What inspires you?

She asks me. With her beautiful big lips and her golden hair, and shes acting all likes she’s impressed with my shit. Go look in a mirror, bitch, your face is better than any art I’ve ever made.

But she keeps at it.

Where do I get my inspiration? Hah. Apparently a whole lot of narcissism judging by the amount of photos I take of myself… But no, I promise you it isn’t really that. I don’t know, I have a really two dimensional mind and weird images just come to me. And I am always around when they do. I like dark imagery, but I really don’t go there as often as I’d like.  I don’t think I’ve ever taken a photo and edit it to an actual place of contentment. Maybe just acceptance that I won’t be able to get it any better, but never actual contentment. Maybe thirty years ago or something I would have some interesting stuff, but now my biggest competition is like, Instagram. Whats the point anymore of any of it when your smartphone can do it for you. But that is a topic for another day.

My thing is, I always push compliments away anyway. When they are given I just think the person complimenting is completely deluded, and that they don’t know what real talent it. “You must be mistaken” I think, “this is not even that good.” I never know how to act when i get them. I just get awkward and stuttery, and have to remind myself that a thank you is probably in order. But man oh man. I still love people taking notice of me. When people get all obsessed with my work, and my thoughts, and my imagination, and they AREN’T just doing it because they want in my pants- there is nothing more flattering. I think I just like interest being taken in me in general. I was praised too much as a child or something. People always acted like I would do such great things, and now I’m just in constant need of confirmation for that. Kind of reminds me of lyrics from a Dresden Dolls song-

“i used to be the smart one
sharp as a tack
funny how that skipping years ahead
has held me back

i used to be the bright one
top in my class
funny what they give you when you
just learn how to ask”

—-

“i used to be the bright one
smart as a whip
funny how you slip so far when
teachers don’t keep track of it

i used to be the tight one
the perfect fit
funny how those compliments can
make you feel so full of it”

So true.

Maybe that is a problem with our society. Maybe we should reverse psychology our kids and tell them how awful they are at things all the time. Tell them they throw like girls and that their ankles are too weak for ballet. Yeah. That sounds like a lot healthier of an upbringing……. shmeh.

And while we are on the subject of things fitting perfectly (because I love nothing more than to come from outfield and totally change the course of this little one way conversation with myself I am having) it seems that I am never the perfect fit for anything. My life enjoys coming up with one conundrum after another for me. In my own little head I am either too good for everything, or not good enough. Never fitting into anything right because I’m measuring my worth…or something. For school, for work, for men, and friends. Like those are my only options for myself. Amazing at it or a steaming pile of shit. Why can’t I just be mediocre at things? Or just like, like something in the middle? Instead of either hating it or loving it. I’m too flighty… A guy told me that once. A jerky guy I once dated. Said I was flighty and that my head was always in the clouds. What does he know…

I just wish these years would stop mushing together. I’m gunna be in the ground before I know it, lookin’ back at my life thinking about what I “might of been, coulda’ been, maybe”…. Something needs to break my mind off of this one way track. Take me away. Get my attention.

“What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.”

-Leo Tolstoy

I wonder what kinds of ugly bits of information are floating around the world about me. What words get passed from one ear to another, misguided and incorrect.

I have of course heard rumors before. They are hard for most people to escape, but I especially feel that I get the brunt of it. I’m not sure of the reasons. Maybe I attract negative energy. Maybe I put out negative energy. I try to be a good person. I have a heart, morality, kindness. Maybe I’m just not doing it right.

Sometimes though, when a person just shifts, just totally changes their demeanor without a cause, it’s hard not to think some wonderful misinformed person has unknowingly bestowed some incorrect information about myself upon them. I’m giving them so much the benefit of the doubt here, choosing to assume that they are not doing this maliciously.. I sense this happen, and it gives me that icky, heart sink-y feeling. The one that I got when i was 14 and had to defend myself against claims of being lesbian (back when that was apparently an insult) and other claims of being a huge whore. When I was 14. And had barely even kissed a guy, let alone looked at a penis. How old do I have to be until people stop running their mouths like it’s going out of style? Is it in fact going out of style? Maybe I should join in on the fun, since it won’t be cool soon.. Or is this apparently a life long problem I’m going to have to face?

