave you in the summer. In the blistering sun and the swelling heat. Leave you begging for the fall and holding on for the winter. I can change just like you do. Only I change for myself and not anyone else. Thats something you haven’t grown accustom to yet.

You can watch the leaves fall. Changing colors from green to gold to brown to rust. Watch the winter rains swallow up the valleys and leave you gasping for more. I am not coming back, just so you know. I am not coming back. My summer skin has healed, now all I am left with is gold.


10/6/2015 – Day Thirty – One.

I keep thinking I am writing things down, when I am really just thinking things through. I have so many things to say and find myself just keeping everything inside. Even when I am thinking I am saying everything I feel inside, I find myself keeping everything inside. I don’t know why. I am not afraid of what people think of me, and yet I find myself afraid of everything. I am in a position in my life where I find myself trusting again. Finding myself falling in love with a variety of different people. However, I still find myself keeping things inside. Today, I lost it getting into my car.

You know how we have those days where maybe we shouldn’t have gone outside. We should have stayed home with the covers completely over every inch of our bodies. Thats how I felt today. That anything could break my heart into a million pieces. Even a slight change in the weather would drive a chill down my spine and break me into pieces. It could have been the wind that touched my skin, that would make me crazy. It could have been someone looking at a person beside me, that would have driven me insane. Here I was walking toward my car, already breaking my own heart. For no good fucking reason.

I was parked in a private parking lot, I knew very well that I was. Walking up to my car, I noticed something on my windshield. Thinking I had a ticket and then realizing it was a note stating I was parking on private property. My blood started boiling and all I really wanted to do was scream at the person who wrote the note. Scream at them like a fucking crazy person. I clutched the note in my hands, until my hands became a fist. I couldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t stop this feeling. I wanted to lose it on someone else, knowing very well that it was my fault. I wanted to blame someone for something I did. Because I was upset about my own stupidity. Embarrassed by my own actions. I wanted someone to feel my hurt and my pain.  Someone, anyone, someone that doesn’t even exist.

Instead I ripped the paper into tiny shreds and threw it on the street. That would show them. Those tiny shreds of paper represented everything I was feeling. It would mean I am screaming back at them, when I am not even sure who “them” is. I keep thinking I am saying things out loud when I am really keepings to myself. I think of all these elaborate posts. How the words flow so freely in my mind and I can’t seem to get a grasp of them on paper. Then I feel like such an idiot, a complete fool of a person. Who reads this? Who is listening and do they even fucking care? My heart beats so fast when all I want to do is scream out every obscenity I can think of and I don’t know why.

I can’t explain all this aggression. Some days I want to blame a variety of different things. I want to blame my depression, I want to blame my anxiety, I want to blame it on everything and everyone. Blame it on the past. Blame it on my present surroundings. Blame it on myself and my inability to keep it together. Some days it’s just easier to break my own heart. Easier to be the villain because thats how everyone treats me. Because even when you say nothing, everyone believes you’re hiding everything. I get those moments where I want to hurt people as they have done to me. Maybe my heart will stop breaking for once, maybe it won’t hurt as bad to be so honest. Maybe I will be able to rid myself of these feelings once and for all.

But at the end of the day, I am the one crying in my car in empty parking lots on private property. I am the crazy one. I am the one that can’t keep it together. I am the absolute worst and everyone knows it.


I have heard that how you live is a representation of yourself. How you are at home is a reflection of your inner being. This way of showing the world the part of yourself you don’t show to the world. At this current moment, at this current time, how I live in my surroundings is surrounded by clutter. Which I find rather odd. Seeing that I am a rather neat person. I can’t stand being around mess and chaos. Yet for the past couple of months, I have surrounded myself with this overly exhausting surrounding of extreme clutter.

I didn’t ask for this. It just sort of happened, then spanned out of control. Beyond my control. “I’ll get to it when I get to it”, is what I tell myself. Just save everything for tomorrow. Tomorrow comes, tomorrow goes, still the clutter remains. I’ll be completely honest, I hate it. I know this isn’t who I am. I watch the stack of papers go from 2 to 20. I watch the piles of clothes become larger and larger. Receipts seem to keep a permanent residence on the floor. Current mail and postage ready to be sent out, still stuck on chairs and tables. For whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to stick to a routine of fixing it. I watch the dust collect on the collection of things. Watch everything that has a place become the chaos that surrounds my room.

I’ll get to it when I get to it.

I wonder if this is a reflection of myself. Reflecting everything that I feel on the inside. This chaotic way of coming back to things, when I see fit. Waiting for things to happen on their own, instead of getting up and doing things. It’s been a few months of reflection and recollections. Growing up and moving on. Trying to piece back together the past, smooth out the present, to make way for the future.


