Saturday, January 3, 2009

Dear Diary,

More silly nonsense:

Your Hair Should Be Red

You are a passionate person... both in love and in life.

You have many causes that are important to you. You can be very intense.

You are very fiery. You speak up, and you don't mince words.

You also have a very flamboyant personality. You love to show off.

You are both eccentric and expressive. You like to share your unique point of view.

You can become quite impassioned. So impassioned that you can seem a little overbearing.

You Are a Heart

Your life philosophy can be summed up as, "Love like you've never been hurt."

Your greatest wish is to have harmony in all of your relationships.

You can't help loving people, even when they're incredibly flawed.

You are a true romantic, and you are willing to give almost anyone a second chance.

You Communicate With Your Body

This isn't as bad as it sounds, it just means that you're a "touchy-feely" person.

You need a lot of affection in your life. And for you, this means both giving and receiving little touches.

Warm hearted, you bond with people easily. In fact, you often feel a little sad when you're not in the company of others.

A little moody, you tend to be controlled by your emotions. But a bit hug always comforts you!

You Are Comic Sans

You are a nothing but a big goofball. You're quite playful and fun!

You're widely known for your zany personality and your vivacious attitude.

To say that you stand out in a crowd would be a definite understatement.

Remember that you are overwhelming at times and that people appreciate you best in small doses.

You Can Definitely Spot a Liar

Maybe you have good instincts. Or maybe you just have a lot of experience with liars.

Either way, it's pretty hard for someone to pull a fast one on you. You're like a human lie detector.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Dear Diary,

I created a couple of songs. There's one using just my voice here.

The other one is more electronica and can be heard here.

Source sounds for the second piece came from Freesound. The sounds used were:

weird loop 1 from sleep
loop 02 from Zajo
the most influencial drums 01 from walkerbelm
taffy 1 [dog barks] from uscguy98
tension from ERH

Have fun?

Dear Diary,

Last night I played flag football for the first time in my life. We played in the dark with nerf guns. It was awesome. I took on the role of guardian rather than hunter, and I was surprisingly good at it. There's something about hiding and sneaking at the dark that's very attractive to me; I'm beginning to understand why so many of my family members [I believe the current count is seven] are in or have served their time in the military.

There's also something very important which I am refusing to blog about, because I am so sick of hearing about it. And that is all I will say about that.


Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Dear Diary,

I had a fun phone conversation today. And by fun I mean awful.

Mom: So what are you doing for New Years?

Me: A bunch of the singles from my church are going to play some wii and board games at the church. We'll have finger foods and drinks.

Mom: How did you get permission to use the church?

Me: I called and asked. They said it was ok as long as we leave everything the way we found it, which shouldn't be a problem.

Mom: So you're the one who got the idea?

Me: Well, some other people had the idea, but they weren't doing anything.

Mom: I was just calling to ask because you never call us. And you weren't born from a dog. We're in town. I was thinking that maybe you would spend the New Year with us.

Me: Wait a minute, that's not the case. I do call you guys. But when I call you don't answer the phone. Of you're too busy. Or you're driving somewhere.

Mom: Oh, well. You better do something with those single people. Make sure that one hurries up and marries you. Poor thing, with your tragic life living all alone.


I had never talked to my mom about that. I never told her that was a sore spot for me, and she never would have known it by talking to me or seeing me. But she sure knows how to kill little pieces of my heart and self-esteem. I never talk to her about relationship issues because she's never much help. All through college the extent of her help was: "You're not in college to make friends. Don't talk to people." And whenever I actually started dating the three rules were:

  1. Convert him to Catholicism [imagine her outrage when I left the church for an unobstructed relationship with Christ!]
  2. Don't let him put a hand on you [well that rules out holding hands, hugging, and shaking hands!]
  3. Get married as soon as possible
These guidelines were also not so much help. So I had to learn the hard way- by screwing up big time. I now understand a great deal about relationships and the differences between men and women. I also understand that I'm not the most desirable mate out there, commitment scares men in my generation who were practically raised on divorce, and there are more women than there are men. So, frustratedly single I remain. Being slapped in the face with it by my mother on yet another holiday where I'm spending most of my time alone and borrowing other people as my pretend family... not so cool.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Dear Diary,

He called me today, and our band is meeting up Friday night. He may or may not be at rehearsal. We were both kind of distant. Whatever. I didn't linger over the phone like I used to. Just, whatever.

Next door neighbor is home; I might invite him to come jam with us. Dunno if he'll be able to come.

I spent the day with a deaf friend of mine. It was good to see her again. We went out to eat and watched a couple of movies. Wall-E is so cute!

