The Ruins Of My Mind

Sunny Christian

December 26, 1999, 12:58 AM, Central

My name is Cordelia Lee Shane, I am eighteen years old, and this is my first entry into this online journal. My best friend, Joy, inspired it, because she has one, and I find it very intriguing. I have high hopes for this. I want it to be extraordinary.

I have always written, though never in a very organized fashion. Most of the words that I create end up in song-form. So this is a new venture for me.

I want to believe that I am special. However, no one else seems to agree with this. Therefore, my days are spent trying to prove it to them. Hopelessness, worthlessness… they boil like acid in my stomach and threaten to derail me entirely. It never goes away. Are there other people who feel this way?

I think that I have lost my Christmas spirit. I can barely remember what it feels like. I know that it has to do with lights and presents and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. But when I think that, I get angry with myself, because it's supposed to be about something more. And it is. I just wish that my spirit weren't gone.

Another holiday lost. Just as forgettable as all of the Christmases before it. Brutally crushed dreams. Happy birthday, Jesus. Even though You’re really a Libra.

The word "wonderfluffy" is nice.

This entry sucks. I am out of practice. Perhaps I shall improve with further writings.

It's one o'clock in the morning and I am so tired. My head continues to hurt. I don't believe that it ever stops. I hate that. I'm going to bed.

December 26, 1999, 2:55 PM, Central

If I couldn't sing, I think that I would be worthless.

Damn, I miss kissing. Christmas tends to bring up those things in me. How I actually, for some idiotic, human reason, believe in love.

This year, I wasn't very lonely on Christmas, which was nice. My sister, Lizzie, kept me company. Which was more odd than nice, actually. I miss her a lot sometimes. I wish that she'd come back from The Dark Side. And I wish that she had better taste in guys, because even though the guys that she likes are really just like her, they don't deserve her, because she isn't really like that. She's just trying to fit in. I wish that she were still in the stage of her life when she wanted to be like me. Cuz I'm cool. Dammit.

Natalie e-mailed me today. She does this thing where I think that she's maybe trying to make me feel good and I wonder if she's being sincere or just drunk on eggnog. Natalie is one of the few people who can get to me. Sometimes, I feel like I'm a little kid with her. I'm like, "YAY! PRAISE ME! PRAISE ME!" I'm such an idiot. I'm like that with Joy and Mark too. I mean, I want them to think that I'm wonderful, because I think that they're so wonderful, and I'm like, "What if they don't think that I am? What if I suck?"

Someone once said that people choose their friends because they see something in them that they want to be as well. I'm not sure if I believe that, but it sure ends up like that a lot. I want to be compassionate like Mark; I want to be strong like Natalie; I want to be brilliant like Joy; I want to be young like Angel. I want to be Jewel. Sometimes, I wanna be anyone but me.

I think that this is enough for now. I seem to be depressing myself. This really helps me. Writing. Writing things that I'm ashamed about and never say to anyone. Very cleansing. And though it brings all of my flaws and fears and depressions to the surface, I think that it will be good overall. At least, I hope so. Besides, writing makes me feel better just because I know that I'm good at it.

I want to be good at more.

Though I’m good at many things. The problem is that I’m not great at anything. Except singing, of course. I didn’t learn it and I don’t have to work for it. It’s just there. Not that I’m not grateful. In fact, I thank God every day for my voice. Unfortunately, He doesn’t seem to have any plans for this voice. I fear that it will be lost amongst the countless other voices, and this fear plagues me like nothing I’ve ever known.

December 26, 1999, 9:58 PM, Central

I find that I am addicted to my online journal, though I can't express myself as well as I'd like to without music.

I wish that there were more entire albums that I could use as dwelling places.

I get New Years Day off, so I can party for once. Justine is going to do some big bonfire type thing with all of these people from around here. I have decided to go, because I have to celebrate the Millennium somehow. I would like to be in MTV Studios, where I belong, but instead, I will be here, in the God-forsaken hole to which I have been condemned...

I hate being normal. I feel anything BUT normal. Yet, I am normal. When I am in a crowd, no one knows that I am there. I don’t stand out; I blend in. This is the worst possible fate. I wish that I were special. I wish that people thought of me. The number one advantage would be that I could meet the lovely Jaydon Wesley, and he would think that I was worth his time.

We’ve sort of met… Natalie is a mutual friend. She’s even played my music for him, and he said that he liked it. This is impossible to believe, of course. If only he knew that every song was about him. Oy. We talk online every once in awhile. It is casual and painfully lacking in depth. But I relish it, nonetheless.

Jaydon is a problem that I cannot seem to shake. He is ridiculously famous, along with his brothers, Aaron and Danny, and he is ridiculously beautiful. And… brilliant and mysterious and all other good things. And I shall never have him. I shall only continue to write phenomenal songs of longing for him. Cry.

December 28, 1999, 12:45 AM, Central

I am overloaded with IMs right now, but I must ignore them so that I can release before bed.

Mark is so cool. I need more Mark in my days. I think that I would have a better chance at innocence. Mark and I have known each other for years now, though only online, of course, for I have no real friends. Grr. Not that I can legitimately complain about this, because my online friends are fabulous. And I feel closer to them than most people feel to their own families, so ha. Just because I can’t touch my friends doesn’t mean that I don’t love them with every ounce of my being.

Besides, I’m too odd for my peers. I don’t enjoy drinking, smoking, sleeping around, or partying. I enjoy deep conversations, thoughtful music, and kindred spirits. How am I supposed to find these things in the real world?

I am really having a strange time in my life. I think that I am manic-depressive. I go from ecstatic one minute to completely lost in the depths of hell the next. And this is a normal thing, but it's never been this extreme. Maybe it has... I mean, these are really sudden leaps into despair. It's almost scary. Everything is scary, though, so maybe I should just swallow it. But I wish that I felt better. I wish that little things didn't bring me down the way that they do. I wish that people didn't get to me the way that they do. Important people. I wish that I weren't human. Humanity is one of my most crimson shames.

I spent too much money today. I am a compulsive shopper. I finally found a bra in 32C, just at the point when I thought that no one made them anymore. And I hate my breasts. I wish that I could have them removed. They do me no good. Stupid human body.

I want to be a cat.

I think that I actually was a cat in a past life. After all, I am frustratingly nocturnal, I enjoy being petted, I despise water, and I have the largest pupils that I’ve ever seen, set inside of the loveliest green eyes. I love the color of my eyes. I’m actually not bad looking, overall, if I must say so. But I hate the fact that I’m less than five feet tall, my breasts are much too large for my petite frame, and I can’t do a damned thing with this plain brown hair. And I could use a bit of liposuction.

December 28, 1999, 11:17 PM, Central

I have found that Fiona Apple could very well be my soul mate. She is an emotional genius. Every word that she writes connects with me. It makes me realize that I am a very angry, bitter girl. Hopefully, someday, someone will sit around listening to me and going, "Damn, she's a fucking genius."

Please forgive my dirty mouth. I harbor the belief that swearing is only another form of expression, and I am very keen on expression, in all of its varieties.

I’m worried about Joy. I hope that she’ll find her way out before it’s too late. Unfortunately, I think that it’s too late for too late. I think that she might be headed straight for a broken heart. Melissa is evil and I don’t know why she never listened about that girl. I seem to worry more about Joy than other people. Perhaps because I actually have met her in person, though only once.

What's the quality in people that makes them not complain? Natalie and Mark have it. Maybe it's one of those "putting other people first" things? Those two do that a lot. I can't do that. I'm so selfish. Like I'm important enough. I complain all the damned time. I suppose that I could stop complaining, but what kind of music would that be?

I don’t know. I’m probably not selfish, exactly. But certainly stuck in my own head, accompanied only by these asinine thoughts. I spend far too much time doing what everyone else wants me to do (and resenting them the whole time) to be truly selfish. This entire journal is narcissistic in general, but I think that’s what journals are supposed to be, yes?

The year 2000 is quickly approaching, and I am terrified. I am unconcerned about the world exploding or having to dine on canned food for months. My worry is that I am now eighteen years old and going into a new century with no achievements whatsoever. Okay, a college degree and a recorded demo are great, but I am not famous. Therefore, I have accomplished nothing.

I am going to have a really shitty New Year. Or Millennium. Whatever. I always do, but this is the big one. Maybe I'll celebrate in the year 3000...

January 1, 2000, 1:37AM, Central

It looks like the entire world is Y2K compliant, except for me. Seeing as how this was supposed to be the absolute best New Year ever, I am quite pissed off. But life never, ever fails to let me down. I expect this next century to be just as disappointing as the one before it.

It inhales profusely that I live in a very small town, full of even smaller people. Even if I had wanted to do something spectacular to ring in the Millennium, I have nowhere to go. I could have drunk myself silly in the middle of a pasture, but this is not my idea of a good time.

On a brighter note, my headache is starting to go away a little bit. I am completely exhausted, so I will probably try to sleep soon, if I have the right to ask for sleep in my extreme lameness.

My job works me too hard. I get this weekend off, and then I will probably not sleep for two weeks. This is supposed to be part time. Grr. I work at this horrible little clothing store called Betty’s, and though the discount is awesome, I hate it, overall.

And on a much brighter note, I am going to call Mark so that I can celebrate his California Millennium.

January 2, 2000, 1:26AM, Central

I feel lame. As usual. I am in desperate search of a way of expressing how I feel right now. It will probably end up in an extremely distorted song before the end of the night. But I would really like to have a meaningful conversation right now. I would love to have a good cry. But I'm made too much out of stone that I can't even truly cry anymore.

I need to be kissed. Really kissed. I can't even get the cat to kiss me. I think that I'm going to start just kissing random strangers. After all, I’ve only kissed one boy, and it was dreadful. He was gay, in the end. I wish he’d figured that out before he stole my first kiss, but eh, such is life. I’m sure Rory is now off giving someone else, another boy, no less, those appalling kisses.

Maybe I just need some kind of human contact. I am so empty. And so fake. I put on a smile every day and face the world. And they smile back and they don't mean it either. Nothing is real. Nothing except hopelessness and fear and void. Total void. Everything else, I just make up. Like dreams and hopes and some kind of reason of being. I feel like I'm here for absolutely no purpose. I'm just walking the earth, being pathetic. I'm not doing anyone any good by being here. I work every day and I write these songs that no one will ever, ever hear. I can't believe that I'm going to die and the world will never hear my music.

I really need some medication.

I hate this whole Y2K thing. It's supposed to be such a big deal. Nothing has changed. Everything feels exactly the same. I kind of wish that the world had blown up or something. Just because it would be different. Something would have happened. Something that affected me, so that I could say, "Yeah, 2000 was a big thing." Truthfully, nothing is a big thing. Except the void. That will always be a big thing. But everything else is just details. Just mornings and nights and sun rising and sun setting and there is no progress.

And aside from the fact that I, myself, never progress, humanity never progresses. People are always the same. Which makes me always different.

I wonder if anyone ever uses a journal for good things. I am blessed to be able to get these terrible things out of my body and into or onto something else. Maybe I will have something good to talk about someday, and then I will record it too. But again, what kind of music would that be?

January 3, 2000, 9:00 PM, Central

I have decided that I need to listen to some Christian music every day to keep myself healthy. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I am such a wreck all of the time.

I have also decided on my New Years Resolution. They're pointless, really, because I never go through with them, so I've decided just to breathe this year. Just to go day by day, breathing. Otherwise, I will kill myself with hopelessness.

I burned the fire out of myself with scalding candle wax today. I am in extreme agony. Of course, if I would stop thinking about it, it might help.

You know, I am such a perfectionist that, every time I end a sentence with a preposition, I try desperately to find a way to reword it so that I am not participating in improper grammar.

I hate my job. I have had a job since I was twelve years old, when I used to type up papers for college students who hadn’t yet mastered the keyboard. And I have had a job ever since. I have to help my mom pay the bills, but it’s still upsetting, in some odd way, because I never had a childhood, and I never will. Childhood is long gone now, though I am holding desperately to the last slippery strands of it.

But my mother did the best that she could, raising two daughters by herself. With my grandparents’ help, of course. What little childhood I had wasn’t terrible, though I spent all of my Sunday mornings inside of stuffy buildings, wearing itchy tights and tacky skirts. The Southern Baptist preachers drilled awful things into my head. I thought that God was cruel and that people were even worse. I thought that I would go to hell if I ever had a sexual thought or even remotely considered not tithing. Religious propaganda. I know that now, but I’m ruined for life. I will spend the rest of my days trying to fight my childhood belief system.

Tis all for now, due to the fact that my life has become a boring cycle of sleep, work, sleep, work. I work so that we can eat, so that we can live. But the living part sucks when you have to work. Quite an odd and dark paradox. Someday, I will lead a life of purpose.

January 6, 2000, 12:15 AM, Central

I am in a very bad mood right now. I want to complain about everything. In fact, I think that I will, dammit, because this is my place to complain.

And I must start by saying that I have too much about which to complain. I mean, kind of. I really don't, but I do. It's like I was explaining to God last night. I told Him that He has given me everything that a girl could ever need - a wonderful family, amazing friends, a good home, food, my voice - but I am still miserable. And that is because, along with all of those things, He gave me ambition, drive, and huge dreams. Therefore, I feel like maybe I was damned from the start. You see, if God has given me such a wonderful ability to daydream and no outlet for it, no reality for it, then I am obviously meant to be miserable, yes? Destined to never be happy with the life of a normal person. Normal life. God didn't make me to appreciate normality. He made me to want better things. So I ask, if I am to want better things, how can I be satisfied with this life? Aren't I always to be disappointed? I think that I am.

I have spent vast amounts of time begging God to take away these dreams. How am I supposed to live like this – unable to be more? More than loved and fed and sheltered. I want to be adored and satiated and thriving. I simply cannot settle for enough. I desperately need more. But I have no right, whatsoever, to ask for more.

I'm not sure if I'm even making sense, but God understands, so that's the point, really. I hope that He doesn't think that I'm being ungrateful, because I'm not. I'm just curious, you know, why He set my life up this way. And if there's a good reason.

Anyway, I think that I am going to stop for now. One epiphany a day is enough for me.

January 12, 2000, 12:12 AM, Central

I start school in a week. I am dreading it. I think I only hate school so much because I am too lazy to do all the work. And most of the classes are irrelevant and pointless and depressing. Though, this semester, I have loaded down with classes that I think I will enjoy.

I got my grades back today and I ended up making three As, three Bs, and a C. I feel like an idiot. I am just, ugh, so stupid. I wish that I were brilliant like Joy. If she's ever made anything below an A, it was because she didn't try her best, because she knows absolutely everything. And, blah, I just know nothing. I should just quit college now because I'm obviously not smart enough to be there.

I expect too much of myself. But I can't help it because if I don't do absolutely everything and excel at it, I feel stupid and worthless and just... average. And that is the worst feeling in the world. I don't know how much longer I can take it.

I am getting really anxious to hear what Aaron thinks of my tape. He's the only one who hasn't said anything. I bet he hates it. Hell, I hate it! But he could say he liked it and I'd believe him, because he has no reason to humor me. I don't think he even likes me. I really just disappointed myself with the demo tape. I can do so much more vocally, and so much more lyrically.

So sick. So sick. So sick.

I got to hang out with my mom today. I LOVE hanging out with my mom. It's the best thing in the world. She is doting and affectionate and no one will ever love me as unconditionally and completely as my mommy. And nothing beats getting a long hug from my mom. I wish that we could hang out more often, but we're both so busy. I don't think she enjoys my company though, because I'm always complaining and she's like, "CORDY, IF YOU DON'T STOP BEING NEGATIVE, I'M GOING TO SLAP YOU!" But, really, I am never negative. I am only realistic. I have to be realistic or I will spend my life being disappointed and I am so fucking sick of disappointments.

Happy. Shiny.

I need a healthy addiction. Something that gives me a reason to face each day. Because right now, I am running on fumes. And they are very hopeless fumes. I hate being hopeless. It is my constant state of mind. But I can't seem to find light in anything. My music feels absolutely worthless. I have no connections. I have no way of getting it heard. I have no chance of anyone saying, "Hey, come audition for us here at Epic Records." Blah.

Oh, well, I can always be assured that the sun will rise tomorrow. And the day it brings will be the same as the one before it. There are no surprises. And I love surprises.

January 27, 2000, 12:30 AM, Central

What is up with me and, well, everything? I don't even know what's in my head right now, but it hurts. Just a lot of pain. Emptiness. Something. I am one of the unhappiest people alive and with the least reason to be so. Oh. Fuck. I'm just crying. I thought I would write in hopes to get this out, but I can't. It's stuck in me. I've spent too long practicing privacy rules and how to bottle things up and make people think you're happyshiny and... my poor worn-out mask... I want to break it now. I want to get out what's inside of me, but I am too exhausted from it. Too deep in shame and hopelessness and loneliness. Why are other people so good at this and I'm not? I just want to get out of my head.

I have a crush on Him.

BUT this is not a valid feeling.

Well, if I’m being honest, it’s much more than a crush. Jaydon occupies my thoughts more often than not, I’m afraid. And he’s everywhere I turn, on the covers of magazines and playing music on my television. I couldn’t escape him if I tried. Not that I want to, in actuality. I want to be near him and talk with him and just… exist to him… He knows my name and my voice and my face. But I need more. As usual.

Joy is going to Rome next week. I am jealous out of my mind. I will never leave Texas. Ever. I will live here alone and worthless for the rest of my life. Making the best music the world will never hear.

And another thing - I hate myself for not having any faith. Yet, I wonder if I were to reach out to God, would He even care? He doesn't seem to now. Like I have to do this all by myself and walk through life alone. And maybe it will end up that way. I guess I couldn't be anymore empty than I am now.

There is a hot guy in my Psychology class.

January 29, 2000, 11:16 PM, Central

My mother is one of the coolest people I know. I was listening to the new album today (yes, I am lame, but Joy made me) and she walked in and paused for a moment to listen before saying, "You should disown them."

But I will never disown Them. Try, as I might. With all of my strength. But I will never succeed. And this new album will drive me mad for most of the foreseeable future. Jaydon’s voice is piercing and relentless and soul shaking, and I would know it anywhere, and it makes my tummy flutter.

I hate my job. I want a job where I am respected. Hell, I want a life where I am respected! It's not fair to be another face in a sea of meaningless faces.

It's hot in my room.

I wonder why there are people in this world who say that they would never take back any part of their lives and that they don't regret anything. When I look back, I regret everything I've ever done. I regret every guy I've touched or loved or thought I loved or whatever. I regret every word I've said to every person. I regret every one of Their concerts that I've been to because They studied me and They know every ounce of pathetic I have within me, which is every ounce of my being except the .01 that is talent. I regret being weak and letting people walk all over me. I regret not being cool in junior high and the really gross clothes that I wore. I regret not being unruffled and laid back and instead being vulnerable and lame. I regret regretting everything. Damn damn damn.

And these are the things that go through my head every day and make me want to change my name and stop talking to everyone who knows me, because they know me, and I am ashamed. I’ve never done anything that’s truly shameful, but I struggle endlessly with that five-letter word. I’m entirely ashamed of all of the emotions that I battle. Vivid, all consuming emotions, and I wish so badly that they would all just go away.

January 31, 2000, 11:00 PM, Central

I hate human habit and hypocrisy and promiscuity and organized religion.

I am not very coherent tonight. Mostly due to the fact that I just got home and I have to go to bed before I even have the chance to wind down because I have to go to work at fucking 7:00 in the morning.

Does it make life sadder when you live for daydreams because there's nothing better to live for? I think that it does. Therefore, my life is even sadder than it seems. I have to live in daydreams because I know that the things I daydream about will never happen in real life. They're all make-believe things. Things I would like to have and do, but things I know that I will never have or do. And so I daydream about them in order to pass the days. And as the days pass, identical ones come behind them and nothing changes. Just me, a prisoner of my own mind. No one comes in, no one goes out. Something. I am distorted.

I dream of fame and fortune and… Him. And not working every single day, and traveling, and being on stage, and… Him. And I hate myself for it.

Yes, there is a lot of pain. But there is also passion. And I know that you can’t have one without the other. It’s just an unfortunate fact of life. The people who have no pain have no other feelings either. The people who have passion suffer greatly, but they live in color. And I suffer greatly.

I have many things to say but must save them for another day... One with more than twenty-four hours in it.

February 6, 2000, 3:28 PM, Central

I called in sick to work today. I am not really sick. I just wanted a day to lie around and do my homework. Yesterday was my day off but Justine and I ran all over God's green earth doing errands and then we saw Girl, Interrupted.

So it turns out that I'm not crazy after all. At least, not to the point where I don't question why crazy things are going through my head. Still though, I don't feel sane in any form of the word. I feel very trapped.

I miss Joy. I cannot believe she is in Rome. She is one of the luckiest, most blessed, most drowning-in-opportunities people I have ever met, besides Natalie, and yet, she is also one of the unhappiest people I've ever met. Of course, I guess it is what's in her head that does it. The Bipolar can be fixed with medicine, though she refuses to take it in fear it will stifle her independence and/or individuality. Apparently, I am just madly jealous of my best friend. I would brave the disease to have a look at hope.

I hate being hopeless. I work and I go to college in order to have a future. But I know what that future will be. It will be more working. A stupid 9 to 6 job, being a nobody. I am unbelievably disgusted at being a nobody. Facing my own reality is the reason pieces of me die every day. Every day, I have to look into a mirror and admit that I am nothing. Nothing that I want to be anyway. Or maybe nothing on the outside and too much on the inside.

toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch

I want to be out of my head.

February 9, 2000, 5:37 PM, Central

I haven't eaten all day and my head is in immense pain. I would really like to get back into the habit of not eating much because I am getting fat. I also have a huge, deep paper cut on my hand that prevents me from playing my guitar and typing is extremely hard.

Mark is online but we aren't really talking, at least not about anything relevant. I guess we never do though. Oh, well. No one ever says anything relevant anymore. I wish I hung out with Fiona Apple. I bet she would say relevant things like, "Fuck it all," and that would be nice.

Wasting away in my place of slavery
Couldn't find a better way to say
I'm tired of this life
I've always been the bleeding kind
You couldn't settle me down

I am glad that I am a fantastic writer. That song is going to be one of my bests, when I finish it. Writing is one of the only things that make me feel better. I am stuck in some kind of neurotic place inside of myself where I am miserable and, well, neurotic. I am lost. I think that I want to die. It would save me the trouble of analyzing myself and trying to figure out how to fix my mind. Especially considering my mind will probably never be fixed and I will live the rest of my life being fucked up. Sigh. I don’t really want to die. I just don’t want to live the life that I have been given, and I see no way out of living it, except death.

I have homework to do. A lot of homework. Patrick is here and he wants to see me. I am wildly attracted to Patrick. Something must be wrong with me. I am quite scared of myself. Not only am I completely out of my mind, but also, I want to kiss Patrick. Yes, I do...

But don’t worry – I would never kiss Patrick. Patrick is far too normal for my tastes. Yes, he is definitely appealing to the eye, but I will go to my grave believing that no one is more beautiful than Jaydon Wesley.

February 14, 2000, 11:32 PM, Central

So it is Valentine's Day. Or rather, it was, because it is now almost midnight and the horrid day has more or less passed completely.

My mother was my Valentine this year. I bought her a blazer that she can wear to work and she bought me some perfume. She is my Valentine every year because I can't get boys to like me. Not that I mind this, though, because what better Valentine than the person who loves me eternally and unconditionally?

My granddaddy told me today that I don't have a personality. But he is the only man in my life. So I will forgive him. Still hurts though.

February 20, 2000, 12:48 AM, Central

It has been a bad day. Not that there is ever a day that isn't bad. But. Whatever.

I was supposed to sing tonight. Really sing. For 500 people. But the opening band told me they didn't want me to sing with them and they were fucking rude and condescending about it and I was fucking okay and submissive about it. I'm such a pushover. Most people are assholes, I've come to realize. So due to my lack of emotional stability, it was all I could do to keep from crying all day. I cry over stupid things. I cry over nothing. I just cry, I guess.

Mark and Kris did a lot to cheer me up tonight. They are lovely, lovely guys. And so much in love and they so belong together. Maybe they will both kick their asses into gear one day and do the whole movie thing. Either way, I'm not sure I would have made it through the night without them. They are my superheroes.

So I went to a psychologist on Friday and went through hours of testing and by next Friday, I should know what the hell is wrong with me and hopefully, get some medication. Though I don't think medication can bring back my hope or make life any less pointless. Because I've lost all hope and I've lost all faith and I've lost all ambition. And I am just ready to die now. There is nothing left but hollow space to fall deeper into and a narrow door out that keeps getting smaller and smaller. It is not healthy to be alive.

Okay, obviously, my faith and ambitions have not left me. If they had, I wouldn’t be so upset about being a nobody. No, I will never truly lose my faith or my ambitions. This isn’t necessarily a good thing.

March 1, 2000, 5:10 PM, Central

My soul is an enchanted boat
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it
Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing
It seems to float ever, forever
Upon that many-winding river
Between mountains, woods, abysses
A paradise of wildernesses!
Till, like one in slumber bound
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound

It has been a surprisingly good day. I did well on my Psychology test. I have all As so far. And I found out that my reading level is 18th grade. Yes. I am a genius. hehe. But only for today.

Just because I am logical doesn't mean that I am sane, because I am not logical most of the time either. People just think that I am because I am intelligent. But that does not make me sane. In fact, the line between genius and insanity is a very, very thin one.

I have to study today and work tomorrow and study tomorrow night. But I am okay with that torture for the moment being. I'm not sure why. This is one of my ups, I suppose. It probably will not last through the night.

I find that it is painful to listen to the radio. It is filled with crap by people with no talent and it pisses me off. How are people like that on the radio? That makes absolutely no logical sense. I have more talent in my little toe than most of the people on the radio and it just infuriates me. I am so sick of being worthless when I should be queen of some small country. Blah. I am bitter.

Also, Jay and his brothers can often be heard on these airwaves, plaguing me incessantly, and causing me to further hate the radio.

We look before and after
And pine for what is not
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought

March 4, 2000, 7:00 PM, Central

Face to face with reality. It is, as usual, reminding me that I am in a constant state of being seduced by Him and a constant danger of being murdered brutally by life.

My horoscope today told me that reality would hit me hard soon and that I would have to find a way to deal with it gracefully. Though horoscopes don't tend to be right, this one is, because that situation arises every day and, in response, I put on my little smiley face and ask how I can help the world.

I have a lot of homework that I should probably be doing now. Of course, a college student is never off duty. Which is such crap because there has got to be more to life. But, of course, there isn't.

Humanity is in a constant search for happiness. We know in our hearts that we will never find it. Shelley said it best when he wrote about how, even in our laughter, we know that smiles never last long on the inside and pain will always be back. Which ruins the happy times altogether. Shelley was a brilliant man. He and I would have gotten married. Things never stay right for long and you never find a crazy, brave, eternal love and you are never successful enough to be satisfied. Life is a pointless, useless disaster. I hope that it will be over soon.

Perhaps I’m a bit melodramatic. But I truly feel these unstoppable emotions and they threaten to consume me.

March 10, 2000, 11:12 PM, Central

It feels way too early to be eleven o'clock. Maybe because I got to sleep later than usual today. And I continue to hate my job.

They say we study history in order to avoid making the same mistakes we did in the past. But if that is true, it does not apply to me. Not that any rule or generality ever applied to me. But I have studied my own history to the point of being physically ill and yet, I am right now falling into the same mistakes of my past. It is almost like the past is repeating itself. Almost exactly. And I don't want that because the past has been such shit. And I don't want to deal with the same shit I've been dealing with for the past few years. I want to move on. Or maybe I don't. Either way, I don't want to feel like this. It's stupid and ridiculous and I don't understand it. I hate that there are things that I can't control.

I met the neatest woman at work today. We were just talking about what color of shirt she should get and we got to talking about home school and then me in college early and then what I was majoring in and then music, et cetera. We talked for half an hour, I believe. And she said the most extraordinary thing. "God never gives you a desire without a reason." I wonder if that is true. The part of me that is stupid and gullible would like to believe so. But the part of me that knows how life really works says, "Whatever." And the latter side always wins. Which explains why God probably hates me right now. Mmm. If God never gave me a desire without a reason, wouldn't I have a record deal and a big house and lots of money and eternal love and a cat with no hair and a really great body and five more inches of height? Hmm. Of course, they always said life isn't supposed to be perfect. But shouldn't it at least be tolerable? My life is far from tolerable. In fact, it is unbearable most of the time.

I suppose I will sleep now. I am getting up tomorrow to go see Joy's and my apartment. We’re moving in together as soon as I graduate, which shall be in a few months. And she will graduate from high school. At least I’ve beaten her at one thing, ha.

March 12, 2000, 11:03 PM, Central

There isn't a soul online. Sigh. Joy went to bed early and I am assuming that Angel did, as well. Seeing as how they're the only ones ever online, I am here alone. Danny just left, actually. I believe that I do respect that kid. Very much so.

