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[13 May 2010|12:13am] |
I'm going to see the Buzzcocks tomorrow!
That is if I'm not too much of a grandma and decide I'm too exhausted to treck to the city.
p.s.
If you don't know, honey, then you don't.
...even though you could be my Emily...
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[02 Apr 2010|11:09am] |
Since Amy's being so grown up about it and blasting it all over the internet, I figured maybe at least one of you would like to hear my response:
Spin it however you like babe, it's not going to make me retract a single thing I said. You see it as me simply insulting you, maybe chasing a temporary high of putting you down, and of course you'd be hurt by that and I'm sorry that it did. I know I didn't do so in the most eloquent way, but to me I was just airing my grievances, giving you the hard truth about the kind of person I saw while we were in Mexico. I could have held it in, lied and said everything was fine, bit the bullet and apologized just to make you feel better, but it would've just festered inside me and turned into complete resentment.
You're quite fond of using the cliche, "seeing a person's true colors." Spending a week in a hotel room with someone can help you do just that. And while everything I mentioned to you as things that triggered me, such as your night binging, your disrespect for my belongings and my family, your constantly checking your reflection, are all, as you claim, just part of who you are, it would be of your benefit to know that that is not how those sort of actions are perceived. Of course I didn't expect you to know that any of it would trigger my eating disorder (and it was unnecessary to point out how sick i am; I'm well aware and making plans for an inpatient stay over the summer), that would just be unfair of me. But what I didn't expect to see was this side of Amy that that didn't stop to think how her actions would affect anyone beyond herself, and that’s what upset and hurt me the most. It may all seem petty, but it’s hard not to be in shock when you see a whole other side of a person you thought you knew so well, a whole other side that you don’t quite find so appealing. So it looks like we’re in the same boat in that respect.
I never claimed to be better than you, and I never would. We’re just different, strikingly so, and it really came out that week when I wasn’t expecting it. It took me by surprise and I put up my defenses. I said I wasn’t ready to talk to you about it all yet, but you insisted and got what you asked for. The reason I said I needed to think about things is because that’s what I do: I –need- to think about things before I act, react, or say something because I know I might hurt someone by not knowing exactly what I want to say, and that’s the last thing I want. As much as my whole body wants to lash out immediately, I know myself enough to know that I am much more rational and kind when I’ve had time to think things through. You pushed me out of my comfort zone by ignoring my request to wait to talk about things, so you got to see the ugly tangled mess of emotions that I hadn’t sorted out yet. That’s just me. Heated and in the moment, I won’t sugar-coat anything just to save face. They weren’t insults, they were observations. And that’s as much as I can say about it.
Unless you want to come pick them up, I can get your necklace and bracelet back to you the next time I’m in the Kisco area, but I’m not sure how soon that might be.
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[16 Mar 2010|11:02pm] |
I'm taking back my power in this situation.
I -know- I was used. You weren't very good at hiding it.
I won't be around when you want me anymore.
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| you read it anyway, so feast upon this |
[10 Mar 2010|05:33pm] |
You've applied the pressure
To have me crystallized
And you've got the faith
That I could bring paradise
I'll forgive and forget
Before I'm paralyzed
Do I have to keep up the pace
To keep you satisfied
Things have gotten closer to the sun
And I've done things in small doses
So don't think that I'm pushing you away
When you're the one that I've kept closest
You don't move slow
Taking steps in my directions
The sound resounds, echo
Does it lesson your affection
No
You say I'm foolish
For pushing this aside
But burn down our home
I won't leave alive
Glaciers have melted to the sea
I wish the tide would take me over
I've been down on my knees
And you just keep on getting closer
just stop.
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[09 Mar 2010|09:18pm] |
"And I see you're drinking those stupid fucking energy drinks again."
Amy Simonetti, the only one who can know it all in a glance.
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[08 Mar 2010|12:14am] |
I'm starting to realize I can't live life this way.