I want to be excited about things. I never get excited anymore about shit, and here I am, finally getting excited about shit, only to get that sink-y heart, icky feeling because I just sense a disturbance in the force. Where I know someones been talking because you are acting aloof and indifferent now instead of, I don’t know, stoked about me.  And it’s awful, because I don’t wanna lose this good thing yet- because no way am I aloud to be happy for even 5 minute. But there’s no one to point my frustration at except myself, for allowing it to get to this. And there’s no way to even know if my suspicions are correct, of if I am just a crazy lady thinking the worst of everyone. Some paranoid schizophrenic thinking the whole wide wold is after her.

So lets just clear up the fucking air. Ask me whatever you want. I won’t lie, or even sensor myself. Ask for the full story. Ask me my ‘number’, if you think it will help you sleep at night. Or about all the weird sex stuff you wanna know if I’ve really done. Gimme your best shot, I’ve heard worse. Go on. Look me in the eyes and tell me that story that you heard about me- ask me if it’s really true. The one with the… four-way… was it? Four penis’s as once- because that’s my idea of a Friday night. Let me put that story to rest. It was fabricated by a jaded man with an alcohol problem. Look, we’ve all got our shit to deal with. I know you sure as hell have yours. Why is mine anyone’s problem? If you are afraid of me, stay away from me. Don’t pity me- I love who I am. Don’t get some sick joy out of seeing how close you can get. Some fascination with my faults. Some obsession with whatever past you think I have.

I know that I’ve done my share of hurting some hearts. It wasn’t because I intended to.. Maybe karma is just catching up with me. I hear she’s a real bitch.

“I feel monotony and death to be almost the same. “
  -Charlotte Bronte

Every night I keep trying to write and right as I do my eyes begin to uncontrollably itch and tear up and I stop myself. Well no more. I will blink through this. Pen to paper. Fingers to keys, dammit. Spill your thoughts… You’ve got to have something worth saying up there.

So I was thinking about how serious my writing always is. Sure, I am a book full of emotions, If you know Bri, you know that. But if you know me you also know that I am most always being non-serious and (attempting to be) pretty funny. I like making people laugh, it give me a nice sense of worth. Even if you laughter is just  sort of because you are uncomfortable with me. Whatever. So why is my writing so stoic all the time? Really heavy stuff, and probably pretty boring stuff, and nobody wants to hear that. Of course, that is presuming anyone reads these anyway. This is basically my journal at this point. What better repellent than a 22 year old broad writing down her thoughts. Sitting quietly alone in some corner writing away like the weird girl at school. Gross. I was so totally her anyway.

Mm.

I was thinking about something else too. Thinking about things in life being non-mutal. How I am always on the non-mutal side of everything. And how nice it would be for that not to happen for a change. Cryptic much? Yeah. I just feel like everyone is always not on the same page with things. About relationships. About jobs. About their happiness. No one ever wants the same shit, ya know? Is that making sense? And how bad it feels when you are in one of those little scenarios. Like, when someone tells you they love you, and you just know you never will. And that just really sucks for both parties involved. Why do people let themselves get there? And I am so grossly guilty of this all the time, that’s the worst. Its almost enough to make you stop trying.. Almost. Maybe it’s just a cop out though, some poor excuse. Who knows. Because when your heart starts beating again you forgot how good it felt the first time.

I was also thinking (oh man, have I been thinking) about….. oh fuck these itchy eyes. I have made zero points tonight because I cannot see or think straight. Damn you spring, you are going to destroy me. Thinking…thinking….what was I thinking about? Thoughts about you…and you…and you. And your god damn pretty lips. Hey, quit being weird and stalking my tumblr. This isn’t written about you anyway…

Oh yeah, I was thinking about this really important thought. About, how its sad that it takes having really shitty people in my life who call themselves my friends to make me realize just how incredible the people who really care about me are. And damn it, are you incredible, girl.

I’ve set to sail enough lackluster, unimportant, Benadryl and itchy eye induced ramblings for one night. I’ll be back on track next time.

Sick is the world I so oft defend. Sick in the way it’s rotting to its very core. Sick are the minds it so readily corrupts. Try like I do, I still can’t find the balance. The balance between myself and this world. The balance between happiness and obscurity.

