I wish I had something really interesting to say about Christmas. Well, we did get mugged yesterday, so that's what I'm gonna start off with.
Most women know that you should park in the part of town where whores and drug addicts hang out. My friends don't, so there we are at 2am walking besides prostitutes, only to have someone snatch my friends purse and run away. I'm not gonna go into to much details, but I did spend some horrifying moments waiting for them in the car, parked in a God forsaken street in the middle of nowhere, because she actually wanted to get her purse back and thought it would be a good idea to cruise along the illegal immigrants in a police car looking for a pink purse. Sigh. I'm just happy I got out of there alive, and I'm definitely not carpooling again if that means I'll have to go to a car parked in the middle of a crimezone. The voice of the black girl yelling to us "Don't go this way it's dangerous" will be haunting me for a while.
I also made an important decision this Christmas: I will fight my constant naderism (is that the word for consuming mania? well, you get the picture). Since I finished high school, my desire for "things" grew dramatically. More and more and more. When I was younger it used to be games, now it turned into plain everything. When I was working I could feed my desire for useless stuff and ever since I quit I just ended up waiting and wanting. And so I'm putting an end to this - at least I'm gonna try to - and I will try hard not to spend and think about money all the time. I believe that to some extent this may make me a happier person too.
Other than that, this year Christmas seems number that ever. A friend said that it may be so because we're getting old and unimpressed, hard to please and amuse. That every year is gonna be worse from now on. Exactly what I needed to hear. That I'm gonna leave the rest of my life as a fake orgasm of a teenage girl.
At least I can still find some emotion in music. I am very thankful for that. So if you feel like nothing can get under skin anymore, lie on the floor, no matter what you are wearing, or how clean this floor is, turn off the lights, press play, and lie on the floor.
Hum along, black sheep.
mardi 28 décembre 2010
dimanche 12 décembre 2010
Panique
I had a really bad day.
I was at this party last night and drank quite a lot until about 3am. I got back home in the morning only to wake up four hours later shaking as if I had a really bad fever. After unsuccessfully trying to vomit several times, I realized that my condition was not due to hangover - it was a panic attack.
Understanding that you are having a panic attack is not an easy task, especially if it's your first one. This was my third, I think. I tend to get panic attacks when I travel abroad and feel that I am in a dead end situation, and that was the first time I got one at home so it took me some time to figure it out.
During my first panic attack, I was utterly fucked up. I had travelled for about twelve hours to find myself in a cold hotel in the middle of nowhere. My symptoms were inability to see properly (letters and numbers kept changing places before my eyes and that scared me more than anything else), insomnia, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, stomachache, trembling, and fear of dying away from home. So after consuming some strange local powdered medicine thingy, I was saved by a friend who arrived later on and told me those are all panic attack symptoms and that she had experienced them as well. And, the only way to get through a panic attack (without pills and that kind of shit of course) is realizing you are having one, and then "rationalize" your fear. Once you've done the first, you're halfway there. Most symptoms wear off by then but you still get to have that nauseated feeling on your chest as well as insomnia to some point, until you fully get over what is causing you to panic.
So what caused my panic attack? This may sound funny to you, but a guy at the party hit on me, quite persistently. I already have a boyfriend that I cherish and love but since I had the chance I though some flirting wouldn't hurt. I didn't even think of cheating, not for one second. Besides I never have casual one night stands, mostly because of my fear of STDs and other crap you can get from someone you have never met before, even when using protection. Come to think of it more carefully, I was not even that flirty. I was more like friendly, but from the first moment I saw the guy I felt the chemistry between us. Anyhow, in the beginning things were going smoothly. I think what gave me away was a random look I gave him after drinking had lost its effects on me, yet not on him. And so it started - I've never been cornered so intensively in my life. It may come as a surprise to many of you, but I don't like being hit on when I'm not single. Not at all. It was not long before "I can see what you want" and a couple of kisses on the cheek turned into "Does your man fuck you well?" being hissed underneath my hair and in my ear. Once the whole thing started I was constantly avoiding its continuation but I only ended up feeling like a corpse being stalked by a hungry condor. I found myself crying in the bathroom next to me best friend who was trying to console me.