I slept late today so I'm not tired. Which sucks because I'm up, all alone, with nothing to do except homework and who wants to do that? And there isn't any Slingo. Oh, how I miss AOL.

I waste a lot of time. When I’m actually talking to my friends, it’s time well spent. But, often, I am sitting here alone. I could be writing music or doing something productive, but the gloom weights me so heavily that I am uninspired to do anything more than sit and hope.

I was rude to Joy tonight. I didn't mean to be. I was in a horrible mood. I know my mood is horrible when I am rude to one of my all-time favorite people. I hope that she will forgive me.

Mark just signed on, which will most likely keep me awake another half an hour or so. Then maybe I will watch TV until I fall asleep.

Short paragraphs. My head is full but I'm not ready to let it all out yet. Really, I inhibit myself sometimes just because I'm afraid I won't feel the same tomorrow. Or afraid I will. Something. Maybe just afraid, in general. Things change so much that it makes me into such a contradiction. "Everyone is," Danny says. Maybe that is true. Or maybe he just knows substantial people. Most of the people I meet are one-dimensional and couldn't tell you what contradiction means, much less be it. I am a victim of normalcy. I wish that there were a cure. It's killing me like a disease. And that's not to say that I am not diseased in the first place, because I do believe my mind is rotting. I'm not sure I even care though, because it's not like it's a waste of anything. I'm just taking up space anyway.

March 13, 2000, 3:34 PM, Central

Days off are odd for me. I crave them, but when they come, I find myself lonely and bored. There is so much that I could be doing - playing my guitar, working on homework. But I'm so unmotivated lately. I just want to lie down and stay down. Mmm.

No one is around or has been all day. Which is probably my lameness talking, because people don't spend their days here anymore. I miss the way that we all used to live here. Our outside lives were just minor details. This was it. Things always change and they always change for the worst. Which is a terrible thing to realize, because I know that it only gets worse from here. And here is a really fucking bad place.

It's Lizzie's birthday. Mom wants to take us out to eat to celebrate. Which I think I will enjoy except that it bothers me to be in public with Lizzie, because she's so terribly embarrassing to be around sometimes. I love her, but she’s 15 and addicted to cigarettes and various other drugs, and oh, the mouth on that girl! I have no idea what has happened to my baby sister. Though I’m sure it has something to do with the same daddy issues that I carry on my own back like a heavy sack of bricks. That bastard.

I have got to throw myself into this English paper. It's imperative that I have it done within this week. Seven pages. And I only have one so far. A paper on the Internet and I'm at writer's block. That's insane. I'm interviewing as many people as I possibly can, so that I can use their words and not have to puke up as many of my own. But people are so irrelevant. I don't want to put shit into the paper. I need someone to say something substantial. Of course, I can't depend entirely on other people, but this is what the paper's about. Oh. Blah. Stupid sentence ending with a preposition. I am being neurotic about the paper. But I'm such a damned good writer and I want my professor to know that, because he holds good writers very high.

So I'm listening to Jewel and wearing my scraggly clothes and feeling blue. Damn.

I keep having dreams that are really good. Really, really. Yummy. But then I wake up and I want to stamp NIGHTMARE on the front of them so that I'll recognize them. Because they really are nightmares. They're kick-you-in-the-head reality nightmares. Or maybe the waking up is the kick in the head. Maybe reality is the kick in the head.

Tomorrow is His birthday.

March 24, 2000, 1:47 AM, Central

Ah, my nonexistent and forever empty love life… Sometimes I'm okay with it and think how much better life is when you're alone. And then sometimes I'm like this. And like this is, I read some quote from Him that is something like, "Somewhere out there, someone holds the key to my heart, and until it is unlocked, half of it will be empty." Ah. Well. Of course. And I don't believe in love so I'm being ridiculous. Joy says it's untraditional love. And I have never been traditional. And I hate myself for that, because look how insane I ended up. I am so angry with myself for being ridiculous. For having a hope like this. For not just IMing Him one day and asking Him if He'll lick me... Er. I don't have any control over this. I mean, I haven't for three years. And if I do, how do I leash the control and use it? How do I find it? I've searched for it and when I think I've found it...

Is it possible to love someone that you hardly know? Probably not. But I certainly feel something. Something real and intense and unshakable. I’ve felt it for three years. But will He ever feel anything toward me? I want it so badly, but when it comes right down to it, I cannot fathom it. He is much too good for me.

You know, I really don't like this whole The-Band-coming-back thing. No good can come of this.

March 25, 2000, 8:58 PM, Central

I am having a shitty life.

I have a hard time understanding why I continue to be such a fucking idealist. I guess it is somehow related to my idiocy. My burning, swelling idiocy.

I was supposed to go to a play at 7:30 tonight for school credit. Mom and I drove an hour to the play, found out that it was cancelled, and had to drive all the way back.

Why do they allow people to write songs that contain lyrics such as "back dat thang up" and "she had dumps like a truck truck truck" and "gettin' horny now;" can someone tell me? This is getting ridiculous. I mean, really. Has humanity's taste sunk so low as to seriously enjoy this?

March 29, 2000, 10:56 PM, Central

Well, it has been a decent day. I am overloaded with homework, much more than I can handle. Two tests on Monday and three papers due. Argh. I did finish my English paper though, which is now seventeen pages long, and I am insanely proud of it. I kick huge amounts of ass when it comes to writing. It's too bad that no one will ever know that.

I spent a good hour at Patrick's house tonight, listening to him play guitar. He is immensely talented. Which is strange, because he doesn't seem like he would be. But he definitely is. And not to mention, immensely sexy. Sometimes I think about pouncing on him, but then logical seeps back in and says, "Get a grip, Cordy." And I do. But my grips never last long. He smells good too. MeOw

They have been online frequently lately. Which is odd.

I am so exhausted and I have way too much to do and my lifelong dream is for Betty’s to burn down. It’s nice to have a discount in order to buy lovely attire, but I hate everything else about the place. I’m on my poor feet all day, and one time, I had to help an elderly woman try on underwear.

April 3, 2000, 10:56 PM, Central

I am so lonely. In general. Life is so unbearable. The only thing that I can think about is how much I want it to be over. To stop wishing and worrying and... It hurts. A lot. Everything does. Some things more than others. How do you stop having feelings that you don't want to have? How can I possibly still harbor these feelings after three years? How can I know that I am a hopeless idiot but continue to be one, despite the acknowledgement of it? IT HURTS! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP PLEASE MAKE IT STOP PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!! Please... please... Why won't it stop? Why is it here? Why am I not in control of my own emotions? Why can't I make it go away? I just want it to go away.

I am beleaguered with feelings for Him. And He feels nothing in return. I really do try to pry into Him, but He resists. I attempt relevant conversation starters, and He makes jokes. It breaks my heart. I want to truly know Him, and I want Him to know me.

And that is only one thing. A very painful thing. A very fucking stupid thing. But I'm a stupid gal. I think my idealistic, Romantic nature is one of my deepest curses. Not that everything I am and think isn't a curse. Because my entire life was put upon me as one big joke and I really hope someone is getting their laugh.

I hate not having any opportunities. Being uncultured and never getting to travel and too poor to make anything of myself. Everyone I know travels all over the place because they can. I'm like, "There's life outside of Texas?" It makes me sick. That I'll never go anywhere and I'll never be anything and I'm so sick so sick so sick of being a nobody. I'm sick of being ignored because I'M A FUCKING ROCK STAR TOO, DAMMIT!

Joy says I swear too much. Yeah, well, it makes me fucking feel better, dammit. I don't get to sleep around and do drugs like everyone else, so I'm going to cuss until my gums bleed, ha! Even though, sometimes I think that it's time for me to conform and realize that I'm nothing special and I shouldn't be behaving as though I am.

Lizzie is smoking and it's giving me a headache. I think that I will sleep for lack of other relevant activities.

April 12, 2000, 10:52 PM, Central

It's been a rollercoaster of a day. It started out horribly because my alarm didn't go off and I woke up late, missing my first class, wherein, there was a test. Then I went to school and ended up having a decent day, I suppose. Except I had to do the test later in another room and I was looking through my notes for the name of a poet and this woman thought I was cheating. So that was fucked up and made me feel about thissmall, not that I'm not thissmall, but I hate being reminded. So I came home and I went to get groceries with Lizzie, and that was kind of nice. We talked about kissing. She gets kissed a lot. I can't even get the cat to kiss me. I know I’ve said this before.

I was complaining about my body last night and Mom said, "Well, it's no Hollywood." I wanted to be shot. It's no Hollywood. God. Not only am I ten pounds overweight, suicidal, and vertically challenged, but I'm also normal. How can I weigh 97 pounds and still be covered in fat? This makes no sense.

Pleaseletitbeoversoon
Pleaseletitbeoversoon
Pleaseletitbeoversoon

Mom said that she wishes I never had a relationship with God because I blame everything on Him. Isn't that justified though? Because, apparently, He is in control of all, or whatever, which means He is in control of my life and still manages to overlook me, just like everyone else. How can He be so cruel as to make someone want success and recognition so much that it's the only reason for waking up and then giving them a life that is the equivalent of SHIT, where they have absolutely no chance of ever being anything? That is unfair. And, yeah, I'm pissed off about it, and yeah, I'm going to bitch about it.

April 14, 2000, 11:22 PM, Central

Strange that I always specify it being the Central time zone. I do that for no reason. Just to verify.

I am exhausted, despite getting around eleven hours of sleep last night. I think the reason that I am exhausted all the time is from my mental and emotional activity. I think all day long. And I think of wonderful things to put in my journal and I think of just how I'll type them. But when I end up here, I've forgotten most of the things that I wanted to contemplate. I hate that.

I don't feel good. My tummy aches. Probably because of its cowness. Everyone says I'm not fat, but it's because I'm not fat by normal standards; I'm fat by Hollywood's standards. And that is too fat. Because I've always measured myself by Hollywood's standards. I do strange things like sing and dance and pretend I'm onstage. I talk to the mirror like I'm doing an interview with Carson. Those things are strange, right? I mean... sigh I am having an awful time accepting the fact that I'm not meant to be anything. My heart knows it, but it just hurts. And Hollywood wouldn't take me. sigh

April 20, 2000, 9:03 AM, Central

Generally, I am not up this early, and I am most definitely never up this early and writing in my journal. But I am letting my hair dry and waiting for Angel to sign on, because Mom says I cannot leave here until I get the number to her aunt's house, which is where I am heading today, to meet her. And this will be nice. I hope. Angel is one of the few soul mates that I will find in my lifetime, and I am thrilled that we shall finally meet in person!

I saw my psychiatrist, who was very lovely and I quite thoroughly adore him. I just sat and told him everything for almost two hours. I cried the entire while, of course, and he didn't seem to mind, which I appreciated greatly. When my tears had come to an end, he officially diagnosed me with Bipolar II Affective Disorder. Manic depression. Ah. Is anyone surprised? Show of hands?

So I have my medication now and I plan to start on it on Saturday, because if there are side effects, I don't want to deal with them while Angel is here, and especially not at Six Flags.

April 24, 2000, 11:44 PM, Central

Though the harshness of reality continues to harvest itself, it has been a fairly decent day. I am cautious, but prepared, to even say that it has been a fairly good day.

It was a normal and predictable passing of hours except that I was privileged to listen to a Scottish bagpipe player tonight in Humanities class. Afterward, we were discussing music and the way performing felt and how it was the only reason for existence. He said that he was once a drama major and under the study of one of the greatest actors of that time. He said that the actor came in and asked first, who in the class was planning to major in drama, upon which, most of the class raised their hands. Next, he asked who had something to fall back on, upon which, most kept their hands raised, and upon which, he replied, "You are in the wrong major, because if you have something to fall back on, you will." And that was a wonderful thing for me to hear. So encouraging. Because I have not once, not a day in my life, had anything to fall back on. It's sing or die. And though die seems to be the dominant choice lately, there is still only one other. I have not felt hopeful over my music or over my existence in a long time. It is almost an alien emotion now. But I welcome it. Maybe my medication is beginning to kick in. Or maybe I just needed to remember that it's sing or die.

Driving home, I saw a shooting star plunge from the sky. It was so beautiful and I was so enchanted, and, of course, I made a wish. It will never come true, but I figured that since shooting stars are so very rare, I should wish for something beyond possibility. It was only the second shooting star I've seen in my lifetime. It made my entire day.

So upon, I dare say, a hopeful note, I will sleep.

May 7, 2000, 8:05 PM, Central

I need to be saved. I won't do it myself. I don't know how. I don't want to. But I know that I need to be saved. I don't think anyone knows how to save me. And that is a scary feeling. Because if you aren't saved, don't you drown eventually? This day has been full of Him. Not that all days aren't, but this one was different, because, for Him, it was full of me. Which is something that hasn’t ever happened, nor will ever happen again, I’m afraid. It is tragic that He makes me crazy when I hardly know Him. I suppose everything in life is tragic though. It's life's purpose. To make us long for death.

I'm so tired. Physically and mentally and emotionally. All I ever think about is how wonderful it would be to just sleep all of the time. And never have to wake up. And never have to live.

Sita is an incredible and amazing writer. I love the way that she thinks. She has everything so bright in her head. Her ideas are so brilliant and true and I agree with them to the point of knowing that they are my ideas as well. I wish that I could still find pleasure in writing. But I can't. I don't find pleasure in anything anymore.

He asked me how my music was going. I told Him that I wasn't really doing much music anymore, and He asked why. I told Him that it was because music is pointless beyond personal benefit, and I need more than that; therefore, the personal benefit only hurts, as it reminds me of the lack of potential for anything else. He said that He was confused and I told Him that He would never understand me and that I would never understand Him, so we were even. But we aren't even and we never will be.

May 10, 2000, 5:08 PM, Central

I'm so utterly worried about Mark. Because he's like me and he knows there's only one way out. And that scares me. Because what if he takes the only way out? And I need him. I need compassionate, unselfish friends. It isn't about me, though. I wish I could make him see how incredible he is, how much I love him, how important it is that he is alive and on this earth. Because he's so much and he can be so much, but he just doesn't have the motivation or the hope or the faith. And I understand him, completely. He thinks the way that I do. But I handle it so differently. Maybe. I want to talk about it and he wants to hide it. I just wish I could be a good enough friend to be able to show him that he has so many chances and hopes and opportunities and changes ahead of him. Because he hasn't wasted any yet. He hasn't even had any. You don't live an entire life without them. It's too bad I wasted all of mine.

It is a rare, rare occurrence that someone stumbles across real love. Real, real love. Not sex, not lust, not anything selfish. Real, real love. And they throw it away. And those of us who know we will never, ever have that, we have to watch and say, "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? HOW CAN YOU THROW THAT AWAY?" And everyone does. I don't understand why anyone wouldn't want to fight to the death. I don't understand why I'm not allowed to... And I never feel like this. I never feel like I'd fight to the death for love. But Mark made me realize that I would. Because he couldn't. And I wish for him that he could have. He deserves so much love. I cannot comprehend why God is so good to some people and so cruel to others. Maybe we do it to ourselves. Maybe God doesn't have a say in it at all. Maybe we don't let Him have a say.

Everyone has the new CD. Which I will never, ever get. I'm just through with being impressed with Them. They're not any better than I am, except that They've always had the money and opportunities to make Their dreams come true, and I haven't. Joy doesn't understand me when it comes to Them. I always thought she did, but she doesn't. It's weird. I guess she doesn't understand me a good deal of the time. Which is okay, I guess. I don't understand me a good deal of the time either.

I am extremely down. Over everything with Mark and Joy and Them and... I'm just extremely down. Like I want to go take all of my anti-depressants. Just to feel better. Of course, they wouldn't do any good, because they're crap. But still. Better than doing nothing about it maybe. Sometimes I want to do something about it and sometimes I just want to wallow in it. I tend to do the latter.

May 14, 2000, 6:24 PM, Central

I love Mother's Day. I wish every day were Mother's Day so that I could buy my mommy presents. I love my mommy. She is the center of my universe. I wish that I weren't moving so far away from her. I wish that I could see her every single day for the rest of my life and give her great big hugs and be her baby. I'll always be her baby and she'll always be my mommy, of course, but not seeing her every day will kill me. Most definitely.

It has been a good day. I sang today and kicked so much immense ass. I was so proud of myself. And Rosie gave me a graduation present and made me cry onstage. It was so sweet. She was up there talking about how special I was and I was just bawling and going, "Stop, stop, I don't want to cry!" But I did. And it was kind of nice. And then we gave the moms carnations and that was good because I love my mommy, you know. So I felt good and talented and pretty today.

Which is a change from last night when I watched Britney Spears on Saturday Night Live and found myself wallowing in mad jealousy. She performed and did a fantastic job. I was really shocked because I've never seen/heard her perform so well. And she looked beautiful. And I knew that I wasn't going to ever make it. Ever. And it wasn't shocking to me. It was just there. Just the realization that I'm not meant to be a star. Which makes life completely and utterly pointless. Which tells me that it always has been. Which kicks my heart's ass. My poor, exhausted, faint heart...

I go see my doctor tomorrow, to tell him that my meds are crap and that I need a mood stabilizer or something. But other than that, I have the day off and it will be good to have a rest.

May 27, 2000, 7:00 PM, Central

Being different is so hard. Sometimes I don't think that I can handle it. I'm a mess. It's frustrating to know that people perceive me now the same way that they've perceived me my entire life. The anti-social bookworm who doesn't know how to have any fun. Well, could it be that my idea of fun is very different from everyone else's? Yes, that's part of it, but I know it's mostly that this disease won't allow any good to touch me. It's as if my mind blocks all enjoyable stimuli. I don't even have the heart to daydream anymore. I just keep spiraling downwards. I don't know what to do with myself. I know that to not exist is what I want. To never have existed. To never have had to be who I am. But I can't change who I am. I won't allow myself to behave in ways that compromise what I believe in. So when I tell Lacey that I don't want to go to a party tonight, she thinks I'm boring. And out of all of the terrible things that I am, I wouldn't name boring as one of them. But if I tried to explain to Lacey that I'm the way that I am because I've always wanted something better for myself, it would be condescending. I fear that I am beyond the point of being understood, and should, therefore, cease hoping for it. I should cease hoping altogether.

Being home in Oklahoma City brings me no comfort, surprisingly. I could attribute that to the fact that nothing brings me comfort, I suppose. I feel like I will never escape myself, and that makes life all the more hopeless. Lucy Maud Montgomery wrote in Anne Of Green Gables that to be in the depths of despair is to turn your back on God. That's a bit extreme, maybe, and I would rather say that I have lost hope in God, but nonetheless, I am in the depths of despair. I feel like I have been here for countless eons. I have been here for countless years, of course, but it feels so long. I am so exhausted. I've been stripped of all hope, and all light has been denied me. I am terrified, because I know that I will never get better. This disease doesn't go away. It's lifelong madness. And I don't want to take the only way out. But that is not to say that I want to live, because I don't. I find solidity in being open about my pain and hopelessness, but it hurts, terrifies, and confuses everyone that I love. It is impossible to understand for everyone around me. No one wants to deal with me. Everyone talks about me like I'm a problem they need to fix. No one wants to accept the thoughts in my head, the things that I know as truth. But hiding who I am is unbearable.

Maybe I never want to go to parties because I won't fit in, and I know it. I don't fit in anywhere, in any situation. I'm just different. I always have been and I can't explain it to anyone. Because they're not like me.

It's strange that the girl I've known every single day of my life has turned out to be more like my sister. Maybe strange isn't the right word, because everyone is like Lizzie. Lizzie is absolutely ordinary. Sometimes I wish that I were, and sometimes I'm glad that I'm not. More often the latter, I will say. Lacey and Lizzie are in there enjoying each other's company. They understand each other because they have so much in common. And I'm in here, wondering if it would be painful to poison myself. I don't want those thoughts in my head. But they are always there... I think I should remind myself that I choose to be anti-social. I choose not to be included. I hate listening to people talk when I can't relate to their stories of last weekend when they got drunk and slept with seven people at once. I don't belong. And I don't think that I will ever be able to accept that gracefully.

I used to take such wonderful solace in the thought that I was good at something, and that lessened the sting of no one wanting to be around me. It doesn't lessen the sting now. Of course, it doesn't even slightly provide solace anymore either. Yes, I can sing and write beautifully. Incredibly and impressively. They are completely natural gifts that I did nothing to possess. I am so grateful for them. But where will they get me? They won't get me friends (I sound like Mark), and they won't get me to a place of peace and happiness. Of course, I don't believe in happiness in the first place, but I still want to do what I love and get paid and recognized for it. I'll never get either of those things without money and someone important to listen to me. And They don't count, because They don't take me seriously. I hate Them for it. But I have come to the realization that I will never get to know Them. I will never get into Their lives. And I think I'm actually okay with that. It sucks, but it doesn't suck for me - it sucks for Them. They don't get to know an interesting, mad-as-hell person. And that is Their loss. And I am actually okay with it.

Writing and reading leave me too much opportunity to think. Watching TV provides a temporary lapse in brain function (not that mine functions properly in the first place), so I believe that I will go do that.

June 13, 2000, 9:31 PM, Central

I started putting Central in every entry because I thought maybe I would go somewhere, someday and change time zones. I have been so fucking stupid my entire life. Someone should have shot me a long time ago. I would have appreciated it.

I don't have anything to say. I haven't for a long time. But I thought that maybe I should write. Maybe it's important to have something for people to read when they wonder why.

Joy stopped in for a minute to tell me that she and Alex were having a great time and say hi and all of that wonderful stuff. And I am jealous. Even though I chose not to go. But I've always been jealous of Joy. That probably isn't right, because she's my best friend and you'd think it would mess up the relationship. It doesn't. Surprisingly. However, I find a way to mess up everything, eventually.

A survey asked me today what was the one thing most important for my personal happiness. Since drugs weren't listed, I said friends. And that explains a little of my unhappiness. Not that I don't have amazing friends. But I don't have friends I can actually touch either. And I don't have friends who can deal with me gracefully. And my friends are too honest. That shouldn't be a bad thing, but it is for a person who knows that lies will always be better than real life. No one believes in me. I don't believe in me. So I'm screwed, right? Of course I am. I don't expect to ever be anything else.

The honest friend thing has become a problem for my very fragile emotional stability. Honesty kills. Reality kills. I don't like hearing how blinded I am or that I'm in denial or that I'm too star struck. Fuck that. Because I know what I fucking am. And I didn't say it was good or flawless. I don't intend to be good or flawless. I just intended to be successful... And I failed. Surprise, surprise. People look at me and they say, "You are successful! A degree at 18 is wonderful! You're really going places! You could be a manager of some big company!" Well, that isn't success to me. Success to me is getting a record deal and performing and writing and singing and playing and people enjoying it. But it takes beauty, money, and good luck. Three things that I have never had and never will have. And so they say, "Don't worry - there are other things! You can still make a lot of money and be happy!" No. I can't. Because money isn't happiness for me. It's only what should come with what is happiness for me. So what is the point of enduring my mind any longer? It was sing or die. And I am going to die.

I had been almost okay all week up until last night. I don't know how my brain does that. It has complete control over me. I was just talking to my mom on the phone about school and I suddenly felt miserable. Just completely hopeless. For no reason. It's with me all of the time - the reality that I will never be what I want to be. It's always inside, keeping me from ever enjoying anything. But sometimes, it's magnified and I can't think about anything else. It was magnified last night and most of today. I am stable right now because Joy is a Goddess. However, my meds are still incompetent. Mom keeps trying to convince me to see the doctor again and maybe get a higher dose of Wellbutrin or change meds altogether. But I am refusing. Because we don't have the money. And I don't have the time. And I don't have the energy to do trial-and-error until I find something that works. Because maybe I never will. And I don't want to exhaust myself trying. Because maybe I'm meant to be this way. I feel like there's nothing left. Like it could all stop and I wouldn't miss anything. And I want it all to stop. I am not a vital necessity to anyone or anything in this world. No one wants to deal with me, and they would be better off if they didn't feel obligated to do so. I wish that I didn't think the way that I do.

I guess I had more to say than I thought.

June 17, 2000, 2:08 AM, Central

He signs on, and I think nothing of it, because all conversations with Him are the same. Until one point, when I said something ridiculous, and I was like, "Oops, that didn't sound right," and He said, "That was not your usual way of putting things," and I said, "You don't know my usual way of anything," and I didn't mean to be rude, but that is obviously rude. So He said, "If you hate me so much, why do you talk to me?" (Hello, I love you, you idiot!) And I should have said, "I'm sorry; there is no excuse for that comment. Forgive me." But I said, "Um, I don't hate you?" It was strange. I didn't know what to say. I just sat there. Finally, I got my wits about me and made small talk again. And it continued to be a completely weird conversation. He started asking me why I was so down on myself and I was like, "Um? Shall I count the ways?" But I didn't count the ways, because that is too much like me, and I don't really like that part of me. The part that talks incessantly about herself. Meanwhile, my perception of Him has greatly changed. I was impressed. Not that He is obligated to impress me. But He did, nonetheless.

Neurontin is a freaking trip. I love this stuff. I'm sitting here and the room is spinning and it feels sensational... I'm dizzy and I feel like I'm sideways. I really, really love this stuff. Though it does lead me to lie down in my bed and giggle as the room spins. And so, I shall.

June 19, 2000, 9:15 PM, Central

I don't feel good today. It's just that heavy feeling in my head that makes me want to curl up in bed and never come out from under the covers. I haven't had this in awhile, which leads me to believe that my meds are, in fact, working, because I skipped them altogether yesterday (by accident.) And now I feel yucky. It's completely mental. I've been so used to it my entire life, but when it washed over me this morning, I realized that I hadn't felt it in awhile. Maybe that's how it feels when the chemicals in my head are going haywire, which means I can pinpoint the moments that Bipolar is stronger than anything else. Which is strange, but kind of nice. It feels like a little control, maybe. Or at least a little enlightenment. I find comfort in knowing what's going on.

Then again, that could all be ridiculous.

I have come to the conclusion that Biology is the worst thing that I can possibly be subjected to. It is worse than Algebra. Possibly a lot worse. I hate it passionately. It bores me to no end, which keeps me from being able to concentrate, which keeps me from understanding any aspect of it. Biology is evil. However, I have quite a love for History.

July 2, 2000, 2:05 AM, Central

I'm angry with myself for not writing in so long. I have a lot to say, too. I really have no excuse except that I've always conjured up something else to do, like play my guitar or worry over my disastrous financial situation...

I love my guitar. I wrote my first guitar-only song, and I have impressed myself. I find I can only impress myself when it comes to music. In anything other than that, I suck. Immensely. But I've spent the last four days playing my guitar for hours at a time. I have also skipped working out for the last four days and want to kick the shit out of myself for it. I hate my body.

I am very aware of my financial situation. Yet, I cannot seem to control myself. I think I'm a shopping addict. And I'm so sick of not being able to enjoy myself because I don't have the financial freedom to do so. It's ridiculous. And it's not fair. I'm so desperate that I'm considering taking out a loan. I don't think I'll be able to move if I don't. I keep thinking we shouldn't be doing this. We don't have the resources to move out on our own. We're not prepared. We're setting ourselves up for doom. Natalie says I should have more faith in myself. But I think that not having faith is only a tiny part of it. Joy seems so confident and excited out of her mind. I'm just scared out of mine.

I'm considering going to a recording school in Orlando. Orlando would be a nice place to live, and I would be studying something productive and enjoyable. Besides, I am so sick of debating my college future. Study something I love, like music or literature, and end up teaching it. Study something I enjoy, but end up in college for twelve years before I can make any money. Or study something I despise just because it's the only way I will be able to sustain my terrible, unworthy-of-sustainment life. I hate having to decide that. I'm so tired of growing up. Why can't I be stupid forever - believing in my dreams, thinking I'm special, wanting to go somewhere? Why can't I tell myself those lies forever? Why do I have to accept this life? Why do I have to settle and pretend to be happy with it? I'm so disappointed that I wanted so much for myself and I have to give up on everything just because life screwed me over.

July 2, 2000, 11:25 PM, Central

I am really not condoning this whole thing. In no way do I support Their coming back and seducing all of my friends. My friends are out of their minds. What to do...? I guess just sit back and watch in horror, disgust, and sadness. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: No good can come of this.

Angel is just like me. Well, like I was at her age. I think the reason that I get so angry with her sometimes is that I'm wanting her to realize now the things that it took me years to realize. But maybe I should let her figure them out for herself. It's just that I don't want her to end up like me. If she's like I was at thirteen and fourteen and fifteen, will she be like I am at eighteen? I think I suck more every year. As I keep going, I forget old lies and become proud of myself for no longer being naive. But I'm just feeding myself new lies. And I know that I will have to accept being normal very soon. I will have to find a place to live, settle into a miserably boring job in order to support myself, all the while thinking of ways to kill myself, and practically not living anyway because my life will be so pointless and irrelevant. I used to think that there was so much ahead of me. Travel, luxury, excitement, entertainment, acknowledgement, fulfillment, security, amazing people to love and have love me. I am distressed that I was very, very wrong and that the most interesting thing that I will do in my entire life is die. Why does it bother me so much? Why can everyone accept normal lives, but I can't? I am so completely suicidal right now. Then again, I haven't taken my meds in weeks.

