Snapping Cords.

It’s still a battle.

No matter where we live, how we are, it’s a battle.

Our personalities have clashed. The only reason why I don’t believe we have ripped each other’s throats out is by sheer luck.

I certainly would have by now. My personality’s so abrasive and violent in nature. I don’t know what holding me back.

All I know is that there are several things holding me back. Several small strings.

Every once and a while, a cord snaps under pressure. Rarely are the cords simply just cut as if by knife, razor, or scissor. Rarely, but it happens. More often than not, it’s as if someone were to take a nail file and rub it harshly against a cord. The cord doesn’t snap, but it becomes more fragile each second while the weight of my body continues to pull upon it. Sometimes the pressure is too great and one will snap. I cry for a little while. Only a few cords are really secure. 

The cord for my dad is strong, only because it is a metal cable. A rather thick one. But even that cord has seen many hard days and has rusted, broken, and snapped in some places. The main heart of the cable is still intact, but for how long I’m not sure.

My emotions- mainly fear- are the ones that keep me alive the most. I live out of fear if I were to break all of the cords at once, how would the people around me react. I live out of fear of breaking my dad’s heart. I live out of fear of people ridiculing my decision. 

Suicide is beautiful.

It is also a disgusting demon that will plunge my soul into hell. 

People really don’t believe me when I say I am what I am.

When I say I have what I have.

When I tell them I have these thoughts.

I don’t even believe myself anymore. 

Then why do I sit here, crying, unable to keep this flood from drowning me?

Most of my panic attacks happen the same way. Silent crying mostly. I lay on my back sometimes and contract my stomach and curl into a ball until the pain subsides. Other times, I begin my ritual and pick up the blade, then rock myself until the crying stops and the bleeding is mostly controlled. Sometimes I sit on the floor crying uncontrollably. 

Some people tell me to grow out of it. Be an adult and welcome to the adult world.

They have no idea how much I wish I could. It’s just too daunting for me. I wish I didn’t have these demons haunting me every where I go.

I can’t even go to my big lectures anymore without feeling horribly uncomfortable. 

I’m not meant for this world.

I’m not meant for this life.

I’m so disgusted with myself. 

I can’t.

I just can’t.

Why can’t I?

It’s horrible. 

My head hurts too much. 

Too many voices. Even my family rejects me. How can I live with myself?



I don’t think I can do this anymore.



Weather’s Crack Baby

Well, sore throats and fevers aren’t really fun.

Netflix and cat videos are though. 

I just wish that this sickness could have waited one more day to settle in. Wednesdays are busy days and there was stuff that I needed to do. Like quartet rehearsal, which has now been moved to Friday. 

Also, there is a dude. An awkward dude, but I find it endearing. 

He’s a fellow music major, a year younger than me, and a trumpet player. Wow does this sound familiar…

Sans music major part.

But the awkward part is definitely true. 

It’s one of those he didn’t catch my eye right away, but now I can’t look away.

At the same time, I really don’t want anything to become of it.

I do not want another Sean. Not at all. I want to be done with that chapter and avoid all books that make references to that chapter. 

I can’t go back to that, otherwise there will be relapses and everything and I want to be done with that.

I have improved in the past few weeks. I’ve pretty much taken myself off of the Zoloft which has been very beneficial. I feel much more like myself. Next time I visit the doctor, I’ll probably switch back to citalopram. It’s a much less active drug than Zoloft and I feel like while some day I would like to not be on any anti-depressants, today is not that day. I just need a little help to get the edge off. 

Also, I’m not sure if I’m ready for anything of the romantic sort. I still need to focus on me. And saxophone. Or Dr. Tse will have my ass. 

And Calvin, Dennis, and Michael won’t be happy. Boo responsibility. 

My eyes just hurt. So does my head. I’m still in a war. I know what I don’t want now, which is a start.

I don’t want another Sean.

I don’t want another guy that friends tell me I can do better just based off looks. I don’t want someone that I feel like I’m dragging the beginning with my teeth. I don’t want to introduce a guy to the world again. 

I’m not saying I would be doing that with this new kid, but that’s just it. I just called him kid instinctively. Ugh.

I want someone who I can stand side-by-side with and feel like equals. That I feel like the effort is equally distributed. That I feel like could take care of me.

That’s the most important part.

