Tag: moleskine

In Coherent Words

November 21, 2008 by Brigitte

(lol @ ze title~ Just finished writing this in my moleskine, but I think it’s important enough to put on my blog. 7 pages in my moleskine, btw… I better get to typing!)

My depression is back. Not only that but once again I want so badly to die. That is different from being suicidal, mind you. There is no inner strength in me to pull off a stunt like that. Can’t I just get some sort of terminal illness? That way I could say, “Fuck college, fuck all these people that I hate, fuck everything,” and go do what I really want (to travel). I’m honestly so sick of being in school. I am not thriving here, my grades are mostly awful, and I have never been more confused in my life.

UCSB is a research-based university. I cannot stress that enough. Well, I don’t give a fuck about research. I wanted to be psychologist to help people better cope with their life issues. You know, a humanitarian view on all of this. And UCSB is completely sucking away all the passion I had for the field of psychology. Not to mention I do poorly in all the psych classes. Yeah it’s sort of from lack of trying but that’s because I have no interest anymore. None.

And now it almost feels like one of those “oh shit” moments where it’s too late to turn around. The damage has been done, so to speak.

So here I am in college spending thousands of dollars, and I don’t know why I am here. People attend college to earn a degree and it’s a stepping stone to better things. But, I don’t want the damn degree I came here to earn and if I had to choose another right away – none that are useful to me come to mind. And as for better things ahead I don’t even know what I want. When there is no target I can’t aim!

Okay, take a breather. Philosophy. I love it. I get it. I excel in it. And… it’s also guaranteed unemployment. What, am I going to philosophize my way into a job?! Yeah uhm… no. Film. I like film. Except the major is closed (I think) and I don’t want to work in anything film related. Literature. I like/enjoy reading it, sure. My essays aren’t bad, and if it’s a good read the essays are even fun to write! And yet no way in hell do I want to teach. Also, I’m not going to write any book. My skills and creativity don’t extend that far. So… fuck, what’s left? Sociology? I’m more interested in individuals than collective societies.

My rant is going nowhere, as is very clear to me. But I knew that from the start. I’m running out of options here. How do I proceed?

There are a few sure things I have always wanted out of life:

  • A lot of money
  • A big house
  • Pet cat and dog
  • ♥

I have a feeling that if I keep writing I’m eventually going to stumble upon what’s really bothering me. But I’ll write everything else first.

Ok, so I need a high-paying job. Requisite: DEGREE. *groans* I already decided that med-school is not for me. Trust me, I would end up killing myself on day 1. Okay, and if I have to attend grad school (which many psych majors do, to do anything with their degrees) then what’s the point?

Something I never considered until now, strangely enough: office job. But I mean like a really tall building, always busy, time-/life-consuming office job. That sounds exciting. Lmao. God, I’m crazy. I may be the only person alive to think something like that. And yet it’s true, that excitement I feel. (Too bad it’s also not guaranteed a lot of money…)

I’m always in such a hurry to grow up (oh here we go – this is the intro). Nothing about teen life appeals to me. And especially I hate being a fucking kid. (There I said it.)

—, my best friend, the one who said she would wait until marriage, had sex and was two months pregnant. She recently had an abortion.

— is was the only person I could talk to about my problems and not feel like I was excessively whiny, like  my problems were real. Meaningful, even. And now I realize everyone else is actually *living* their lives while I sit here and contemplate the bloody mind-body problem or the ethics of who-knows-what. But now we can’t commiserate with one another about how everyone is growing up so fast. She crossed the border and I feel so alone, as the last remaining child. It’s sort of like, “Hah, sucker, you have no life experience.”

So many people, by my age, have had handfuls of relationships, drink! (even though it’s illegal), tried or do drugs, have sex, etc. etc. If, for example, say that these are by definition characteristics of what it means to be an adult then I am not one of them. Mind you, I don’t want to do any of those things (okay well a relationship is whatever – but that’s a completely separate topic for another rainy day), but I still want to be an adult.

