very distorted

An entry from an old online journal:
“An Oppositionally Defiant God”

 Very distorted

Just saying I was tired doesn’t do it. Sitting and pawing at my own misery just makes the scabs look worse. This fucking hair color makes me think I can’t open my mouth without people thinking I am not who I look. Just another girl who has a bad color in her hair.  A hairdresser messed up, they put in purple. Purple and blond. I blanch in the mirror and get a stern lecture from my 50 year old fat and balding male friend about not being over-concerned with looks. He does not understand what it felt like to be a teenage girl. He will not sit and play makeup with me. A nice combo in a coffee drink, maybe.

The heaviness has turned to soot. And he thought I sounded “more grounded” than the last four times we had talked over the last year. Why?

Because it’s been taken out from under me? Because I am not more grounded? Because I am so heavy that I have nothing left to shout about anymore and just sit there frowning inside at the ground covered with polka dots? Because I stopped believing that my God believed I existed anymore?

I had been demoted again! I dropped them all. I did, I did. I dropped them all.

I was so proud of myself. Until I realized that the cost was my satisfaction. It wasn’t about being right. It was about them seeing that I had control after all. When they realized I wasn’t out of control, I had made them systematically get hurt. Those cold intellectuals that don’t get hurt. YES! I HURT THEM. It took me three PhD’s and several gre’s and five certifications, but I made it out hurting them.

People don’t realize what an accomplishment it was after all. I turned those ice queens into porn stars. I will eat them until I am dead. Shit, I already am dead. Look over there, it’s a corpse under my feet and it smells like whales rotting in a basket of maggots. I looked over there and saw myself in the maggots. I finally found a pretty design I liked for a new hairstyle. Please mommy, don’t make me a disturbed child. Make me narcissistic or borderline. Then I’ll get friends I can break. Yes Mommy, I want a new doll I can play with. Make it a pretty doll. And send me to the rich psychiatrist who fucks me with my dress turned inside out. I am so scared and cold all the time. Who turned off the heat in here? I want to be starved. Yes, I want to starve for the lice to invade my body and take over my devil side so that I don’t watch TV anymore. I always believed in justice. I want to go to school like the next boy. Just help stop starvation on the street. Heroin was just a joke. The good feelings were a kick in my ass so I could remember I didn’t deserve them. What was I thinking, daring to love those assholes? I will remember never to love again because it doesn’t hurt. My tears taste like insanity and sound like vomit but less sweet.

This entry was posted in Blast from Past. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s