I don’t want someone who’s immature and can barely take care of themselves. I’m a very independent person and having someone be so dependent upon me is so awful. I feel so suffocated. I’m alright with that relationship with some people, but with my boyfriend, that should not be a… thing. It shouldn’t exist. 

With Sean… ugh, it makes my stomach ache more than this sickness is already upsetting it. Sean didn’t have many friends before we started dating. Sean’s confidence burst. Even after we broke up the first time, he became more outgoing and was hanging out with people outside of school. When we got back together, that all changed. He went back to his old self, just asking me when I would be over and when we could hang out next. It was nice that he was so enthusiastic about being with me, but when he flat out told me that he still didn’t have friends after a month of being at college, I had to take a stand. 

It sounds so contradictory. Most girls want a guy that’s going to text them through the day, whether it’s a lengthy conversation or just a “hey, thinking about you sweetie.” Most girls want a guy that the best part of his day is when he hears his voice and for him to tell them that. Most girls want a guy who when they’re just driving in the car to look at them and say “you’re so beautiful.”

I hate that.

I hate it.

I hate it.


It’s too much pressure. It’s too… mushy. It’s too fake for me. 

I don’t care if it’s true, keep it to yourself.

It’s harsh, but seriously. I’m known to be an abrasive person at times. 

I will always go back to my first love. Ben. It just set such a high standard for me. Sorry, I know people hate being compared to exes, but seriously. This guy just got me.

We would talk every night on the phone. Usually for about an hour. Sometimes less, sometimes more. We would talk about anything and everything. We would talk while doing homework. Sometimes, words weren’t even said, we would just sit in silence and do whatever, just knowing the other person was right there. It sounds so incredibly stupid, but it worked for us. For a year and a half, it worked for us.

Still my longest relationship to date. 

Granted, we fought a lot. There were nights where we’d hang up angry at each other. He hated going to bed angry with me, so he would call me within a few hours of hanging up. I didn’t care though. I could just allow the thoughts and feelings fester beneath and go to bed. I wake up the next morning, we’d talk about it at some point durning the day, and it would be over with. That really bugged him, but that’s kind of how I work.

I can’t stay angry with people for long. I don’t know why, I just don’t. It doesn’t bother me, though. It also helps that I’m not afraid of confrontation. If I have a problem with someone, I’ll think it through, consider the situation from both sides, then approach them about it in my best behavior. Or, I at least try to be in my best behavior. 

But Ben was too controlling at the time, especially for a dude that was moving from our hometown to someplace 2,000 miles away. 

Yeah… no. 

He was a little clingy. And like I’ve said, I hate clingy. 

I should clarify.

Of course I want the guy I’m with to want to be with me. I want him to want to spend time together. 

But he has to have his own life. He has to be okay with me having a life of my own. Is that so much to ask for?

Don’t answer that.

Never answer that. Especially if I’m the asker. 

But I’ve been blade-free since… oh wow. I can’t even remember. This is a good sign. 

I’ve set down the puzzle and bracelet making for a few days. My computer has been in the repair shop for the past week so I’ve been a little deprived. I’m Binge-surfing now. 

That’s probably a real thing I shouldn’t joke about it. 

Yup. Definitely a thing.

… according to 

…. yes. 


And not a single fuck is being given…

I’m excited to go home this weekend. Mostly because the overwhelming amount of laundry in my room has been causing me much grief and anxiety and I lack quarters to do laundry here and yay college.

But then this bitch Q storm is like “fuck your plans and become my crack babies.”

Well, alright.

I’m sick of crack, but I don’t really have a choice here.

Snow. Snow. Snow.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

One big reason why I would like to take my sister’s offer and move to LA.

My mood and the weather.

I’m a crack baby to the weather.

The 50-50 Tomorrow

Why are we all angry.

Why are we all bitchy.

Why do I look way too much into things.

I know I’m the least liked of the roommates. 

I know I am. I’m hard to live with. I’m forgetful, I’m stupid, I’m riddled with problems.

I fucking hate my life here.

It won’t change anywhere else I go.

I hate my life.

I’m so drained. I’m so empty. And I can’t keep it to myself.

Why can’t I keep it to myself.

Why did I have to blab about this blog. Do I really want people I know to know what my real thoughts are? No, I really don’t. Every time I try to tell them, it makes them uncomfortable and they push me away.

