the pills

the boyfriend and i have been fighting a lot lately. its cause this whole deal with us is so dishonest it makes me sick half the time. its like im silent throught the bullshit cause i just dont know what to do. then when im not silent, im really not silent :). ive been attempting not to exist as anger. doing a pretty good job. i have my times. as we all do. but i am not one and equal to anger. anger is not real. and i know this. so when i decided to act and exist in andas anger then its intense. because its not me. who i am. thats where my boyfriend is all fucked up. he says that the birth control pills i am on is what makes me angry and shit. no. its us. him. me. this bullshit we call relating to one another in this relationshit. so when i am me, as i truely am, then go from there to pissed the fuck off and crazy angry i can see where he may think im "moody" or there is some outside forced making me this way. i can see that because he doesnt think that we are responsible for ourselves and the bullshit we do. he'd rather blame it on some outside shit. same bullshit as the reason people believe in god. fucking stupid shit really. so we argued. i told him hes a pussy. and using the pills as a cop out instead of facing the fact that the issue is us. not the fucking pills. its like going around in circles and circles and circles and circles and circles. its so old. sometimes i am okay in my happy little illusion of us and this happy couple and all that glitzy bullshit. but because the red pill has already been taken, there aint to going back from self and realization. so then i get in my "right mind" and get a bit down on myself for the sharaid and the dishonesty. i get down on myself for not trying enough to make him into someone i can be with and support and have support from. then i realize. i cannot change him. as much as id fucking like to. i cant. i cant make him see. and that suks. and to be completely 100% about it, i dont know what would happen to be if i left him. i have no where else to go. so that is more dishonesty. some of the reason i stay with him, knowing we are not good for each others process at all, is i dont drive to get out and make money and have lots. i mean i want things. still dealing with my bullshit desires. but i dont want to do life the way people do life. i dont like it. never fucking have. but that boils down to i must assist and support myself. right now. this is the way. its that and the fact that i do have love for him. i know that love is not what i want to exist as either. but how does one tell a boyfriend that lol. i cant make him see. all i am doing is making him crazy. maybe thats his way of assisting and supporting himself. having me around to shake him up. that is not the way i see it. but practicality supports self. wether self likes it or not. so its not me. and its not him. its the pills. im thinking i will agree to switch birth control. but then the pills excuse cannot be used when things stay the same. and they will. i am not blind. its has been this way in a "different measure" since we have been together. i started the dishonesty. i am responsible. when will i stop being a fucking punk and stand? til here. no further.

9 years ago today

sooo its been 9 years since my mother died unexpectedly. i am a completely different person than i was at the 6 years since mark. i understand a lot more. i stand more. i am not sad today. like every other sepetember 21st since she died. i am not thinking about the events that transpired 9 years ago today. i am not holding onto and being a slave to the past like i usually am on this day. i am o fucking kay :) which is awesome. i have had issues with the death of my mother for so so sososososososo long now. its nice to not have to hold onto anger and guilt and regret and shame and all the other bullshit emotions i linked to my mothers death. hell, she is me and and am her. if i wish to speak with her, i speak with myself. wow. i just realized that i dont miss her. i mean, fuck. :) my personal possession issue is being transcended. i use to always feel like i had to keep everyone i have ever met with my somehow someway. wether its always keeping in touch or always thinking about or holding onto memories. its getting better. i am stopping. i appreciate myself for accepting and allowing myself to not shy away from this process.

..and there was a baby born today :). caiden. poor thing has no clue what is in store for him. i like babies. i think its pretty fucking cool that they just came from where we all came from and go back to. like JUST came from there. thats awesome :)