To sum up, I think that my panic attack was caused by plain guilt. My behaviour was unusual. I am an aggressive person, I don't let guys come close to me, but yesterday I did. I may have not opened my legs and nodded "Come fuck me" but I was a whole lot more acceptive than usual. And it so happened that my prey was not in mood to flirt, but to empty his sack. I failed.
You could say I'm overreacting - I most certainly am. I know this is the least of my problems at this point in my life. The reason I shared this experience with you is not only because I need to get things out of my system (which is mostly what this blog is for) but to let you know how easily a silly matter can mess with your head.
And that it's usually not worth it.
I was at this party last night and drank quite a lot until about 3am. I got back home in the morning only to wake up four hours later shaking as if I had a really bad fever. After unsuccessfully trying to vomit several times, I realized that my condition was not due to hangover - it was a panic attack.
Understanding that you are having a panic attack is not an easy task, especially if it's your first one. This was my third, I think. I tend to get panic attacks when I travel abroad and feel that I am in a dead end situation, and that was the first time I got one at home so it took me some time to figure it out.
During my first panic attack, I was utterly fucked up. I had travelled for about twelve hours to find myself in a cold hotel in the middle of nowhere. My symptoms were inability to see properly (letters and numbers kept changing places before my eyes and that scared me more than anything else), insomnia, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, stomachache, trembling, and fear of dying away from home. So after consuming some strange local powdered medicine thingy, I was saved by a friend who arrived later on and told me those are all panic attack symptoms and that she had experienced them as well. And, the only way to get through a panic attack (without pills and that kind of shit of course) is realizing you are having one, and then "rationalize" your fear. Once you've done the first, you're halfway there. Most symptoms wear off by then but you still get to have that nauseated feeling on your chest as well as insomnia to some point, until you fully get over what is causing you to panic.
So what caused my panic attack? This may sound funny to you, but a guy at the party hit on me, quite persistently. I already have a boyfriend that I cherish and love but since I had the chance I though some flirting wouldn't hurt. I didn't even think of cheating, not for one second. Besides I never have casual one night stands, mostly because of my fear of STDs and other crap you can get from someone you have never met before, even when using protection. Come to think of it more carefully, I was not even that flirty. I was more like friendly, but from the first moment I saw the guy I felt the chemistry between us. Anyhow, in the beginning things were going smoothly. I think what gave me away was a random look I gave him after drinking had lost its effects on me, yet not on him. And so it started - I've never been cornered so intensively in my life. It may come as a surprise to many of you, but I don't like being hit on when I'm not single. Not at all. It was not long before "I can see what you want" and a couple of kisses on the cheek turned into "Does your man fuck you well?" being hissed underneath my hair and in my ear. Once the whole thing started I was constantly avoiding its continuation but I only ended up feeling like a corpse being stalked by a hungry condor. I found myself crying in the bathroom next to me best friend who was trying to console me.
To sum up, I think that my panic attack was caused by plain guilt. My behaviour was unusual. I am an aggressive person, I don't let guys come close to me, but yesterday I did. I may have not opened my legs and nodded "Come fuck me" but I was a whole lot more acceptive than usual. And it so happened that my prey was not in mood to flirt, but to empty his sack. I failed.
You could say I'm overreacting - I most certainly am. I know this is the least of my problems at this point in my life. The reason I shared this experience with you is not only because I need to get things out of my system (which is mostly what this blog is for) but to let you know how easily a silly matter can mess with your head.
And that it's usually not worth it.
mercredi 8 décembre 2010
Des nuits blanches
My sister is out of town these days, and I am extremely lonely. I must admit I have never been more jealous of people travelling than right now - whenever someone gets a chance to go abroad, I want to jump in their suitcase and follow them wherever they are going.