The problem may lie in my definition of adult. But, look around. When I tell people I’ve done none of those things (and don’t want to [i.e. don't want to drink]), they look at me like a fucking 5th grader with a small “aww” to accompany it. But hell, even 5th graders have bfs/gfs. *sigh* I’m not going to compromise my beliefs to be like everyone else but that still saddens me.

Age is nothing but a number. While my age may indicate I’m an adult I’m still living in Neverland. And I can cry and cry and cry, but I think I’m trapped here.

Last night, after talking to —, I couldn’t stand it anymore: the sickening familiarity of my bed. So I went for a bike ride. And I found a lovely circular courtyard with all these benches. A picturesque scene really. Christmas-lighted trees, and several empty benches except one. There I was, crawling into myself, hugging my knees and crying.

My only thought:
I want to die.

Okay so it’d be a lie to say that was my *only* thought. But it was the main one. It also occurred to me that I whine so damn much, and it’s not warranted. The problems are all in my head because you know what? Children don’t have problems. I don’t have any experience in anything life-related and I’m still depressed?

My best friend just had an abortion and I’m wishing death upon myself over lack of decisiveness?! It wasn’t making sense. And still, it doesn’t.

I have no right to feel anything. And! Now I know why I think emotions are weak: I’m weak for feeling them because they’re uncalled for. There is no reason to be so depressed.

This sounds uplifting almost, but rest easy because it’s only propelled me into an even further depression. And! This is why I want a terminal illness; if I were dying there’d be a rhyme and reason for my depression. My thoughts of wanting to end the misery would be warranted.

Alas, I do not have a terminal illness and I am still miserably alive. When will life throw me something to really warrant my depression?

Honestly I’ve hardly eaten this week. I’m still not hungry. There is no enjoyment in anything anymore.

All I wanted was your love.

[A dramatic ending. Love it. Damn, but I'm still not done. That's why I wanted to write everything else first. *sigh*]

I’m not going home for Thanksgiving. My mother doesn’t want me there. I could QUOTE her text messages here, but why bother? I’ve already accepted her dislike for me. Though I’m not so sure why I still feel as though magically one day everything will be okay. It’s the child-like thing I was talking about. Extreme naivete, or whatever people call it these days. It’s not masochism, that I can assure you of.

Then I started crying in the shower because I always invite my family but no one ever wants to come visit me. I thought about calling Aunt Meme and just imagining the usual “No, I’m busy” response made me cry. Of course everyone is busy. Everyone else is an adult, living their lives. Yet again I am stuck in this damn rut. *sigh*

I just don’t know what to do anymore.

Tags: , , , ,
Categories: Life • 8 Comments »

Don’t Make Me Do This Again (Catharsis)

October 11, 2008 by Brigitte

Separate yourself from the truth and it never happened.

Tall wooden chopsticks sifted through the white bean sprouts in her soup, at this point no longer looking for leftover noodles in the broth but rather wasting the time away. A quick beep brought her attention to her phone, which lay comfortably on the table, to her right. The text message said nothing pertinent to her current state of mind. Her eyes moved back from the screen of the phone to the soup and she contemplated finishing the orange thai tea in front of her. ‘She calls herself “happii” doesn’t she?’ the girl’s thoughts returning to the content’s of the text message. Such a seemingly innocent thing, that with a grain of time formulated much deeper thoughts in her mind.

Quickly she pulled out her small pocket moleskine, appropriately covered in the black cahier material. Sifting through her big blue purse for the pen did not come easily but after touching around for its shape she grabbed it and pulled it out. She didn’t recognize the pen, but that didn’t matter. Clicking the top she began to write furiously all her thoughts. The girl knew, without getting the thoughts down as quickly as possible that in an instant they’d disappear, become so insignificant… and her thoughts would turn into nothing more but a short ramble of nonsensical words.