no picking

sooo its been a couple of days since i stopped. the first day was okay. i mean. as okay as okay can be i guess. this picking of mine is so ingrained into me. its so subconscious its sick. i'll be going about my day and i will realize that my hand is on my face or rubbing over my face. i just did it now. lol it really does make me laugh because i have literally let this habit become who i am. i barely have anything to do with it anymore. its like something u put on auto debit or something like that. and u forget about it. but its still auto debiting. i picked three or four times yesterday. sigularly picked single things. my body is a playground for pickage so 3 or 4 aint bad. i would find myself rubbing a sore over and over telling myself to breathe and not give in to the bullshit. my hand is like a child that tries its parents patience. the child is doing something its not supposed to. the parent tells the child "dont u do that". the child reaches the hand a bit more toward the "no no". the parent tells the child "dont u do that". the child reaches a bit more. its like my hand keeps fucking trying me! lol i tell it to do one thing and it asks me "u sure i cant do this?" i honestly feel like a crack addict that is trying to kick it cold turkey. that is how much i have fucked myself within this whole picking issue. it is literally like withdrawal. i have not "gone to town" in the least bit with the picking. usually i am in my face and all over my body picking all fucking day. now im at the point where i am just touching what i want to pick, but not picking it. i need to be able to have the things (sores, scratches, scrapes, pimples) there, and just not fucking care. completely stop. easier said than done but i am doing this. why wait? i told my boyfriend i was done with picking. i can tell he doesnt really believe me. he has this issue with him biting his fingers. not finger nails (cause the mother fucker has none). fingers. he bites around his none existant nails almost (i say almost cause my picking gives any habit a run for its money) as much as i pick my body. i know that it is him eating away at self. refusing to let self grow because he really doesnt like himself. but that is just crazy tree desteni shit let him tell it. i was freaking a bit yesterday, remember i am a drug addict right now, and i see him biting. i tell him he should stop too. he says its different with me because mine causes problems. yes, my habit is so "bad" that i have picked myself bloody on many many many many fucking occasions. i have also see blood on his fingers also from being bitten when there is nothing to fucking bite. projection. people project their bullshit onto others when they are afraid to really look at self. this cycle is so fucking shitty. all our bullshit, the more i learn about it, is really laughable. its laughable how inslaves we are by habits, fear, desires, hopes, religion. and i mean its OBVIOUS! fucking obvious! yet we make excuses to why it cant be so. this mind fuck is bigger than many realize. everyday i realize it more and more. and i still dont grasp it all and completely stop EVERYTHING.... breathe. i am going to get through and transcend this habit. and all the others. wether now or later. its getting fucking done.

My looks

growing up i never felt "pretty enough" or that i "looked good enough". i remember always being self conscious. there was this one time one of my older sisters friends came over and he completely fell "in love" (infatuation) with me. i remember it making me "feel good" about myself. what ever the fuck that means. going to school at the beginning of highschool was tough for me. i always felt i looked wierd. kinda like a boy. not feminine attractive. not girly pretty like the rest of the girls. i wore long jackets to cover my arms and pants to cover my legs and gym shoes to cover my feet and toes. living in saga bay across from all that water and woods there were a lot of mosquitos. they bit me all over. i scratched all over. as a result my legs and arms were covered in scars. im sure they looked worst to me and the way i have become to judge myself only made it worst. i was always in the mirror. checking. checking to make sure there was not something on my face or checking to make sure i looked as okay as i could make myself look. time went on and i "grew up". slowly but surely people began to show that they were okay with the way i looked. i started getting attention (sexual attention) from males. and i started recieving the okay from females. i eventually dropped the jackets and brought out the boobs. left the pants behind and brought out the legs. ditched the gym shoes and painted the toes. now i was, am still fucked inside. im self conscious to "no end". i pick at my face and body constantly. any pimple, scratch, scrap i get rid of. i judge myself based on flawed belief of sight and vision and perfection. and its such a mind fuck cause i pick because of the way i percieve my flaws, but my flaws are the BECAUSE I PICK lol. its so fucking stupid. the cycle. i fuck myself! my dad has always done his part to help keep my mindfuck going. everytime he would see me he was get this sad look on his face like "aww baby. ur face!" cause of all the picking and pimples. and i mean everytime he had a chance to look at my face! so im like thanks dad! u think im hedious. thats great. he'd always try and implament the next break through treatment for pimples and breakouts. he has no clue that he is apart of the catalyst. i tried to tell him once, in a bout of in security and anger, that he shuns my face everytime he sees in and im already self conscious enough to have the judgments coming from me and him of all people was not helping. he said some shit like im crazy and hes my father and is trying to help. but no lie. utter disgust and sadness he displayed in his "daddy way" everytime he saw my face. it made him more sad than me it seems. people around me(besides my boyfriend because, well hes my boyfriend and he knows a lot more about me than i allow others to, andbesides my best friend heather, and besides a couple of my sisters and brothers) dont know how self conscious i am. i guess i hide it. i mean, i pick at myself even when im around other people ( its so second nature at this point as i have allowed myself to become one and equal to it) but they dont know the jist of it. i have this fucked up view about the way i should look on the outside. some sort of vanity. the only reason i am okay with the way i look is because everyone else in the world seems to be. the boys like it. the girls like it. i dont like it, but who am i to go against what everyone else sees. when i told my friend heather she was completley taken back. to her im fucking beautiful. to her im a fucking model. i do not see me like that. at all. lol its funny really. but not so much because it has shaped my world. i am always in the mirror. looking to see if anything is out of place or needs to be picked. lol its funny when i see it written down. its like, HELLO! am i serious with this shit? its sad. i need to stand. while im sitting here fucking picking....

if i told myself i was done today. no more picking. no matter the circumstances. no resisting . just no more accepting and allowing myself to be directed by my insecurity. would that entail not using anymore of my acne shit? life is not equal to self consciousness. i am not equal to self consciousness. i am life. as i truely am. my true self. the breath. i need to get this shit together. no more waiting. this is something that can only be done now. this moment. i stop.