I've been a mess since Sunday night. Kept sleeping at 4am, and even then not very willingly. Truth be told, I don't enjoy staying up late. I like sleeping early and waking up at 9am or earlier, enjoy a big sunny day, whether it's a winter or a summer one.
My room was a real dump. Clothes and shoes were all around, the beds were messy, and there was a corner filled with books and empty bags that is so packed it could become a mouse nest without me even noticing. I wasn't in the best condition either - I hadn't showered for a while, kept my hair in a ponytail to avoid the cigarette smell they had picked up and wore the exact same pjs and robe for more than I can remember. Whenever degenerate to this state it's hard for me to get out. My plans for today were to get up, clean the room, have a nice hot bath and feel decent again.
However one of the reasons I was feeling so unwilling to help myself was the fact that my balcony shutters are jammed and can't be opened unless blown to smithereens, living my room unlit and poorly ventilated. I can't get myself to do much when I am unable to see the sun in the morning, which is one of the reasons I was keeping the whole house shut when I was depressed as a teenager: I didn't want to be in a good and energetic mood.
Even so, I was feeling so uncomfortable being slimy and untidy that I eventually cleaned up in the afternoon. I even discovered a briefcase full of half-used spiral notebooks and blank papers. I rarely use paper anymore but for sketching, so I kept them to give them to my sister who is still at school. I afterwards dipped my face and hair in extra virgin olive and yogurt (it's a Mediterranean kind of mask I like to use once in a while) and took a long hot bath, finishing with a body scrub I've gotten from Bodyshop, that makes the whole bathroom smell like cranberries, let alone my skin. I must admit I feel so much better. Tidying up and showering is one of my favorite routines, and the best remedy the help me fight migraines. I can't guarantee it will work for everyone but it sure does for me.
Now I'm all snuggled up inside my bed. I haven't talked to my boyfriend all day long and it feels a little bitter. Much as I'd love to meet him and sleep in his arms, I really do not feel like talking to him right now. It must be the first time in my life I don't want anyone to know how fucked up my psyche is. I sometimes get carried away and start talking about how I find my existence meaningless, but all this gets me is words of sympathy that I'm so fed up with, or even irony, in some cases. I don't need that and I don't need to whine. That's what this blog is for. Right now all I want is not to be left alone, and this is how I keep ending up.
I've been a mess since Sunday night. Kept sleeping at 4am, and even then not very willingly. Truth be told, I don't enjoy staying up late. I like sleeping early and waking up at 9am or earlier, enjoy a big sunny day, whether it's a winter or a summer one.
My room was a real dump. Clothes and shoes were all around, the beds were messy, and there was a corner filled with books and empty bags that is so packed it could become a mouse nest without me even noticing. I wasn't in the best condition either - I hadn't showered for a while, kept my hair in a ponytail to avoid the cigarette smell they had picked up and wore the exact same pjs and robe for more than I can remember. Whenever degenerate to this state it's hard for me to get out. My plans for today were to get up, clean the room, have a nice hot bath and feel decent again.
However one of the reasons I was feeling so unwilling to help myself was the fact that my balcony shutters are jammed and can't be opened unless blown to smithereens, living my room unlit and poorly ventilated. I can't get myself to do much when I am unable to see the sun in the morning, which is one of the reasons I was keeping the whole house shut when I was depressed as a teenager: I didn't want to be in a good and energetic mood.
Even so, I was feeling so uncomfortable being slimy and untidy that I eventually cleaned up in the afternoon. I even discovered a briefcase full of half-used spiral notebooks and blank papers. I rarely use paper anymore but for sketching, so I kept them to give them to my sister who is still at school. I afterwards dipped my face and hair in extra virgin olive and yogurt (it's a Mediterranean kind of mask I like to use once in a while) and took a long hot bath, finishing with a body scrub I've gotten from Bodyshop, that makes the whole bathroom smell like cranberries, let alone my skin. I must admit I feel so much better. Tidying up and showering is one of my favorite routines, and the best remedy the help me fight migraines. I can't guarantee it will work for everyone but it sure does for me.