People criticize film and tv and magazines for the way they portray the female body. So fit and so perfect is what is expected, is what is normal. And without agreeing with their standards, I always have my part in defending this ad or that one. I always stick my head in and say “Yeah, but pretty sells.” or “Its a magazine, no one expects it to be realistic anyway.” Because let’s face it- every line of work I have any sort of interest in is all about appearance. I understand editing a photo out of any recognition of the original because that is what works. Of course touching up a face, slimming a body. Its the norm. But a norm I am so tired of defending. Because as much as I claim to be the girl above it all- the girl who understands the difference between the real world and the fabricated one- I am still affected by it. I still look longingly at Victoria Secret models, and  then at times I still look with despair at myself in the mirror. My body is often what gets the most amount of my dismay. Sure I seem thin, but I am so far from “perfect”, whatever perfect is.

And that’s the worst part at times. People assuming that I’m not touched by the hand of self loathing. As though I am not dejected about not being 6’1” with a golden tan, smooth long legs, a flat stomach and a nice rack to top it off? My low self esteem at times can be unbearable. And though over the last few years I have accepted who I am and what I look like, it doesn’t mean that I am always going to be ecstatic about that fact. It’s an internal battle. I am aware that I look less like I belong in todays world, and more like I belong in a 19th century painting. And i am aware of how unbecoming being down on yourself is. I try most of the time not to be. Publicly, any way. People always tell me how much they love my confidence, and that statement never fails to floor me. Maybe I am just a good actress.

But there it is in that instant. Everyone feels it, the whole lot of us. No matter what you look like or who you are or what people think about you. No matter how big the smile on your face or with how much pride is in your stance, we all feel it.

—I just typed this all out, this whole thing. Hit backspace, and somehow lost it all. God damn it. Beautiful analogies forgotten and down the toilet. Commence less intriguing attempt number two.—

Last night I had an interesting dream. Only fragments of it are left in my mind now though, most of it has disappeared with the rest of today. Retreated back into it’s own dimension. I woke up in fear, and then relief that it hadn’t just happened.. Though who are we to speak on dreams anyway? To talk about them as though they don’t exist? How do we know the real world isn’t what we call our dreams, and you here on this earth are all just figments of my over active imagination? Hm… hah. Well how presumptuous of me to assume that this is my dream. If this world is a dream it definitely belongs to someone far luckier than I.

Last night, in my dream I was with a man. In love with him, in fact. That much I could tell. He was very tall, and toned, and had fair skin, straight black hair, and these big brown eyes. He had the face of an angel. And he was mine, and I felt happiness. We were lying there together in a bed. He was kissing me, kissing my neck, and holding my hands. I remember feeling his warmth next to me. I remember feeling that he loved me. I can still feel it now- resonating in my heart. There we were together, happy and in love, and then.. a disturbance somewhere in my soul- something broke. There was an echo, a whisper, and suddenly there in my dream he quietly looks at me deep into my eyes and tells me that he is going to kill me now. He places his hands on me and holds me down. I begin to struggle under his weight, confused by what he is doing, but I have no power against him. He lifts one arm, still strong enough to hold me down with the other, and presses his elbow into the base of my throat. And hard. I’m gasping for air and kicking my legs, but he does not budge, not at all. I’m looking into his eyes, pleading with him, and he is looking back at me. There is no evil in his eyes, no anger. All I see is just a kindness there, a softness- loving me while he is choking me to death. I feel fear, and I feel betrayal. Warm tears are streaming down my face and falling into the corners of my mouth and I can even taste them. Even now I can feel what my heart felt there in my dream. I am frantic, pushing me heels against the bed so hard, trying so desperately to free myself. I quietly gasp with every ounce of my strength, “Please, stop… I love you..” Because even then, I still felt in love with this man. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up. I’m clawing now, at him, grabbing his arms and trying to pull them off of me. But I was weak next to him. I was a small animal caught in a trap. A bird whose neck you could snap with the twist of your fingers. His one hand pushed firmly in the center of my chest, the other elbow pushing deeply into my throat. He wasn’t even straining to keep me there. It was effortless for him. I am dying now. I feel the life being to leave my frail little body. I stop fighting as hard. Or even caring. My strength is entirely depleted. This goes on for what feels like an eternity.. and then somehow, I am free. He is gone, and I am stumbling and then running. And coughing. I see someone and then I say something.. it goes blurry…. And the rest has faded into blackness now.