That’s why I’m the least liked of everyone.

That’s why I hate myself so much.

So here’s to tomorrow, the 50-50 shot day: Either I’m starting new; new look, new attitude, new me; or I’m starting the giving process before I end my life. 

An Exhausted Beginning… Maybe.

Alright start to the week.

That’s a lie.

I didn’t go to my first class today due to anxiety. I was freaking out over how long this day was going to be. And how I didn’t feel prepared for any of it. 

Then I didn’t go to Chemistry. Well, I plan on dropping that class now. And that’s now on the fence. 

I had decided that I was going to go with music. The option #3 as some of you may remember. The one I was leaning the least towards earlier. Now, I’m going to do it for the rest of my life. This is because I’m an idiot and I’m an idiot. 

I’m an idiot for some of you that missed that.

And then band just made me tired. My embouchure sucks in general. It always has. It’s just now with this whole new set up that’s really not that new but new to Dr. Tse, he can analyze my embouchure at a whole new level and I can’t hide it anymore. It’s nice because I’ve always wanted to fix it, but I could see the pain of my playing all over his face. He even told me that it was hurting him listening to me play because I was so tired. 



My life is just neat.

Super duper neat. 

On a brighter note, I have been keeping my room and other things very organized.

But back to this morning and this day.

My dad didn’t call me this morning because he was talking to my sister and got called in for jury duty. 

I panicked because I had called him yesterday and hadn’t gotten a response back (which he’s usually pretty good about) and no call this morning.

So I cried in my shower. Pathetically. I cried because I was freaking out and had no one to talk to. 

And I was worried. Stupidly worried. 

So, amidst my freak-out, I got ready. Something else that has been causing me great stress is the fact that on Mondays I don’t have any time to eat. I had gotten up early, but then lost track of time and was running late. I was stressing out so much and was hungry that I decided to skip my first class to eat. 

Those two eggs I had have been keeping me going all day. That and some cashews I bought an hour before my lesson. I ate a few of them. Now I’m not hungry at all anymore. More so due to anxiety than the cashews being filling. 

I went to some classes. Group piano 2 was alright. That class is pretty boring for me. The only reasons why I’m in that class was because my fingerings for my scales were off a little and I was so nervous I fucked up my sight reading.

The “sight reading” we do in our class is silly. It’s nice to have a class that I really don’t have to worry about at all, but at this point, I would just like the free time that class fills. Although, it does make sure that I’m playing piano at least 2 days of the week.

Here’s the gist with me and piano.

If all was “right” in the world- i.e. my mom hadn’t passed away when I was younger, my family not going through a financial crisis- I would be a piano major now. I don’t doubt it for a second. 

The reason why we stopped when I was a kid was because my mom died and my dad thought we needed some time away from it. That makes me sad, because I wish I had never ever stopped. Ever. 

I started lessons back up again when I was in junior high. It wasn’t the same though. My new teacher didn’t push me as much, so I wasn’t as driven. I would work on pieces for months that should have taken me maybe a couple of weeks. 

Story of my life now.

But piano is always and has always been my escape. Yes, I love playing in ensembles, I love my saxophone, I love(ish) clarinet, but piano….

No one ever had to tell me to practice. In high school, the piano was in my room. I would come home from school, jam out for at least an hour, then go about my evening. Piano is my one true love. It always has been and always will be. But I lost too much time and am far behind those in order to really pursue it professionally. 

Band was tiring. I’ve just been drained all day. I’ve been sick to my stomach and been having head aches. I’m so tired the whole damn time because of my anxiety. I’m losing motivation to go and do things- important things. 

Then I half-assed my way through my lesson, leaving me far more drained than before trying to stay focused and trying to play well. Niether happened. And since Dr. Tse could see my exhaustion, I just made him frustrated with me and now here I am. Here I am sitting outside the school of music, waiting for 6:30 to roll around so I can go to an event for a professional fraternity I plan on joining, then I’ll go home, do some baking and homework, work on my puzzle, maybe make a bracelet, then fall asleep watching ASMR videos. Again. 