Now I'm all snuggled up inside my bed. I haven't talked to my boyfriend all day long and it feels a little bitter. Much as I'd love to meet him and sleep in his arms, I really do not feel like talking to him right now. It must be the first time in my life I don't want anyone to know how fucked up my psyche is. I sometimes get carried away and start talking about how I find my existence meaningless, but all this gets me is words of sympathy that I'm so fed up with, or even irony, in some cases. I don't need that and I don't need to whine. That's what this blog is for. Right now all I want is not to be left alone, and this is how I keep ending up.
lundi 6 décembre 2010
Motivation
Recently I happened to have a talk - or a quarrel, more like - with a fifty year old woman. Now if you get to talk to women of that age, you must know they are going through a little thing called menopause. And it's not nice.
What I realized while discussing with her is that women with menopause are just like any other woman alive, except for the fact that they have a good excuse for everything. They start off by explaining why they suddenly neglect themselves and gain weight, something caused by the consumption of ridiculously needless amounts of food. They are sad. The are not young anymore, they have spent their lives with an insensitive bastard of a husband, a dead end job and a 20 year old daughter (like myself) that should have moved out and ceased to be a burden to them. And to realize all this, they had to get bloody menopause. Or not so bloody after all, no gruesome pun intended.
If you ask them why they got married since they think all men are scum, they will answer that they wanted to have a child, and if you ask them why they wanted a child they will just say "every woman wants to have a child at some point in their lives". Taking this into account, one can easily assume that women are doomed to die miserable either because they had kids, or because they didn't. Kind of an easy way to declare your life a one-way street.
Funniest thing is that, these women, encourage you to follow their lifestyle. Study something that will lead you to a non-creative yet somehow "safe" job. Have as many sexual partners as possible so that you can be all fed-up with relationships when you decide to marry and have kids. Do marry, and do have kids, even if this will eventually turn you into a miserable middle aged person everybody is sick of listening to.
The issue is that these women haven't got any real problems. Their problems are good enough to fill Cosmopolitan's pages, that they enjoy reading and identifying with, but they are not real problems. These women are not starving or slowly dying of some terminal decease, they just refuse to change their ways because they have a convenient excuse when they give up.
Of course you can't have anything you want in your life. Because this is what life is like. What on earth makes women think men do not go through tough dilemmas like we do, and that they never ever led to them because they desire to have a family? Sure, not everybody wants to settle down. But that doesn't mean women desperately have to. Of course men are often stuck in jobs they hate, occasionally married to women they hate, self-conscious because their sexual performance is not what it used to be, since their erection is not an easy task anymore. But because women get to go through menopause and have a raging hormone fest, everything is suddenly worse. As if we don't deal with hormones because of our menstrual cycles our entire freakin' lives.
And now, let me tell you about my mother. She's had her menopause, but not once did she use it as an excuse for her behaviour, that hasn't really changed since she was in her middle twenties. She may be grumpy, she may be gaining weight and fighting with me about it every day because I am worried about her health, she may have to go to work then come back and watch tv all afternoon, but she never ever spilled on me that bullshit about fucking menopause. It's just a phase. It's your choice what you do with it.
We tend to make excuses about everything we do. About men that treated us like trash yet we still love. About not being the best we could be. I, myself, keep making up excuses for being extremely lazy and skipping university everyday. I don't like the outdoors, I am a little stingy when it comes to spending money on outings, I am too bored to get ready to go out, I usually have to wake up early in the morning, and I plain like staying at home and doing nothing. But I still try to fight this. I work out, I get around, I study music. You may say I'm just 20 and life is easy right now, but I do believe it is a matter of will. What about all these middle aged women that go the the gym with me? Those who instead of bitching about their lives in front of another hopeless romantic soap opera volunteer to do charity work? Those who lose their husbands in that fragile age yet still fight to bring up children?