Why must there be people in my world? How can I get rid of them?

I've been so lazy and exhausted these last few days. I haven't had the motivation to work out, which I really need to do because I am a moocow, and I am furious at myself. For the most part, I just wanna lie in bed and watch TV and movies. How depressing to watch happy, famous people having their wonderful, glamorous lives, while I have my boring, pathetic one. Why have I not thrown myself into a pool of my own blood? What am I waiting for? (For what am I waiting? would be the proper grammar.)

Miserable people should at least have money so that they can buy temporary happiness and booze.

July 9, 2000, 10:06 AM, Central

I have to leave for work in an hour. Blah. Today was my day off, but some woman hasn't come in for a week and hasn't called or anything, so I am being forced to attend to her position as really-bored-chick-standing-around-in-Lingerie.

I really don't like boys. I don't understand it. I mean, we all know I'm insanely attracted to a good few of them. But if I'm not attracted to them, and I hardly ever am, they make me completely nervous and sick and I just want to leave. It's like I was telling Mark last night - when they put me in the Men's Department at work, my skin is crawling the entire time, because I don't want to approach strange men and be all, "Hi, there, what can I do for you today? Oh, you want me to take off all my clothes? Well, the customer is always right here at Betty’s, where we do it all for you!" Eh. My mom says my men issues are because I've never had a father or any man in my life, besides my granddaddy, who thinks I'm a lesbian, and that isn't very encouraging. Though the other day, he said the funniest thing. I was going on and on about how much it sucks that I am desperately short, and Granddaddy was like, "You just wanna marry some guy who's 6'1 and you don't think you're tall enough." And I was like, "Holy crap, he's found me out!" That's only partially true. I mean. I don't wanna marry Him. And dammit, it sucks to be a troll, no matter what.

Angel left for her cruise yesterday and I miss her a lot. Who am I supposed to talk about porn with? Or rather, with whom am I supposed to talk about porn? I really just don't like being online and her not being here, and then knowing that she won't be here, because she's sailing the seven seas. I do say that you never realize how much you adore people until they leave AOL for awhile, hahaha. Not that I didn't adamantly adore her before she went on the cruise, but you know. The whole distance makes the heart grow lonelier thing.

I talked to Aaron last night and he seemed kind of pissed that Joy had his screen name, and assumed that I gave it to her. Then I told him he was out of his mind and that he gave it to her himself and should have more self-control. hehe. And then at some point, he told me something along the lines of, "You and Natalie are like twins." And I forgot to thank him and tell him that that was one of the greatest compliments I have ever received.

I did get my cap and gown today, and they are nice and blue. I'm really graduating. I'm really moving. I'm really going out into the world. Those are all things you know you'll eventually do, but when it comes time, you're like, "What the hell is going on? I don't know what I'm doing! HELP!" Er. Things are changing rapidly and suddenly. I'm very uncomfortable right now, circumstantially. Things are so strange and uncertain, and I'm just uncomfortable. I'm edgy about it all.

July 22, 2000, 11:12 PM, Central

Damn me for not writing in so long.

Today has got to be one of the coolest days of my life. It turns out that it will now make sense to add the time zone to each of my journal entries. You know, now that I am going to leave this time zone. And go to California. Yes. California. And I'm not sure if it's sunk in yet. It happened so fast. One minute, I was talking to Mark about it, thinking that it would never happen and about how silly we were being, and the next, I had plane tickets. So I'm going. August 4th to August 7th. I'm going to meet Mark and Sita and Rosie, and maybe see Them in concert. Oh. Wow. Nights you lie there daydreaming about meeting the amazing people that you know you will actually never meet. And then, one day, you get a break.

So I'm running around in mad circles. The week of August 6th through August 12th will be the most important, busiest week of my life. I will spend the first two days of it with Mark in California. Then I will come home and graduate on Friday. Then I will move on Saturday. That is insanity. Life is finally getting interesting. I am shocked and confused as to how to deal with it. I suppose I will just smile and take it as it comes? This is good. This is really good. I feel like I'm finally making my way towards some kind of happiness, and it's lovely to drag Mark along behind me.

I went out for Chinese food this afternoon with Rachel, Carrie, Holly, and Lindsey, which was lovely. It's nice to be "one of the girls," so to speak. I never got to be cool when I was younger, so life must be making up for it now. My fortune cookie said: You are talented with your hands. Rachel says that you have to add "in the bedroom" to the end of every fortune. So either way, that is a good fortune. And a true one, as well. I think my hands and my voice are my most important body parts.

Lizzie came home crying at 4:30 this morning and came into my room to talk to me. She had to tell me that she lost her virginity to Patrick and now her supposed-best friend is sleeping with him. And she has such a broken heart. It's so terrible. I feel so bad for her, because she made a huge mistake and had to pay for it. We talked for about half an hour and she just cried in my arms. And I wanted to say, "I warned you," but I didn't, because I was hurting for her, and it wasn't what she needed to hear. So I just held her and told her it was going to be okay. And that he didn't deserve her. And that she would survive. And she cried and cried. I didn't get much sleep last night.

I love my music. I love my piano and my guitar. I love to sit with them for hours and drown in my creativity. I am so good at music. So good. I amaze myself sometimes. That sounds conceited. But it's true. I am incredible at this. At writing music and lyrics and singing. It has been going particularly well lately. I get to the point that I'm so amazed and proud sometimes that I just sit and cry. I'm so silly.

July 27, 2000, 11:50 PM, Central

You would think I would be happy. I have a college degree at the age of 18, and I'm about to go meet one of my best friends, and I have these amazing best friends in the first place, and I have the best mother the world has ever known, and I'm pretty decent looking, and I can sing like it's what I was fucking born to do, and I'm smart, and I have food and shelter and all that bullshit.

But I also have Bipolar Two Affective Disorder. Therefore, none of that matters. Because my brain cannot interpret it. Instead, I see that I'm 18 and haven't done anything with my life, except get a degree that is worthless to my future anyway, my best friend doesn't care that I'm coming to see him, none of my friends can tolerate me because I'm mad, I'm leaving my mother, so my life is pretty much over, I'm short and my body isn't perfect and I can never get into Hollywood looking like this, my voice will never get me anywhere because no one will fucking listen to me, my brilliance will never get me anywhere because I only want to go one place so I'm screwed, and what is the point of having food and shelter if your life is so terrible that you'd rather be dead anyway? And that is the thought process of someone who is mad.

Girl, Interrupted is the best book ever written. Ever. So much better than the movie. It's so profound and brilliant and enchanting. I always thought that I was a good writer, but when I read books like that, I realize that I'm not. The best thing I've ever written is this journal. When I kill myself, I will write a note on the wall in my blood that asks for someone to publish this. Because the world was supposed to know who I am. I might be dead before they do, so they will actually end up knowing who I was, but it will be their fault. Eh, what are you gonna do?

And I should be okay, but I'm not. I'm not okay and I'm starting to realize that I never will be. Money won't fix me. Friends won't fix me. Sleep won't fix me. I'm mad. I will always be mad. It's not going away. I'm never getting out.

Watching performers who have no talent whatsoever make it into the music business is like having someone physically abuse you. It's like being hit really hard in the face and falling down and seeing no point in getting back up. Because there isn't one. I hate that I'm so talented and no one knows, and if they did, they wouldn't give a damn. I hate that I can sing circles around every pop star and I write my own music and it's brilliant. But they get record deals and recognition and a lifestyle where they eat, sleep, and breathe music. They get to perform. I get normality. And I'm supposed to deal with it.

July 29, 2000, 9:07 PM, Central

I feel sick. Physically, as well as emotionally and mentally. Of course, I am always mentally ill. That never goes away. I'm emotionally ill a good portion of the time. But to add physically ill to the cauldron... I think I'm coming down with the flu. I'm fevered and tired and my head, throat, and ears hurt. Then again, I have been crying for most of the day.

Tomorrow is my last day at work. I am incredibly upset. I had to run out today because I was crying. I'm losing what has been a family for a year. Most of them, I will probably never see again. I always get like this when I say goodbyes. People coming in and out of my life. I think of never seeing someone again and my heart whimpers. It's sad and sickening. And I never should have complained about it the way that I did. Because now I see that it was never bad. I just made it bad because I make everything bad. I'm going to miss it so much.

The other half of the pain of leaving is about my life. It's changing. I'm going to leave my mother. Oh, God. I don't want to do that. She's my entire world. I'm sure there will be very high phone bills from me calling her every night to tell her about my day and ask her about hers and tell her how much I love her and miss her and wish I could give her a big hug. And it will be this way for an entire year. And then what the hell am I supposed to do with myself? Joy will go away somewhere nice and become rich and happy. And what will I do?

August 6, 2000, 9:42 AM, Pacific

Mark's still asleep. It's cold here. My toes are frozen. I love the Bay Area. It's so nice here; the weather's so crisp. The air is really clean. And it's really beautiful. This is one of those places you settle for life.

I've been up since 7:45 because Mark's alarm went off, and there was this Libertarian on the radio, babbling about how government is inefficient. He was really ignorant, so I got pissed off and got up for a shower. Mark and his dad were both still asleep, so I cleaned their kitchen, talked to my mom on the phone, and now here I am, talking to Kris and writing. Finally. I've been going over what on earth I'm going to tell my journal to describe this. Nothing appropriate comes to mind.

Mark is incredible. He doesn't think so, and I can't seem to convince him. But he's so different and neat and just like I imagined him, except dorkier, hehe. I'm so comfortable with him. I think it took me a few minutes to get comfortable, but it was because I was nervous.

Mark's computer is so annoying. The mouse is insane. I've never seen anything like it and it really slows my usual speed on computers.

We all went to Marine World yesterday and I got to meet Rosie and Sita, who were these beautiful, wonderful girls. It was a little awkward at first, but mostly because they had all met before and I wasn't sure what to say, which is weird, because I've always been able to converse with Sita very, very well. And I really liked Rosie. I was nervous about meeting her, because I knew she didn't like me, but she was really cool. A lot quieter than I expected her to be, but then again, so was Sita.

I'm really sunburnt. And I have SO much to say, but it's about time that Mark got his lazy ass out of bed, so I'm going to go jump on him. How cool is that? Three days isn't enough.

August 7, 2000, 1:23 AM, Pacific

My meds are good for me. They really work. Now if only I would take them... I've needed them twice here so far. Once at Marine World and now.

Do you ever cry for no reason? Or at least, you know there's a reason, but you can't figure it out? I just told Mark goodnight and I was going to go to bed, but I started crying. And since I don't know why, I figured it was journal time.

It could be because I'm so damned unbalanced and have been for weeks. I have violent mood swings, but am fortunate enough to be a master at hiding them. If I took my meds, I wouldn't be unstable. But. I don't. So. I am. I don't have any legitimate reason not to take them, except that they're a huge hassle and I'm almost out of Wellbutrin, but have no money to buy more. And that probably has a lot to do with me crying. Or it could be that I haven't slept much in the last three nights, and won't tonight either, because I have to get up at 8:00. And I'm ultra-sensitive when I haven't gotten enough sleep. I don't know. Maybe I'm just a wreck and should never be surprised by sudden outbursts of sobbing.

I hate myself when I cry. I just sit there, with my hands to my head, swearing at myself for being a baby, and racking my brain trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me this time. Or if it's just my chemicals going haywire. Usually, I can feel when it's just the Bipolar. It's a certain numbness accompanied by thick, heavy hopelessness. That's not the case right now, so I don't know. I'm sure it has something to do with this entire situation. I'm leaving Mark in a few hours and what if he never wants to see me again? What if he can't wait to get rid of me? What if he thinks I'm totally lame? I feel lame anyway, because I know I'm not the one he really wanted to see. I'm kind of a consolation prize. Which is okay, because isn't it selfish to want to be important to people? I think that it is. I've always wanted to be important and I've always been selfish, so the two must have some link between them. I guess. I don't know. It's late and I'm being overanalytical, as always. I should clear my head and attempt sleep.

August 11, 2000, 11:49 PM, Central

So I graduated from college tonight. Got my Associate of the Arts Degree, with Honors. I'm so proud of myself. It's strange that when big things happen, it takes awhile for them to sink in. I always think that when big things happen, they'll just hit me immediately and feel huge. But they never do, and by the time they do hit me, it's nothing, because I've already been thinking about it. Or something.

So life has changed as of tonight. Really, really changed. I'm so blind to it that I don't even want to analyze it, which isn't like me. I analyze everything.

I had so much to say when I sat down at my journal tonight. But I'm so tired and so... I don't know. I feel blank. Not empty. Just blank.

August 23, 2000, 3:42 PM, Central

This is probably one of the most exciting, most interesting times in my life. But it's also one of the worst. I'm so unsure of everything right now. My life is so up in the air. It's scary. I want to curl up in my bed and hide. Or fall into my mommy's arms and never let go. Because I would be safe. I'm not safe right now. Life is very dangerous right now.

I want to talk to Angel, because I miss her and I'm going to see her in eight days. I even bought a very groovy new shirt for her to see. But lately, she's always talking about how lucky I am, and it annoys me greatly. Because I'm not lucky. She envies me so much because I'm going out into the world, or whatnot, and getting my own place and living in a big city and blah, blah, blah. But I'm not doing any of those things. I'm trying to do those things. There is a huge difference. And she thinks it's all fun and excitement, and that annoys me, because I can't explain to her how wrong she is. It's scary and difficult. She thinks it's so easy. Mmm. I think I'm just pissed off that it isn't easy or exciting or fun. It isn't any of those things. It's just bad. All bad.

Ugh. I hate me. I am enchanted lately. It comes and goes. Sometimes I am stable and I know where I belong, face down on the ground. And then, sometimes, I go through these phases where I daydream constantly. I lose pieces of my life, because I'm playing in my head and not paying attention to what's around me. Things are so much nicer when I make them up in my head. I get to have all of the things that I want - a record deal, friends who enjoy my company and whose company I enjoy, traveling. Even that love bullshit. I hate that love bullshit. I hate being human, because I want it. I want it bad and I don't understand why, because it doesn't even exist. And it's distressing. It's distressing not to be able to have the things that you want because you're not good enough or rich enough or pretty enough or whatever. Life is such bullshit. I'm so sick of it. I'm so sick.

I'm so stuck and blank. I don't have anything to say.

September 2, 2000, 8:37 PM, Eastern

My life began less than four years ago. It ends tonight.

That sounds extreme. It is extreme. I always knew it was extreme.

I'm writing this during the concert. It's insane.

My head hurts. God. The screaming. God. I'm not gonna cry.

But tonight is new. Tonight, it's over. Strange and free and empty and over... Tonight, I banish the anger and the shame. The almost four years of anger and shame. They don't have me anymore. I'm not Theirs. And that's okay. I'm a whole person without Them. They aren't allowed to define me anymore.

Something about, "Take a little piece of my heart now, baby."

Screaming. So much screaming...

My insides are rocking from the explosions and the way that gravity is abusing this place. I think my body is vibrating all the way through.

The event staff has to yell at people every five minutes. "No taking pictures!" "Stop dancing!" "Please go back to your seats, ladies." Screaming.

Angel has lost control. It makes her a different person. They do. What is that about Them? Did I ever lose control? Did I ever have control in the first place? I have control right now.

Of course... maybe this won't last very long. Maybe it's another illusion. But I think that my freedom is worth fighting for. So I'm going to fight hard. I'm going to fight daydreams and emotions and the last four years of my life. Because I don't want it anymore. I don't want Them to be important.

Up there, being beautiful.

September 14, 2000, 12:08 AM, Central

I have been having good days. For silly, little reasons, really. But I guess the reasons don't matter. I have been feeling good. It is odd and foreign. I fear it will not linger long. Therefore, I should capture it while it lasts.

Yesterday, I worked my eight to five job, filing papers and cutting up my fingers. But then I heard from the temp service that they might have a permanent, full-time job for me. Which was great yesterday, but now I fear it will interfere with my Natalie trip plans. If so, I will turn it down. But either way, I have paychecks coming two Fridays in a row. And that is nice.

Today, I drove Joy to the airport for her weekend home. Then I worked from about noon to three. Then I joined the gym and found out that I only have 16.5 body fat, and this makes me very ecstatic. I feel good about myself. 12 is as low as you can be without being sick, apparently, and 21 is as high as you can be without being overweight. Or something. I don't know. But I know 16.5 is hella good, and I celebrate. And I got to talk to Kris tonight, whom I love and adore. He always makes my day when I talk to him. He's one of my favorite people in the world with which to converse. And then I got to visit with Sita for awhile. And Natalie might call me, whoo! So I am glad. Life is taking a break from its usual constant suckiness.

I have had the same personality type all of my life. I've taken the Jung Personality Test practically once a year since sixth grade, and I've always been an INFP (Introversion / Intuitive / Feeling / Perception), which is the Searcher, and 1 of the population. Which makes me feel nice and unique. My ideal job is also outlined as a "writer, artist, or entertainer." Oh. How I love to be described accurately...

INFPs are quiet, creative, sensitive, and perceptive souls who often strike others as shy, reserved, and cool. They have a rare capacity for deep caring and commitment - both to the people and causes they idealize. INFPs guide their behavior by a strong inner sense of values, rather than by conventional logic and reason. Forced to cope with this facts-and-figures "real" world we inhabit, INFPs may appear to have been imported from another galaxy! They gravitate toward creative or human service careers, which allow them to use their instinctive sense of empathy and remarkable communication skills. Strongly religious, spiritual, or philosophical people, INFPs may see the purpose of their lives as an inner journey, quest, or personal unfolding. More practical and rational types may tend to discredit the INFP's sources or understanding as mystical. The search for a soul mate is a preoccupation for many INFPs, who must balance their need for privacy and peace with their yearning for human connection. If there seems to be an air of sadness in the INFP's spirit, blame it on this type's longing for the perfect in all things.

Unbelievably true. It is strange to be defined so beautifully by a personality test. Of course, I am so much more complicated than that short paragraph. It should say that. It should say, "INFPs are so complicated that I have to give up trying to describe them now."

I got a psychic reading of my past lives. It was so neat and fit me to a tee, as well.

You may remember, in your deeper meditations and dreams, experiences from long ago when you were among great artists, sculptors, poets, and craftsmen of ancient India, as well as the more recent leaders of prosperous, classical Greece. Even later day Venice, Florence, and other Italian cities developed some of this love of culture, beauty and appreciation of art which you were closely involved with then and which you find rewarding still. Venus is the planet of love, beauty, and art, so it is very appropriate to convey the symbolic essence of the sign Libra, which it rules. Venus's influence through Libra also makes that which is crass and primitive quite unnatural for you to accept gracefully, or to participate in willingly. You may also have been among many who reincarnated in the American South, just before the Civil War. In the present, you may have to learn the lesson of providing for your own needs, luxury, and comfort, rather than having others provide these things for you. In fact, one of the challenges of Libra lies in being too liberal or indulgent with oneself. With prayerful application of your will, this too can be overcome.

My past lives sound lovely. They forgot to mention that I was a cat. I hope to also be a cat in my next life. Of course, I can't complain about being a great artist and a rich Colonial chick, now, can I? It would be quite distressing if this life were the most disappointing of all, don't you think?

September 14, 2000, 11:18 PM, Central

I have a lot of faith in God. There are times when I think that I don't, but I always do. It's implanted in me. It's always been instinct to turn to fate. I consider God and fate the same thing. For the most part. That just means that I believe that everything will work out the way it is intended. I always believe this, somewhere inside of me. So I think that I always have faith in God. Which I'm just starting to remember as of late. Because things are going so nicely in my life right now. Then I feel guilty for only acknowledging God when things are going right. But that isn't true, because when things are going wrong, I cry out to Him, begging Him to tell me why He's ignoring my existence. So eh. I feel like He has complete control. And not the kind of control that makes you feel helpless. It's the kind that makes you feel safe and protected and loved. God is a big part of my life. I don't want to deny Him His place in me anymore. Because I need Him. He does good things. He takes care of me. I don't do anything in return. That is the problem. I am a selfish, stupid human.

How come the internet allows for such amazing, honest conversations that last late into the night? Things are so open and vulnerable. But not the kind of vulnerable where you're afraid. The kind that makes you feel warm and safe and understood. How come those conversations don't occur in real life? How come I got to meet Sita, but I didn't get to stay up all night with her, discussing the world, and important things and unimportant things? How come Mark talked to a wall the entire time I was there and pretended he wanted nothing to do with me? He didn't even say much to the wall. More than he said to me though. How come Joy would rather get on my computer and have conversations than sit down and talk to me? I'm really here. What if Natalie talks to walls? I wish for her to talk to me. I want to stay up late into the night and get to know her. How come people are scared to talk in real life? Sometimes they're scared to talk on the internet too. Why? I don't understand. Why would anyone want to avoid an intense, deep conversation? What would life be without intense, deep conversations? They are important. I love them. They feed me. And I am starving. Desperately starving.

It’s hard to have strong emotions. I don't think about it much, because I've always had strong emotions, but it is hard to be a person who is so full and so passionate. Really.

September 21, 2000, 11:31 PM, Central

Mark's birthday.

Stuck in the same conversation with him. Saying the same things over and over again.

"You don't understand."
"Explain it to me."
"There's nothing to explain. There's nothing anyone can do."
"But there are things you can do."
"But I won't, so let it go. There's nothing I can do."
"There's plenty. You have options."
"I have no friends."
(I hate the "I have no friends" line. That makes me... what? Nothing?)
"But you do have friends! You have us!"
"It's not the same."
"I know."
"You're not here."
"So come to me."
"I think I'll pass."

Sigh. He makes every effort to push me away. Kris keeps saying that he just does that and doesn't really want us to leave him alone. Which is probably true, for the most part. "Just love him and be there for him," Kris says, and I say, "You sit here with him as much as I do and see if it's that simple." I adore Kris and Natalie, really, but they don't know the half of it. They don't know Mark like I do. They don't sit here with him for hours and listen to him and try to comfort him. They don't know where he's at. I don't even know where he's at, completely. But I know I understand a lot more. I know I can deal with him a lot better. But I'm so frustrated. He makes me so sad. So, so sad.

I'm running out of words. I say the same things over and over again.

"You have to do something, Mark."
"No."
(Sometimes he almost admits that he can do something and just won't. Other times, he denies that there's anything to be done at all.)
"Why?"
"Because I'm mental."
sigh
"I'm a jerk."
"I know."
(I smile here. I think he does too, because he knows he's not a jerk. He's just acting like one.)
"You're just acting like one."
"No. I am one."
"Shut up, Mark."

Sometimes I wanna tell him to just stop being such a baby and to get off his lazy, depressed ass and do something. Other times, I understand everything and I just cry for him.

I don't understand the people around him. How do his parents and his family and his co-workers ignore this? Is he that good at hiding? Actually, yeah, he really is. But he's done numerous things to hint to them that, hello, he needs help! He's shown them the scars. He's tried to commit himself! Someone wake the fuck up! What is up with you people? Why are you so blind and selfish? I adore his parents. Really. They were so nice and hospitable. But what the hell? This is their son. He is utterly miserable and they're just like, "Oh, it'll pass." Wouldn't it have passed by now?

My mom is the same way over Lizzie. I hint around all of the time. Mom, Lizzie's doing drugs. Mom, Lizzie's an alcoholic. Mom, Lizzie's sleeping with guys who are too old for even me. I don't exactly say those things. But they're obvious hints. And Mom replies with something along the lines of, "Oh, Cordy, stop talking about your sister that way! She isn't doing any of those things!" And I say, "Okay, Mom, whatever you say..." Once, she even replied to that with, "Just let me be in denial." So maybe she knows what's going on. She has to at least suspect. But she doesn't do a damned thing. She looks the other way like it's too much to deal with and there's no way her baby girl could be anything but perfect.

Well, Mom, she's doing drugs, drinking, and sleeping around.

And yep, your son is gay and your son is depressed. Fucking deal. Because this is not the time to be selfish. Look at him for once. Put him first. He needs you. Can't you see that he needs you?

I am so lost in this situation. So completely and utterly helpless. I don't know how to talk to him anymore. I wish I could just wrap my arms around him and let him cry.

We were on the phone for a good two hours last night. I was warmed to know that he's not scared to cry on the phone with me anymore. He used to never let me call him when he was crying. So that's a step. I know that he trusts me. I just wish that he would listen to me. He blocks out most of the things that I say.

"I only believe what's negative."
"Okay, but I wish you wouldn't argue with everything that I say."
"It's just who I am."
"It isn't who you are. It's what's in your head."
"Nope. Who I am."
sigh
"That's all you and Natalie are going to say from now on, isn't it?"
"What? About how medicine can help?"
"Yep."
"Well, it can."
"Maybe for you."

He thinks I haven't been in some of these places before. He thinks no one has been in some of these dark places. I've hated myself. I've thought Bipolar was who I am. I've wanted to bleed. I've wanted to die. I've thought I was completely alone. I've thought no one understood me. So what do I do with him? Because when I was in those places, I wanted everyone to leave me alone too. I didn't hear a thing anyone said. It was all just black. So I expect him to see things differently?

I love him. I wish he weren't hurting.

Life is unfair for most people. I even tried praying last night, but I felt like God wasn't listening. Usually, I can feel Him listening when I pray. But I felt like He was rejecting my prayers. And I felt like He was narrow-minded then. And I think of my perception of narrow-minded people. They have the same rules as God. Maybe God is an enemy sometimes. Oh. I wish I didn't think that.

My skin is stained with blood
And you look at me like I've done something shameful
Like you expect things like this from me
Like you can't understand
Why I'd show you my bloody hands
Unless I wanted your pity
Fuck that
I just want you to know me
It can't get much worse than this
Unless I actually go through with it
I can't think of one reason not to
So give me one
Don't tell me you don't get it
I know you don't
I know you don't
I just need a hope
My head is racked with pain
And you look at me like the reason is self-evident
I think too much, spend too much time in bed
And you can't comprehend
Why I would cause the end
Unless I wanted your attention
Fuck that
I want out and that's it
And that's it
And that's it
It can't get much worse than this
Unless I actually go through with it
I can't think of one reason not to
So give me one
Don't tell me you don't get it
I know you don't
I know you don't
I just need a hope
So I bleed and you think that I need to be saved
You think I'm asking you to make it all okay
But I only want you to remind me that you care
Because I don't know it anymore
It's not there
And you don't realize
That it would change my mind
It won't get different
It won't change
Until someone cares
Or I hang myself with these chains
I can't think of one reason not to
So give me one
Don't tell me you can't handle me
I know you're scared
I know you're scared
Now all I need to know is that you care

September 25, 2000, 11:40 PM, Central

Joy and I just saw Almost Famous at the little theatre that is less than a mile from the condo that we are currently calling our own, but are not holding our breath. It was a very, very enchanting movie. It was just sensationally witty. I was thoroughly impressed. I love movies that can move me and cause me to think. They are perfectly inspiring.

I was not meant to be the nobody that I am. Or the somebody I am not, as it were. When you're entranced in the story of a tour and the view of a screaming audience from a stage, and you feel like you're home, that's when you know. Not that I didn't know already. I've always known. I belong on a stage, with blue lights engulfing me, facing thousands of people, allowing them to get to know me. It is so hard not to be where you belong. And to fear that you will never be there. It is so hard to know that you've accomplished so much at eighteen, but to feel like you haven't accomplished a damned thing.

I love to drive late at night, alone in my car, surrounded by darkness. It is such a perfect atmosphere to accommodate moving music. The guitar chords, one by one, caress my soul, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. I love songs like that. There should be more of them. I hope that mine will do that to people.

September 29, 2000, 11:20 PM, Central

So the condo is ours. I have a place to call my own. We're hoping to move in sometime this weekend. They gave us a new dishwasher, stove, and washer and dryer. New carpet too, of course. We are totally being spoiled. But $800 a month is deserving of spoiling, I think.

I got a pager today. It's neat. I've never had one before. I want to learn the pager-talk that Mark and Natalie do.

My birthday is in a little over a week. It feels weird and bad. I don't know why. I hate birthdays. They make me so lonely and depressed. I have my mom and one or two other people say, "Oh, happy birthday!" and then I go about the day like it's any other. And I think, "Another year gone by, and I've still accomplished nothing, and I'm still a nobody." I'm still alone. I was thinking about how normal people have birthday parties with all of their friends. Who's going to come to my birthday party? Joy and my mom. Whoo. It really doesn't get lamer than that. Even though I love them both.

I never wanted to be normal. But I'd like to at least have some friends. How depressing is it to have no one on your birthday? I fucking hate birthdays.

But not as much as I fucking hate Christmas.

Mmm. I shouldn't care about being alone. I mean, I'm better off alone, right? You don't get hurt by people when you're alone and you don't have to take any shit from people when you're alone and you don't have to have any happiness whatsoever when you're alone... Mark suddenly makes more sense to me.

