merry christmas and happy new years again

 hello.

im not gonna make this cutesy. merry christmas. a few months from now ill look back onto the date of my journals, letters, posts from this time of year and will feel more christmas spirit than i ever did this week. anyhow.

im in a helltrip with my parents through beautiful bible belt and im not exactly having fun. we went to the aquarium and to the coca cola thing, i felt sick. ive had a piece of chicken, green juice and a slice of pizza in these three days. on christmas eve i was sure i wanted to marry him but now i am not. then again, who am i to chase bigger things? by instinct, it seems my first thought was to say that every time i have done that it has ended up wrong. the fact is i have never tried. only once or twice trying to get a new friend group. ended horribly, i still think about it, i guess you never know. maybe it was my strategy. maybe i need to plan things out better. i cant. hes good, i just feel the world is still my oyster but i know its not.

my heart has been poisoned by cynicism. its all ive ever known. i was so bitter as a child. i feel im condemned to go outside for a cigarette and get bored of nature, or draw myself a hot bath and get bored 5 minutes after the fact. i feel im doomed to always be bored and miserable. i know that after a year and change, if someone has read this far, i should have gone to a shrink or something. i wont, i cant trust these people with my secrets, i cant trust myself to tell the full truth either. i cant be fully vulnerable, not even with myself.

not even here. i have this secret i cant say because lest nobody every reads this- nobody i know- im doomed forever. about relationship thing. not the previous secret. its slipped and nobody who could hurt me with it knows besides my mother. she wants to call his mother about it. i dont know if she only hasnt done it because she doesnt have the balls to do it or because she really couldnt care less. i think she thinks i was exaggerating. again, over. i will never retrieve myself. ive always wanted this person and this person circles around me like a vulture. 

my dear mother got me a beautiful glittery shimmering fountain pen for christmas the color of caramel. its so beautiful. ive been getting into the hobby. my beautiful boyfriend got me a cigarette holder and an old case from a perfume i adore.

and i know we cant have each other even if the circumstances were right because if they were i would want them gone. i wouldnt have them touch me, at all. i just wanted to feel special again, i know that. i want to infiltrate their dreams and drive them to insanity. but my feelings are mostly pure. again, following me around and haunting me. 

i watched nosferatu today, the 1979 version of it. i was so excited about watching eggers version opening night but ill be in fuckass memphis. i cant watch it here because my stupid ass forgot my glasses. i did that on some purpose because i promised to watch it with him. i regret my decision now. poor dracula wants love. the absence of love is the most abject pain, he says. stupid mina says that only one can save himself. he is tricked and seduced by her. albeit he was already completely obsessed with her. she does this in order to keep him by his bed until the sunrises and they both fade into nothingness. not fun. ive always wanted some nosferatu film where evil reigns, on some part, where the heroine is corrupted. love is corrupting. where the virginal status of mina is exchanged, where she chooses to live deliciously, say. not like twilight. differently. i think thats what the audience wants, to see the corruption of a virgin as to feel justified in their own perversions and impurities. maybe audience is only me but still.

its such a good movie, i took a little nap and had a strange dream. its so dreary and sparkling, surreal. loved it.

i wish eternal love existed. i wish i could be romantic but how can i be when love involves such gross things. i dont want intimacy to be being able to watch each other go to the bathroom or be able to wake up next to someone with morning breath and loving them nonetheless. i want love to be all consuming, i want to be so deep in it i accidentally die of starvation. i want passion to mean skipping events to enjoy each other. why does love of all things have to be rational and tainted by ugly, disgusting life. why does one have to clip passions wings. i want to be chosen by a strange and special creature and wanted. why do i have to accept the simple and mundane.

i guess im only with him here in this weird and ugly world. in a perfect, clean world it would not be like this. of course i love him deeply, but this is not what i wanted love to be. why is everything so ugly.

at least my gpa is at 3.8 for now. something tells me next semester it will be at 4.

happy holidays

its so easy to laught, its so easy to hate.. it takes guts to be gentle and kind.. over...

 my mother and i's terrible relationship never seemed to have an actual start. i do not know who to blame for my transgressions but i learned them from somewhere. she is cold and selfish, even in her good deeds or seemingly selfless acts she finds a way to create tools for guilting, some way to make people feel like the owe her something. me, specifically. if and when she cooks for me she guilts me. when she cooks for my brother, seemingly everyday, she serves him happily. they spend peaceful time together and im stuck in my room. we cant find room for peace. my jubilee approaching and i cannot do anything about it.

she has a strange moral system. she believes anyone could point me as a bitch and her as a madonna. i want to find peace of mind but i havent known peace. my mother blamed me for her alcoholism saying that buzzing my hair at 16 put her on a downward spiral. yesterday, after a fight, i poured myself some whiskey and headed to my room to listen to music and calm myself down. my father (who wont drink, he cannot tolerate bitter flavors) came up to call me an alcoholic. 

i have never felt tenderness or love from my mother. i cant bring myself to call her cruel, but she is. she is cold hearted and blames me for the wrongs in our family. i wish she beat me senseless or was neurotic to an extent that her cruelty was tangible, but she didnt. not everyday and never to a broken bone. only when i deserved it. i used to be so small, nowadays i dont think i deserved it. but maybe i did. i was only about seven and she was thirty seven then. she calls me spoiled and a brat. i tried to kill myself when i was five. 

i want solidarity but all of my caregivers have beaten me, stabbed me in the back, raped me or abandoned me. maybe its my fault, i am the common denominator. maybe its not. maybe i attract bad people, i am sensitive. i am so sad, i feel like such a failure, i flay myself alive for the masses, i hide in my own draped skin. nothing good has lasted me enough. all bad things greet me in the mornings, cold or warm. 

i cant fix myself and i have mutilated myself horribly, this place will be the end of me and i can just hope for death to bring me back into the body of a little baby brewing in someones womb. i hope im given another chance, i dont know if i deserve one, but even then i would like it if i did. 

im upset and have to be quiet. defiance brings only violence but quiet resignation is also a fight. to her. i dont know what to do. i told her about family therapy but i dont think we can make it work. i know she would rather me never being born at all. she said that once in a drunken haze, in the kitchen when i was maybe sixteen, maybe eighteen, the years burn and blur. she forgot after and accused me of making things up. my father said hed rather me be completely normal and adjusted, even if it meant a complete tearing down of my character and self. i went to my room and cried until i vomited. maybe its my fault, but they made me. iam not to blame, i did not create myself. the things ive created, the mechanisms and programs i built from clay and spit to be kind and quiet have only been room for them to beat, hence destroy. 

i cannot be destroyed, i will always be this and i wish i could delete myself as well. degenerate, as my father called me once. then, he forgot.