I can't go to school, get a job, and die.
My body attacks itself under stress.
I'm not supposed to do it all.
Is there no other way?
Why don't they teach you other options?
So tonight
instead of taking my meds
and instead of writing
I'm going to lie in my bed and think long and hard
about how I'm going to survive
and how I'm going to really LIVE.
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[20 Feb 2010|08:04pm] |
And I'm sleeping alone,
In a house I don't own,
'Cause if you're touring your mind,
You'll get lost everytime.
And you'll sing these sad songs
to keep me awake,
in that bedroom we hid away.
Baby I'm long gone,
Yeah I'm long gone....
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[16 Feb 2010|12:40pm] |
I love days like today.
It's snowing and nasty out and I hate it.
I'm behind on my school work.
My chin's breaking out like crazy.
My lips are chapped and cracked and scabby bleh.
My hair is dirty and flat.
But I still looked in the mirror and managed to see that I'm beautiful. :)
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[15 Feb 2010|01:17pm] |
I could not sleep last night. I was just a bundle of racing thoughts and nerves, and I actually managed to turn the light back on and write in my notebook.
2:30 am
So. I have an eating disorder. Diagnosed anorexia with purging. It's fairly common knowledge because I'm not ashamed of the fact that I have my own personal demon that I try to deal with every day. I ain't hiding shit. Even though it sucks being judged for it by people who don't know me, are not psychologists, and don't really have a grasp on what it actually means to have an eating disorder. Part of the reason why I'm fairly open about it is because I want people to understand it and be able to relate it to things that they are more familiar and comfortable with.
My eating disorder is no longer about losing weight. When I was younger, I would've sworn up and down that there were no underlying causes and that I just hated my body and wanted to be as thin as possible. Now, some of that still holds true, and I know for a fact that I do not see my body as it really is. But since I've relapsed after a year and a half of recovery, I can see that things are on an entirely different level.
It is so easy to say that my eating disorder is all about weight and food and body image. It takes infinitely more courage to step back and say, "Okay. I relapsed this time because I am scared to death that I am not good enough or smart enough to do well in school, so if I fall back into my eating disorder and get so sick I have to withdraw and go inpatient again... Well. I'd just rather have that than potentially fail most of my classes because of my own stupidity and ineptitude." Or to say, "Okay. I relapsed because despite constant efforts, I cannot get over my feelings toward my exgirlfriend. So if I get sick, I can leave my current relationship without hurting him and hopefully have her attention directed back at me." It's not all that conscious in the moment, but to be able to, in hindsight, look back and see that those are possible reasons for my increased symptom use is a HUGE step from where I was with my eating disorder two years ago. It's pathetic and sad and messed up and terrifying that there will be points in my life where I will be so unprepared for what life is throwing at me that I will in turn hurt myself, but it is my go-to, instant gratification coping mechanism. I did really well for that year and a half. I had slip ups, but I got back on my feet quicker and quicker every time. But these past couple of months life is just throwing me so much that I fell, hard, and it is keeping me pinned down. And when you're in that rocky pit, you need to use the fastest, easiest thing to bring you back up a little, and for a lot of us, unfortunately, those are negative coping mechanisms.
It's like. For people who isolate. It is infinitely easier to say, "I hate everybody and I would just rather be alone. Who needs friends anyway? Nobody's good enough," than it is to say, "I am so afraid of getting close to someone and then losing them. Or worse yet, I'm scared of putting myself out there and being judged or rejected." So you beat them to the punch and then put up your walls. You'll be safe, but you'll miss out on all the great people that are out there in the world and you'll miss out on the opportunity to learn to embrace everyone's true uniqueness.
Or if you turn to drugs/alcohol. Possibly the kings of instant gratification. It's easy to say that it's just for fun or that you just like to escape every once in a while. It's so much harder to see that you may be trying to escape from yourself, and that you hate being in your head so much that you NEED to alter your conscious state.