My balance is askew. I've been taking my meds again, inspired by Mark, who is taking Paxal, and it's throwing me off. I should really get into a routine with my meds so that I can feel okay and stop going up and down and up and down. But this is what I can expect for my life. I will always be up and down and up and down. It's part of who I am. It will never go away.

I don't understand why I've been white trash all of my life. Why I grew up with no money and no security. Why I have to continue that way, even on my own. I don't get it. Why can't I get a good job that pays well? Why can't I sit down and work on my music? I'm going nowhere. Because I'm too busy worrying and screwing up to even be talented anymore. I'll be 19 soon, and I will have failed at life.

I said, "C'mon, Joy, you drove all the way to Texas to see Katrina, so you can drive eight hours to see Neve with me tomorrow in Corpus Christi!"

She said, "I didn't come to Texas to see Katrina! I came to see you!"

I said, "No, you didn't! You don't even like me!"

She said, "Yes, I do! I love you! In fact, you're in my list of top five favorite people!"

I said, "Who are the others?"

She said, "Them."

We laughed.

October 3, 2000, 10:13 PM, Central

Tomorrow night will be the first night that I will spend in my condo. I will be sleeping on the floor, with a pillow and blanket, surrounded by boxes. It will not be home.

I want it to be home. I mean, I'm paying for it to be my home. I'm decorating it. I love it. Really. It's just not warm. Like coming home to my mother, sitting on my bed, watching my TV, staying up on this computer. All of those things will be different now. I will still sit on my bed, watch my TV, and stay up on this computer, but it will be in a different place. It will be unfamiliar. Generally, I love the unfamiliar. It's exciting and fun. But I hate moving. I've always hated it. I've moved eleven times in my nineteen years, and that's too much. I get used to a place. I will get used to this one. It will be good when I settle in and Cordy-fy everything - when it's personal. Right now, it's just these big empty rooms. And I hate the thought of going to sleep without my mother being in the next room. I hate it.

I'm just scared, I guess. Of everything. Of failing. Of not getting what I want, or more importantly, what I need. Of bills. Of adulthood. Of normality. Those are the things that I'm facing right now, and they all scare me. I want them all to go away.

I hate people fading from my life. I wish that they wouldn't do that.

I need to go to a doctor before my birthday and get a shot so that I can sing. My allergies are a pain in the throat. Or something. It's almost excruciating not to sing along with the radio, but I can't, because my throat hurts. Damned Texas and its damned environment.

I understand why Mark is always saying, "I don't have any friends," even though he has all of us here. Here doesn't count. When I want to show people my condo and my life, I can't. They aren't around. When I need to cry in someone's arms, when they need to cry in someone's arms - it's hopeless and that brings more crying. When I want to share myself and let them share themselves with me - our lives and the little things, like the way they smile or the way they pronounce a certain word - no. It can't happen. When I have a birthday, they can't be there. When they have a birthday, I can't be there. It's disheartening and I am crying over it. I can honestly say that I have one friend, and that's Joy. All of my other friends can't count most of the time. Most of the crucial times. And it makes me wonder if I will ever have my friends in my life. I never thought that I'd have Joy in my every day life, but I do. Will I eventually have Mark and Kris and Natalie and Sita in my every day life? Is that too much to ask for? I don't think that it is. I mean, I am allowing life to screw me over in the love/dating department, so can't I have some friends? I am allowing life to screw me over in the financial/security department, so can't I have some friends? Geez. What does a girl have to do to get some luck around here?

October 5, 2000, 11:07 PM, Central

I shouldn't be online. I'm paying by the minute. I hate when AOL is being a jackass to me. I hate moving, because the internet is so difficult to adjust in a new place. Everything is.

I'm sitting here alone in this huge, empty condominium. Joy's at work. I have the TV on loud so that I don't feel lonelier than I already am. And I'm online, spending money, when I shouldn't be, but I'm too lonely to sign off. I am lame. And alone. And I hate it.

So I practically severed my toe last night. I opened the fridge and this huge glass bottle of salsa fell out and shattered on the floor, cutting my big toe open. That was 9:00 last night and it's still bleeding. I can hardly walk. It is very not good. And very painful.

Mark seems to be feeling a lot better, which makes me feel a lot better. I think he's going to survive beautifully. Which surprises me, because things looked so hopeless. But he's strong and brave, and he's going to be just fine. Which means that maybe I will be, as well. And maybe we can both talk about it a year from now. I hope that I still know him a year from now. I hope that he doesn't change completely and desert me. But I guess that's selfish. I'd rather him be happy than have him as a friend. But damn, I wish I had more friends. Ones I could see whenever I wanted. I don't think I'm going to get to see Natalie this month. I haven't heard from her. I think that she realized I'm scary and changed her mind. Oh. Depression.

I should get off of this thing. I'm so far from capable of paying for the time I just spent here.

It's all about the Benjamins, baby...

October 10, 2000, 11:42 PM, Central

Days that are supposed to be special are amusing. They're never special. People don't even try to make them special. It's not important. And I pretend that it isn't important to me. But it is. I wanted a special birthday. I want special holidays. My birthday, Christmas, New Years. They're all ordinary days. They're nothing. But I think that they used to be something. I don't ever remember hating holidays this much until recently. I just hate that they're normal days. I hate knowing right now that the day is over and that it was nothing. It meant nothing. I felt nothing. Nothing happened. I'm a year older and I'm still nothing.

I slept late today. I got up at around 2:00 and watched General Hospital. Mom and Lizzie came over and we had Chinese food delivered. We sat in the floor, on a sheet, and ate dinner. Joy got me a cake with silver candles. "Nineteen and one to grow on."

That was my birthday. That was the start of a new year. I hate knowing that I'm older. I hate knowing that time is passing me by and I'm not doing anything worthwhile with it. I hate that I didn't have a huge celebration with all of my friends.

We went to a Japanese Steak House for dinner. We just got back. We ate really late, but it was nice, cuz the place was really empty and we got a bar to ourselves. It was this expensive, classy place with a waiting area and I got to dress up really nice. I love being in high-class places. I feel very at home in them. I've never eaten Japanese before, since I was white trash up until I walked into the door, so I got to try all of these new things. I usually don't try new things like that, but they kept asking me if I wanted all of these things I'd never heard of, and I did, because I was interested. I had Japanese fruit punch, which is amazing, and for dinner, I had filet mignon and soup and I even ate mushrooms. I hate ginger dressing and mint tea with a passion. I love plum ice cream.

I said, "I really love this place."

Joy said, "Yeah, I'm really glad you like it!"

I said, "I am brilliant at chopsticks."

She said, "White trash, my ass."

October 16, 2000, 10:13 PM, Central

Joy and I spent most of last night in the emergency room. We were sitting there, in front of the TV, when she cut the pinky and middle finger of her right hand with one of these $400 knives that her dad sent us. This happened around midnight. I had already taken out my contacts and couldn’t locate my glasses, so I had to drive half-blind, to the emergency room, with Joy being my eyes. We made it to there by 1:00, which is when they wrapped her up, signed her in, and stuck us in this room. We waited there until 3:00 before the doctor came in, injected Novocain into her fingers, and cauterized the wounds. We finally made it home at about 5:00 this morning. It was definitely an experience. I feel like such an adult, because there was blood everywhere and I didn't panic. And Joy was so brave. And we made it through the night all by ourselves. I keep doing these amazing things and I wonder how I'm doing it. What I mean by "amazing" things is that I'm being so independent. I've always been very independent, but I'm going through things I've never had to go through without my mother. And I'm doing fine. I'm doing okay.

Joy's mom sent us flowers this morning, to thank me for taking care of Joy and to wish Joy well. It was very sweet. We came home from grocery shopping to find flowers sitting on our porch. These beautiful, colorful flowers. It's amazing what something that small can do for a day, for a bad situation. I am so easily touched. I wonder if that is a weakness...

November 2, 2000, 9:00 PM, Central

I really like my job. I was terribly depressed Sunday night, but I got up Monday morning and went to work, and I felt better just being there. It clears my mind. It makes me feel needed and useful and productive. And everyone knows that productivity is essential for a substantial existence. This is the best job I've ever had. And it's only my second week.

And everyone here is so great. I am so ecstatic to be working with awesome people. Karen is the only person my age. She's in college studying photography and it seems to be her passion. From what I can tell, she's very intelligent, even though she claims that not voting is her "statement." But I like her. She's funny and cool. But she gossips a lot. I mean that she talks about so many things that I find very strange to be talking about. The upside is that she always makes sure that I'm in the loop, which is a good feeling of belonging. Actually, everyone gossips there. I am now familiar with the whole "office gossip" concept that I've heard about on TV. Or whatever. It's nice, I guess, because I feel like I'm part of something. I feel included. It's a small company and they've really welcomed me in. I'm just not used to that kind of immediate openness. I guess I'm not used to openness at all.

Tammy is really cool, as well. We sat down and talked a little about music the other day, and she was talking about how she hated pop music because she didn't think that untalented people should be in the music business. I was like, "Rock on." She's a bit older than I am, she's married, and she's a Republican, but we still really click. She's actually my supervisor.

Even my "superiors" are awesome, like Ray, who interviewed me. Yesterday he was paging Fred (who is also really great) for a call over the intercom, and he said, "Fred, get your hand out of there and pick up on line one." It was a bit off the wall, but I was amused. Everyone is really funny, and it's a carefree, laid-back environment. Actually, I'm afraid I'm the most mature person who works there. Then again, gossiping is an instant sign of immaturity. I just find everyone is very unprogressed, despite being cool. I feel very much an adult when I'm there. And everyone is very appreciative of me. They always ask how I am and thank me on my way out at night.

Fortunately, the atmosphere is so laid back that I never make myself sick over being late or anything. I never feel stressed when it comes to work. Usually, I'll get all my invoicing done and there will be nothing to do but wait for the phone to ring, so I get to just sit at my desk and read or write or whatever I please. I'm really primarily there to answer the phones, so I end up getting a lot of me time, which is nice.

Joy mailed out her election ballot yesterday, which is bad because she voted for Nader, and a vote for Nader is pretty much a vote for Bush. And Rory might as well be running the country... I just really want Gore to be elected. I really like him. Not just as a candidate for President, but as a person altogether. He has a nice sense of humor, and he seems like he really has his priorities straight. And when it comes to politics, I agree with his stand on almost every issue. And he's so encouraging when he talks about the future. He has high goals for things like fuel-cell cars and the economy. I think he would do a lot of good for a bad world. And even though Joy babbles about her IQ being higher than his, I think that IQ has little to do with intelligence anyway. I mean, Joy may be smart, but she'd be a horrible President.

I love politics. People have a lot of disillusions about them, but they're really very pure in a lot of ways, I think. Political views tell you a lot about people. What they think about abortion and gay rights says very much about who they are. I wish more people were informed about politics, because I like to talk to people about their political views. It really gives me insight about a person.

I talked to Natalie for a few minutes tonight. It was really bad. She hardly said anything. She seemed not to care at all about not meeting me. I was very disheartened. No one ever wants to meet me, and I don't get it. I mean, sure, I'm not Madonna or anything, but dammit.

November 4, 2000, 7:19 PM, Central

Isn't it funny how you can care so incredibly about one person, but that person cares so incredibly about someone else, and that someone else cares so incredibly about another someone else? You see that a lot in the movies, but it's the function of real life. It doesn't matter how much you care about someone - they will always care about someone else more. But unlike the movies, there is never a happily ever after.

So it's a lazy day. It's been raining for a few days now. It gets dark at 5:30, which is depressing somehow. I get depressed over the most insignificant things. Memories depress me. Looking back on things and knowing that they are gone forever. That depresses me. It's like death. Death is all around us, not just physically. And maybe it is perspective. I see everything from a dark place. Maybe that will hinder my entire life, and I will never be truly happy. I now have the opportunity to be truly happy, but I can't, because I am knowing what makes me unhappy - not being with my mother whenever I want, living in routine, never doing what I love for a living, being unbearably lonely... Et cetera. Can I ever overcome that? I am programmed to be a pessimist. I am told it is because my mental illness went untreated my entire life. If that is true, a pessimist is who I am, because an entire life plays a big part in carving out who a person is. The pessimism has been with me too long to ever undo. It will be the end of me.

My friends are inside of a computer. I will never really know these people. They will never really know me. Will I ever have any real friends, besides Joy? I've always thought, I'll just go out and make new friends. But I know that is ridiculous, because I don't want new friends. New friends would fall short. I want the friends that I have now. I want to see movies with them and GOD, I want a birthday party. A real one. I don't know why this happened to me. I don't know why I am unbreakably lonely. It's like life's great plan to assure that I never have anyone. I should have never gotten on this computer five years ago. I should have never gotten attached.

Yet, I have to say that I listen to people talk about their friends, and I pity them and think, Wow, my friends are incredible. I really got blessed. No one is as lucky as I am. And sure, my friends are incredible, but they're virtual friends. We will never live next door to each other. We will never know each other's neighborhoods by heart. We will never have MTV be the same channel for both of us. We'll never sing along to the radio in the car together. We'll never stay up late at night, side by side, just talking. We'll never laugh at movies together and then discuss them afterwards. And if ever any of those things were to happen, it would be once. It would end.

November 16, 2000, 9:27 PM, Central

”There are going to be bad days. And there are going to be days that you don't want to be here. But you're just going to have to put it aside and smile, because that's our job.”

Customer service training. Some kind of demented motto. I am trying to figure out if my old job was what made me so good at pretending. Maybe it was the circle of secretive friends I have acquired. I can't remember when it started. Maybe it's been all my life. The psychologist in me wants to know. It turns out that I have a lot of psychology in me. It is my analytical side, desperately searching for logic. Mostly, nothing in my mind is logical. Maybe that is why I try to make sense out of everything. This usually confuses and/or depresses me even more so, which causes me to contemplate why I am more confused and/or depressed. It's a cycle, really.

I wonder if my talent of falsification would qualify me as a good actress. I have always wondered if I can act. Someday, I will attempt it and come up with a conclusion. Until then, I will spend my time crying over not being able to sing because my body is so sick and swollen. My throat is this massive, throbbing wreck. I mourn. My back, shoulders, neck, and head are constantly aching. I hate when it gets this way, because I know that nothing can be done to help me. I've endured this for years, and nothing has ever helped. Am I immune to all medication? Is a Dark Force trying to prevent me from singing? I mourn. I'm not sure if I can emotionally survive this sometimes. It is all physical pain, but it hurts me not to be able to sing. Is that strange? I feel like my self-expression is being choked, and I remember that it is a very important part of each day. It is the best way that I can handle things, and that is lost for now. To listen to music in silence is excruciating pain. I mourn.

The world's greatest artists came from real lives. They had real jobs, real problems, and real inspirations. Real pain and real struggling has created the best songs the world has ever known. Which explains the entire music business today. There are these real bands, who came from small towns and counted nuts and bolts in warehouses for money. They are writing these fantastic songs that people can relate to. Then there are these little rich kids. You know them. The ones who never struggled, because they didn't have to. The ones who think pain is not having a significant other. They are making music that is ridiculous, yet somehow catchy, and the world eats it up.

I think my entire life at this point is about working and sleeping. I play my guitar a little before bed. But other than that, I think I am in a rut. Though technically, life is only a bunch of ruts in succession. There are these oddly placed reliefs, where you find life somehow interesting, but they are brief. And then it is back to the rut. I am distressed.

This new computer is nice. But it's not mine. It's unfamiliar and scary, just like everything else in my life right now.

November 17, 2000, 11:59 PM, Central

I have struggled with my spirituality for at least a year now. I struggle with it more in the presence of Christians. Because I'm not one. Because I've had their beliefs forced down my throat my entire life. Religion has been fed to me. And I believed it. I couldn't tell you why, but when you're raised with people telling you who and what God is, you start to believe it, I guess. I always heard that gay people go to hell and that people who curse are unintelligent and that life is about being ashamed because you aren't who God wants you to be. And I'm independent of those thoughts now. Those morals. Other peoples' morals. Sometimes they sneak in. I'll be writing a song and the preacher's words will sneak into my head. "All of your music should be in praise of the Lord." And I know that I don't believe that. I'm just supposed to, apparently, in order to be a God-fearing Southern Baptist. But. God and I get along better without all of the bullshit. God isn't the narrow-minded dictator people have made Him out to be. And it's good to know that on my own terms. Because I have a relationship with Him and I trust Him and love Him and respect Him. But I'm going to curse and I'm going to love my gay friends with all of my heart and I'm going to be open-minded. Because there's nothing wrong with those things. Why should I think that I'm doing things that are wrong, when I'm not? I make my own judgments about what God sees as right and wrong, and We define Our relationship. And that is nice. I feel at peace and good and loved and protected. God and I can really talk now. Because I'm not ashamed. I'm not thinking, Oh, I'm a sinner... I am not worthy... What does shame have to do with love? Nothing. God is love. There's no room for shame. The Christian belief system is based on shame and rules. So I have decided that I have no religion. But I have a relationship with God. And that's all I need. It's all that matters. And I feel like life is good just because of it.

November 23, 2000, 12:00 PM, Central

I am thankful...

For my relationship with God.

For my mother.

For my voice.

For my college education.

For my sister.

For the internet.

For Bipolar Two Affective Disorder.

For tears.

For experience.

For my grandparents.

For my childhood.

For my sight.

For my ability to articulate.

For my guitar.

For weekends.

For my condominium.

For the ability to write good songs.

For Joy.

For freedom.

For good memories.

For food and shelter.

For opportunities.

For my friends.

For every pet I've ever had.

For being pretty.

For the ability to type.

For Angel.

For my health.

For stimulating conversation.

For laughter.

For vacations.

For technology.

For Mark.

For my car.

For blankets.

For candy.

For my journal.

For my keyboard.

For Kris.

For holidays.

For poetry.

For good movies.

For protection.

For every friend I've had and lost.

For Natalie.

For my possessions.

For my talents.

For fate.

For having no good reasons to be depressed.

For sleep.

For musicians and artists that I admire.

For Them.

For silence.

For my college professors.

For big dreams.

For music.

For Sita.

For my intellect.

For the past.

For who I am.

For life.

For everything.

December 7, 2000, 10:11 PM, Central

I wish that I wrote more.

It's weird. My life. Right now. At this moment. It's weird at a lot of moments, I think, but I rarely capture them. They fade quickly. At least, lately. Because life is a routine for me now. But I still get dragged down. The disease still undulates inside of me. Despite the medicine. I was told, "It will help you to deal with the illness. You'll still get down more than most people, but you'll be able to endure it better." And it's true. I still get down more than most people. And I can endure it. I mean, in it, I don't think that I can. I find myself hopeless and alone. But it fades away eventually, usually with sleep, and I, once again, think that I might be okay.

But we all know that I'll never be okay.

I hate losing people. I hate it when they change and they're no longer the person that I knew. They find another type of person that they want to be around, and they don't want to be around me anymore. And I realize that I don't want to be around them anymore either. And it's disheartening. To feel that about someone you've known for so long, and someone you thought you'd have around forever.

Sex changes people. They see things differently. They do things differently. And it's weird to think that I've lost friends to sex. I don't know what it is about sex. Maybe it isn't the actual act, but the idea of it. It comes with a frame of mind. All of the sudden, you think you're different. And maybe that's why you act differently. I'm really such a believer, but I see sex as something that shouldn't change you; it should brighten you, help you understand yourself. It shouldn't make you want to completely change your group of friends and. I don't know. People are human. I have too much faith in them sometimes. But I really have none at all. It's when they disappoint me that I realize I thought highly of them. But when I think about it, I don't think highly of many people. I don't expect much from them, because I know that they're human. But really. Can I please not lose any more friends to sex? I'm really going to miss Mark.

I get so tired of waking up.

So I saw Vertical Horizon Monday night, with Bruno and his roommate, both who are over the age of thirty but don't act any older than twenty. They are fun to hang out with. I had a really good time. But it's very odd to hear a thirty-four year old man tell me how hot I am, and make these not-so-subtle comments about how he wants to take me out... It should be flattering, I think, but it's more uncomfortable than anything. I guess I'm technically an adult? I hate that. I hate that men are more interested in me than guys my own age. And I've always liked younger guys. And they are so far from interested in me. I don't understand. Am I destined to date old guys forever? Eh. And it's very uncomfortable that Peter keeps IMing me and saying sexual things, and then I have to see him the next day at work. He's thirty, and it's just not appropriate. I mean, I don't feel that it is. But he obviously does, because I am an adult, and I am legal, and I am sexually mature. Or whatnot. But. Ew. I still feel young, and I don't want a relationship, and I don't want a commitment, and I certainly do not want sex. But men don't understand when you say, "I'm a career woman." They say, "Oh, that's sexy..." Ugh. It's supposed to be unsexy, dammit.

And I think about my fairy tales again. I will always want only my fairy tales. I will never settle for less. And my fairy tales revolve around my career. It's my priority. But when I do think about having a relationship, I think about how it would be nice to have your best friend kiss you, and to realize that you're in love with each other. That is a relationship. And I couldn't settle for less. Which is quite horrible, since all of the guys that I know are gay. But it's what I want. I want to fall in love with a guy who is my best friend first. And I can't have that. I know that I can't. So I'm not interested in love, or relationships, or sex. Not without that. No. Not without that.

It's so damned trivial between you and me
But it's poetic when you touch me in my dreams

My job is becoming very difficult. Karen and Tammy are both leaving, which leaves Andrew and me at the front. The front counter needs four people to function, plus a receptionist. I will no longer be the receptionist, which means that they have to hire two more counter service reps and a dumb blonde. Because if they don't hire a dumb blonde, they will keep finding that the receptionist is too smart to answer phones for a living, as they did with me. So I start training soon. And I'm having a hard time. Things are getting so confusing. I know very little about film. I never thought I'd know as much as I do! But it's hard to help the customers when I don't know what the hell they're talking about. And the computer system is so ridiculous! Half of the stuff in there isn't even used by us, so it makes it more confusing for me. But I have to learn all of this because it's going to be up to Andrew and me to teach three new people. When there are questions on the phone, they're going to be sent to me if Andrew is busy. But the one good thing about this is that I'm going to feel in control again. I've felt so ignorant there, because I don't know what I'm doing or talking about. And I'm not used to that, because I knew everything at my old job. I built that place from the ground up, and people came to me when they had questions. Now I'm the one who is frustrated and stressed out. And I hate it. I really need to be back in a position of knowledge, because feeling incompetent and useless is one of the worst feelings in the world.

I have a hard time swallowing. My throat is so swollen that it makes my ears throb and my shoulders ache and my head pound. I am so horribly sick. I need to see a doctor very soon, or I'm afraid it will get very bad. But I can't afford it and I can't take a day off, because they really need me at the lab. But I think I'm dying. Ugh.

December 10, 2000, 10:11 PM, Central

Weekends pass too quickly. I suppose it is because I tend to sleep them away. At some point, after being angry with myself for sleeping away my free time, I remember that it is the whole purpose of weekends. I wake up every morning, and I think, "I would do anything in the world to crawl back into my warm bed and go back to sleep... anything in the world..." And weekends provide a break from that. Which is nice, but all too brief. I think being homeschooled quite spoiled me. Routine and obligation annoy me. Sometimes I wonder if I could survive life on tour. I think that it would be completely different though. I would wake up and think, "I'm going to be onstage today..." instead of waking up and thinking, "Damn, I have to go to work..." I don't know. I'd like a chance at the instead. I've never had one. How is it possible to not have a chance at the one thing that you were meant to do?

It's not late. Yet, no one is online. It makes me lonely, of course, because my pixels aren't here to keep me company. I suppose, one day, I might have real friends. But it doesn't look very probable.

I do believe that the holiday season is unhealthy for me. And not only physically. But I love buying Christmas presents. I've picked out what I'm getting for everyone, except Kris. And I'm excited, because I think I've done a good job. I got my sister a professional art kit, instead of all of the weird piercings and law violations she asked for. Now she will be able to further her talent, instead of further her delinquency. Oh, yes, Christmas presents are fun to buy. I only wish that I could give them to people and see the looks on their faces. Unfortunately, I don't get to see their faces, period. And I am troubled.

December 17, 2000, 3:13 AM, Central

Sometimes, when it's late, I wonder if I am justifiably suicidal. When the night sets in, so does depression. It's expected. So when I don't go to sleep to stop it, it comes for me. And here I am, up at this ridiculous hour, and here it is. And so, I contemplate whether it is just the night that is draining me of my life force, or if I actually have good reasons to be drained. And I do. At least, I feel that they are good reasons. But no one understands me. No one understands why these things make me want to buy a gun. And now that Bush is President, I can do that. Legally. And run wild with my gun. Because Dubya says so.

Those blonde, beautiful girls are everywhere. They're singing, and magazines are saying, "What beauty! What talent! The Queen of Pop!" I would never want to be referred to as "The Queen of Pop," but I'd like to be thought of as having beauty and talent. But I'm not thought of that way. I never have been, and I'm afraid that I never will be. And it doesn't matter that I'm intelligent or that I write amazing songs or that I can sing better than pretty much anyone out there. It doesn't matter, because I'm 4'10 and I weight ninety-something pounds. Fuck.

I know it's almost impossible to get into that business. I know that I don't have a very good chance. I know it takes hard work. Shut the hell up. I know. This is what I want. And I know it's impossible. But what else is there? I have to keep hoping, don't I? Because if I don't, I'm going to die. I am. Because I can't do this nine to six shit forever. I can't watch other people do what I was made to do. I can't. Because I was made to do it.

Sometimes I feel so ridiculous. No one ever says the kind of shit that I say. No one ever says that they're going to die if they can't do what they were made to do. And maybe that's because they were made to do math or something. Normal things. Things that can be done. Why is it that I'm made to be onstage, and it's something that can't be done? I don't understand. I don't. I don't see why I am who I am. Why I'm good at what I'm good at. Why I have this horrible disorder that makes me analyze the hell out of everything.

I want to unapologetically be myself, but I can't. Everyone wants me to calm down and stop being "ridiculous" and to stay positive. It's not who I am. I'm not a bubbly person. I'm not a positive person. I'm not going to watch my mouth.

Being inside of my head is so hard for me. Sometimes, like now, I get blocked. I'm feeling so much, and I want to say so much, but I'm not sure what I'm feeling, and I'm definitely not sure how to say it. I know it has something to do with my lack of the ability to distinguish fantasy from reality. In the entirety of it all, I can point out what is real and what is made up in my mind. But I have a hard time believing that this is my life. I have a hard time believing that I'm working nine to six every day, and that I'm paying bills, and that I'm nothing. I'm not those things in my head. It's very difficult to be someone else in my life and who I really am in my head. At least, I hope it's who I really am in my head, and not who I really am in my life. Otherwise, I would be very distraught.

And I think that hope is a fantasy. I think that it is the belief in the things you've made up in your head. Therefore, it is your haunting, your kryptonite, your suicide weapon of choice. Therefore, it is what keeps you trying desperately to stay balanced on the line in-between. It's actually a very thick line, in my case, but it's no matter. Because I still don't understand and I'm still very far from balanced. I'm still hiding inside of myself, because I hate what's outside. I hate the reality. Inside, I can be with my friends whenever I want to be, and we can have the kind of conversations that I've always wanted to have with them. Inside, I can be in love, and justifiably so. Inside, I can be onstage, in front of millions of people, and I can be who I am. Inside, I can know who I am.

December 18, 2000, 10:00 PM, Central

Last night, at the party, Jody sat down in front of me, and he smiled this gorgeous smile, and he said, "I'm crashing at your place tonight."

I laughed and said, "You're too tall for our couch."

This morning, I walked into the living room, and there he was, sprawled out on our couch. He fit fine.

Joy said that they were so drunk last night that she didn't want them driving home, so she invited them all to stay at our place. Three drunk people. Very weird to be getting ready for work, trying not to wake up the drunks.

I don't feel well. Again. I'm dizzy and achy. My head feels swollen. I know that I need to see a doctor. Or stop talking. Or something.

I know that I'm far gone when nothing can calm me. I hate when nothing can calm me. When my insides are shaking, I can often find something that helps. I'll write a song, or play my guitar, or daydream, or listen to angry music. When none of those things do any good, I start to get really scared. When my music doesn't make me feel worthy, when my daydreams don't make me feel alive, when angry music doesn't help with the anger. Then I'm scared.

December 21, 2000, 11:05 PM, Central

I love to be enchanted. There are few things that enchant me now. I've grown up, I guess. But I got to leave my grown up world for a little while tonight. Joy and I went into another world. A world with lights and warmth, despite the wind and the chill. A world with elves and joy and innocence, where all of the beauty made you giggle with delight. I felt at peace there. It was worth braving the cold. And we walked around, in absolute awe of it all, sighing about how we would like to have boyfriends come to this world with us. But I knew that I wouldn't have enjoyed it more with anyone else but her. Still though. I find myself longing for Someone to see the world with me.

