scattered thoughts

Am I really going to spend a year in Massachusetts?

I'm not even sure how this happened, but suddenly I have this path laid out in front of me that everyone is encouraging me to take. It feels like fate.

But I can't help feeling like fate is waiting for me here. Like all the magical things happen in the Bay Area. Like if I stray from home again, I may not come back.

When it comes down to it, I am terrified that when I get back, 924 Gilman will be gone. It's a silly, only semi-rational thought, but it bothers me so much. I feel like I'll somehow miss out on all the shows I should have been to, just like I missed out on Davey Havok playing with Ceremony while I was in England. It's stupid, this fear. It's the fear of a little girl waiting for magic to happen, for some perfect dream job to come place itself in my lap.

The job in my lap right now is a near-perfect dream job. I was just complaining about how all my friends are going to be on the East Coast this year, and now is my opportunity to go and be on the same coast as them.

I don't even know what's going to be the deciding factor for me. I hate that I can't be an adult and decide for myself, "This is what I am going to do." Instead I sit around waiting until someone kicks me in the ass in the direction they think I should go in.

And I hate that my father is so open-minded about sexualities, but not about gender. I hate that it's only because he doesn't know any better, and I hate that I'm too lazy or afraid to teach him. Sometimes when he talks with me about how I'm a woman, it brings me to the edge of tears because I feel so utterly frustrated and wrong. And yet I know that if I explained to him that I'm not a woman, nor a man, he would reasonably inform me that no matter what, the world will perceive and label me as a woman. I hate that he's probably right.

I'd rather live in a dream world.

I realized it's not just my friends, not just rock stars, not just fictional characters, not just me- it's my parents, too.

They're happily married, one of the sanest couples ever, they love each other. All that. But they're not really happy with one another. They're not perfect. I guess I resent them for not being perfectly. I'm upset that they're still so alone. They're going to die alone, just like me.

Sometimes when I'm upset and also artistically frustrated, I copy out poems or song lyrics in a notebook, just to feel the power of other people's words coming through me. The song I keep doing that with this week is "Fainting Spells."

There is nothing else.

Bound

Today was one of those days when you hold your head under the streaming hot water of the shower simply because you irrationally think it will cleanse your mind of its self.

Or maybe you're trying to drown the part of yourself that won't stop thinking.

My thoughts won't stop today. They keep digging holes through every part of my day and scratching against the bone of miserable truth. The truth is that I'm alone and will always be alone.

Maybe it's my friend going through a painful breakup. Maybe it's the fact that I'm so intellectually obsessed with the impossibility of sympathy that I can't forget it like most people can. Maybe it's the fact that Davey Havok has been writing on the subject for years and yet he's still alone. Maybe it's the fact that I feel like someone, if not everyone, should be able to change the truth in the face of its exposure; to force the possibility of sympathy into existence. Maybe it's the fact that I feel like a failure for being so obsessed with other people's lives and relationships, but have done such a poor job of building my own of either.

I've had these panics in the past, where I feel so horribly trapped in my body and I want to get out. So I try to scald it away with hot water. I want to get out. I hate everything about me. And it is only in these horrible, low moments that I ever want to take something. My mind gets so lost in itself that I can't even feel any truth except for my aloneness and loneliness. I feel like taking a magic pill that cures everything because I know that as lonely as I am, it won't get better. Even if I fall in love with somebody and they fall in love with me, I will always be alone. So there is no cure to being alone. There is no cure. But I feel like I want to take that magic pill that cures it all. I'm pretty sure the only magic pill is death.

But I know that tomorrow I'll wake up better. The chemicals in my head are just fucking with me. Sometimes I wish they would go away and stop hurting me, but I know that I would then just be lying to myself, and I hate lying to myself more than anything. It's just hard to keep track of the truth sometimes.

The greatest sight ever known to mankind

is Davey Havok hardcore dancing at a Sick of It All show. I can't count how many times my heart stopped during that show. That was seriously the best thing I've seen. I wish I could describe it. But it's beyond words.

On a theoretical level, it's just so comforting to know that he's still just this little punk kid who doesn't give a fuck. I will depend on that image to sustain me through many a tough time, I can tell.

For some reason, I am super in love with Crash Love right now. There's nothing I want to listen to more. It's just perfect.

And good lord is it making me nostalgic for my East Bay days. Please, universe, please, Davey, LET ME MOVE BACK TO THE ACTUAL BAY AREA SOON. It really surprised me when Ross from Ceremony said he still lives in Rohnert Park. How does he survive? How does he write? These are questions I seriously intend to ask him. Unless he gives me a magical answer, I'm aiming for a Bay Area job. Seriously.