I'm not saying this is how it is for everyone. But I've isolated, and I've done drugs to escape, and I know that they were my coping skills for a much bigger picture than I would let on.
Everyone has their vice, and therefore no one really has the power to judge. I wasted so much time being overly judgemental of others when it was none of my business all along. I've made people -cry- with my judgements and I really wish I could've kept a live and let live attitude about things.
Not to get all hippy dippy.
Peace and love, man.
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[05 Feb 2010|08:03pm] |
So I cut off all my hair.
I was just having one of those weeks, and this is how I chose to deal with it. And I like it. It doesn't photograph very well, because I have a giraffe's neck and I have no one to take pictures of me so I can't get the angle right. But it looks good.
I needed a change and now at least my hair is healthy again. And completely back to its natural color.
And it's shorter than I originally intended, but my stylist cut it the way I wanted and then showed me that it looked kinda stupid because of the length my bangs were.
And I would rather have shorter and right than longer and stupid.
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[30 Jan 2010|06:51pm] |
I think we are all at least a little bit afraid of being alone,
but we must consider whether we are not just afraid of being by ourselves.
I think we are all at least a little afraid of losing things,
but we must consider whether we are not just afraid of losing control.
I think we are all at least a little afraid of putting ourselves out there,
but we much consider whether we are not just afraid of being wrongly perceived.
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[19 Jan 2010|01:50pm] |
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"On the fourth day, she decided to think, in an organized manner, about the problem of romance. 'When we're incomplete, we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on - series polygamy - until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter. Hey, that's pretty good. If I had pencil and paper, I'd write that down.' Alas, she had no pencil, while the roll of paper that sat by the chamber pot was destined for a different end."
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[17 Jan 2010|10:36pm] |
I cannot believe what an awful, traumatic experience I had at The Outlook at Westchester.
I was supposed to begin my stay at NY Presbyterian's inpatient eating disorder program this past Friday. I finally got my mind around it being something that I could accomplish as a preventative measure, so that I didn't get to the ridiculous point I had two years ago, forcing me to drop out of school and do a four week inpatient stay in NJ. So I went, woke up bright and early Friday morning and got there around 10:30 am with my mother. Intake and evaluation went really well, even though it took forever, and I was feeling really optimistic. The staff seemed really awesome and friendly, and there was this seemingly cool girl doing her intake with me.
Then I got on the unit.
My mother was still with me, and we walked side-by-side into the double-locked unit, our ears greeted with blaring, Chopin-type classical music, making me feel instantly like I was in a legitimate looney bin. We were asked to sit in the hall way and wait for my therapist to arrive to talk to us. So we sat and waited, and one of the patients introduced herself to me. She was positively emaciated, as were the majority of the other girls I saw walking around the unit. I asked her how old she was and she responded, "Oh I'm 21, but I'll be turning 22 soon. If I make it, anyway. That's why I'm here." Beyond triggering. When my therapist finally arrived, neither my mother nor myself even looked up to acknowledge her because she was so thin that she looked like she should be a patient herself. I did not want someone like that treating me. She rambled on incoherently, I suppose about what should be expected during my stay, but I really couldn't understand her until she asked me if I had any questions. "Yes, the last place I stayed at worked their meal plan with exchanges, and I understand it doesn't work that way here, so could you explain to me how the meal plans would be working?"
More incoherent mumbling, and I got the impression that everyone ate at different times and different places depending on what "level" you were on. Not having received a clear answer on something I was really concerned about, I started to freak out. My mom asked the therapist if there was any way I could see my nutritionist right away to talk to her about it, and as she agreed, a nurse walked up and asked if she could speak to me in another room.