I am just to lazy to focus on what is in front of me. Instead of cleaning up my surroundings, I am becoming suffocated by them. Each item is taunting me, eating away at my insides. Purchases, I should have never made. Clothes, I should have put away. Every little thing has a purpose and a place, instead I am watching it collect a life form of itself. This clutter is my absolute exhaustion, silently killing me. I want to rid myself of these material things, start over as a simple minded person. Pack up all my things in boxes and give them away. I don’t need anything as much as I thought I needed it.

I don’t, I swear.

The more I stare at this clutter, the more I wonder if it’s all in my head. If every single thing I believe inside, is really a reflection of what I see on the outside. What do I know. I watch myself collect more things, to place on top of more things, to hide how I feel inside. I grow tired making up excuses for my mess when I feel like a mess inside. I guess if you’re wondering how I feel, just take a long hard look at my room. Take hold of the notebooks, novels, notes, and envelopes, collecting dust. Take note of the broken hangers and the couple pairs of shoes on the floor. Watch as the tiny pieces of paper, continue to stay stationed on the floor. It’s not because I am busy, it’s just that I don’t know anymore.

This clutter is consuming me. This clutter is taking over my life. This clutter has to go, so I can finally move on with my life.


9/25/2015 – Day Twenty – Eight


If I don’t write this down, I will forget something. All I want is to remember everything exactly how it happened, how it felt. Not miss any single piece of it. Either way posting feelings in my head and down on paper, I am bound to forget something. I will forget feelings, placement, settings, smells, every little detail that make up moments that I am desperately trying to remember.

It’s hard to explain it to people. To people that didn’t live the life I did. That didn’t follow a band or a piece of music because they loved it. Nobody will understand that. How it felt to stomp your feet, clap your hands, and sing every line from your favorite song out loud for all to hear. You start remembering basement venues in sketchy parts of towns, filled with cigarette smoke. Remembering salutations and how fearless you felt at 17. Night thats went on forever, until the lights came on. I can’t talk to a single soul about it. I can’t ask someone how it felt to meet people or see places or conversations I kept in my head. Every day I want to forget but the melody brings it all back. It’s never how far I’ve come but it’s where I’ve been. How I got this far and why I keep coming back for more.


Going on airplanes in route to home, brings back memories of things that have happened briefly, but really was just yesterday. You can’t go back, you can only move forward. Yet things that happened so recently tend to come back like a distant memory. You think about everything and everyone. Moments, feelings, and how perfectly they wrap themselves up in a soundtrack of songs I used to love. A different variety of things but as you grow up, your heart forgets, moves on and dies just a little. I don’t remember why I hate the things of my past but yet I can’t help but succumb to the nostalgia of it all. I hated this band, I hated the people, I hated the music, because they brought back with these memories of a person I don’t recognize anymore. I get it. We all have to grow up sometimes. We all have to get jobs, pay bills and grow up from the fucked up kid from yesterday. But can’t we just pretend we are back there? Back to the 18 year olds wearing dark eyeliner and black hoodies. Back to this notion that we can stay 18 forever?

Peter Pan has his Neverland, where he stays childlike forever. Where do I go to be with the feelings of my younger self, with the wisdom of my adult self? I miss that. I can sing loud and along with the best of them. But still I miss that even as we get older we lose track of who we used to be. I don’t want to be 18 forever, but I want the feeling of pretending I want to. If I could take it all back I would. Take back the sounds, the wounds, the life in the memories. How easily melodies become soundtracks pierced together in our lives. How feelings go as season leave and yet we can’t forget them. Was I missing out or always there? The fear of missing something that wasn’t always there. The photographs you take and the feelings trapped inside of them. Am I missing out?

Stay 18 forever, so we can stay like this forever.

9/14/2015 – Day Twenty – Six

I don’t know what hurts more anymore, my head or my heart. I am moving in slow motion. My body is moving, I am making all the motions, but I can’t seem to get it together. I wish I could explain it. That I could explain every single little thing.  I am breathing out all this negativity and breathing in possibility. Some days just hurt more than the rest.