Joy, her mom, and her brother are supposed to be here any minute. Her family flew in tonight, and I had to clean this place up. Dishes. Ugh. My hands feel awful. I am a prima donna and I refuse to clean anymore.

I know I'm taking my medicine twice a day. I am. But I'm having violent mood swings lately. My cycles are going haywire. I wonder if it's just Christmas, or if it's life in general. It's supposed to snow.

December 23, 2000, 10:51 PM, Central

Blah. That is all I have to say: Blah.

I'm in a very drab mood. This is probably one of the few times that I will be able to get online during my Christmas vacation, and I don't even feel like being here. I'm not in a talkative place right now, I guess. I feel just very... Nothing. I feel nothing. I feel like I want to do something. I want to go out. But all I have is Nintendo and the internet. And I thought that I wanted to go onto the internet, but now that I'm here, I think that I want to go back to Nintendo. I'm not sure. How odd.

I bought a Super Nintendo for us. It's so neat. Most of my childhood revolved around a Super Nintendo. And now I have one. And Joy and I are going to get hours and hours of joy from it, I think. It's still an instant addiction. Like Them.

Joy, her mom, and I went out shopping tonight. We got a real Christmas tree and a lot of stuff with which to decorate it. Yet, none of us are in the decorating mood, so there are bags of colorful ornaments sitting on the floor, beside a very bare tree. But I've never had a Christmas spirit, so that is to be expected of me.

I do greatly love Joy's mommy. She says that Jaydon Wesley is the most beautiful boy in the world. And to this, I smile and agree.

The holiday season continues to urk me. I use the word "urk" because I think it is a loose word for "annoy" and "bother," two things that Christmas does to me. Everyone asks why I don't like Christmas. I don't like Christmas for the same reasons that everyone else does like Christmas. Friends, family, joy, peace. Whatever. People get to have those things at Christmas, and that's why they like it. I don't get to have those things, and that's why I don't like it. I suppose I do get family, but. I find it somehow unsatisfying. I love my family. Really. But there's something missing. Every holiday. There is something missing. Something big. I wish I knew what it was. And where to find it.

December 26, 2000, 8:00 PM, Central

Christmas was okay this year. Even without you. I'd like to think that I'm growing less haunted, but I'm not sure that I am.

I saw my family. I enjoyed Joy's family. It was nice. It was the first Christmas that I don't remember being completely miserable. I'm sure it isn't like this for you (but maybe I'm making an uneducated assumption) - where every holiday is forgettable. I've never had a holiday that was unforgettable. Every Christmas. Every New Year. Every birthday. They're all just days. I don't remember them at all. There is nothing about them that I care to remember. And that is why I hate holidays. Since you asked me. That is why.

It's cold. I'm hiding from everyone. I feel trapped in this room, and there's nothing to do in here but this. I tried to tune my guitar... but I don't have what you have. I do have something, though, right?

I'm very lonely right now, even though the last thing I want is to be with people. Surprisingly, I don't even want to be with you. I want to talk to you though. I always want to talk to you...

I sobbed tonight. Violently. Which I know I haven't done in more than two years. Strangely, I couldn't tell you why. Isolation. Violation. No privacy. No purpose. A lot of things, maybe. But isn't it always with me?

I started to read old letters. It didn't help. I'm unstable right now, and I can't be anything else. I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes. Maybe you could tell me.

I wish we were talking. You wouldn't say anything important. You never do. But you would make me feel better. You would do that thing that you do - where you somehow manage to make everything seem insignificant, except for laughter. I like that. But I still wish that you'd really talk to me. Just every once in awhile.

I feel so invaded. I don't mean to. But all of me is invaded right now. Sometimes, I wish you were interested in invading me, because I would let you.

I don't wanna go to work tomorrow either. Let's trade lives. I'll be the adored rock star, and you can be the normal one who's stuck in a boring life, okay? Just for a day? I'd like your perspective. You would probably tell me that it was fine and that you don't understand why I'm so miserable. Aren't you ever miserable? I bet you are. You're so good at pretending. Or maybe you only pretend for me and for the camera. Because you don't trust either of us. Especially me. And why should you? But I could earn your trust. I just need for you to talk to me. But we both know that you never will.

Don't you ever want to be challenged? And stimulated? Don't you ever want to stay up all night talking and know that there is nothing else in the world that you'd rather be doing? I have a lot of free time. You know. If you ever do.

December 27, 2000, 11:36 PM, Central

I hate regretting my entire life. I hate feeling like I've wasted it. Like I haven't experienced anything. I've barely lived, and I know it. And I won't live, because the time for living is over. I'm grown up. Chances have passed. It's hard. I think I have accepted it. I'm just having a hard time believing it. I wanted so much for myself.

I tend to wonder how it came to this. Did I bring this upon myself, because I avoided ignorant people, or because I wanted to be with someone amazing, or because I wanted to do what I love, or because I didn't settle? Is this my fault? Is it my fault that I'm normal and insignificant and absolutely nothing? Because I find it hard to fathom being in the company of ignorant people, being with someone normal and uninteresting, not doing what I love, and settling. Will my avoidance of those things lead to my being forced into them? Because then what would have been the point of it all? And should I not have lived the way that I lived after all? Should I not have wanted better for myself? Should I not have dreamed so much?

And I thought earlier: so much of the time, you hear about how it's so wonderful to dream, and whatnot. But what's wonderful about it? Reality kicking you to the ground every day? Realizing that they're pointless in the end? Aren't dreams just curses in disguise? Isn't my entire life a curse?

It's not fair that I've been given a life completely incompatible with what is in my head.

I am so in adoration of Kris. Every time we talk (type), he makes me feel better. Loved and good and worthy and pretty and interesting and stuff. Things that I'm not. But things that he makes me feel anyway. And I wish I could talk to him every day. But I'm sure he would grow tired of and annoyed with me. As does everyone. So maybe it is a good thing. But yes. I do love him greatly. I wish he weren't a collage of computer pixels.

So it's snowing. Interesting.

December 30, 2000, 3:08 AM, Central

Sometimes, I feel like I've lost my ability to write. I sit and I feel, but I can't get it out of my fingertips. It is because I go to bed at around 11:00 every night. But my talents don't kick in until at least midnight. So all of these things pile up inside of me, waiting for the weekend. And when it arrives, and it is this time in the morning, all I can do is write. My thoughts are flowing so fast, and so poetically, and I can't get it out quickly enough. And I love it.

If only someone would listen. Please. I just need someone to actually fucking hear me. Joy always writes off the things that I say as... not as highly intellectual as the things that she says? I don't know. But she does write off important things that I say sometimes. And then there are my friends who are... what are they? Privacy-obsessed? Anything you say to them, they respond with a joke. And I want to fucking SCREAM at them! Why do they do that? Why don't they actually acknowledge what I've said, and respond relevantly? Why? I want to say everything. I want to spill out everything that I have in my head. But I can't. I'm stuck inside of me because no one wants me to come out. Everyone seems to think that we should all stay locked up inside of ourselves. Why? Am I the only person alive who thinks that stimulating conversation is one of the most important things in life? I think that I am. And it makes me want to. Kill myself, actually. Because what is the point of life if no one wants to get to know me? If no one will let me get to know them? I just want my friends to know me, and I want to know them. But that's not allowed. And so, are they my friends at all? Is there such a thing as a friend?

I've always said that I would die alone, but there was always some kind of buried hope that I wouldn't. I seriously do not have any kind of hope anymore. Apparently, I am boring and prude. And that equals alone. Because I can't have the boy that I want. And I won't settle. So. Yes. There is no fucking doubt in the whole fucking world that I will die alone. I will. It's just. Fact.

I am disappointed with this entry.

December 31, 2000, 8:40 PM, Central

It's snowing. A lot. I don't know how to articulate how incredibly enchanted I am by it. I took the digital camera outside and took pictures of everything. Beautiful, perfect pictures. And I wandered around in awe. It's like walking on a blanket. It's so soft and lovely. I haven't seen snow in so long. Too long. I really want to go play in it some more, because I know that it will probably be gone tomorrow. But it's so cold. And it's dark out. But. I am so completely out of my body in the snow. Joy said, "You are giggling. Downright giggling."

I'm also very upset that it's New Years Eve. And that I have no one to be with. I have a computer, a TV, and some snow. Which is very little to accompany me sufficiently.

January 2, 2001, 10:11 PM, Central

Routine set back in today. New Years vacation ended yesterday, and the rut settled heavily upon me, where it will remain for a very long time, I know. Today was another day, the same as many days to follow. Another abrupt awakening to the excruciatingly annoying sound of the alarm clock. Another blind fight with the intense cold as I try to fumble my way out of my warm cloud of a bed. Another lethargic application of clothing and make-up. Another mindless drive, listening to music with which I cannot sing along. Another dragging day, flashing make-believe smiles at customers who expect me to know what I'm doing. And I don't, so I feel like an idiot. Due to me, well, being an idiot. Another mindless drive home, blinking against the bright lights that contradict the black of the night - the black that set in at 5:30. Another sign-on screen, beckoning me, just so that I can adhere and find no one to welcome me. Another. Rut.

I am avoiding the situation that has arisen with my dad. I always wonder if I'm fucked up in some way that I don't know about, and it's because of him. You always read about how people are traumatized by never having a father, or some shit. I've never felt traumatized. I've really never cared at all. I've thought about it maybe twenty times in my life. But I'm so fucked up, in so many ways, and I try to trace these things back, so that I can figure out what made me this way. But I come up with nothing. So I wonder if that has anything to do with my fucked-upness.

January 17, 2001, 10:30 PM, Central

I don't write enough. And I can know this by the fact that I recite journal entries in my head a good deal of the time. But I never get around to writing them down. Even though I have a lot of empty space in my life for journal writing. Really, I don't know why I am not writing lately. I love to write. Obviously, I have a lot in me to let out. But I lose the words. The only good reason that I can come up with for avoiding my journal is that I am so terrified that it will give away my emptiness. Not that anyone reads it... but writing what I'm thinking is just proving it to myself. It's proving that I'm normal and that I'm stuck in a routine. And I don't know how to change either of those things. And so, I am hopeless.

But I've been playing my guitar. It is back in shape now, and I desperately need a digital tuner. I find that when I am at a loss for words, I can play my guitar. And playing it is so much more rewarding than writing, simply because I am effortlessly gifted with writing. Playing my instrument takes so much more, and the knowledge that I have "so much more" is elevating. And the reality stands that I am brilliant on the guitar when you take into account the amount of time that I play it. And so, I will attempt to play it more often, and therefore, become increasingly more brilliant at it.

"That's the word on the street - Cordy's fast. I don't know what that means..."

"I think we should dress Cordy up in leather and get her a whip, and she can be our dominatrix."

"Are you from the Northeast?"
"Actually, Oklahoma originally."
"You don't sound like the other girls around here."

Conversations directed at me while on the job.

During the evaluation to determine the extent of your depression, you are always asked if you have ever tried to kill yourself. This is not a relevant question. It says nothing about that person, or their level of mental illness. Rather, people should be asked if they have an elaborate suicide plan. That is more productive, and more revealing.

I think that my elaborate plan may be too elaborate. I have never put it on paper, and I have never spoken it out loud. I mean, we all know that I am fucked up. But I am not able to truly understand how very fucked up I am. If I were to put it on paper or speak it out loud, there would be no denying how very sick I am. And that bothers me. So I don't believe that I will ever articulate my plan. Though someday, I fear, I may initiate it.

January 22, 2000, 10:17 PM, Central

I am horribly bored. And it frustrates me that "I am horribly bored" has to ever be seen in my journal. In fact, everything that I put in my journal frustrates me. I have nothing to write about except that I am bored and depressed. There is no action in my life. It's all thought. I think constantly. But I don't fucking DO anything! And this has been a problem my entire life. And it's partly my fault. I avoid parties because I have no interest in alcohol, drugs, or sex. I avoid going out of the house, because there's nowhere to go. I never make an effort to meet anyone new, and therefore, I don't. And I like it this way, even though I don't know why. I know that I'd rather be on a stage performing somewhere, or traveling, or doing interviews. But I can't do those things, and so I opt to do nothing. As if nothing else compares, and therefore, there is no point.

This entire situation was worse when I was unproductive in my hermitness. I watched TV and sat on this thing, waiting for someone to come talk to me. At least now, I am playing my guitar, writing my music. And I am so motivated to do so lately. And I am so impressed with myself. There are so many things that I'm good at. I wish that I were more inclined to work at these things. I wish that I had the patience to sit down and draw, because I'm extremely talented at it. I wish that I were more interested in photography.

Life goals:
1. Get a record deal
2. Actualize my friends
3. Unmentioned
4. Assure the eternal happiness of my mommy
5. Grow seven inches taller
6. Write a song with someone I admire
7. Find a state with weather that I can live with for the rest of my life
8. Go to Universal Studios in Florida
9. Adopt a healthy lifestyle - exercise, drink water, etc.
10. Find a reason not to kill myself

January 25, 2000, 11:23 PM, Central

I am starting to suspect that I may have a complex. I seem to be incapable of saying no to people. This entire week has been full of me doing shit for people. Shit that I didn't have to do, but I did, because I'm a fucking pushover. And this was all fine with me until tonight, when I spent an hour of my time and my gas driving a girl home from work - completely and utterly out of my way. And then I realized that I'd been doing this kind of thing all week. And why? Am I secretly nice and don't know it? Or am I just desperate for approval, and therefore, I don't let anyone down?

Monday:
Drove Kristi home from work because her car broke down
Tuesday:
Drove Kristi home from work because her car broke down
Wednesday:
Went out and got lunch for Lon; used up twenty minutes doing so
Thursday:
Came in an hour early to open with Pete; drove Maria home

And this is just so far. Tomorrow night, I have to drive Maria home again. And I really hope that she doesn't start asking me to do this regularly, cuz she's fucking crazy if she thinks I'm going to keep saying yes. And I am not saying that I'm completely reluctant to do all of these things that I'm asked to do. I honestly don't mind most of them. But as I look back on all of them, I am annoyed. Because I feel somewhat taken advantage of. Maybe people can tell that I'm a pushover? How can I become more of a bitch? Or at least, how can I make people think that I'm one, and therefore, assure that they are intimidated to ask favors of me? Can't I just do favors out of the blue, because I want to, and not because I'm asked? Eh. I don't know why I'm so annoyed. Doing favors for people doesn't really bother me that much. I don't think.

I feel like I'm really a nice gal. Overall. Or at least, no one knows that I'm not, and therefore, technically, I am.

I don't mean for work to be my entire life. I never intended for this to happen. I never wanted to work five days a week. I never wanted to write about my job in my journal. I have wanted such different things for my life. Have I lost all hope of having those things? I fear that I have. And that fear encompasses and paralyzes me. Often.

I am exhausted and should sleep. But I am in a very unsatisfied, discontented place in my head. And due to this, sleeping sounds like a difficult task. Which is rare for me. The only thing better than sleeping is performing. And I hear... sex. But I'll never know on that one. Cry.

February 14, 2001, 10:23 PM, Central

I don't understand myself. I pride myself on understanding myself. And if it's only a book, and it's only a photo, and it's only a song, and it's only a Boy... why do I get so lost? It only takes someone else telling you their view of you to make you question your view of yourself. Am I really all of those bad things?

It bothers me that there are things that I think I can't do. And it bothers me that I cannot think straight. I wonder if I were to find the right medication if that would make me sane. Would that help me to sort through my mind? Would that help me to understand my weaknesses and terrible traits, and why they exist, and why I don't want to change them, and how I could change them if I wanted to do so? Does anything depend on medication? Is it just that I'm meant to be this miserable and this confused and this lonely? And nothing will ever, ever change it?

Is it really necessary for everything to mean so much? Are days really necessary? What comes of days? What comes of me? I am only a complicated entanglement of contradicting thoughts and passions. I am so unbelievably lost all of the time. It is impossible for me to define anything anymore. I have so many feelings and intuitions that I cannot distinguish from anything else. And I don't know why it's so important for me to analyze and define everything.

I don't know why I am sitting here with so much to say and I have nothing. All I want is to put this into words, because it would temporarily heal something. But nothing.

Sometimes I think that all I need to be happy is a record deal, some real friends, and a heartbeat. And then I sink because I know that I will never have any of those things. Those things are denied me, and will remain so. I will die without ever having those things - the only things that I need to be happy. And so, what harm will it do to end life a little early? I won't be missing anything, that's for sure, and I'm terribly bored.

I am so worthless and unproductive. I have been on this earth for more than nineteen years, and I haven't done shit that meant anything. I haven't found people who love me or need me. I haven't done anything to benefit the world in any way. I haven't made a life that satisfies me. I haven't created a legend. I haven't lived at all. And it is destruction to realize that my life will be pointless for as long as I live, and to look back and see that it has been pointless all along is even more paralyzing.

I don't mean to be depressed to no end. But I am. Often. Eh. I go up and down.

Thankfully, I have hardly noticed that today was Valentine's Day. As I get older, "holidays" mean less. I think it has a lot to do with my environment. I'm in the adult world now, and in the adult world, people have so much more... emotional stability? common sense? priority awareness? Something. But it's kind of nice, being in an atmosphere of maturity. Even though I wonder sometimes if people are just merely hiding. From my experience, that is the general path of humanity.

February 15, 2001, 10:15 PM, Central

Rain is astoundingly beautiful, but I believe that I despise it more than most things. Not only does it cause me great discomfort, but it makes me feel romantic, which is completely senseless. There are a lot of things like that - things that make me lonely for absolutely no logical reason. And it's equally strange that I equate romance with loneliness. That is probably due to my being conditioned by my life's circumstances to react to the thought of romance by feeling lonely.

At the age of nineteen, I can grasp no certainty concerning anything whatsoever. I have no idea what is ahead of me. Will I ever love and be loved? Will I ever feel successful? Will I ever get married? Or even sleep with anyone? Is there a point that I'm not seeing? Or is there no point at all? I can't tell from this place. Sometimes I'm hopeful. But most of the time, I'm either desperately hopeless, or I'm disgusted at myself for being hopeful. If I had any idea what I was doing, would that make life better? Or at least, would it abolish the necessity to fight with myself over whether or not I should commit suicide?

I wish that I had the ability to reconcile all of the things that are in my head, and resign myself to one set of thoughts. It would make living inside of this wreck so much more manageable. I think the entire reason that I am insane is that I claim so many different perspectives. I have all of these diverse mindsets, and I wander from one to the other, which keeps me in a constant state of confusion and introspection. Sometimes I like to think that it makes me captivating and mysterious, but since no one has any interest in exploring me, that is obviously far from the case. I find that so many of the things that I discover about myself destroy me further.

When He says, "I won't let you down," is that something I should obsess over? Does that mean anything? I can't decide whether the things He says ever mean anything, or whether they are just said nonchalantly. Almost indubitably the latter. Either way, I would like to be aware in order to take the appropriate action. Though it is undoubted that I will analyze every word to death until I can read His shifting eyes.

February 20, 2001, 9:44 PM, Central

I often list my dreams in my head. I want to fall in love. I want to write a book. I want to feel successful. I want to assure my mother's happiness at all times. I want to be able to see my friends whenever I please. I want to build a relationship with God. I want to build, period, and grow. But most of all, always at number one, I want to sing. I want to travel, and be in a new place every day, knowing that I am there to sing. I want to wake up and have the first thing on my mind be performing. I want to be cultured.

I think that it can be narrowed down to: I want to be famous. But I hate that word. Famous. It seems materialistic and transient to me. To say, "I want to be famous," would make me feel like I'm saying, "I want to be rich and adored," instead of what I'm really saying, which is, "I want to be on stage and get paid to sing, because it's what I'm good at, what I love, and the only reason that I breathe." The use of the word famous demeans passion and talent. At least, I feel that it does. And it didn't before this time. Before the time that beauty and the ability to dannyce constituted a record deal. But beauty and the ability to dannyce were not bestowed upon me. Talent and passion were bestowed upon me. They are my gifts. And I fear that, if my dream were to ever come true, I would feel inadequate in a business of beauty and dannyce.

I read a lot when I was younger. I read a lot in college. But reading is unappealing to me at this point in my life. And that makes me feel mentally lazy. Because I know that I absolutely thrive on intellectual stimulation, but often I avoid it. I'm not sure why. Maybe I know that I will analyze everything until all of it settles into a little knot of depression in my mind. That tends to happen when I am intellectually stimulated. But I wish that I could turn off the TV and the computer, and go lie on my bed and read, the way that I used to. And I shouldn't say that I "wish" I could do it, because I know that I can. Instead, I think I will wish for more time to do a little of it all.

I wish that I glowed in the dark...

February 26, 2001, 11:13 PM, Central

Highlight Of the Day:

"Do you work out a lot?"
"Nope, not at all."
"Wow, how did you get so skinny?"
"Good metabolism, I guess?"
"You look like a little gymnast!"
"Eh, I don't really do any of that athletic stuff."
"Well, you don't need to!"
"Thank you."

Thirty-year-old women win my heart with compliments. Why can't boys talk to me that way? I get thirty-year-old men saying, "With a body like that..." and fourteen-year-old boys saying, "Will you go on a date with me?" And all of that is... uh... flattering? But. Why don't boys my age take any interest in me whatsoever?

I feel so uninteresting. No one ever wants to talk to me and get to know me. I ask people questions, so that they'll talk about themselves, and they avoid answering. I don't understand why people think I'm so boring. I'm okay, aren't I? I'm pretty funny, right? And I have important things to say. No one ever asks me questions. No one ever wants to know anything about me. Like there isn't anything interesting to know. Why can't people see me as mysterious and alluring and captivating? Why must people see me as dull?

My whole life, no one has ever found me enchanting. Maybe I'm just average and no one will ever want to figure me out. And there is so much to figure out. And I know this, because I am desperately trying to figure out new things about myself every day. So I can't imagine I would ever bore someone. But apparently, I bore people to the point that they decide instantly that I'm not interesting and avoid any further contact with me.

Yet, I am constantly coming up with cool, witty things. I am intelligent and thrive on stimulating conversation (the lack of which may be the reason that I am pretty much dead on the inside). I am fun and complicated and playful. Dammit.

Why am I not unbelievably addicting?

If only I were capable of more. I fear that knowledge might not help me. I am such a failure sometimes. I wish I were motivated to the point of being able to move mountains. I wish I had ambition for other things besides singing. I want to be powerful and enchanting and strong and beautiful and talented and driven. I want to be Supergirl.

March 1, 2000, 10:47 PM, Central

I'm getting better and better at it. I will have stone walls all around me soon. I will have only what is inside of those stone walls. Shadows, loneliness. And I have tried, all of my life, desperately, to avoid letting the stone walls grow around me. I've tried to pry open the walls of people in my life, so that I could peek in, and maybe they could get out. But they don't want out. And they don't want me in. And I am getting closer and closer to reaching that same point.

Soon, when I am asked a question, I will no longer answer eagerly. I will no longer elaborate. I will no longer tell the truth. I will simply give one-word answers. Or avoid the question. Or, perhaps, counter it with a joke. And I am so close. Lately, I've been able to do all of those things, and it hasn't stirred up anything inside of me. In the past, when I have tried to do those things, I would feel something inside that told me to just say everything that I possibly could. But that feeling is almost in complete remission now. I don't feel the obligation to tell anyone anything. I don't even want to tell anyone anything. I don't want to talk about anything with anyone.

And there, we have it. No one gets in. I don't get out. And I want it that way.

I feel a lot of things when it comes to my stone walls. I feel safe and empowered, because it doesn't kill me to shut myself up inside anymore. People had so much power over me. I would tell anyone anything they wanted to know. All they had to do was ask. And I thought that it was such a beautiful trait. But when I realized that no one was comfortable with that, things started to change. I would be so hurt by no one listening to me, or responding to important things that I said. I would be so hurt when they avoided my questions. Why didn't they trust me? And now. Only power. Strength to be utterly alone and do nothing about it, because it's not important that it changes.

I also feel sad, because I feel like the world is missing out on so much by shutting themselves inside. The world is scattered with little stone forts everywhere. And everyone is in their fort, alone. And, there is no point in life if you don't let anyone in. There simply isn't. Ironically, I'm at the place where I don't give a fuck, and I don't feel like there's any point in life anyway. So fuck it all.

Today, my depression took complete control over me. I picked up the phone, and I started to call in to tell them that I wasn't coming to work. All I wanted to do was lie in my bed and cry. All day. Forever. They say when it starts affecting your work or social life, you need to seek council. Or what the fuck ever. So I should probably seek council, except that I already have, and I have medication that is supposed to be the result of seeking council. So.

Sometimes, I feel like God has put me into this life in order to insure my inescapable misery.

Yesterday was the first night of my photography class. It was raining. Cold rain, rising from the depths of hell, freezing in angry clouds, and falling upon earth as though the two were at war. I couldn't even find the fucking college. I was lost for an hour. During which, I drove like a maniac, presented the finger to almost everyone I passed, and gave generous use to the word "goddammit," which I despise. By the time I got there, I was soaking wet and ready to drive myself into a very large tree.

The teacher of this photography class, whom I will not even honor with the term "professor," is such a jackass. He has no idea that he's teaching a beginner class. He's rambling on and on about aperture and f-stops and the equation you must use to calculate a perfect exposure when you have a completely manual camera with no meter. Ah. See... all of this, I am understanding completely. But there's a girl to my left who, just five minutes before, was told what E-6 film is. She's to the point of crying when she is asking this guy questions, and he's acting like she's an idiot for not knowing, and doing a very poor job of trying to explain it to her. I am terribly disgusted with him, and am dreading the entire seven weeks ahead of me. Thankfully, if we come to a point that I don't understand, I can ask someone at work, who will explain to me efficiently. But not everyone in the class has that advantage.

Some random, silly quiz told me, "You grimly accept the fact that people are people. There's no hope for humanity, and it's just as well. You would rather have been a fish. It seems you don't take kindly to the inhabitants of this planet. You may have been hurt in this life, or ignored. In any case, you believe there's NO hope for love, and NO hope for redemption."

Isn't it nice when a random, silly quiz describes you perfectly?

I HATE THAT I AM IGNORED!

Sometimes, I feel like I don't control anything. In my rational mindset, I cannot believe some of the shit that I've done. I go on to wonder how it was physically possible to do that shit. I do such crazy shit when I don't have control over my mind and emotions. I feel like someone completely different half of the time, like I'm two people. The normal girl who is cool, collected, and logical. And then the psycho, who says the most haunting things, alienates everyone, and cannot control her anger. And though I am aware of my two sides, I cannot prevent the stronger one from emerging. And that is my problem. In one sentence.

March 14, 2001, 11:42 PM, Central

And speaking of boys, my photography professor comes up to me tonight and is all, "Do you know so and so?" and I'm like, "Who?" and he's all, "Oh, you helped him out at the lab and you really impressed him." And I had no idea what he was talking about, so I said, "Well, it's good to know that I'm good at my job," and he said, "Yeah, he was really smitten with you." So then I contemplated the word smitten. That is a lovely word that means someone has actually found me interesting. God forbid. So I said, "Oh, yeah?" And he goes on to say that he was trying to convince this guy that I would go out with him. And the whole time, I'm thinking, "Who the hell is he talking about? Who would want to ask me out?" So now I am confused. Why do boys exist?

And He's legal today. Time is such an ungraspable concept. It is so beyond me. I hate how I have no control over it. I hate how I feel like it's taken so much away from me. It's hard to look back on the last four years. I can think about things that make those years seem like they lasted forever. And I can think about things that make those years seem like they were so long ago, and they were gone too soon. But no matter what, He was always somewhere in those four years. Everywhere, sometimes. And it's strange to think that I have felt the same for four years, and that there has been absolutely no progress in those four years. And disheartening. I wish that I had more power. I wish that I could do more. Affect things. Make things happen. Do some good. For me and for others. I'm leading such a pointless existence when it comes to those things.

And I break over the reality that I don't get to be His friend. I am so unfit for friendships. I don't get to say happy birthday. Or some other meaningless phrase that actually has all of my feelings lying beneath it...

I am so amused by everyone saying that death is inevitable.

March 18, 2001, 4:50 AM, Central

Yesterday was extremely weird. I come home from work, and upon trying to unlock the door, I find that it is bolted. Joy runs to the door, shouting, "Just a minute!" and I am sure she is having sex with someone. But instead, she opens the door and she and Katrina proceed to cover me in silly string. To this, I complain and bitch. Because I am wet and disoriented. All I can see is the house filled with colors and balloons. Apparently, I was unaware that it was Cordy Day. Cordy Day calls for streamers, balloons, a huge SURPRISE banner, a cake, and party favors, which are referred to as "the bling-bling." So I am surprised, shocked, and confused. Why is there a day devoted to me? No reason, they inform me, and the party continues. More silly string and a night of continuous hysterical laughter. Reminding me that I do love The Girls. Katrina is the High Bitch, I assure you, and I bow to her sensational ass.