Then tomorrow, I have to have the Dean sign an add form for me so I can register for my quartet, I need to pick up an application for a job, I need to practice, I need to do homework for Thursday, I need to go grocery shopping, I need to call my dad and request for some money so I can pay my university bill, go to class, then go to a Mardi Gras celebration at our Newman Center where I will be donating 8-inches of my hair. 

My hair has gotten so long. Tomorrow, I will straighten it to remember what it’s like. Tomorrow is the last day before Lent. Maybe this Lenten season I can make some changes in my life- some changes for good. I’m getting closer and closer each week. Each day. I just need to get into a good routine- one I can stick with. I’m so obsessed with routines. 

I just need to find my routine. My new one. My perfect fit.

Today was draining, tomorrow probably will be too. The rest of this week will be too. I need to find some meditation. Something to help me center myself. I feel so out of control all the time. I’m blindly stumbling past each day just trying to feel for the nearest wall before it finds my face first. 

As for dinner now, I feel the need to eat, but at the same time I don’t.

I want something fresh. Something light.

Like sushi. 

God damn do I love this city. And the fact that this mall has a small sushi joint right across from the school of music.


God. Damn. Sushi.

Cheers to new beginnings, to hopeful tomorrows, and being absolutely exhausted for all the wrong reasons.

Every damn one.

Dynamite to the Citadel

I’m very sorry for any unfortunate soul that reads this atrocious blog. I really am. Especially since I really only seem to write when I feel out of control.

I tried to make a promise to myself.

I wasn’t going to cut until after band prom, since my dress doesn’t have sleeves.

Guess who’s going to be wearing a blazer over said dress now?

Of course, I think I scared my friends that went shopping with me. I was very reluctant to share a dressing room with them due to some still-healing cuts on my arms. Once they were urging me to try on the shirt I picked out, I thought ‘What the fuck’ and acted like the cuts were invisible.

I didn’t look at their faces. As soon as the shirt was on, it was back off and I was changing back into my other shirt. Then came the trying on of dresses.

I don’t think she meant anything other than what she actually said, but I couldn’t help but pick apart these few sentences one of my friends said to me: “You can wear a blazer over that[dress]- like for saxophone studio, even band prom.”

I took it as: cover up those scars. No one wants to see that.

It’s partially true.

I realize it makes most people feel uncomfortable. I don’t mean to upset them.

But I have a love/hate relationship with them.

I hate them because they represent my weakness, my hatred, my self-loathing, why I will never be good enough, why I am disgusting, and that I’m still alive.

I love them because they represent my strength, my will, my determination, and that I’m still alive. They fascinate me like how people are fascinated by murder stories. They’re disgusting, vile, and horrible, but they show so much about human character.

I seriously don’t mean to cause any disruption amongst the people here. Yes, I want them to take me seriously, but I don’t want them to be upset about my life or my decisions.

I see it as a logical answer. To most people, that sounds twisted, deranged, and sick. To me, it’s pure logic.

I honestly don’t have a will to live. The best thing I have right now is my dad. To be completely and 100% honest, he’s the only reason why I’m still alive today.

I live because he has lost so much.

A long time ago, we were driving down the interstate. He was taking us to school. He told us that if we weren’t here, he would have killed himself by now. He would have killed himself because our mom wasn’t alive anymore. He was so sad, so lost, he wanted to just be reunited with her and be found again.

He has called me a coward in the past for being suicidal.

Suicide is something I have been contemplating for 8 years now. That’s crazy.

I’m crazy.

Back then, it was cowardly. It developed. It never really left. I’ve always had problems. I either brush things off that I should consider more or I over analyze every situation. It’s two very different extremes. And when I put things off, they hit me once I begin the analyzing process.


People would back away if they knew what was to happen. If I were to commit suicide tomorrow, people would say that they never saw it coming. For most, this would be true. For a lot of others, they would shame existence to say such cowardly things. A select few would feel guilt and blame themselves.

I should be the guilty one. But at the same time, I don’t.

There’s only one person I know that has actually read this. I think that they only read it when I post about it on tumblr. Both times, they have reached out to me. But I can’t talk to them. I can say every exact thought here because this isn’t human, it’s only me, and I’m getting pretty far from human these days. My life is so insignificant.

“No it’s not! You’re so important to so many people! Think of all the lives you’ve touched!”

Okay, but not so much that if they never had me in their life, they would know what they were missing. Because there really wouldn’t be anything to miss. I see the world for what it is. I see that there are 7 billion people living on this planet and that while I have friends, while I have family, life goes on with or without you.

