My truths:

- I hate my facebook, and I hate almost all of my facebook friends, partly for having facebook and partly for just being themselves. I hate them as people. I don't hate them for using facebook to keep tabs on people, because that's what I'm doing as well. Let's face it--when you have 1000+ friends, it is simply impossible to keep track of them all. Facebook makes life even more of a competition than it already is, except once in a while you get the little niceties thrown in like 200 "Happy Birthdays" in a row or the "How are you doing?" translated to:: "What have you done with your life? Is it more than I've done with my life? What opportunities have you been getting and where can I get those opportunities?"

Remedy: Delete my facebook or delete most of my friends, leaving about 8. Will decide on my birthday.

- This country and its job-seeking ways is such bullshit. Every career class I take and people I talk to confirms this: fully 80% of jobs are gotten off the market. Through connections. You know a guy who knows a guy who fucked your mom. Or something like that. What's the POINT of even going to college, gaining experience, working on resumes, bettering yourself as a person and an employee? Why don't you just sit around in your living room performing sexual favors, hoping one of them will eventually come back with a job on hand?

Remedy: This needs to change. This is partly why I'd love to be a writer. There is nothing else involved but talent. Raw talent. And you know what, even if the stupid people of your own generation buy your book in droves, you're on the NYT best seller's list (an absolute crap list) for 580 weeks, POSTERITY will not let you get away with that. You either have it, or you don't. You join the ranks of the greats, or you shrivel up and go away. This is also why it's gratifying to be in a profession where you are NEEDED--like a doctor, or a person who has the cure for cancer, or the person who brings people clothes and food. They have to buy your product, if they want to retain any semblance of humanity. Doctors are not hired by word-of-mouth. I mean, maybe to different hospitals, sure, but every one, regardless of how many friends they have, MUST go to medical school to be considered a doctor. Not like a PR firm, or accounting, or software engineer--where, because you're someone's daughter's niece's relative, you are allowed to "have a try" in a company, to see how you'll do. I don't know what I will or even can do (except tend my own garden), but this is just ridiculous. I will have no part in type of working world.

- And the old, familiar theme: life's pointlessness. The jokery of it, now, even. Before, there was good art and fashion and music and culture in general to at least not make you feel like you're in hell. Now, we're so far gone that I wouldn't be surprised to find someone who slit their own throat lying in the middle of the street. I would look at that and think "I understand you. I know the feeling." This waiting room has turned into a shitshow.

Remedy: Nothing. Or, the same as it always was: art, love, life, beauty. You find it or, if you can't find it, I guess you make it. Living without is not an option. I'd rather die. I imagine I will die, at my own hand. Dying is an art, like everything else. I fully believe it's the cowards who don't kill themselves. How can people call it "giving up" when we don't even know what's on the other side? What, exactly, are we giving up by leaving this world? Have you seen this world, lived in it, traveled in it? The petty cruelty that is everywhere the same--everywhere--with only a few little glimmers of hope that are dying, now, as we speak? It's the cowards who cling to such illusions this life has to offer us, hoping for things to become incrementally better just after the next bend. Wasting away on false promises of hope and cheery jingles and celebrities getting themselves fat off the lifeblood of ART. And the "public", the sniveling, dirty, groveling public, facilitating all those sports stars and movie stars and bankers.

Ultimate remedy: wake up from the nightmare or build a dream or slit your throat right there in your own warm bed.

Really rough day that I have rehashed two times already today, once with my dad, the other through facebook (not nearly as satisfying, I have to say).

It's this whole speech disorder thing. Emotional disorder? Neurological disorder? LIVING disorder? I don't know. It's a problem, it's always been a problem, it always will BE a problem, but I never have neuroses unless it's actually time to DEAL with this problem like, say, in the form of a presentation... in two weeks. Why am I tearing my hair out over this, already? Hard to say. It's like asking why I eat something when my stomach starts growling. Because... I... have to? No, I don't HAVE to, but it's hard NOT to.