So the night continues, to include an expensive dinner at The Oar House and a plan to con Ryan into buying us some alcohol. At this point, Dream Boy Greg comes over from next door. The five of us pile into Ryan's Saturn and begin a frustrating journey into Dallas, in search of alcohol. Our illegal behavior leaves us empty-handed, however, and we start home. A lot of interesting things are said in the car. There is an entire conversation devoted to the topic of "Jaydon fucking Wesley," during which things are said, such as, "Cordy's in love with him," and "He turned eighteen a few days ago." By this time, I have decided that I don't like Dream Boy Greg. Firstly, he is confused as to whether he is gay or straight, when it is blatantly obvious that he is gay. (As opposed to Mark, who acts straight more often than not, what with all of this "I'm an asshole" bullshit.) Secondly, he kept giving me rude looks, like everything I said offended him. So I am in the backseat, silent, annoyed, and trying to figure out why I am so pissed off. In the meantime, Ryan has mentioned that he knew Katrina was pregnant, which has caused Katrina to go silent, in the midst of her anger at Joy for telling Ryan. So the entire car is silent, with the exception of the music. We are all uncomfortable and out of place. It is bizarre.

Eventually, we arrive back here. Katrina and Joy go into Joy's bedroom to have a brief lover's quarrel. I retrieve my guitar in order to release my tension. Ryan and Greg sit on the couch, silent. Once Katrina and Joy rejoin us, the alcohol emerges. Not the alcohol we were in search of, due to our search failing, but the huge bottle of wine that Joy and I have had in the fridge for two months. By the time I go to bed at 3:00, the bottle is empty, which has caused everyone to be comfortable once again.

So it was definitely a bizarre experience. I mostly remember the horrible feeling I had in the car. The feeling that I am alone. Even sitting beside my best friend, who knows everything about me, I felt alone. Misunderstood and alone. And though I felt completely out of place, I knew that everyone else did as well. So it wasn't so bad.

I can't believe what time it is. We have managed to push Greg out of the patio door and now we will go to bed.

March 23, 2001, 11:56 PM, Central

I burnt the fucking fire out of my middle finger, my primary guitar finger, on my left hand. I am in extreme pain. All I was trying to do was pry a film cartridge out of one of those stupid little disposable cameras. My finger touched the motherboard inside, right as I was saying to Maria, "You have to be careful with these things because they can shock you." A painful second later, I added, "Just like that."

Sita and I had an entire conversation earlier tonight about how we can't understand the people in our lives. I love Sita to brave levels. She is one of the few people that I've come across who deals with life the same way that I do. She is passionate and she thrives on emotion. The same way that I do. All the two of us want is for someone to show some fucking emotion. Why is everyone so fucking stoic? Isn't anyone affected by anything?

It's very unfair of Him to be so beautiful. Because I have to see Him all over the fucking place. When does it get to be the other way around?

March 25, 2001

I've never been drunk before. I don't think I was even really that drunk. I was just tipsy enough for Ryan to tell me, "Oh, man, you're so gone!" But I didn't really feel that gone. Everything just seemed really funny to me. Like Joy. She's hanging over the toilet, puking her guts out, and I'm laughing. I know it's not funny, but I can't stop laughing. And Ryan looks at me like, I can't believe you're laughing at this... And I feel embarrassed, because I can't believe I'm laughing at it either. It just sucks to lose even a little bit of control over yourself. I don't know why anyone would want to drink. Sure, it feels great, until you do it excessively, like Joy did, and you end up "bowing to the porcelain god," as she put it.

Of course, the worst part is having no idea what you're saying. You hear it in your head and you start to say it and it comes out all jumbled. And of course, you find that funny too, so you laugh again. But I was sober enough to know what was going on around me. I knew that I wasn't saying anything right and that I was laughing way too much to be totally there. I can remember almost everything that happened.

It started at about midnight. Joy, Ryan, Jason, and Jessica were all closing at Carino's, so when they got off, they all came over. Earlier that day, Ryan had bought all of this liquor and brought it over. We had rum, tequila, vodka, peach schnapps, peppermint schnapps, and margarita and daiquiri mixes. So everyone was excited about this big party that we were going to have.

So everyone sits down around the table with their drinks and Joy gets out the cards. There are chips and glasses in front of me. No big deal. So we start playing all of these drinking games. And by the time we're done with slapjack, there is a huge Pepsi cup full of all sorts of shit. It has a little of everyone's drink in it. Extremely potent. So we went around the table drinking it. It tasted like peroxide.

Then, Joy thought it would be fun if she and Jason had a little duel. She said that she would prove to him that she could drink more straight vodka than he could tequila. It was on now. I got bored, so I started cleaning the kitchen. I was feeling fine. Jason was going, "Hey, Cordy's a clean drunk! I need to get her smashed at my house!" And I was thinking, "I am so completely sober."

While I was cleaning, Katrina called and Joy told her to come over. So Katrina said that she would. After hanging up the phone, Joy walks into the kitchen and drunkenly says, "Cordy, I think me and Katrina are going to do something tonight." I just raised an eyebrow.

Before long, Joy ran into the bathroom and started puking. The night only went downhill from there. I sat in the living room for a little while, until Ryan went into the bathroom to help Joy. I followed him and we sat in the bathroom with her for a long time. We must have promised her that we'd never let her drink again about thirty times each. And when I couldn't stand the sound of gagging anymore, I got up to go put on my pajamas.

At about three o'clock in the morning, Ryan and I were both lying in Joy's bedroom floor, looking at each other. We had been talking, due to us being the only truly conscious people in the house, until Joy screamed, "STOP TALKING, PLEASE!" So he was quietly mumbling about how tired he was. I told him to get into Joy's bed and that she could come to mine if she ever left the bathroom. So I went to my room.

At around 3:30 or so, the doorbell rang. It was Katrina and her friend, Lindsay. She came into my room at one point and said, "Joy won't let me touch her," and I said, "Yeah." And she said, "You have to see my hair," so I looked, and she was lovely, as always, and she said, "You have to get up and restart the party with me!" I just moaned. So she said, "We're going to go play with Gay Greg! Do you think he's home?" And I said, "I'm sure that he is," so she told me goodnight and left my room. I don't remember anything else until this morning.

March 28, 2001, 8:27 PM, Central

Yesterday was one of the worst days that I've had in a really long time. It rained all day. So I was miserably cold and wet. It was dark outside at noon. Despite the weather, people continued to flood into the lab. It was so busy, and only Andrew and I were there. So I was stressed out. And on top of it all, my car breaks down. So for the third time this month, I had to go buy car parts. This caused me to miss lunch. Missing lunch was also aided by the fucking candy machine taking my money and refusing to exchange it for D2. Argh. So Lon put a sealant in the reservoir of my car so that the water pump wouldn't leak and I could make it home. But I didn't have a chance to leave the lab until almost seven o'clock anyway.

I am seriously considering getting a new car. I think it would be worth the extra money each month to have a car that I can trust. I've been driving around the last few days in a car that I'm not sure about. And there's no sense in it. And I can tell my car is falling apart, because in the last month, I have learned the names and functions of just about every car part under my hood. I'm almost ready for my mechanic's license.

I hate that He is online and that it isn't appropriate for me to IM Him anymore. And I hate that I was always the one who initiated every conversation.

April 1, 2001, 10:49 PM, Central

I wish that I were better with guys. Thursday at work, I met the guy who is apparently smitten with me. He tried to talk to me, and because I was nervous, I came off as a total bitch, and probably a dumb bitch too. He asked if I was taking classes and I said, "Yeah, even though I haven't been to one in awhile," and he asked, "Why not?" and I said, "Broken car." Doe. So I'm a fucking idiot. And the weird thing is that I'm not really attracted to him in any way, even though he does have long hair. But I know he is, or was, attracted to me. Which, oddly, freaked me out more than if it had been the other way around.

I hate that I have so very little experience with guys. I never know what to say to them. I always think about how articulate I'm going to be, and what lovely things I have to say. But they either never come out articulate or lovely, or they never come out at all.

Let's all reluctantly recall the time that I tried to talk to Tommy. He was obviously attracted to me, and probably the most beautiful creature I've ever talked to face to face. What a disaster. The worst part was how cool he was. He just sat there and looked right at me. I was like, "Oh my god. Silence. Who is this person and why is he looking at me like that?" I love how he looked at me. I hate how I reacted. It makes me physically ill to think about it. I see myself as interesting and funny and complex, but no guy will ever see that, because I always come off as either snotty, stupid, or both.

And this is how I know that I'm going to die alone. And a virgin. Because I cannot associate with guys. I have never been around them. I have no idea how to behave. Even with the ones that I have no attraction to whatsoever. I don't understand it. I don't understand why the male species, in general, makes me nervous. It doesn't matter what age they are, what they look like, what they say to me. If they're male, they make me nervous. Fuckin A. I really hope that the rest of my life will make up for the fact that I will never touch another guy.

At least I know that He isn't the only guy that makes me nervous.

I miss Angel. And not in the, "Hey, did you get a life, cuz I haven't seen you online," kind of way, but in the, "Let's walk through this entire hotel talking in British accents," kind of way.

April 5, 2001, 11:17 PM, Central

It pains me that the past few days of my life have been completely void of anything even remotely interesting. And therefore, my journal will be completely void of anything even remotely interesting, as well. Damn.

So we have a new receptionist, due to Maria being the biggest baby in history to ever have a baby, and therefore, inapt to be in any position in which responsibility must be had... And her name is Crystal, and I think that she just may work out. Except that I now bear the burden of training her. Sigh. Must I do every fucking thing?

I like Daylight Savings Time. Tonight was the first night that I got to drive home while it was still light outside. It was wonderful. I felt like I still had some of the day left. And it made me feel like I hadn't thrown my entire day's energy source into work. Even though I had.

I am so terribly insatiable lately that it has plunged me into despair. Of course, this may also be partially inflicted by my having no medication. And I am feeling my system being drained of meds, and it is far from good. So I am intolerant, easily depressed, and frequently hopeless as of late. And I do not like it.

And I desperately miss being able to just sign online when I'm lonely. Long ago, I could expect people to be here. People who wanted to talk with me. But no one wants to talk with me anymore. And no one wants to be here. And I understand that. That's good, in some way. I knew that everyone would move on eventually. It's just strange. To have lived my life here for the past four years. And then for there to be nothing here now. It's such an empty feeling. I feel such a great loss. And I fear that I am the only one who is feeling that sense of loss.

And then there is The Boy. Joy has another The Boy. But this one is way bigger than Dream Boy Greg. This one is like Future Husband Jeff. Joy talks about him constantly. She rolls her eyes back in her head, grins widely, stands on her tip-toes, clasps her hands, and swoons, "He's soooooooo nice!" She does this multiple times in a day. And I'm happy that she has a boy to swoon over. It's a nice thing to have. Oh. I never get to be normal, in any aspect. And for the most part, I've never wanted to be normal. But sometimes, I just wish it weren't Him. I wish that I could have some normal boy to be twitterpated about. I could talk about him constantly and annoy the hell out of everyone around me, like Joy does. And everyone would think, "It's so cute that she's so smitten," like they do about Joy. Instead, people wonder why I never talk about boys. They think maybe I like girls. And the ones who do know about Him just think I'm crazy. And I am. So.

Someday, I'm going to be famous, and everyone's going to be sorry.

April 29, 2001, 11:07 PM, Central

I only do this when I feel so alone that I can't think straight. My thoughts get all jumbled together. And I cease to understand myself. Why do I behave the way that I do when it contradicts how I feel?

I hate when it feels like you're the only one in the world that I can talk to. Because I can't talk to you. You're not here. And the funny thing is - will we ever be able to talk? Would you really be the only one who understands? It's probably all in my head. But regardless of that, I still wish that I had you to run to. Though I fear that what's inside of my head will always be the only thing that I have. There will never be reality when it comes to you. This is as real as it gets.

I should also mention that I would talk to you anytime. For hours and hours on end. Not only when I'm feeling alone and misunderstood and suicidal. It's just that when I'm feeling alone and misunderstood and suicidal, I want to write. And I want to write to you. Maybe because you're not really here. Maybe because it's "safe." But I hate it when people say that I'm attached to you because you're "safe." Because I don't think that's the reason I'm attached to you at all. It may be the reason that I sit here and address everything I'm feeling to you, with no inhibitions or caution whatsoever. But it's not the reason that you're the one that I choose.

It's illogical, I know. I don't understand why I feel like I know you so well. You're so familiar. I know every line of your body, every curve of your face, every level of your voice. Yet, I don't know you. And you don't know me. It kills me to know that it will probably remain that way. I'm not okay with that at all.

From the little shreds of conversation we've had, I feel like I could tell you anything. If I could just get you to listen. And to respond. I feel so powerless with you. Your walls are too strong. You'll never let me in. But if you did, it would be spectacular.

Sometimes I feel like no one could ever understand me. Especially at the times when I can't understand myself. And there are a lot of things that you wouldn't understand about me. But I would explain. I would show you.

If the point of life is to survive in one piece, I have failed miserably, because there are pieces of me scattered everywhere. There's a huge one in your hands. You don't know that, of course. But I wonder if you are really as oblivious as you seem to be.

Do you feel like you're free? You'll never have a real job. Ever. How does that feel? You are financially secure right now, as far as I know. But how do you feel about that? Do you ever feel like you've sold your soul to a record company? Do you ever feel like you'd rather give everything up than crawl out of bed, because you've only gotten a few hours of sleep? Do you ever feel like it's not worth it to be onstage if someone is dictating your lines to you? I don't think you're real when the camera's on. For some reason, you aren't allowed to be. And I want to know how you feel about things like that.

I want you to be a part of everything. I always have. I'm still trying to figure out how to not want that.

Everyone knows who you are, you know. It's bizarre. I'm in a car full of people when Joy starts the "Jaydon fucking Wesley" conversation. This spawns comments like, "Cordy's in love with him," and "Yeah, he turned eighteen a few days ago." (Happy birthday, by the way. At this point, it's been a month, but eh.) And it was just a bizarre situation. You belong to the world. I hate that. Do you hate that?

Also, just for clarification, I am not in love with you. There's something. Obviously. But not love. Connection of some ridiculous sort. But the truth is, I don't even know if I could love you. I don't know you at all. But I know that I won't have the chance anyway, so it isn't important.

Sometimes, I wish that I could show you this journal. Or let you hear all of these incredible songs about you. But I know I'd be too embarrassed. I'm so ashamed of the way that I feel about you, because it's unjustified, which makes me feel stupidly idealistic and childish. I wish that I could justifiably say, "Yeah, we're friends." Because that statement would mean that we knew something about each other. Something bigger than what we know now. It would mean that we both intended to know more about the other. It would mean something.

May 5, 2001, 11:50 PM, Central

Tonight, I was planning to write a long, drawn out sob story in which I would proceed to wallow in my own self-pity. But this plan has been cancelled, because I just don't feel depressed anymore.

I've been completely void of confidence lately. To an abnormal point. Joy was in a shitty mood and called the CD player in her car a piece of shit, and I was hurt by it. I'm thinking, "I bought her that piece of shit!" Of course, that's insignificant. For the most part, I've been defensive, irritable, and plagued with low self-esteem. And I don't know why. I've felt so ignorant, unattractive, uninteresting, and unworthy. Just in general. I've felt like shit. And it has a lot to do with having Joy as a roommate. Joy, who I love, but who is brilliant, who has boys who are interested in her, who everyone loves to listen to, and who is doing so well in life. But I'm coming to terms with the reality that I can't do it all. I can't be as good as Joy. So I have to stop comparing myself to her. And I have to find a reason to like myself again. And a huge reason is that I am a freaking kickass songwriter.

I should say that, before I got into the car to head back home, after visiting my mommy, I was not in a good mood. I was dealing with my family. Chuck says that I exhibit exceptional people skills with my mother and sister. He says that I am remarkably patient and that I immediately become the responsible one in order to make up for my mom's forgetfulness and my sister's lack of discipline. And this is true. I never really realized it until he said that. It is nice that he is perceptive. And I am the responsible one. And it drives me nuts! I've spent so many years worrying myself sick over my mother, who cannot make a good decision to save her life! She buys Lizzie this $7500 car. Lizzie has no job, so Mom shells out money for gas, while still paying for the cigarettes she's been buying for her for years, and buying her clothes that she doesn't need. There is also a lot of money going for alcohol, but Mom doesn't know this. A few weeks ago, Lizzie ran her Camaro into a ditch. The fender needs to be fixed. Last night, she went to a party and someone keyed the driver's side, all the way down. The car needs a new paint job. And Mom still cannot see that Lizzie is an irresponsible, sixteen-year old child, who needs to be locked in her room! Oh! My! God! I want to pull my hair out when I'm with the two of them! Lizzie's like, "I want this! I want that!" and Mom's all, "Okay." Then she's like, "Cordy, I'll buy you something too." And I'm like, "I'm not taking your money and it makes me sick that she'd steal it if you didn't give it to her." Ugh. I love my mom. More than anyone on earth. But she doesn't understand money. And I do. And I'm trying to show her how it works. And she won't listen to me. She's like, "When I get my student loan, I'm going to get eye surgery!" And I'm all, "Mom! Why don't you pay off your currents debts before starting new ones?" She just looks at me. I am going to put Lizzie into some kind of rehabilitation. Because I see no other way. I love her. I do. But the only way for her is tough love. And Mom isn't going to do tough love. So for now, I'm going to worry myself sick. I hate the feeling that my own sister is taking advantage of my mother. I HATE that. My own sister has a lifestyle that is taking money out of my mother's pocket, left and right, and she doesn't give a fuck. And it makes me unbelievably angry. Angry at Lizzie for being so selfish and manipulative, and angry at my mother for being so naive and comfortable in denial. I don't know what to do. But I hate the feeling that I have inside. And it is caused by my own family. And it is another damned thing that I can't control.

It's so nice when fortune cookies say things like, "The world welcomes talent with open arms," and "You will have a very comfortable retirement." I laminated them both.

May 23, 2001, 10:38 PM, Central

This is unbelievable! Old men continue to hit on me! For example:

"I'm not hitting on you or anything, but did you tell Todd you were available?"
What the hell is that supposed to mean?!
"Uh, no?"
"Well, he definitely knows."
What the hell is that supposed to mean?!
"Uh..."
"I understand that you don't advertise it or anything."
What the hell is that supposed to mean?!
"Right."

Todd is a frequent client at the lab, who always looks at me in an odd way. He's around thirty or so. He always looks me right in the eye. It's very creepy. He's always talking about what a wonderful photographer he is, and how he makes a million dollars a year. The man with whom I had the above conversation is a partner of his. I am alarmed.

So I am unaware of what actions can be taken at this point to ward off old men. The other day, this old guy points to the ring that my mom gave to me, and goes, "Are you really married, or do you just wear that to keep guys like me away?" And I said, "That's exactly why I wear it." But it doesn't seem to be working. And I feel very uncomfortable every time some old man makes a comment about how pretty or sweet I am. Because, number one, your confidence is not turning me on. Number two, I like younger guys. And number three, you look absolutely nothing like Jaydon Wesley. What do you think you're doing hitting on me? Also - cry!

I wish that I were attractive to boys my own age, at least, if I can't get the younger ones. And truth be told - the whole boy thing doesn't appeal to me at all right now. I have so many important things going on. I hardly ever think about it. But every time some old guy makes an effort to get me interested (like Todd always bragging about how much money he has), I remember how lonely I will remain for the rest of my life, because only the old ones want me. And all I have to say about that is - ew! Sigh. Is the world overrun with a plague of pedophilia? Because it is greatly affecting me. I do not appreciate this at all.

Joy said last night that she was more interested in boys than I am, and this is true. And considering Joy's sexual preferences, this is also sad. Though she has come up with some rather intense boy-crazy tendencies lately that have alarmed everyone. Hmm. It is spring, after all. This is "hunting" season, apparently. Which means that I must buy some camouflage and hide.

I want to talk to Him, because I haven't in a very long time. Who knows what kind of destruction that would bring upon my insides, but I want it. Yes.

May 27, 2001, 12:13 AM, Central

It's been a bad day. I got up early and drove to Cumby to meet Mom, and then we drove to Daingerfield together. As soon as we got there, my grandparents started in on me, with the usual questions that make me want to puke:

"Are you going to church yet?" (And I say that I hate church and they tell me I'm going against the Bible.)
"Do you have you a little boyfriend yet?" (And I say that I'm not interested in boys right now and they say that's unnatural.)

"Why are you so skinny?" (And I say that I'm not, and that I eat everything in sight and they say that I must not be eating right, because I'm pale.)

And you know, I just didn't want to deal with it today. But I took it. I listened to them lecture me about how I needed to find a good church and meet good Christian young men and all of that bullshit. And I keep trying to explain to them that there are no good churches and there are no good Christian young men. It doesn't work like that. But then they say that I sound like I want nothing to do with God. And then I have to explain to them that God does not equal church, and then they gasp in horror. I think my liberal GenY theories are just too much for them. Maybe I should just not talk at all.

June 14, 2001, 12:51 AM, Central

At this moment, I am exhausted. I don't feel good. And I feel like crying. Nothing is wrong. I'm not depressed or anything. I'm just exhausted. And being exhausted is emotionally unhealthy for me. I am pretty emotionally unstable in the first place, and when I go without sleep, it just isn't pretty. And I haven't eaten in ten hours or so. Which may be the cause of feeling sick. But I think it's just a sinus headache. My throat is filled with shit. And ugh. This is especially irritating because I am recording in just a little over a week. And I haven't spent any time with my guitar.

I love to write because it's my way of capturing feelings and moments that would otherwise be fleeting and never be felt again. When I write extremely well, I can capture things so that the feeling comes back when I read it. I can feel it again. And that is a gift. Not everyone can do that. Not everyone can be feeling something incredible and pull out a piece of paper and write it down in perfect words, and have it forever. I can feel incredible things over and over again. Just because I can write well. And that is neat.

I think that there was a tornado tonight. I'm not sure, because I was in a meeting. But looking out the window, the wind was blowing so hard, and the sky was black, and the rain was pounding, and the lightning lit up everything from here to Africa. It's still storming now. The lightning was really bad as I was driving home, but it was beautiful. I wanted to stand in the middle of the Interstate with my camera and chase it.

I love those rare songs that, when you listen to them, make you feel like you can't miss a single note of them, because if you do, you've lost a lifetime of emotion that you absolutely need in order to survive.

Lately, I've felt particularly creative. I'm writing in my journal, so this is obvious. And I can't seem to put down my guitar. And I want to photograph everything. However, I don't have time to shoot. So I think I will blow up some of my previous work and hang it all over the place. I'm really quite brilliant at photography. It isn't my heart. Music is my heart. But I'm brilliant, nonetheless. I seem to be quite a natural when it comes to most any art form. So much creative energy.

But I'm feeling anti-social. Anti-social is my comfort zone. I want to be in my house. Alone. Playing my guitar. I want to prepare for the studio. I want to go back. But. I really must focus.

And this comes about because Lizzie stayed the night on Saturday and Sunday night. Last night, Joy and I stayed at Chuck’s, so she had to drive home, but I think that she would have talked me into letting her stay another night if we hadn't had plans to leave. And though I love my sister, and I have great amounts of fun with her, she has a way of invading my space that is more irritating than anyone else in the world doing it. And I think it's because she's comfortable taking my things and wearing my clothes and using my make-up. That is irritating. And I tried desperately not to be bothered by it, because it's so unattractive of me. But on the inside, I was tensing up. And Joy was using my brush, which was freaking me out on new and improved levels. And. Ugh. I've been considering living alone lately. Really considering it. I don't know why. No one taught me to share when I was five.

I am a difficult person all-around.

July 5, 2001, 11:19 PM, Central

I find great joy in beginning new books. It must be something that I developed in childhood, because I don't really read much now, but I loved it when I was younger. Yet, finishing a book is still tremendously satisfying, and picking up the next one is still tremendously exciting.

It doesn't take much to make me suicidal. This may be because the suicidal frame of mind is such a comfortable, familiar place for me. I slip back in so easily. And when I'm back, I don't remember ever leaving. When I'm back, I feel like I've been losing blood all along.

And I am not there now. It's just that I know that the line is thin. Maybe I sit on the edge of that line at all times, and my life will be spent getting pushed over, crawling back up again, getting pushed over again, and so on.

If one more guy over thirty hits on me, I am not sure what I will do. And this one wasn't all that bad looking, really. Yet, I dig younger guys. And this could be a serious issue when I, myself, am thirty.

On Tuesday, I was told that I am charming. And he said this in a tone of voice that exaggerated the word, as if to mean, "I am sincerely awe-struck by your charm." It was nice. I've never been called charming before. But I like the idea that I might be. Is charming in any relation to enchanting?

The great thing about my job is that I am constantly meeting new people that I really enjoy talking to. (To which I really enjoy talking, rather.) And every once in awhile, I get a compliment that really touches me. I never forget some of the lovely things that people say to me. Having a job around people makes me feel better about myself. I am constantly told how "cute" I am and what a great personality I have. Is this true? I'm not sure. But it's nice to hear. And it's teaching me to compliment others.

I finally wrote a new song. It's been months since I've written a single new lyric. It feels like it's been a year, though I know that it hasn't. It's just that I've been concentrating on writing music for already-written lyrics. My creative juices have just been flowing towards chords and rhythms, not words. And this is really a very good thing, because I have so many words, and not enough music to accompany all of them.

When presented with intelligent conversation from a male, I will be ecstatic. Surprised. But ecstatic.

I often find myself inside of wonderful emotions and/or creative energies that cause me to absolutely crave a pen so that I can write. On my hand, if I have to. More often than not, though, I am going seventy-five on a highway somewhere. And by the time I get access to a pen or my journal, the emotion/idea has fleeted, and I feel as if I've lost something. Because remembering it later won't capture it. And because sometimes, I don't even remember it at all.

I hate driving. I dread the drive home from work every day. When I become one of the X-Men, I will have the power of teleportation. I will call myself... Journey.

August 1, 2001, 11:41 PM, Central

I feel terrible. My body is cold, then hot, then cold, then hot again. My throat is swollen and dry. A striking pain keeps shooting through both of my ears. And I have a cavity.

All of these things are wrong with me. But I can't do anything about them, because I don't have the money, and because my job won't let me have a day off. So. I suffer.

I've spent my entire life inside of a financial disaster. My family has always struggled. When I was younger, I hoped to, one day, be free. I hoped that I could have a life void of that constant worry and pain. And now I see that I can't.

People are so fucking invasive. They're everywhere, and I feel like I can't have a single moment alone, in silence. I have this burning anger swelling up inside of me and it takes my entire strength to keep from exploding - from crying, from screaming, from violence.

The bad thing about big cities is that there is absolutely nowhere to hide. When I was a kid, I could go out into the woods and cry. I could sit by creeks and write. I could eat alone, surrounded by a forest of bamboo. I could drive my car to some deserted lot and just sit for hours. I can't do any of those things now. Big cities don't offer places like those.

My music is the only thing that keeps me from doing something drastic, I think. I just want to write sad songs about my desolate despair. And the pop phenomenon is almost over, after which we'll go into a huge rap music phase, and after that, it's girl rock. I have to make it to girl rock. I have to get my album out during that era, or I'll never make it.

It rained for most of the day.

Rain provokes thoughtfulness, which provokes sadness, in most cases. So I hate rain. Except that I love it.

August 14, 2001, 11:13 PM, Central

The concept of time completely baffles me. The idea of what happens as time flies by is too much for me. I cannot stand that I can't figure it out. I can't describe time. I just know that I don't really like it. It's a thief. It's a storage place for memories of who you used to be, a person you hate to remember. It's a jail, a leash on life. You can't control time. Time tells you what to do. It's just depressing in general. I always become downhearted when I analyze the concept of time. I hate that you lose things forever, because time takes them away from you. You lose people and thoughts and lifestyles forever. Though change is a wonderful thing that provides growth and knowledge, the things that you lose because of it are never forgotten.

And there are so many times when I want those things back.

I want it to be 1996 again, and I'm sitting on Kelley's bed with her, and we're reading. Just reading. And at unannounced intervals, one of us mentions to the other that this particular paragraph should be shared and discussed. At times, we climb the tree in her front yard, and sit there all afternoon, singing. I write innocent little songs, and I teach them to her. We record ourselves on her silly little portable tape deck.

I want it to be 1997 again, and I'm up all night talking to Joy and Alex in a chatroom. They are an innocent love for us. Danny is eleven, and he glows, constantly. Jaydon is fourteen, and he is soft-spoken and innocent. Aaron is sixteen, and not at all so worried about being a proper adult. And neither are we. Was that who they really were? Because they're not like that now. Have They changed for better or for worse? Have They changed because fame forced Them to? I will never sell out. As God as my witness - I will never sell out.

I want it to be 1998 again, and I'm in a chatroom with Sita and Mark, among others, and we've named the chatroom The Batcave. We aren't discussing anything particularly important. Sita and I are chaotically making jokes. Sometimes, the line we type doesn't make it onto the screen in time, and our joke is lost. So we repeat it, explain it, and decide that it isn't that funny anymore. But I'm in front of the computer, laughing hysterically.