I miss those that have died in my life. Mostly my mom. And really, I’m just angry that she isn’t physically here for me. With me. She died when I was so young, I constantly wonder how my life would be different with her here. Would I be going through these trials right now? Would I listen with heartbroken contempt as my friends gush about their wonderful relationships with their mothers? Would I already be dead?

My sister, though she would be angry, I know she would eventually move past it. She has a life and future ahead.

My dad…

He calls me most every morning. I try to sound like I’ve been awake, even though he wakes me up now. I lie when he asks. I live for those morning calls. They may not be the “best part of my day” or anything, but I live for them more so for the fact that….

How crushed would he be when he didn’t have his little girl to call every morning. That’s why I’m still alive. That’s why even though I google almost everyday of ways to kill myself and I have compiled quite an extensive list, I don’t follow through with any of my findings.

I don’t live for anything else. Just for the fact that I can’t break my dad’s heart. I can’t.

That man should be given a fucking medal.

I’ve been really into making friendship bracelets lately. I’ve made smaller ones for friends and such. They don’t take too long. The one I made for myself though, did. Many of my friends compliment my color choices, often making remarks about how it looks “Native American”.

There is so much symbolism behind this bracelet, it’s scary. So much. Every color has a very specific meaning to me.

I wonder if anyone will actually ask me about it sometime.

I wonder if I’ll actually answer it truthfully.

I lie about most things nowadays. It’s just easier.

It would be nice though to have some total, random person that I know but not enough for me to think they would really want to know much about why I chose some colors for a bracelet ask me about it.

If it was someone I would be expecting, I would lie. I would flat out lie or brush it off.

Someone random though, that I don’t feel like I have built and burned too many bridges with, I feel like I could tell.

Someone new.

I just wish that I could stop lying.

I’m done building bridges and burning them then building them again. I done trying to let everyone know I’m “fine” when I’m not.

This is not just another fire. This is a spark.

A spark that’s going to blow this whole damned citadel up.

The Alcohol-Free Shit Show

Tonight was to be titled “Shit Show” for the shenanigans about to and currently taking place at my friends’ apartment. While I did partake in the celebrations, I came out less than tipsy, even after 4 cups of a mix drink and several rounds of a game called boom where you chug beer.

I’m not sure if I’m alright with this or upset.

Part of me is totally okay with this. I’m functioning pretty well right now, I won’t be hungover in the morning (and if I am, I demand a fucking refund), and I have a busy day tomorrow that I want to be able to do stuff for.

I’m upset because I wanted to forget myself for a night.

Not only was I abruptly reminded of who I see myself as, my friends proceeded to remind me as well.

I shouldn’t take this out on them for they were all pretty drunk and my current mental state leaves me more than vulnerable to take things to another level, but my mind can’t get over it. It won’t.

So here I am. 

I am proud of myself for at least one reason today though.

I began my ritual and then stopped myself.

I was about to, but I didn’t.

I know I’m undergoing withdraw symptoms from Zoloft. I know it. 

My life is too chaotic right now. My room is a very accurate representation of my life.

My laundry needs to be done. I have one of the blinds from the living room under my bed. I have hats and scarves from this week on the floor as well as pillows and wrappers.

I’m so neurotic.

I can’t be a fucking doctor.

I wouldn’t want my doctor to be like I am.

I’m so screwed up.

My roommate has this new guy. He’s tall, cute, and really good for her. I’m happy for her. He brought over some friends tonight. One of them was also very cute. 

I just can’t talk any more about this.

I don’t want to even think about trying anymore. I’m this messed up, washed up, piece of left-over shit. I can’t look at myself in the mirror without seeing my disgusting self for who I really am.

No one can love this, my scars, my mind, my worthless talents (how very nonexistent they are.)

I’m just so tired.

I’m just so tired of everything.

I need something fresh.

The Newman Center is becoming that more and more for me.

But how long will it be before I get tired of that? I’m not even sure where my faith stands. A large part of me declares and proclaims my “faith” to reassure my status among my friends and peers at the center, yet another laughs in their face for being so “naive” in my eyes.

I’m the naive one.

I’m the one being played by everyone around me.

I’m the alcohol-free shit show.