Still freaking out, I walked into the dining area and sat down with this nurse to answer her questions, and I right away told her that the music would be a problem. That it would have a negative effect on my mental state, and that there was no way they could play that all day, every day. Her response: "Why? It's just classical music." I stumbled over some response about how I had negative associations with it and that it made me very nervous. She told me I should be evaluated for Bipolar Disorder. I told her the place was really disorganized, because she was asking me the same questions that five other people had already asked me. She told me she was just doing her job. The nutritionist poked her head in the door and asked if she could speak to me for a few minutes since she heard that I was upset about not knowing how the meals worked and she had to leave in a little bit. The nurse gave her sass and attitude about how she and I were already talking and the nutritionist would have to wait. I jumped back, crying more, exclaiming that I couldn't do this if the two of them were going to argue over me in such an unprofessional manner. The nurse gave in and let my nutritionist talk to me in private.
The nutritionist was the only nice, polite, caring person I spoke with while on the unit, and she was the only one who could get me to calm down in the slightest. She sat down and asked me if I had received my sandwich. "Uh... no. What sandwich?" "Oh. We had ordered you a sandwich for lunch, it was supposed to be up here by now. I wonder what happened to it." So I, the anorexic, missed lunch because of the disorganization of this eating disorder unit.
I asked the nutritionist to give me a tour of the place, because no one had, and she did, eventually leaving me in my room to wait for my doctor to come see me.
So I sat with my mother in my room and as the minutes passed, my heart and my thoughts started to race at a similar pace to the piano that was still blaring over the speakers throughout the unit. I tried to talk with my mom about how I didn't think I would be able to stay there, that I didn't feel safe in the environment and I hated the staff and most of the patients triggered me like crazy. And the more I talked, the more I freaked, to the point where I was having a full blown panic attack. Unable to control my breathing, shaking, crying, feeling like I was about to pass out. My mother went down the hall to get me a glass of water, which took about fifteen minutes, and I found out later on it was because the first two people my mom went to and said, "My daughter down the hall is having a panic attack, can I get her a glass of water?" said simply, "That's not my job," and finally the right person said, "Hold on, let me find out if she has clearance for that." CLEARANCE. FOR A GLASS OF WATER. Nevermind the fact that I couldn't breathe, and during that whole time not one nurse who walked past my room asked if I was okay.
So I call my therapist and tell her I'm about to leave. That I don't feel safe and I would only get worse if I stayed there. She got me to agree to wait until she could make a few phone calls and get someone in my room to talk to me asap. By this time I had already been sitting in my room for an hour, crying nonstop. Another half hour passes, and I hear nothing on the phone from my therapist and my doctor still hasn't shown up. In the mean time, one nurse pops into my room with a clipboard and announces, "Room check!!" all cheery, and my mother asks her if someone can get me my anxiety medication or at least a nicotine patch because I'm seriously bugging. The nurse jumps back and says, "That's not my job, I'm just doing room checks." Another nurse stops by and says she's there to take my vitals, and I manage through my choking sobs that I don't even know if I'm staying yet, and she walks away without saying anything or going to get help. I finally get a text from my normal therapist saying that she's still waiting to hear back from my hospital doctor or therapist, when my hospital therapist walks by my room. My mom jumps up and says, "Hey, Betty? (i wasn't going to use names because it seemed inappropriate, but this woman seriously needs to get fired) Have you heard from Valerie's therapist at all?" Betty says, "Oh, I don't know. But even if I had it wouldn't matter because I'm officially off duty at 4:30."
That's when I officially started packing. The general attitude that place took about taking care of me left me totally disgusted, and there was no way I was going to entrust my recovery with them. Betty finally brought me the papers to sign myself out, and I told her that I would never ever give anyone a positive recommendation about that place. And I actually said, to her face, "And by the way, I'm a fucking anorexic seeking treatment. I really would've appreciated some lunch."
I think that sums it up.
The best part of it all was that this place used to be notorious for being one of the worst places to do an inpatient stay for eating disorders. So they shut down for a year in order to revamp and get new administration in and try and tackle things from a better angle. They openned again in the beginning of December and IT STILL SUCKS.