I want it to be 1999 again, and I'm lying in bed with Rory. I'm writing Silent Wake in my head. It's 5:00 in the morning, and he's leaving today. But it doesn't matter, because his arms are around me and his body is warm. I am convinced that I am in love with him. And the truth stands that being convinced that you’re in love, and actually being in love, feel about the same way. Priceless and exhilarating.

I want it to be 2000 again, and I'm singing with Justine. We're in my car, on the way to see a movie in Commerce. Who knows what we're seeing. Surely, it's some ridiculous thriller that I won't remember at all in my future. N Sync and the Spice Girls circulate through my tape deck. We are lost in this beautiful pop music, and we are in perfect synchronization. We are organized with our gifts, and it makes them all the more enjoyable. The greatest thing about pop music is that it's pure and simple fun. It makes you feel good. No one can deny it.

I have changed for the better. There is no doubt about that. I know that I would never go back, even when I wish so desperately that I could.

I don't want to turn twenty in two months. Or ever, for that matter. It's so depressing. I've lived for twenty years, and I've made no impact whatsoever upon the world. The entire world should have known who I was by the time I was 15. And it's so bizarre to contemplate. It's so bizarre. Twenty.

When I was younger, I thought that I would die if He were to ever get a girlfriend. Seriously. I thought I would absolutely fall to pieces. I've surprised myself. But that's the good thing about life - you never stay the same. If you're going to be worth anything, you will always be growing. When I was nine, I cried at the thought of swallowing a pill. Now I swallow eight at once, at least twice a day. And I'd be lying if I said I was completely unscathed. But that is to be expected when one reviews the past. And truthfully, I'm not even sure if it's significant enough to ponder over.

I find that I am an unbridled whirlwind. I am full of thoughts and passions. I will never be able to record or capture all of them. But I will always try.

August 18, 2001, 10:13 PM, Central

It's funny how we sometimes wish that days could just go by quickly and be done and over with. We do it because we're somewhere that we don't want to be. And when that day is over, we're relieved, not realizing that twenty-four hours of our life has just been lost. Nothing came of those twenty-four hours, which we can never get back. We didn't even enjoy them. In fact, they were the opposite of enjoyable. In most cases, we were making someone else rich. That is a miserable way to waste your time.

Most people spend their entire lives this way - wasting days, just glad they're over and it's one day closer to the weekend. If you sit down and think about that, it will make you sick. We waste almost all of our time working at a job, for someone else, so that we can have income. The purpose of this income is to sustain life - pay bills, buy food, that occasional weekend movie. But the life that you're sustaining isn't even yours, because of what you're doing to sustain it. Does that make sense?

Someday, I will be important and special and just fucking noticed, dammit.

Rarr.

It is constantly sixty degrees inside of the building at which I am reluctantly employed. Going to work is like a voyage into Alaska. The cold is so drastic that it's absolutely immobilizing for me. I can hardly stand it.

My daily interaction with people is spent as a bumbling idiot. I am hoping that others consider this to be an endearing quality.

Without attention, I disintegrate. It is terrible. I am so often deprived of attention. And I think that it is one of the things that I need most in order to be happy. I’m so stupid.

It's interesting how I will sometimes put myself into a situation that I don't want to be in, just because I don't want to make it an issue. I’m the world’s flattest doormat, I’m afraid.

I've spent the last year finding myself. And there is still so much that I need to figure out. But I really enjoy being able to discern who I am and what I like and what I want. It's very liberating. It is bringing me such confidence and self-awareness.

I hope that I will someday come to a point where I can begin to discover someone else. I know that I need to develop a clear definition of myself, and that I need an unhindered vision and an uncluttered mind. When I have established that place in life, I will be capable of a real relationship with someone. A wonderful boy who is hopefully doing the same thing right now, preparing for me.

And I am so unbelievably impatient. Being alone is distracting me. Everywhere around me, people are in relationships. Everyone my age is in a relationship. And I want that. I don't want to be twenty-two when I get my next kiss. But I will be, or somewhere close to that age. It will be a long while. And I keep telling myself that I'm going in the right direction, because I know that I am, and that I will have a beautiful marriage and a beautiful life because I am doing what has to be done first. But I am still having a difficult time. It's so hard to be untouched and unloved when you're almost twenty years old. I feel like such a freak. And I always have been, so it doesn't bother me that much. What bothers me is the fear that there isn't a guy out there who is a freak too. A guy who wants to know who he is before falling in love, and who doesn't mind being a twenty-two year old virgin because he knows it will be worth it. I am so scared that I won't find that person. And I couldn't settle for less. And I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. This is such a terrible place.

When I was younger, I had such amazing faith. I believed in impossible things. I flew in my dreams very often. I haven't flown in a dream in at least two years. My mind is cluttered with bullshit. I don't believe in miracles now. The world has conditioned me out of that.

I was talking to Him, and out of the blue, He said, "Your name came up the other day, with a friend of mine. Can I say something without offending you?" (or something along those lines), and I said, "Shoot."

"That undecided feeling, not knowing why your doing anything, why your job is unfilling, why you get caught in a love hate relationship with yourself. Music drives you and is a part of you, Your the happiest when your behind it, putting it out, and putting yourself out there. Your suppose to be doing that. Perform Cordy, wherever you can. That is where you will find yourself. Doesn't matter where, or who for. Do it for you."

I am forgiving of His utterly poor grammar, God help Him. And I'm still not sure how to take that entire speech. It's all true. And I want to say that it’s condescending, but He is in a position to say those things to me. I really appreciate Him saying that, though. It means something.

"Savor the wanting as much as you will the having." That should have been my life's motto. Because enjoying the journey makes the destination that much more of a blessing, when you get there.

It is fun to refer to Joy as my wife. I have taken a fondness of doing this.

September 11, 2001, 8:07 PM, Central

It's like a movie. It's like a really bad movie. You're standing outside of your body, watching these events, hearing about these events. And you look at yourself, and you wonder how you are going to react to this information. On the screen, you see that the special effects of the film are phenomenal. They made it look so realistic when these computerized planes collided with these huge, steel buildings, causing them to crumble to the ground. Look at the stunt doubles jumping from the buildings. What do you mean this is real? It isn't real. It's just a movie.

The entire thing makes me think of Independence Day and Armageddon, among other films. The idea of someone hijacking a plane and crashing it into a national monument is only something that would happen in a movie. This is so completely surreal. I'm looking at pictures and I'm seeing live news coverage, but it's like a movie. I cannot comprehend this actually happening. I cannot grasp the reality of it.

This morning, I got into my car, and, as I was just about to pop in a tape, something on the radio got my attention. It had been about an hour since it had happened. The deejays were collecting random bits of information, trying to piece them together. At first, I was just shocked. I just listened to the facts, trying to understand what had happened. But as I listened to these details of there being so many victims, these being commercial flights carrying innocent people, this being such a tragedy, I just cried. I am heartbroken. I sobbed most of the way to work, listening to the radio the entire time. At one point, some guy says, "I have to say this - we are under attack."

I called Chuck on my cell phone. He answered with, "Cordy." I said, "What are you doing?" He said, "I'm watching the news. Are you okay?" And I just broke down crying again. But I had to call him. I knew that he would say the right things. And he did.

He told me not to be afraid. But I wasn't afraid. I'm still not afraid. I feel completely safe. I'm just heartbroken. It is just so terribly sad that there are people in the world who would do things like this. I am in disbelief that someone could be that fucked up. And I am grief-stricken for those who died, and for those who lost loved ones. "It has filled us with disbelief, terrible sadness, and a quiet, unyielding anger," President Bush said. And that is how I feel.

I went into work with my face tear-stained and my eyes red. It was a really hard day. It was really hard to grin at people as they came in, and tell them I was doing great when they asked. I couldn't understand why everyone was just going about their lives, passively acknowledging what had happened.

It made me think of what happened at home a few years ago. No more than a mile from my old neighborhood. And Oklahoma City was different, in a big way. It was less deadly. It was carried out by an American. But it hit close to home. I cannot imagine what so many people must be going through. This was an attack on our country, a threat to our freedom, and a national tragedy. It is surreal. It is just a movie.

The entire Manhattan skyline is ruined.

Among other large attractions, the Gateway Arch in St. Louis was shut down. I was just there. Just. Days ago. And it was completely shut down, out of fear of terrorist attack.

I think that this particular attack is over. Of course, earlier in the day, we were just waiting for the next plane crash. I figured it would be the World Trade Center in Dallas, considering we are a largely Republican state, home of the Republican President of this country.

I keep hearing that the citizens must do their civic duty - give blood. That makes me feel terrible. Because I am physically unable to give blood, since I weigh less than a hundred pounds. I can't donate blood as my civic duty. But tell me what I can do.

The displays of patriotism and pride in this country have moved me. The feeling that we are united is beautiful. I have never felt so philanthropic in my life.

None of the radio stations are playing any music. News coverage is on every television channel. This will be the only thing discussed for at least a week. And after that, it will continue to be discussed. And it will never be forgotten. And it will never be healed.

It feels like the end of the world is approaching. It feels like war. And I am repressing those feelings. I am trying to comfort myself with the thought that we are the most powerful nation in the world, and that in God we trust.

September 16, 2001, 11:05 PM, Central

There are so many amazing things happening in this nation. Through something horrifyingly tragic, the American people have grown. Everywhere I look, I see American flags - on car antennas, pinned onto people's shirts, and hung on walls. There are so many signs that say "God Bless America," and every radio station is playing I'm Proud To Be An American. People are treating each other with kindness and respect, though in a solemn way.

Billy Graham spoke at the National Service on Friday, and I got to hear a little bit of it on the radio, even though I didn't get up until 9:15 and was two hours late for work. But it was a beautiful speech that he gave. He spoke of a spiritual revival, and how we are all realizing that we need God. He said that God is with us, and that He will bless this country through this disaster. And I truly believe that. We're already seeing it. So much good has come out of so much evil. And that is the true American way.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.
-Romans 8:18

I never thought I'd go through that woman stage where finding someone to marry is constantly on your mind. And it isn't even exactly like that. It's just the idea of having someone around for life, a permanent love, a person that I can claim as my own. That's exactly what it is. Which explains why I'm always aggressively claiming Joy. Is this some kind of emotional problem that I should work on? I know that I'm not dependent upon a relationship. So why do I want to claim someone and have them all to myself? This is a new development in my personality. Though I've always been the jealous type. Maybe I should look into this. It's gotta be one of the many things I've brought with me from my past life as a cat. Since it would probably be a bad idea to go about spraying my territory, I find other ways to react to this possessive nature.

In response to my current frustration with my non-existent love life, I have created a list of qualities that I must have in a guy. I've decided to give this list to God, in hopes that He will decide that I'm nice, instead of naughty, and give me everything on my wish list.

He must have a good sense of humor, a love for music, good manners, respect for his mother and mine, a perfect idea of what he wants and doesn't want, a love of travel and adventure, a love of reading and rollercoasters, a love of long and intense conversations, good friendships and respect for my friends, a need for noise in order to sleep, good taste in clothing and shoes, a lovely voice, a love of self-exploration and discovery, a love for helping others, and high standards that prevent him from ever settling. He must like to stay up late and sleep late, and he must love cats, allow me to photograph him, and like to sleep in total darkness, and listen to me, in turn, letting me listen to him. He must be passionate, inspired, and patient, in order to put up with my Bipolar. He'll understand my need for alone time, and he'll understand me and my ridiculous dreams. He must have a deep love for God, and he must attend church with me. He must have nice hands and soft facial features. And no hair on his chest, EeK! He must be at least 5'10 and no taller than 6'1.

Is that picky enough? Those are musts! I have preferences too. I won't list those. Does anyone see why I think that I will die alone? Eh. I will never settle for less. So I think that I might be very lonely during my life.

October 8, 2001, 10:29 PM, Central

Estimated time to age twenty: Twenty-five hours, thirty-one minutes, and counting...

"You have to get your dreams out, because they won't survive very long in your head, with all of the other stuff in there.

I think that not knowing that may have been such a hindrance for me all of my life. My head was filled. But I never put it on paper. I was too ashamed, because there were people all around me saying, "You're star stuck. You need to be realistic. Get back down here on the ground with the rest of the middle class. Accept that you are normal. Stop with the fantasies." Most of those people aren't in my life anymore, unless they are family. And I intend to keep out people like that.

I wish that I sat around and developed my drawing talent more. I am really fabulous at it, when I take the time to concentrate and give it some effort. I think that, when I'm free of a job, I will do nothing but sit around, bettering myself and my talents. And playing with my boy, of course. Whomever He may be.

My car now has over 100,000 miles on it. This tragedy occurred on the 28th of September, on my way to work. When I pulled into the parking lot, I looked down at my mileage, and it read: 100,006. I mourn. It makes me feel slightly better that Chuck's car has 250,000 on it. But I still feel as if my car is now over the hill, if you will.

October 11, 2001, 11:55 PM, Central

Yesterday was My Birthday. Today was Thursday. Tomorrow will be Friday.

What do stars do on their birthdays? What do people in love do on their birthdays? Will I ever know the answers to these questions?

Never before have I worked on my birthday. I don't think that I will ever do it again. It was not a fun experience.

Cheryl sent me a tin of popcorn and balloons while I was at work. And I was shocked by this, because we don't know each other extremely well, and I would have never guessed that anyone from work would make any gesture like that. But it was so sweet, and I had to give her a big hug. It was just nice to know that someone cared, when I never before knew that they cared.

Later in the day, Mom sent me flowers and balloons. So all of these balloons were everywhere, and everyone kept asking whose birthday it was. Argh. I didn't want anyone to know. And I don't know why. All of my life, I've wanted everyone to celebrate my birthday, or to, at least, remember it. But this year, I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want it mentioned or celebrated and acknowledged in any way. And that was a strange feeling. I just wanted to pretend that it wasn't happening.

When I got home, Mom and Lizzie came over and the four of us, including Joy, went to a steakhouse for dinner. I was in the mood for steak. And I had never been there. And we discovered that there are much better steakhouses out there... But eh. Dinner was good. Mom spent way too much money, and I felt horrible, but I think that she enjoyed doing it. So I'm trying not to feel horrible.

Joy bought me a VCR. I guess, technically, she bought us a VCR. But our old one is falling apart, so we needed one. Plus, we won't have cable at our new place, and we need something for entertainment, when we actually have time to sit down and be entertained.

Mom got me a Palm Pilot m105. Yes. Yes, she did. And I am filled with joy and excitement! Joy recommended it to her, and I am grateful. I need to get a new purse now, so that I'll have something in which to carry it. For being a little electronic device, it sure is overwhelming. There are so many things that you have to learn in order to use it to its full extent. And it's going to take me awhile to learn those things, and to get used to it. It's like when you go to a website, and it has so many things on it that you want to view, but you can't do it all at once, so you just get flustered, but excited at the same time. Is that just me? I'm a dork.

I am twenty years old though. This is the first time that I've ever felt truly, physically different after a birthday. I feel as though my youth is over, and now, all there is left is growing old. And alone, no less. Cry. And I know that that isn't really true, but I feel as though it is. I do not feel good about being twenty. I do not feel good about being twenty and alone. I do not feel good about being twenty and normal. I do not feel good about being twenty and having a job. I do not feel good about being twenty and not having an album out. This just doesn't feel good.

I am trying to ignore it. Last night, we had two ice cream cakes, one for my birthday, and one for Mandy's, which is tomorrow. So that was nice. It was the closest thing to a birthday party I've had since I was fifteen. Unless you count sitting on a sheet in the floor of our living room at the condo last year, eating Chinese food and a god-awful cake. And the worst thing is that I know that I should be grateful just to be able to spend each birthday with my mother and sister. And I am grateful for that. But not grateful enough to wash away all of the things that I don't feel good about. And I hate myself for that.

Every year, I think about how I'm a year older, and I've seen no progress. Obviously, a lot of things have changed in my life since this time last year. I've found a purpose, I've been victorious over Bipolar, I've made lots of new friends, I've written lots of amazing songs, I've become a much better person. Yet, I keep thinking about all of the time that is passing me by - time in which I could be attending awards shows and recording, time in which I could be in love, time in which I could be traveling and learning. And I haven't done any of those things. And I don't know that I ever will. I just know that every day goes by, and at the end, I'm not any closer.

October 18, 2001, 11:16 PM, Central

I slip so easily.

They say that anyone can have a good attitude in a good situation, but it's those who have good attitudes in bad situations who will go far.

I would like to think of myself as that kind of person. But I know that I am not. Not yet, at least. I am still programmed. I still have this disease. I still slip so easily. One little thing, and I'm down.

I am getting better. Every day. I have made a complete turn-around, as far as attitude goes. And in many others ways, as well. Yet, sometimes, I can feel it wash over me. Most of the time, I can't even find the "one little thing" that caused it. Most of the time, there isn't one. Most of the time, it is just happening. And I fight it. I fight it surprisingly well. But I still feel it. And it isn't who I am. Not anymore. It feels terrible and unnatural, and the survivor in me takes a stand against it. In the end, I will win. I will win everything. It is a hard road to the end.

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out why God would torture me this way. Why would He put these passions in my heart if He weren’t going to show me how to achieve them? That question has been inside of me for years.

And Joy's Juan and only, the Juan for her... Before we lived together, she was never this twitterpated over boys. Of course, this probably has everything to do with Katrina, who is far, far from a boy... Still. It is strange. They love her; she loves them. I watch in horror. I think that I fear that one of them will take her from me. And someday, one of them will, but I am not ready yet. And now, Juan is after my wife. And I really do think that Joy is terribly cute over him. I think that she should really pursue something, at some point, when she is ready to do so. I just wish that I, too, could have those kinds of feelings. Once, I wrote in my journal that my heart would never flutter again, and I think that that still stands as truth. It is a cold truth. It makes my body ache.

Feelings will kill you. I cannot let mine run wild, the way that I do. I have to find a balance between logic and emotion. I think that I am, naturally, a logical person. I don't know why I think that, but I do. Yet, I've spent the past seven years or so of my life dwelling in my emotions, thriving on my emotions. They've been all that has mattered, and I couldn't understand why no one else had any. But now I know that everyone else was logical, and they had control over their feelings. I still haven't found control over mine.

I am dealing with a low self-image. I am resentful of the success of others, I want constant attention, and I distance myself from people when I am feeling unsuccessful or unappreciated or unnoticed. But. Shouldn't I be upset when I am unsuccessful, unappreciated, or unnoticed? I figured that it was natural.

I have a lot of growing to do. I keep discovering more faults. And I have to say that if I sat down and tried to fix myself, it would take an entire year, and I would still have a job when it was all over. So eh.

Sometimes, I find no point in analyzing life. I am good at it, there is no question about that. But it is such a useless way to spend one's time. It usually leads only to depression, and one is never any closer to a solution if one is only thinking and taking no action.

November 21, 2001, 10:07 PM, Central

It’s flattering in a strange, concurringly depressing way. But should I be worried that the only men who are interested in me are over the age of thirty?

I was asked out to lunch twice today. Both very nice men. Both very much too old for me. And though I appreciate the polite manner in which I am hit on, there is nothing in the world that is more uncomfortable. Also, I find it distressing that I have been hit on more in the past year than in the previous nineteen years of my life combined. Furthermore, Peter keeps making comments about being in love with me. Please don’t be in love with me! I’m not even in love with me yet! And you are thirty.

I fear that I may become one of those women who refuses to grow old and ends up looking ridiculous. I just wanted to stay nineteen forever. With a nice, young boy to play with me. But now, I am twenty years old, and, apparently, that constitutes adulthood, and therefore, middle-aged men are allowed to ask me out. That is very upsetting to me. Do I have valid reason to be upset? I don’t feel as though I ever had a childhood. Especially when it comes to relationships. I never had silly little crushes and high school boyfriends. And, granted, I didn’t want those things, but I don’t think that I should be thrown headfirst into the arms of some thirty-year-old man, dammit. I deserve a guy my age, dammit. Because I’m young. And I want to stay young. At least, for the time being. And if I am to grow old, I want to grow old with someone who is growing old at the same pace that I am, dammit. I want to have a young, passionate romance. And, eventually, I want it to turn into the old married couple scenario, but I want the passionate and carefree part first, dammit. I’m young and I’m beautiful. Where is the young and beautiful boy to court me around? Dammit! CRY!

December 11, 2001, 12:27 AM, Central

I am depressed. I am trying desperately not to be. But I feel hopeless. Out of all of the things that I could feel at this time in my life, I didn’t think that hopeless was one of them. But I do. I feel hopeless. I want to do something with my time, but all I do is waste it. There are so many things that I could be doing that would be furthering my future, but I am so desperately uninspired that I opt, instead, for this bleak screen. And then I hate myself more.

This is an endless cycle from which I just can’t seem to break. I have been in it since I was at least fifteen. I’ve been aging, but I’ve been doing nothing worth anything. God must be terribly disappointed in me. After all, He put me on this earth for a reason, and I am worthless. He gave me talent and dreams and a future, and I am taking it all for granted, and I am letting it all deteriorate.

Sigh. I know that it’s all in my head. I know that I could stop telling myself awful things. I know that I could just make a fucking decision to fucking do something. But I find it so hard. And I don’t know why. I enjoy reading and playing my guitar. Yet, instead of doing all of those things that would benefit me and my future, I sit here. And I write. Because it comes naturally and it doesn’t take any effort. I am so fucking lazy, and I know that it will be the reason that I fail.

If I keep it up, that is. If I could find a way to get over this, nothing could stop me. I absolutely could not fail. But I have a lack of belief. I honestly do not believe that I can succeed. I thought that I believed that I could, but I don’t. And I don’t know how to change that. There are so many things wrong with me, and I don’t know how to change any of them.

Sometimes, I feel dreadfully unmemorable.

I come across the same problems in my head, every day. Over and over. I would truly like to have some new problems. And not in that way where you trade problems with someone because you think that they have it better than you. But in that way where I am so sick and tired of these problems, and I would like to get over them, and move on to the new ones that are awaiting me in my future.

But I am stuck. I am standing in front of these obstacles, and I am making no effort to jump over them, go under them, go around them, knock them down, or otherwise. I am just standing here. I’m standing here, wishing that I wasn’t alone. I’m standing here, resenting people that I love, for multiple reasons. I’m standing here, missing all of the friends that I’ve lost. I’m standing here, wondering what’s going on in my world, and what I will miss. I’m standing here, with music circling in my head. I’m standing here, trying to figure out all of these things, and I’m fucking wasting time. Damn me, damn me, damn me!

Oftentimes, it’s still incredible to get lost in a good book. It takes me away from all of that clutter inside of my head. Yet, it inspires even more thoughts and ideas. I am simply intellectually stimulated by books. I have always used them to get out of this terrible world, so that I could maybe find some hope, or some intelligence, or just something...

December 25, 2001, 4:03 AM, Central

Today, I have experienced two very different candlelight services at two very different churches, and I am still lacking in Christmas spirit. We have a huge, live tree in the middle of our living room, covered in lights and ornaments. I’ve watched several Christmas-related movies. I’ve bought and wrapped presents. Yet, as goes every year, there seems to be something missing.

I have always had a difficult time with Christmas.

Maybe it’s because the magic of it is so short – the day after Christmas, the lights and warmth are yanked out from under you, and reality drags you back to the ground. It just seems too temporary and fleeting, like it almost isn’t worth getting into, because it hurts so much when it’s gone. Is that strange? I’m such an odd girl. I’m surely in need of some kind of therapy regarding all of this.

Maybe it’s because Christmas has always been hard for my family. So many years, my mother was providing on her very own, and I watched her struggle. She would cry, because she couldn’t give us very much. She would cry, because we would wonder why Santa didn’t care about us. I cry over that now. And we’ve certainly been very blessed, because there were children far worse off than we were. But when I was a kid, it made me hate Christmas. I still carry some of that baggage around. Obviously. I should really learn how to let go of baggage, but it seems very impossible, most of the time.

Maybe it’s because I’m alone. And not physically alone, or emotionally, even. I have so much love around me. I am extremely blessed to have so much love in my life. But I don’t get kisses under the mistletoe, or someone to hold me because it’s so damned cold, or someone with whom to journey into a new year. I’ve only been in a relationship during one Christmas, and I’ll never forget that Christmas. While, I hate to say, I’ve forgotten most of the others.

Also, I am definitely not very fond of New Years. It has got to be the most depressing day in existence. “Welcome to a new year, where you can look back and say you’ve done nothing, had no one, and gone nowhere! Whoo hoo!” Cry. And it’s my issue, of course. If I didn’t see New Years that way, it wouldn’t be that way. But I can’t help but see it that way. I can’t help but notice all of the things that I haven’t accomplished yet, and the fact that my clock is ticking, and I’m doing nothing with the time that God has given me. Which is also my problem, because I suck in such profuse ways… I’m too hard on myself. Yes, that’s it. Or am I? Is it really that I should be harder on myself?

I will be up early again in the morning. Mom, Lizzie, Granny, Granddaddy, and Joy’s aunt are all coming here to spend Christmas. Mom and Granny are going to cook, and Joy’s going to make a cherry pie. I think that it will all be lovely. But the house still isn’t clean. It’s a disaster, actually. And there are other things to be done. However, at four o’clock in the morning, none of these things are going to get done, and it is unlikely that I will wake up early enough in the morning to get them done. So. An imperfect Christmas. Oh, well. There’s always next year.

December 13, 2001

There are only so many songs to write. I only have so many attempts for You inside of me. I have given You enough. Someday, I will have to let You go. I wish that day were today, but it is not.

I think that I am grateful for You, though, in some strange fashion. Somehow, You had a part in making me who I am. You had a part in my meeting Joy, and even in further events of the future. You had a significant role in my life, from the moment that I realized Your existence. You have been a constant for as far back as I can remember. I truly cannot remember the way that life felt before You. You were every daydream, every hope, and every line of music. I am deeply grateful for all of the songs that You have inspired. What I have felt for You has truly pulled the greatest talents out of me, and for that, I shall never have a regret.

I do, however, regret my foolishness throughout the last four years. I regret ever making You uncomfortable, or putting You on the spot. I regret wasting the chances that I had to get to know You, because there were many, and I was stupid. But I believe that everything happened the way that it did for good reason, and one day, I might understand. You, however, are so vaguely aware of me that I’m sure that You’ve forgotten it all by now. You are so easily unattached. I cannot comprehend that in You.

I give You too little credit sometimes, I admit. But I cannot expect You to acknowledge me or indulge my silly conversation-starters. So I take the safer route, and I tell myself that You are oblivious to me entirely, and that somehow makes the disregard hurt less.

January 1, 2002, 11:46 PM Central

I have lost another year of my life.

Someday, I hope to enjoy New Years Eve, because I will be able to say that the past year hasn’t been wasted.

People tell me that I’m so young, and that I have plenty of time. Why, then, do I feel as though I have so very little time? I have been alive for twenty years, and I have done nothing with myself. And I keep telling myself this, when I know that I’ll feel better if I just start now and stop worrying about the past. One cannot change the past. Therefore, I must start here.

It is now 2002.

I am abnormally single, imprisoned by my job, longing for my music, sick as hell, distressingly broke, and generally unsatisfied in every way imaginable.

But I am being negative.

But to look upon the future, one must discard the past. That is the part with which I am having trouble. And I have trouble every year at this time. I truly hate New Years. To me, it is only a reminder of what I haven’t yet accomplished, and how much time I have wasted. Of course, I could always fucking do something with my life…

I have developed, through extensive study, a universal theory, a method that should be followed as often as is possible. One should never, upon any avoidable situation, read the book before seeing the movie. That is a crime against oneself, for you are insuring your own disappointment, and pissing off the rest of us, what with your bitter reviews about the film not measuring up to the novel. You’ve brought this upon yourself; bitching will solve none of your problems. And Harry Potter kicked ass, dammit.

Ahem.

I’ve realized that I’m the only person who still actively writes in her journal. I know that my time is as limited as everyone else’s, but I sit down and make time for this. This is important. This is therapy. This is documentation. This is my testimony.

“Our experiences are incomplete until we can wrap words around them.”

That is brilliant. It describes me in so many ways. It’s the reason that I cannot live my life without writing, the reason that I am active with this journal, the reason that I create music. I think that God made me two completely natural things, above all of the rest, and that is a singer and a writer. These talents are just inside of me, and they are natural. These gifts were just given to me. And I am eternally grateful, and I praise God for them every day.

March 14, 2002, 2:09 AM, Central

I am irritated. I get that way, especially when people act in a condescending fashion towards me. And also, when I feel left out. When I feel left out, I feel like the entire world has turned on me, and I hate everyone. I’ve always been that way. A person can earn my hatred in an instant. And this is a bad trait. I am, in no way, taking responsibility for the way that I’m feeling, because it is a direct result of how I am being treated. However, I do realize that my bitterness is a problem. It’s not my fault that people treat me in unacceptable ways. But I do have control over how I feel about it. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I just don’t see how I can deal with that gracefully. I’ve never been able to deal with that, and I don’t imagine that I ever will. People should just stop fucking doing it to me, dammit!