I woke up this morning peacefully, not in a frantic state. I lay there for a moment, taking in that I, in fact, wasn’t almost killed. And that I also, in fact, was not almost killed by a beautiful man that I loved. I touched my neck and took in a long deep breath. The dream was with me all day. It would subside for only moments until I was again thinking so deeply of it. I wasn’t sure what to take from it; what exactly it meant. Never have I feared a man, not even in the slightest. Nor do I fear death. And yet here they both are, literally staring me in the face, and there I was, completely terrified. I felt so vulnerable, so weak. So easy to just snuff out in an instant. Maybe it all has to do with the loss of control I have over my life at the moment. I feel like I have a handle on nothing, I feel that I can’t really help myself. I suppose I could see that making sense. I can take this in a million different metaphors. And more over, it could be absolutely meaningless. Concocted entirely from the depths of my mind; dreamed up out of shear boredom. I’m not sure. And I guess there really is no way to be sure.

But I know one thing for certain. If I ever see that beautiful angel face come into my life, I should probably keep my distance.

With the shutting off of one vice, it always seems that five more open. We are human, we have our vices. This much is true. And as of late I have felt so much more inclined than ever before to partake.

I’m jonesing for anything, everything, that can take my mind away from it. Mm. It…it….as always, I deflect.

I feel like my eyes are falling out of my face. I keep scratching and clawing at them but to no avail. All I have is a handful of eyelashes.

I just want to disappear. Fall asleep and wake up in some other place with some other friends and some other name and some bigger boobs. Yeah. And I totally could. The thing is, I just so totally could. Because I’m not tied to a FUCKING thing. And that was the exciting part for so long, being tied to nothing. Freedom, right? But now it just kills me. Just absolutely rips my soul apart.

I’m not behaving like myself lately. I’m not behaving like anyone. I am lacking anything, any presence that matters.

God, my head wont stop pounding. It’s like pins are driving into my temples.

When is it my damn date with destiny? Hm? I am so tired of the mundane.

Somebody just excite me.

Unstake your claim.

You’ve stood on this ground for far too long now, but you have no ownership here, no rights.

Uncertainty ringing loudly in your ears; grasping at words and then their hidden meanings. Dwelling on nothingness; on passing thoughts. All for him, all for his love. All for the thought of it.

Oh you child with your impatience and your jealousy and your stinginess.

Release your grip.

Unhealthy. This is so unhealthy for you. You’re getting sicker by the minute.

You try to close your eyes and see something, anything else- but- the chains cannot be undone.

No, you must sever the strings of your heart pulling you every which way. Cut them, even if you bleed. Even if it breaks you. Kills you.

You don’t exist, not fully, not in this world. Not until you’ve found it…found it….

It was hot today. Hotter than it has felt in so very long. I was out in it the entire day, driving across a long stretch of California. I got out to get a vanilla coke and enjoyed the heat for a moment- leaned up against my car and tilted my face up at the sun. I closed my eyes and didn’t think. My shirt was unbuttoned one too many and some rays of sun were pouring down the front of me. A drop of sweat tickled and then ran down my chest and I didn’t stop it. I stood there for a bit, just feeling in love with the warmth- before I wised up and remembered what an abusive lover the Spring is to me. 

This isn’t happening…

No, I’ve fallen to the ground in a heap far too many times for a girl with so few troubles. And yet my troubles seems so never ending. My mind is on overdrive. Constantly searching for a way out. Cannot find an escape. No matter what I do. And I’m too damn proud to ask for help.

Nevermind about anyone else. Too stuck on yourself to see. Jump on every opportunity like its your salvation. When you haven’t even got anything to show for that. And everyone, spittin out advice like it’s their god given right. Tellin me how it is and what it’s not. Tellin me the way my world would be if I’d lived it right. Makin noise, so much noise, rattling their bones at me. Shakin their minds at me, thinkin their thoughts at me, makin their judgements at me. Who the fuck are you?

I had it my way, I’d drive off and never be heard from again. But no, I can’t just disappear completely. I’m too frightened of the world. The whole wide world around me. And I’m just a little ant about to get snuffed out. My 4 day life span and I’m done for. I’m cooked.

I can’t stand this shit.