No one ever go there. Ever.
I'm leaving this public just in case it could possibly save someone from the terrible experience I had. I'm not ashamed about seeking help for my eating disorder, as no one should be.
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| Copied from my notebook |
[13 Jan 2010|11:52pm] |
Actual Date Written: 27 December 2009
So many people have noted how the world has this certain element of tenacity. No matter what sort of curve ball the universe throws its way, it manages to keep turning. The seasons will change, the rivers will keep flowing, people will still hate each other and everything will still have beauty even if you're holed up in your bed with the blues, a terrible haircut, nothing to wear, and a zit the size of a teen drama series smack in the middle of your forehead. You'll be dead and rotting in your grave and new songs will still be written, new thoughts and ideals will be formed, new masterpieces will be created by our beautiful human hands. It's supposed to be a sobering thought, like don't sweat the small stuff or like, it's supposed to make you feel smaller in the ever growing universe. But really it pisses me off like nobody's fucking business. Despite history books and ancient artifacts and all that other crap,
I am of the distinct belief that this world does not exist beyond our own existances.
It's selfish and childish , but it's like believing that I'm the only one who exists in this world and everyone and everything else only exist as figments of my own reality becaues everyone that has ever lived has a different sense of reality. No two worlds are the same. So we need to fucking make everything possible while we're still alive, because once we're dead, NOTHING ELSE MATTERS ANYMORE. It's scarier than anything, but also the most motivating thought I've ever had. Probably the main thing keeping me from killing myself is that I don't want to miss out (I know it shouldn't be, but right now I feel like life is just a succession of events in a search for a reason not to go to an early grave). We must write our own music and think our own thoughts and take our worlds to their limits while we're still able to do so.
I think maybe this is why people have kids. It gives them a purpose and makes their world real even after they die. It's safer, and less scarey, but so much more inhibiting.
.........................
All of the above is verbatum out my journal, and how I actually think. And so will following posts that come out of my journal, some of which will have to be made friends only.
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[29 Dec 2009|10:09pm] |
The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse
But the town has no need to be nervous
I just realized I really only use this to bitch and moan about everything. But that's what makes me interesting, right?
I'm thinking about going inpatient again. Mostly because I haven't been able to get myself back on my feet on my own, and if insurance is paying for it, why not accept the extra help? I need to keep reminding myself that it doesn't mean that I'm a failure, and I need to stop using the stupid old excuse that "I'm not sick enough." This will be a -preventative- inpatient stay so that I don't get to where I was two years ago.
Which was totally nonfunctioning, btw.
I have so much anger lately that I don't know what to do with. I've become an adult without knowing that anger is a normal and acceptable emotion, nor have I been taught how to properly express it or deal with it. I was never allowed to be angry growing up; if I ever did have a rare meltdown or tantrum, I was always disproportionately punished for it. So now I bottle it up until there's no more room and I explode. KABOOM big huge mess of me all over the kitchen floor. And then I get told I'm being too dramatic and more screaming ensues so I need to get out of here or find some way to convince the people in my life that I'm allowed to be angry.
I hate so many things and quite a few people that I can't write about in here. But fortunately for me, and I'm quite proud of myself for doing so, I've started writing in a notebook again. I've gotten over my fear of my mother reading what I have to say, because she cannot stay away for the life of her, and my fear that what I'm writing just isn't good enough which is RIDICULOUS because it's my fucking journal and anything that comes out of my pen is good enough for me.
I really admire Bob Dylan as a poet, I would like to emulate him, and he now watches me while I sleep.