Some of the songs that I write are only for me. I don’t need anyone to hear them; I just need to create them for myself. Maybe these will be the songs that touch people the most.

Also, it is absolutely horrifying when the creepy pizza guy sets his pizza bag in front of me and says, “Temptation has arrived!” In fact, I’m having a hard time believing that he actually said that.

I want a reason to shave my legs and daydream and wear lingerie and write incredible love songs. I want to feel beautiful for someone. Right now, I just feel hopeless. As far as love goes, anyway. God created many phenomenal boys, but He put all of them out of my reach.

April 25, 2002, 12:47 AM, Central

I hate it when the only thing in the world that I want to do is wallow in my misery. Firstly, I hate having misery in which to wallow. Secondly, I hate feeling like I can’t do anything better than wallow. And thirdly, the fact that I am allowing myself to acknowledge any reason for misery in the first place makes me very angry at myself. Rarr.

It has been the day from hell. Actually, yesterday was the preview of the day from hell. Yet, I was not prepared.

I know that I should not be complaining, and that reviewing the events is a step down from where I’m trying to go. But. If I don’t get things down on paper, they boil inside of me and, eventually, I lose it. So I’m going to have a mini-break down in order to avoid a colossal one.

Today, I’ve felt like it’s still the year 2000, and I’m still in that mindset. I have felt angry, bitter, and utterly hopeless. Hopelessness has been clouding my head all day today. And it feels pointless to try to have a good attitude. All I want to do is sit down and cry.

I have been so fucking stressed out lately. I can’t think straight and I feel lost, and I have nothing but hatred for my job. And, as usual, I find it practically impossible to tolerate people. I’ve been grinding my teeth incessantly, causing headaches, earaches, and jawaches, if there is such a word for the aching of one’s jaw. And I am usually unaware of grinding my teeth until the pain kicks in, so the only way to stop it is to avoid being stressed out, dammit.

Okay, so I’ve had my bad day. Let’s try not to have any more, Cordy.

May 22, 2002, 10:32 PM, Central

I am displeased to announce that it has been over a month since I’ve written. And, of course, knowing that my life tends to stay very busy, many things have happened. And I fear that I don’t remember half of them and will forget as I write. But nevermind that. I will just write. Like I always write. And it always works.

People are so complicated. I tend to find them to be a huge pain in my ass. I have to say that being a hermit was a helluva lot easier. But an easy life is a boring and worthless one. So eh. I can’t fix everything. I am a silly Libra – life should be fair and everyone should get along. Alas, there is no such utopia as mine.

Though life would be much more utopia-like if it weren’t for the existence of bugs. One of my foremost questions for God will be to ask Him why He created bugs. Because I seriously think it was just to punish humans. I can find no logical purpose for them. And I am going off about this because I woke up one morning in Virginia with a tick attached to my leg. AcK!!! I literally started sobbing. And I don’t know why. I couldn’t control the panic. I have a phobia of most bugs. A phobia is defined as an irrational fear. After I freaked out in terror, I realized that I have a problem. And I lived in fear the entire time that I was there.

I have so much inside of me that I’d like to write down. But I don’t know how, because I can’t define most of it. As always, my soul is this constant battlefield, where contradictions are warring against each other. Sometimes, it is depression against hope. Depression has always been so much stronger. And I know that I’m a loser if I don’t fight it. But, god, sometimes, I just don’t have the strength. Sometimes, I can’t pull off the positive attitude shit. Even with the drugs. Sometimes, they just aren’t enough.

How can I change all of the awful things about me? How can I be better with people? How can I learn to trust men? How can I stop comparing myself to everyone? How can I stop feeling so fucking much resentment? How can I be comfortable in any situation? How can I stop blushing all of the time? How can I stop falling for guys who are absolutely, positively, in no way, available to me? These are things that I want to change, but I don’t know how. Therefore, maybe they can’t be changed at all. Cry.

I really have a hard time dealing with all of the people in my life, and the fact that so few of them make me feel good, and, in fact, most of them make me feel flat-out terrible.

One of the hardest feelings that I deal with on a daily basis is the absolute worthlessness and irrelevance that weighs so heavily upon me. And I can’t help but notice that no one notices me. And it’s selfish, but I don’t give a damn, because needing attention is part of who I am. Shall I forever be deprived?

I know that I am self-absorbed beyond measure. But I'm having a very hard time inside of myself, and until I can straighten things out in my head, I don't see how I can think of other people. I feel like I'm inside of this bubble, and no one can hear me screaming. And no one cares. And why should they? That's what I need to accept: No one is obligated to care about me, and I shouldn't expect it from anyone. This is a fact of life, but, aside from that, people just don't notice those of us who are stuck in bubbles.

I am one of those people who are lonely no matter what. I always come back to this feeling. Lonely. Hopeless. Insignificant. It is the only thing in my life that I always, always come back to. As much as I try not to, as much as I try to keep myself above water, I always come back. I am completely oblivious as to how to change myself. I wish that I were not utterly alone.

It is unfortunate that I have so many regrets. I’m only twenty years old, and I have almost entirely regrets. That is horribly tragic. But I’d change so many things. And I hate thinking about my past. I have to get past my past. It is dragging me down.

June 25, 2002, 2:17 AM, Central

I finally got to meet Joy’s friend, David. Little did I know that I would also semi-participate in one of his adventures.

As we were driving back home from showing Downtown Dallas to David and his son, 183 was, as usual, under construction. So Joy pulls around some orange cones to take the exit, and we come upon the huge RAMP CLOSED sign. But by this time, there was someone in front of us and quite a few cars behind us. Besides, the ramp didn’t look closed, so we kept driving. Until the car in front of us was stopped by a cop. We watched as the cop proceeded to yell at the driver, and it looked like they were arguing. David said, “Joy, if he stops us, say something in French.” Of course, Joy informed David that she couldn’t possibly get away with that. So when the cop let the first car go, we started to pull back onto the highway, but we were also stopped. Now, I want to make very clear that this was the cop from hell, and he furthered my theory that cops are evil demons on a power trip and should be swept from the face of the earth. I will refer to him as The Asshole. So, as Joy rolled down her window, The Asshole yelled, “I’m going to give you the Riot Act too,” and went on to scream awful things at her. “Are you stupid? Can you read? Were you just going to run over that construction worker?” Blah, blah. And throughout this, Joy hadn’t said a word. So, eventually, The Asshole stopped and said, “Do you speak English?” Joy said nothing. “Do you speak English?!?!” Joy said nothing. Suddenly, David broke in with, “Ramp closed?” in this fantastic Russian accent. The Asshole said, “Do you speak English?!” David said, “Leetle beet,” in his fantastic Russian accent. The Asshole, frustrated because he’d given his stupid little act and no one had understood him, screamed, “If she can’t speak English, she should not be driving!” David said, “Sorry, sir, my fault,” in his fantastic Russian accent. The Asshole yelled, “NO! It’s her fault! Her butt’s in the seat! It’s her fault!” David apologized in his fantastic Russian accent. Everyone else was silent. I was sitting in the backseat, thinking, We’re going to jail. Finally, however, The Asshole reached full aggravation and waved us away, whereupon, we all burst into hysterical laughter. And I am still amused at the thought of it all.

Can anyone explain to me why people come to the BREAKROOM to bitch and moan about their jobs? What part of BREAKROOM is confusing for people? It seems pretty damned clear to me. And I would really like to be able to read, thankyouverymuch.

July 21, 2002, 3:13 AM, Central

This is infinitely overwhelming. It has been so devastatingly long since I’ve written that I can’t remember most of the things that I had wanted to write about as they were happening. Cry.

Damn. So much has happened since freaking whenever, and I haven’t recorded any of it. It’s very distressing. Not to be able to recall important events because you forgot to write about them is a horrid predicament. Yet. Here I am. And I must deal.

I find that I don’t have much faith left in people. I try desperately. I trust and believe in people, giving them the benefit of a doubt, but they always disappoint me. I am growing quite aggravated and bitter. I am starting to believe that people just have no integrity whatsoever and that I shouldn’t even bother with any of them. “Damn those hoes! Those bitches and hoes!” as Joy would say. But God takes care of revenge, right? I hope so, considering that the spiritual gift that He gave me is mercy, and mercy is what gets me into all of my trouble in the first place. Dammit. I don't want to care about people. Especially the ones who treat you like shit in return. Which are most of them, unfortunately.

August 2, 2002, 11:37 PM, Central

I’ve been quite depressed lately. Granted, I haven’t taken my Wellbutrin as regularly as I should. But one wonders how much consequence circumstance has. I’ve also been overwhelmingly tired as of late. To the point where I want to fall asleep every time that I merely sit down.

I’ve also felt terribly unpretty these past few days. I’ve felt fat and simple and plain. I’ve had this series of bad hair days, and my skin is this appalling catastrophe. I don’t know what to do about it. But I find that, if I don’t feel physically attractive, I feel horrible. This is bad, I’ve decided, because one is supposed to love one’s self for whom one is. So there are two options here. Do I not like who I am or am I just unbelievably vain? I fear that both are true.

Why do I react the way that I do to stupid, trivial things? And why am I the only one who behaves this way? I am so completely abnormal. No one else has these horrible things going on inside of them. People may have lesser things, and greater things, but none of them are anything like the things with which I am dealing. I wish that I didn’t resent people so wholeheartedly. And I could easily blame people, but it’s how I react to them that makes me miserable. I just have no idea how to change myself. I keep trying, but the way that I feel has always overpowered the way that I think. So the awful feelings creep back in and push out any efforts to change.

September 25, 2002, 12:29 AM, Central

Am I the most unmotivated person alive? It is highly likely. In fact, it took great effort just to generate the motivation to write this. Sigh.

I have lost all passion. It is so tragic. I will always have my dream, but that means nothing. If action and belief aren’t factors, having a dream does more harm than good. My head is in constant chaos, and my spirit in constant torment. Is there no clarity, no truth? Are there no conclusions? Is God a merciful God? Does He not writhe in disgust and disappointment at my appalling humanity?

Joy and I have recently began a Bible study called “Daddy’s Girls,” which is a study on, you guessed it, fathers. And though the focus is mostly on the Heavenly Father, there is a lot of mention of the earthly father. Who does not exist for me. The first class was basically an analysis of what was wrong with me, and how my feelings toward men and God are attributable to my feelings toward my father. This entire idea is difficult for me to ponder. Now, it is very obvious that I am fucked up in ways that cannot be explained by words. However, identifying a reason for this fucked-up-ness seems pointless, because I do not think that it can be corrected. I think that this is just the way that I am. I will die alone, because I have negative feelings toward men, and I will never have a good relationship with God, because I feel undeserving of His love. And apparently, I can blame all of this on my father. But that is ridiculous, because, up until a year or so ago, I was completely indifferent to my father. I didn’t care one way or the other. Yet, I was always this fucked up. Now, suddenly, I have someone to blame for all of my emotional turmoil, but I cannot piece the two together very well. Hmm.

All I know is that, in general, I don’t really like myself. I am disappointed in myself, and I feel that I am a waste of valuable space that God could replace with the next Moses or something. Why did He create me? I find it hard to believe that everyone has a purpose. Some of us are just breathing. And in my case, this is because breathing is effortless. If it takes effort, you won’t find me anywhere in sight. Fuckin' loser that I am.

But I am human. Apparently, as a human, it is natural for me to doubt God, and it is natural for me to feel resentment, and it is natural for me to desire success. Yet, if those things are natural, why the fuck do they feel so wrong? Why do I feel so worthless because of those things? I don’t understand God and I don’t understand myself and I don’t understand life and I don’t even fucking care anymore. What is the point of thought? Do tell me, because I’d like to know. What is the point of this mind? If you ask me, the human brain gets us into nothing but trouble.

I will be twenty-one soon. Too soon. And, yes, I can legally drink alcohol. It seems that being able to legally drink alcohol is the sole purpose for some people to live. Blah. What is my life worth at the age of twenty-one? It is worth very little. To me, to the world, to God, and to anyone otherwise.

Welcome to Cordy’s pity party. But if I am going to have one, is this not the ideal place? And though I know that I should keep negative thoughts out of my head, they do tend to creep in, and I feel that I am doing myself a great disservice by discarding them, when I could record them and have a story upon which to look back. And I will, just this once, ignore my own improper grammar, as I do not tamper with the preceding run-on sentence.

September 29, 2002, 6:35 PM, Central

I had an interesting dream this morning. I can never remember dreams as well as I’d like. Though I’m sure that this one would be much clearer to me, had I not awoken from it at 11:53, flown from my bed, and drove to Blockbuster to return movies that were due before noon today. Stupid rule. Who gets up before noon?

Anyway, I’m going to try to write down what I remember. I know that I was at some kind of Christmas party. I don’t know whose house we were in, but we were in Texas somewhere. Chuck was there, and Jason and Mandy, and Natalie. And there were a lot of other people, as well, but I can’t remember anyone else specifically. Except for Him, of course… Should I still refer to Him that way? Eh.

He was playing the piano, and I was on the bench beside Him. I wasn’t paying too much attention, though; I was talking to people behind us. I did glance over at Him a few times, though. His hair was in His face and He seemed to be concentrating. He never said anything until He stood up and declared that He had to go. Everyone flippantly said good-bye, but He hugged me. Then I walked him out. It was snowing. It was dark and cold and everything was white. We stood out there for a few minutes, talking, though I can’t remember a damned thing that was said. We stood pretty far apart – Him on the sidewalk by the driveway and me beneath the tree that stood right outside the front door. After a little while, we said our good-byes and He got into this tiny teal car, which I figured He’d rented. I watched Him drive away before going back inside.

Very strange dream. As mine tend to be, I suppose.

I’m auditioning for American Idol 2 in Austin on November 5th. I’ve put myself into a loose training schedule. Lots of water, lots of rest, lots of vocal exercises, lots of studying, lots of working out, and lots of time with God. There are two weeks of vocal rest, due to my voice being worn to shreds. One week has passed. I have one more to go. The worst part is that my job is very demanding upon my voice. I constantly have to talk to people on the phone, and, of course, over the counter. And I hate it. Dammit. I’m not supposed to be on the fucking front counter. And I think I’m allergic to something up there. I’ve had a headache since Monday. Rarr.

So I’m going to Austin alone. I racked my brain to think of someone to come with me, but then I realized that I didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t make the situation bad. My mom and sister, who are the only people who support my music career, would get in the way, as terrible as that sounds. My concentration would be off. And as far as everyone else I know… well. I’ll just say that they are very unsupportive. No one believes in me. And it’s very painful, really. Though I try desperately to ignore it. And always have. But when the person you live with is a constant negative upon you, it’s hard to deal. But eh. I’ll show the world. I really will.

Why does the world condition you to hate yourself?

October 10, 2002, 2:21 AM, Central

Technically, it is my birthday. Though I won’t have really been alive twenty-one years until around 3:30 in the afternoon. Still, though, I feel depressed. And I don’t necessarily feel depressed over my continuous and annoying aging. I just feel depressed about where I am in life. And who I am. And other things that are said to be in my control, but don’t feel that way at all.

The horrid, much-despised winter is here. We skipped fall, I think. It’s been raining for three days now. And I am miserably sick. Why is my body so frail compared to everyone else? Everyone else gets a little sniffle or something. I get fucking debilitated! ARGH!!! I cannot explain my frustration with this! All year round, I have these problems. And every time it rains, everything just flares up. And that combined with the cold weather. Dear God. I’ll never feel better again. And I keep drinking water and resting and taking all of the necessary medications and precautions. Sigh.

My voice is useless right now. I finally come off of my vocal rest, and I can’t sing. However, I can swear profusely about it, dammit. GRR! I can’t do much else, however. All I can do is wait for this to pass. Assuming that it passes at all. And then, when it’s over, how will my voice sound? And I just want to sob and sob in my bed for days and days. And this crying is really helping with these sinus problems. Yeah.

I cannot describe how painful it is to be alone in this. I cannot find the words to express how deeply I am hurt. I don’t understand why no one believes in me. Which is okay. Whatever. I don’t want to feel like I need encouragement. I don’t fucking need people!!! I hate them all!!! Except that those two statements are lies. But to need other people is to be weak. And I am trying to do anything not to be weak. I’m trying to be okay with the fact that I have no support. I’m trying to be okay with the fact that I’m only hearing negative. I’m trying to be my own cheerleader. Do you know how hard it is to be your own cheerleader? I can’t hold myself up all of the time. It’s so hard that I come to times like these, when I just fall into this pit of despair and hopelessness and self-hatred. I listen to the world around me, and it’s full of other people complimenting and encouraging each other. And I compliment and encourage other people constantly. I love doing it; I find sheer joy in it. But I never hear compliments or encouragement directed toward me. Is it selfish to need those things? Is it selfish to need support, to not be strong enough to keep a positive attitude all by yourself? I don’t know. I just wish that I wasn’t alone in this. Though, despite the fact that I am, it will not cause me to give up. It just makes me want to prove everyone wrong even more so.

Today was Granny’s birthday, so I need to make an appearance. It’s very inopportune, of course, due to there being so much going on right now, but I have to make some firm decisions somewhere. And my family is important to me. I don’t care what Joy thinks about it. She seems to think it’s wrong of me to value my family. Apparently, she doesn’t need to make contact with hers. And sometimes I want to just scream at her that we’re not all like she is, and that she has to get over that. I’m not her, and she’s not me, so stop treating me as if I’m doing something wrong, just because you wouldn’t choose to do it yourself.

Rarr. I just have to vent all the blessed time, don’t I? Eh. Sometimes, I just can’t help it. And this is where I come to bitch and moan. And it does make for some good reading material, I must say.

Well, I suppose that I will go to bed. It has been an overall worthless day. I have done nothing today to improve myself.

Oh. By the way, self… Happy birthday.

November 4, 2002, 1:03 AM, Central

There is a lot of talent in the world. There are many beautiful girls with beautiful voices. There is a lot of competition. What makes me different? I don’t know. I know that no one can write songs the way that I can. But where does that take me? I am chasing such a tragically hopeless dream. Sometimes, I think that I should just settle for a normal life and find some normal boy and have a normal, quiet, uneventful existence. That would be so easy. And though I know that the best things are never easy, I can’t help but wonder if all of this energy directed toward music is in vain. I don’t stand out. I’m in a crowd of a million other girls with their tummies showing, and we’re all great singers. So.

I’m still going to Austin. At least, that is my stand as of right now. I may change my mind.

And I feel so desperately untalented right now. I’m trying to be my own cheerleader, but I just have no spirit left from doing it all of the bloody time. I’m tired and depressed and hopeless. I hate it. I’m the most miserable person that I know, and I don’t even know why. Sigh.

Maybe it is because there are so many things that are wrong with me. I never realized it until I started this endless self-searching. I found nothing inside of me that I loved. I only found things that are problems, and I don’t know how to fix any of them. I am spectacularly fucked up and I have absolutely no idea why. I mean, I’ve spent hours tracing back to my past to figure this stuff out, and I have come up with nothing. Do I need professional help? Or is this normal? I don’t know. I just know that people give me the creeps, especially men, and that my point of view on everything is skewed and abnormal. I don’t think that I could ever have a normal life. I can’t date, because men freak me out. I can’t be successful, due to lack of faith in myself. So I will die alone, the result of hopelessness and never-ending exposure to a job? I have no idea what is ahead for me, but it doesn’t look like a very bright future. Is it true that God has plans for everyone? And if this is true, is His plan awful for some people? I mean, lots of people have really shitty lives, even Christians. Am I supposed to be one of those people? How can the Bible say that God has plans to prosper and not to harm me when all I’m feeling is harm?

Maybe I should just pray more often. But I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to ask Him for what I want, because I feel like I don’t deserve it, and that, even if I did, He wouldn’t listen. Why do I feel like that? Is it true that the feelings that a person has toward their father determine the feelings they have toward God? I think that it is. It makes so much awful sense. Fathers suck ass.

And I just want to say, for the record, that Ed Norton is the sexiest man on earth. Yum.

Of course, I’m starting to think that no male creature will ever, ever be attracted to me. And not just because I have male-phobia either. I’m just repellent in some as-of-yet undetermined way.

I so do not want to go to work tomorrow. Or ever. Jobs are the spawn of the devil. Of course, the spawn of the devil is paying my bills, due to my inability to make anything of myself. So. I guess that I can’t complain.

I love my mother so much. I just want to mention that. She is amazing and loving and encouraging. I couldn’t have been given a better mother. I can’t imagine life without her. How can anyone go through life without a mother? But then, some people would ask how I’ve gone through life without a father. And I would say that I have turned out to be extremely fucked up. yay me…

I’m so negative. Truly. But I just can’t conjure up anything positive lately. Which is terrible, due to the fact that I could really use some faith at a time like this, when I’m about to submit myself, dwarfness and all, to a panel of people who will judge me solely for the way that I look and the way that I sound. Neither of which is very impressive. Rarr. I feel so nauseatingly average and it makes me want to decapitate myself.

Why is it, please, God, someone tell me, that all sexy boys are famous, married, or gay? Real life is such a bitch and I so do not want to be here…

November 5, 2002, 7:08 PM, Central

We are leaving in a few minutes for Austin. I’ve prayed for faith and have yet to receive any.

If God and I want two different things, how does that explain the Bible always saying that you can ask and receive? I am so confused by the Bible. I wish that it didn't contradict itself right and left.

We have a three-hour drive. Then we will spend the night on cold pavement, waiting for an audition. This will be an interesting experience, if nothing else.

But I hope that it is much, much more...

November 7, 2002, 6:37 PM, Central

So I screwed up the only opportunity that I may ever have. I blew my one shot. So much for losing myself in the music, the moment. Whatever. Et cetera.

I’m not sure where to start. I guess that I can begin by saying that I am starting to believe that God and I want two very different things for my life. And I don’t know whether I’m going to like what He wants. But I have no choice, right? God gets what He wants. That’s why He’s God.

We arrived in Austin at around 11:00 on Tuesday night. There were already 1293 people in line for an audition that was supposed to begin at 8:00 the next morning. I was number 1294. They wrote it all up and down my arm and put me in line. “In line” was inside of the area marked by yellow police tape. Joy had gone to park the car and she ended up throwing the blankets and pillows over the fence to me. She met me down there and we laid our blankets down on the asphalt and got ready for the night ahead.

And there isn’t much else to say. We met some neat people.

At almost 6:00 yesterday morning, a guy came around with a megaphone, telling all of us to stand up and pack up our things so that we could get wristbands for our auditions. So we all stood up, and we stood there for two hours before anything actually happened. And what actually happened sucked ass. They gave wristbands to everyone who was numbered between 1 and 1200. Those people were guaranteed an audition. All of us after 1200 had wasted our time.

Joy and I ended up back in Irving by 1:00 yesterday afternoon. I went about in my normality, getting an oil change and going to the post office. Then I came home and sat on the couch for a few hours in front of the television. I was too disheartened to do anything else. And I would have been perfectly content to sit there all night. However, Joy brought Chuck over here to drag me to his house. So I ended up going there. And it was horrible. Because I was so tired that it was all that I could do to keep from crying. It’s weird that I cry when I’m tired. And for no reason. Not that I didn’t have a reason, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I didn’t – I would have cried anyway.

So the most productive thing that I’ve done so far today is take our blankets to the dry cleaner and take out the boxes that were piling up. Other than that, I have been utterly worthless, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Trying to make something of one’s self is a pain in the ass and rarely, if ever, pays off.

But despite all of the effort and hope that I invested in American Idol, the truth still stands that it will never be the ideal way to do anything. I was settling by going to that audition. It was not what I truly wanted. Sure, I want to sing. But I would never have planned for it to be that path.

In the end, I think that it’s okay. It was a good experience. It was fun. I’m glad that I did it. I don’t regret going. I do look back on my life and regret many, many things, however. Countless things. I hope that I can one day say that I don't regret anything. But that doesn't look very likely.

November 20, 2002, 1:37 AM, Central

What bothers me most about life is that mine is good, yet, I hate it with every breath of me. What is wrong with that picture? I have so much. But I don’t want to live. Why are there no answers?

I have never felt so forsaken by God. I feel like He has totally and completely abandoned me. And it’s not because I feel ugly lately or because my job is an indescribable hell or because I’m too bloody short or even because I’m depressed. It’s because He doesn’t have a plan for me. He has a plan for everyone. Except for me. He isn’t keeping someone for me. He isn’t planning success for me. He just isn’t. I feel it. I don’t have a purpose. It’s like I was an accident and He didn’t bother to map anything out for me. I’m on my own.

And people bitch at me for saying those things. So maybe I just won’t say them. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel them. And I have tried to convince myself out of all of it. I have told myself that God has this great plan for me and that I have a great future. But my gut just keeps telling me that it isn’t true.

And if I weren’t twenty-fucking-one years old, I might be able to keep some hope alive. But, really, who is still a failure at the age of twenty-one? I’m sorry, but time has run out. It’s too late. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I have just reached a point. I don’t feel like there’s anything to live for. I feel like this is it. Now I can die.

The only truth that I have right now is that I wish that I lived in Harry Potter’s world. A world of magic and wonder and power and purpose and hope. Also, I would still be young, with plenty of chances ahead of me.

But seriously. I truly love Harry Potter. It is the greatest escape that there is. When Lizzie and I went to see The Chamber Of Secrets on Sunday night, I just kept hoping that the movie would never end and that I could stay there forever.

I just want to be in any world that isn’t this one.

And I always wanted so much for myself…

Life’s events since the whole American Idol disaster have been scarce and dull. I have worked my ass off at a job that has suddenly become a fiery pit of stress and pain, due to the upcoming holiday season. Which is supposed to be a happy season, right? Fuckin job. If only I had the will to get rid of it.

Okay, so I have complained myself into another day. I do this too damned often. But I have been crying a lot lately over all of this. Over just the simple fact that there is no hope, no future, no purpose for me. I know that it sounds ridiculous and childish and other awful things. But it’s how I feel. And my emotions have never been logical, only strong and terrifying.

December 11, 2002, 10:37 PM, Central

When you truly lose yourself in a song, it’s like an entirely different world, where the rules have changed and the logic isn’t the same. It’s the most magnificent place that there is. There are many continents and many worlds and many beautiful places, but none is greater than where you go inside of a song. Things are never as real and powerful as they are when you fall into a song.

I find that I will do anything to escape my life. Maybe I am not truly lazy or lacking in drive. Maybe I just hate this world. I watch so much TV and I see so many movies. But I never saw it before, until I fell headfirst into the world of Harry Potter. This is the most wonderful world. It’s magical and fun and so far from this Muggle world. And I have recently realized that I get so enthralled in movies and books and television and music because I just want to escape. I truly, truly love all of these things, but a lot of it is because they are portals into worlds much better than mine. It is an addiction – to run away. Running away is a habit. And I enjoy it so much. But I always end up back in the Muggle world, where there is no magic or hope, where there aren’t any miracles or amazing things to look forward to. I hate it here.

I am negative in every way. But I am a brilliant writer because of it. So I don’t resent it at all.

I have rediscovered a love for country music from the early 90s. It’s very fun. hehe.

In May, I’m going to North Carolina for Angel’s graduation. I am excited beyond words. I miss her so much. She is my true soul mate. Through all the friends that I’ve had, there has been no one else like her. She understands me in ways that I can’t even believe sometimes. I can tell her the things that I’m most ashamed of, the things that no one else has ever understood, and she can use her own words to say the exact same thing. And I wish that she lived here. Or that I lived there. Or that we both lived in a Townhouse in L.A.

Okay, I have to go make myself presentable now. Though I would rather be sexy and mysterious and breathtaking. But sophisticated is the look tonight. Forgive me for my blasphemy, Britney.

December 28, 2002, 4:21 PM, Central

You know, I’m never in control with a boy. It’s because I have so very little experience, I guess. My brain just goes kind of haywire and I don’t really think straight… God. I mean, it’s only another person’s skin and another person’s hands and another person’s body heat. Right?

Now my only problem is that, after four years of my skin being ice cold and void of any sexual contact, I was touched yesterday. Hands upon my hands, heat against my body. I am going to rip my hair out. Because, usually when you do that kind of thing with someone, you expect to do it again with them sometime in the future. Yet, somehow, I feel like I was being teased by fate.

I mean, skin really needs skin against it. All of the time. In an intimate way. And now I have been reminded of that. Goddammit. And now life goes back to normal. And I can’t forget that. I can’t forget hands upon my hands, heat against my body. That is impossible to forget. And He’s probably forgotten it already.

So it was the same as always. His fingers flying over the keys. That melodic voice. Aaron and Danny were there too, of course. But then it was over.

That voice was unmistakable. I was sure that I’d passed out. But, no, I was still standing there, and He was still before me, looking beautiful. And He said my name. And we hugged. And it was like lightning.

I’m still crazy. I’m not sure that it will ever go away. Even though I’m happy, I still have a disease that tries to make me believe that I shouldn’t and can’t be.

Oh, well. I am anyway.