I keep thinking that being some place else would cure this insanity I am feeling. That being surrounded by sights, sounds, and people, would turn this all around. Maybe that’s why I crave human interaction. I crave this crash into a variety of different people, but its those same people that I fear. I fear them knowing how my brain works, how I tick, and all of my different vulnerabilities. Isn’t that the whole point of human interaction, to open yourself completely to someone else? At least that’s what I’ve heard. Trust people until they give you a reason not to. The past few years I’ve opened myself up to the possibility that people can be trusted. That I can open these layers of vulnerability and not have the fear of rejection. Not have the fear of being mocked for who I am and what I believe in. No longer fear my secrets and struggles, in the hopes of truly healing. If I have to be honest, keeping everything inside never did me any good. Its in those days that I want to express exactly what I am feeling to everyone. Then there are days I just don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to express how I feel. I don’t want to keep explaining how much things hurt, or why I feel the way I do. Some days I just want to be completely still and watch the world pass me by. Not because I am hurting, not because I am sad, but because its the only way I can truly be myself. I have gotten to the point that I have hiding places to keep myself away from people. To hide myself away until I feel capable to be associated with people again.

Paralyzed by thoughts, and they just keep on coming. It’s as nothing I do matters. Everything I am doing is wrong. I can’t find the words to make up how I feel, and I feel that I am failing again. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know how I will get there. I just don’t know anything, and maybe I never did. Its laying in this silence and watching the world go by. Watching as shadows change shape through the blinds. The sun illuminates brightly, then disappears to nothing. Hearing the commotion outside and yearn to be included. I don’t move, I stay here surrounded by thoughts and silence. I miss people. I miss faces. I miss simple conversations and every day things. I can’t reach people no matter how hard I try. I can’t comfort this feeling that everything I do is wrong. I’ve learned that through being alone, you want to be surrounded by people. Different types of people, people you don’t normally associate with. You want to be drawn to their positivity, their light, and all the possibilities of life. Everyone I have once shut out, I want to return to me. Because maybe all this loneliness, would feel differently from a different perspective. I am so used to people lying to me, pretending to be my friend. Pretending to spare my feelings, only to make me the villain in the end. I know to be vulnerable you have to trust people. Trust that anyone can disappoint you and to be okay with the consequences. I have so many things I want to say, so many things I want do, but I am crippled with fear and doubt.


I am afraid people will hurt me. I am afraid of being completely alone. I am afraid to trust people for fear of disappointment. I fear that the same people that call me their friend, will walk out of my life without any emotion. Sometimes instead of confronting my fears and doubts, I stay completely still. I stay quiet and don’t make a sound. Lay in this stillness and watch the world disappear. I know I can’t stop people from leaving. I can’t stop them from lying, or hurting me. I just know that in the end people have a funny way of surprising you. Good or bad. I just have to learn to live with that.



I was too young to understand what it means
I couldn’t wait til I could be seventeen

I don’t want to grow up.

I find myself rushing the natural order of things. I want the respect, the prestige, but I don’t want everything else that comes after. How can I be told what to do, but not understand all the reasons? When we’re young, we are in a rush to get older. Every thing is better once we hit a certain age. Life happens when you get older. Life comes together when you reach a certain age. Everything makes sense and nothing ever hurts. Reaching all those certain milestones in our lives. We rush to grow up, rush to get older. We want to experience every single thing we are missing. Because life out there is happening and we are missing it! Grow up to get older to tell these amazing stories about our lives. I couldn’t wait. I wanted everything and then nothing to happen all at once. The fear of new experiences and the reality of expectations. It didn’t matter what age you were, you were never quite a grown up. It didn’t matter how much you felt you were living, you still weren’t there yet.

I thought he lied when he said take my time to breathe

I wanted to bypass everything. Fast forward through the school years, jump forward to the years where I felt like something was actually happening. Away from this stuck feeling. Away from these four walls that no matter how many pictures are put up, they’re only there to be torn down. All the boys that I thought I would never forget and now I can’t even remember what their faces looked like. To my friends that said we’d be friends forever, now a days we don’t even talk anymore. All those things I thought I didn’t love, now I just want back in my life. I didn’t know that what I wanted then, would turn out differently in the end. What I thought I wanted changed through the years, to make me something I would have hated when I was younger. I crossed these bridges to burn them down, only to slowly patch them back up again. Only to rebuild the bridges brick by brick. I wish I knew then, what I know now. I wish that I could go back and start this all over again.

At Seventeen, I thought I had it all figured out. At any minute life would change before my very eyes, and I would be someone completely different.  I didn’t know all of this was the beginning. How silly and foolish to believe I could rush these memories. Rush these experiences, when now I am just playing catch up and make up. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. I thought I had everything I always wanted. Now I cherish every memory like a photograph sitting in a frame. Now I have to make amends that you can start over at any age, but you’ll never go back to being seventeen again.

And sometimes I miss it.

Now I wish I could freeze the time at seventeen