~Le Pathetique

Monday, December 29, 2008

Dear Diary,

Here's a list of the fairly random things I have sitting about me in my room:

  • a santa hat
  • a jar of peanut butter
  • a metal cookie tin with a homemade beeswax candle inside
  • a cup with a spoon in it
  • a piano bench [it's a spare]
  • paints and brushes
  • a giant painting on cardboard
  • a suitcase
  • a pack of cards
  • some bright red yarn
  • a teddy bear
  • several big plastic boxes of which I can't remember the contents
  • a tumbler
  • a see-through bookbag
  • a vacuum cleaner
  • an impossible puzzle
  • two flower-less vases
  • a picture of a boy I don't sponsor anymore
  • salt and pepper shakers
  • my diplomas
  • a three year old Burt's Bees chapstick which I meant to throw out a year ago
  • an empty cookie jar
  • a set of nested Russian dolls
  • a tray full of smooth and shiny river rocks
  • a painted glass bottle
  • a nearly life-size bust of Mozart, which I just noticed is still wearing all the necklaces I put on it months ago...and staring at my bed. Creepy. Good thing I love him.
  • some tissue paper. The kind for putting in gift bags.
  • a string of beads
  • a book on Proper Percussion Pedagogy
  • some catnip
  • a candle-shaped lamp that hasn't been plugged in for at least a year
  • a hammer in a basket on top of some purses inside of my closet...???
  • a yoga mat
  • a bag full of toilet paper rolls
I think that's enough faux voyeuristic weird for now. K, Bye!

Dear Diary,

I am feeling better.

The Meaning of Lila

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Dear Diary,

I don't know when it started, why or how, but I have to be honest and let this out. I'm unhappy. More than that, I'm bitter and angry, deep, deep down inside.

The truth is, no, I'm not happy you're having a baby. And, no, I'm not happy you're getting married. I want to be. I really want to be happy for you. But I'm not. I'm not happy that you're happy and that's just one sign to me that something's wrong. I'm sick of you posting your pictures of you and your husband, of your ridiculously cute ultrasounds. Baby pictures.

It reminds me that I'm completely alone. Really. I have no family other than the friends that I choose, that I really can't be all that honest with all the time. Because I can't talk. Things only make sense when I write. And even then, they don't make much sense. Truth is, I'm incredibly insecure and have to fight hating myself every day. When I'm actually ok with myself, life just is. The only thing that keeps me going is people. People make me smile, they make me feel connected. But still, when there are too many people I get overwhelmed. I need to have one person at a time to talk to. Talking, itself is hard. I can't really connect with anybody... I'm too paranoid. I don't understand or feel comfortable around typically social things like bowling, dancing, camping, fishing, sports. Even being around them or attempting them makes me feel stupid, humiliated, vulnerable, awkward, and disconnected. I'd rather not be anywhere near them at all.

I don't know where I fell off the tracks. It was a small thing, I'm sure, but I'm not in tune. I feel hopeless and helpless. I can't focus. All I want to do is sleep, play piano, or write. That's all I have done. Sometimes I eat, too. Not always. I try to ignore the hunger sometimes because I just don't want to eat. Sometimes I remember the Philippines and cry. Things made so much more sense when I was there; it was so easy to connect to God when I was in a state of complete surrender from the get-go. But I'm not surrendering now. I don't want to. I want to not spend the rest of my life alone. I want to have a family of my own. Even on the good days it aches in my head to the point that I am incapable of considering anything else. The only thing that makes it better is music. I feel extremely vulnerable to any distraction satan would want to put in my way. It's already begun. I don't think I can fight it. I have been so far, mostly. But most of me doesn't want to fight it anymore. Most of me just wants to make things right my way, on my time. I want to get it over with. I want to start my life. I'm tired of waiting. I hate where I am. I'm tired of borrowing other people's families for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I realize that many of my friends have struggled with this far longer than I have. I want to sympathize with them. But I don't care. All that consumes me is my own ill. I want the commiseration to dull the ache, to know that I'm not in this alone. But it doesn't help. Because I am. I am very much so.

I'm writing this all with tears in my eyes. I spend a good deal at home crying when I'm by myself. Debbie once told me "Crying isn't real faith. Don't cry over it. Have faith." She was talking about my relationship with my family then, when she was still alive. Her words have stuck with me. They come back every time I break down again. I understand those words, and I accept the truth in them. But I don't have faith. There's nothing I can do to earn or gain that faith. All I can comprehend and grasp is the overwhelming internal anguish that circles around my head, cutting me to the bone.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."
Proverbs 13:12

I ache for the second part of that verse to come to pass, and the irony that my name is "tree" like stings me to the core.

"Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy. Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief. A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones."
Proverbs 14:10, 13, 30

"From my youth I have been afflicted and close to death; I have suffered your terrors and am in despair. Your wrath has swept over me; your terrors have destroyed me. All day long they surround me like a flood; they have completely engulfed me. You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend."
Psalm 88:15-18

I've struggled with depression since I was a small child. Of course I didn't know what it was, or that what I was doing wasn't normal. Nothing about my upbringing was normal. It's also incredibly ironic that I can think the most clearly when it is darkest outside.

"My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forget to eat my food. I lie awake; I have become like a bird alone on a roof."
Psalm 102:4,7

Perhaps this post is long and gloomy enough. I don't want a lot of people trying to cheer me up, because words don't work. They only make me feel awkward and not know what to say back. I know people care about me, I guess. I don't want sympathy, just understanding. I've had my fill of sympathy, of varying degrees of sincerity, and it never makes anything better.

I just need a tiny miracle, is all. Or maybe some medication.