“To call yourself as such you really must be very happy inside and glad for the cards life has dealt you. And just how in control are you of what cards you get?” These basic words introduced the unpleasant train of thought to come in a second. She sighed, sipping some of the thai tea. It felt cold in her mouth and on her tongue where earlier the warmth of the soup had warmed over her body. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to finish the cold drink, but she sipped on anyway, tempted very much by its exotic flavor. And she heard the wind howl cruelly outside, a cold chill running down her spine.

She looked to the other seat across her in the booth and the sudden realization that she was the only one eating alone suddenly hit her. This was why she had taken her time initially. Meals were consumed by mindless chatter and silly jokes, but without any of these she needed to preoccupy herself with those strange thoughts that filled her mind perpetually.

Ink flowed again onto the pages of the small notebook: “And I think back to my former self… the girl I was in 9th grade… and I can’t help but wonder if at any point my personality can revert back to that girl.” She had no need to elaborate the ‘who she was’ bit because of course she knew. She knew the optimism of her youth, or at least of that year. And the conversation she once had with Valerie came to mind. And how she had let Eric read it. Even he had marked it as important. It was. The conversation had taken place during December of 10th grade and it’d been epic. The thoughts were coming forth from the woodwork and none of them were going on paper. She felt a strong need to capture these in concrete words.

“The moment 10th grade began – the beginning of the end for me – everything changed. My environment changed. My personality changed. My friends changed… no longer did I have the ability to talk to and hang out with the people I thought would mean the most  and define the rest of my high-school experience. =/ There’s no reason to reminisce… those days are long past.

“I was what – 11 or 12? When I first got taken to the mental hospital.” With a single paragraph break she’d gone from 9th and 10th grade directly down to 7th. “The harsh truth of it is hitting me pretty hard right now and… I can remember fragments of it. Twice. My mother took me there twice. Each time it was for about 3 days.”

A short phone conversation and exchanging of money for the meal later, she continued, this time not in the comforts of the restaurant but in the dry coldness of the outside world. Biting her lower lip she wondered why she hadn’t just stayed inside a while longer. Surely no one would have minded but she’d been in there long enough and she needed a change of scenery. The parking lot was dimly lit. For no reason whatsoever besides the cold weather did she want to go back to her apartment. So she did the only other reasonable thing to do: she found a place to sit and write. The cold felt wholly painful and her hands stiff.

“It may have been the first time or the second time… I don’t know… but I got strapped to a gurney. There was no fight left in my body at that point and no reason for it, but I cannot for the life of me recall what exactly caused the argument between my mother and I. It could have been as simple as me not wanting to do my chores. So badly I want to cry right now. Yes damnit I happen to be in public. =/ There’s never any undoing of the past and those arguments have caused my mother and I to be distant now.

“The rows of beds in which we all slept. And I remember talking to them, listening to their stories all the while marking my superiority by telling myself how wildly different I was in comparison to them. No, now I realize not so different after all. We just made different mistakes but we are the same.

“And the shower. The tiles were entirely blue. It was down the hall and as my memory recalls it – it was a door, like opening a closet but inside was simply that shower room. And the questions they asked me. The pills they gave me. And the stares and disbelief. Did I shut down my mind? Specifics have always been blurry territory for me.”

Frozen hands closed the notebook. Clicking the pen shut and throwing these items back into her purse, that bright blue fashion item, the only thought she could think of now was: ‘Who can I call? I want to cry to someone that won’t judge me. Someone who will listen. Someone who doesn’t care about my past because I’m passed that… I’m someone else now, but someone that will still listen.’

And sure enough a name came to mind. Dismissing the name was easy. There was no way in hell she would ever call him. The feeling of heartbreak and loss rose in her chest. More and more she wanted to cry now, but it’d be a waste if no one heard it. There is no consulation in crying alone. A new name came to mind. No, she hadn’t talked to him in a while and the last thing she wanted to do was call back after all that time – and cry. Another name. No. That call from earlier, she’d told her friend she would call back, but she didn’t want to talk to her anymore. A few more deep breaths. ‘Remember, you’re in public. There’s no crying allowed.’

And now the moment is gone.

-Stolen from the moleskine diaries.

Tags: , , , ,
Categories: Life • No Comments »