This whole issue made me think of my ways a lot as well. A week ago, I wanted to die. I still see my life as a dead end, and if it goes on the way I expect it to, I will probably never kill myself. But I certainly will try to make the best of it while I'm at it, instead of trying to figure out a good enough reason for my idleness. Peace.
What I realized while discussing with her is that women with menopause are just like any other woman alive, except for the fact that they have a good excuse for everything. They start off by explaining why they suddenly neglect themselves and gain weight, something caused by the consumption of ridiculously needless amounts of food. They are sad. The are not young anymore, they have spent their lives with an insensitive bastard of a husband, a dead end job and a 20 year old daughter (like myself) that should have moved out and ceased to be a burden to them. And to realize all this, they had to get bloody menopause. Or not so bloody after all, no gruesome pun intended.
If you ask them why they got married since they think all men are scum, they will answer that they wanted to have a child, and if you ask them why they wanted a child they will just say "every woman wants to have a child at some point in their lives". Taking this into account, one can easily assume that women are doomed to die miserable either because they had kids, or because they didn't. Kind of an easy way to declare your life a one-way street.
Funniest thing is that, these women, encourage you to follow their lifestyle. Study something that will lead you to a non-creative yet somehow "safe" job. Have as many sexual partners as possible so that you can be all fed-up with relationships when you decide to marry and have kids. Do marry, and do have kids, even if this will eventually turn you into a miserable middle aged person everybody is sick of listening to.
The issue is that these women haven't got any real problems. Their problems are good enough to fill Cosmopolitan's pages, that they enjoy reading and identifying with, but they are not real problems. These women are not starving or slowly dying of some terminal decease, they just refuse to change their ways because they have a convenient excuse when they give up.
Of course you can't have anything you want in your life. Because this is what life is like. What on earth makes women think men do not go through tough dilemmas like we do, and that they never ever led to them because they desire to have a family? Sure, not everybody wants to settle down. But that doesn't mean women desperately have to. Of course men are often stuck in jobs they hate, occasionally married to women they hate, self-conscious because their sexual performance is not what it used to be, since their erection is not an easy task anymore. But because women get to go through menopause and have a raging hormone fest, everything is suddenly worse. As if we don't deal with hormones because of our menstrual cycles our entire freakin' lives.
And now, let me tell you about my mother. She's had her menopause, but not once did she use it as an excuse for her behaviour, that hasn't really changed since she was in her middle twenties. She may be grumpy, she may be gaining weight and fighting with me about it every day because I am worried about her health, she may have to go to work then come back and watch tv all afternoon, but she never ever spilled on me that bullshit about fucking menopause. It's just a phase. It's your choice what you do with it.
We tend to make excuses about everything we do. About men that treated us like trash yet we still love. About not being the best we could be. I, myself, keep making up excuses for being extremely lazy and skipping university everyday. I don't like the outdoors, I am a little stingy when it comes to spending money on outings, I am too bored to get ready to go out, I usually have to wake up early in the morning, and I plain like staying at home and doing nothing. But I still try to fight this. I work out, I get around, I study music. You may say I'm just 20 and life is easy right now, but I do believe it is a matter of will. What about all these middle aged women that go the the gym with me? Those who instead of bitching about their lives in front of another hopeless romantic soap opera volunteer to do charity work? Those who lose their husbands in that fragile age yet still fight to bring up children?
This whole issue made me think of my ways a lot as well. A week ago, I wanted to die. I still see my life as a dead end, and if it goes on the way I expect it to, I will probably never kill myself. But I certainly will try to make the best of it while I'm at it, instead of trying to figure out a good enough reason for my idleness. Peace.
mercredi 1 décembre 2010
Il faut commencer avec un message
It has been a long time I wanted to create a new blog. An anonymous, purely new, not bounded by anything blog. And the reason for this is because yesterday I realized that I don't really want to live anymore.