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge
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| Dreams and Funny Things |
[15 Dec 2009|10:14pm] |
Last night:
Dream 1 - Amy, Thea, Eric Littman (whom I've met all of two times), and I were all in my grandparent's house. Really now it's just my grandfather's house but it looked like it did before my grandmother died. Anyway. The four of us are just standing around talking and Eric's hair is long and matted and disgusting. Thea's phone rings, so she walks outside to answer it. I start bothering Eric about how badly I want to cut his hair, that I've cut hair before and it will be totally awesome. Amy jokingly tells me to shut the fuck up and leave the poor boy alone about his hair. He finally agrees to let me do so, but all we have are jagged, rusty, nasty kitchen scissors. As I'm asking if we can get new ones, Thea walks back in, crying, and tells us that Tim (her ex) had called her with the specific purpose of just being a douchebag to her. I pull her into a hug and she cries on my shoulder and I tell her that it will all be fine because she has us to be there for her. Then I woke up.
Funny Thing 1 - I told Amy of this dream earlier today, and she said Thea had a dream last night that Tim called her just to be a douchebag. Thea, you will have to confirm if this is true.
------------------
Dream 2 - I was on Fire Island. Alanna had her own beach house, and I was sitting on the couch in her living room. She was dating Matt, and was draped over his lap, and kept rubbing it in my face. I just kept saying, "Uh, okay..." over and over because I really didn't give a rat's ass that they were dating. Alanna jumped up, wearing only a short silk robe and panties, and says, "You'll have to excuse me. I haven't showered since Matt and I last had sex and boy did I get sweaty," and quits the room to go shower. I say, "Matt, can I talk to you out on the deck?" I then ask him why he's using my best friend for sex since I know he never had any interest in Alanna to begin with. Before he gets an answer out, Alanna joins us on the deck and says, "Valerie, what the fuck? Did you just kiss my boyfriend?" I got light headed and dizzy and closed my eyes and managed to say, "I need to go buy a pack of cigarettes," remembering that you need to be 19 to buy cigarettes on Long Island, but it doesn't matter anymore because I'm 20. I walk to the docks, and I find a Hispanic man with a dingy and ask him if he'll give me a ride to Section 6 (doesn't exist), because I remember that's where Anicia is staying with her friend Alicia. He says sure, and we set out on the water. Waves keep splashing up over the sides of the boat and the man laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world and I get pissed. We dock and I get out, and I search through my purse, which is full of singles, to find a five dollar bill to give the man. I start asking people if they know where Alicia Commisso's house is. They all say yes, but I'll have to swim there. I say, "Fuck that, I've got a purse and shit," and wake up.
Funny Things 2 - The number 6 is associated with the element water, emotions, and strategy. My conscious mind definitely did not know that, but I suppose my unconscious mind does.
Two Nights Ago:
Alanna came home for winter break. She, Tyler and I all went to Starbucks, but it was located in the Golden's Bridge Shopping center where the Dunkin Donuts should be. There she tells the both of us that this will be her last time in the states, that she won't be coming home from Holland ever again. Tyler gets pissed, and I start crying. I try to tell her that she's supposed to be my best friend and that I don't have the money to come visit her and I cry and cry. All she says is, "Shut up. Shut the fuck up and stop crying." I woke up in tears.
Funny Things - Alanna is staying in Holland next semester, though she never directly told me. I only officially found out because she posted something on KittyRadio. I don't care so much that she's staying; it's no different than when she was in Buffalo except we can't text and good for her that she found a place she likes. And I'm getting a laptop with a webcam so we can Skype. But I really really would've appreciated being told directly from her. Or being told that she's making plans for the two of us to hang out, just the two of us, for the 1-2 weeks she's actually home. That she wants to come see how my room came out. That she wants to give me a hug so bad because I'm doing so poorly. And that she's super proud of me that I'm doing well in school.
Alanna, I'm sorry your dream person happened to be kind of weird/mean the past two days.
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| How I feel about my sexuality: |
[08 Dec 2009|01:36pm] |
"...I love my dead gay son."
"Wonder how he'd react if his son had a limp wrist with a pulse?"
Heathers. Possibly the best movie ever.
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