However, ending your life is a selfish and cowardly thing to do, and the Internet is so full of people hating their lives, cutting or pretending to be cutting their wrists. Once my sister was chatting with that boy online and he told her he was going to kill himself 'cause she cyber-rejected him, then logged off. Two days later he was back online, only to go offline when my sis asked "You not dead yet?"
So, no, I do not hate my life. I quite love it actually. What I do hate, is my future. The fact that I'm slowly growing old, the decisions I will have to be making, the situations I know I will be put through. But I kind of have to stay alive. What has mostly been troubling me about death, is the fact that people will be living here after I'm gone. This way, I'm not just ending my life, I'm also destroying theirs too. And I would rather dip my entire head in shit than destroy the lives of my loved ones.
Another thing I have been thinking is the perception of life itself. Being a selfish person, and having started thinking about death, I had this crazy idea that life might just be something I created. Not in a godly way, but in the meaning that as I cease to exist, so does everything around me. All I experience occurs because I am living. If I could get myself to seriously believe that, maybe I would feel less guilt when dying about living people behind.
I'm am starting this blog, because I am tired of talking to people. I feel as if whenever I speak about my problems they disappear, thus putting my troubles in a sort of hiatus only to come back and get buried, then reborn again. And I am sick of this happening whenever I get my period. This time I'm not telling anyone, but you, if you are reading this.
As you may notice (or have noticed already) English is not my mother language. I have considered writing in French, but this way not only do I decrease the possibility of someone reading and actually understanding what I'm talking about, but I also significantly limit my vocabulary, given that my french is a lot more formal and business-oriented compared to my English, that is a whole lot more casual and that I use almost daily.
I don't even know if I'll manage to keep blogging. Maybe I'll get bored, maybe I will lose interest, this tends to happen to me a lot. Maybe I'm just going through a stupid phase, or I'll forget my password and email address, or I'll even delete this tomorrow out of embarrassment.
For now, I'll just try to break all my blogging clichés and talk about something interesting, usually ending it with a song that triggered my will to write it.
However, ending your life is a selfish and cowardly thing to do, and the Internet is so full of people hating their lives, cutting or pretending to be cutting their wrists. Once my sister was chatting with that boy online and he told her he was going to kill himself 'cause she cyber-rejected him, then logged off. Two days later he was back online, only to go offline when my sis asked "You not dead yet?"
So, no, I do not hate my life. I quite love it actually. What I do hate, is my future. The fact that I'm slowly growing old, the decisions I will have to be making, the situations I know I will be put through. But I kind of have to stay alive. What has mostly been troubling me about death, is the fact that people will be living here after I'm gone. This way, I'm not just ending my life, I'm also destroying theirs too. And I would rather dip my entire head in shit than destroy the lives of my loved ones.
Another thing I have been thinking is the perception of life itself. Being a selfish person, and having started thinking about death, I had this crazy idea that life might just be something I created. Not in a godly way, but in the meaning that as I cease to exist, so does everything around me. All I experience occurs because I am living. If I could get myself to seriously believe that, maybe I would feel less guilt when dying about living people behind.
I'm am starting this blog, because I am tired of talking to people. I feel as if whenever I speak about my problems they disappear, thus putting my troubles in a sort of hiatus only to come back and get buried, then reborn again. And I am sick of this happening whenever I get my period. This time I'm not telling anyone, but you, if you are reading this.
As you may notice (or have noticed already) English is not my mother language. I have considered writing in French, but this way not only do I decrease the possibility of someone reading and actually understanding what I'm talking about, but I also significantly limit my vocabulary, given that my french is a lot more formal and business-oriented compared to my English, that is a whole lot more casual and that I use almost daily.
I don't even know if I'll manage to keep blogging. Maybe I'll get bored, maybe I will lose interest, this tends to happen to me a lot. Maybe I'm just going through a stupid phase, or I'll forget my password and email address, or I'll even delete this tomorrow out of embarrassment.
For now, I'll just try to break all my blogging clichés and talk about something interesting, usually ending it with a song that triggered my will to write it.