I may go on another speech program, because I've definitely relapsed/been relapsing/gone way past the point of relapse. I came across something I wrote the other day: "I'm 20 years old and feel older than death." Exactly how I've been feeling, for most of my life.

As I was walking from the library return box to a talk by so-and-so from Cisco for my Industrial/Organizational class, I had to confess to myself this dejecting thought: stutterers are not very nice people. And I'm not just including myself in this--I know I can be cynical and hardheaded and defensive about a variety of things, but I think of myself one of the NICE stutterers. There's this 50+ stutterer on my old group--stutteringchat on yahoo.com--go there, and you'll probably guess who I'm talking about, who, even though he and his buddies have already driven me away from that forum months ago now (though I still keep up, because there's interesting stuttering-related news that pops up occasionally), he's still insulting me... and no one's defending me. Normally, I would be the one doing it, but to be honest, I don't even know WHAT he's got stuck up his old asshole, there. He's accused me of being bitter (especially for my age... like age has anything to do with it) and stubborn and a bevy of other things that are hardly worth recounting (or remembering). I have to say, it still stings a little--just because, I do feel, often intensely, that at 20 years old, people don't expect you to stick up for yourself up much, and so you don't. Instead, you're expected to be humble and polite and just have fun with life. Also to be happy all the time, because hey, we're young, educated, in the prime of our lives! And whenever I feel that old temper in me start to flare up, I feel guilty like--oh well, this guy's like 55 years old, he's married with children, he's probably got tons more life experience than me, probably has been treated worse than I've been--maybe I should just back down and take his advice on stuff. And I would like to do that, really, except the stuff he gives me isn't advice--it's insults. How do I respond to insults? Especially to some old dude who appears to have nothing better to do than sit by his computer 24 hours a day, picking on fresh meat. So odd.

I'm also constantly taken aback by how consistently spineless people are, in person and moreso over the internet. I mean, they're one of two: the extreme mean person, or the extreme cowardly person. I don't know where all the normal or moral people are; the former are perhaps living their normal, healthy lives; the latter are perhaps fighting wars and have no time for trivialities of the internet. I would LIKE to be the latter, but I get caught up time and time again in this internet "drama" that I basically have to remove myself from the medium altogether to stay out of it.

Oh well, lots of reading to do and boy meets world to watch. The comforting thing is knowing I'll never run out of good reading, in this lifetime. Unfortunately, there's a lot of crap being published now, modern stuff, but I won't even have time to get to that until I've finished reading all the classics and old masters. It would take me well into middle age. At the rate I'm going, anyway. How I would LOVE to have just a year of interrupted reading and writing time. Or... just reading. Then writing. Of not having to worry about A THING. To live like a hermit, away from facebook and livejournal and tv shows and internet and PEOPLE. Oh, the holy amount of people on this earth, streaming about like ants preparing for winter season. It's absurd, the way we live. The way people have lived. The way people WILL live. It's just, absurd. And I know I am just as much a part of that absurdity as anyone else living and breathing air. But does being aware of it make me less so? I used to think so, in my more pretentious days. Now, I'm not so sure. I feel like, after having realized that and not running straight into the bathroom to slit my wrists at the revelation, I must be a hypocrite. However, if there is any hope for the human race--or, any DESTRUCTION, 'cause I'd like to stick around to witness it, there may be hope for life.

I get so angry at my dog when she pees on the carpet, just missing the pee pads we've laid out for her. I go downstairs, stick my laundry in the machine, come back upstairs, and she's peed.

I know how god-awful Americans are about their precious animals, but I feel like one of those parents who don't REALLY love their children--I mean, they take care of them well enough, but they just never seem to get into it, you know? Like, their hearts are not REALLY in it. That's how I feel. The annoyances outweigh the benefits, at this point. When I was a little girl, I thought having a dog was so awesome, but now I realize the dog needs me more than I need the dog. If I may say so, I think I take care of her pretty damn well, but it's more out of a sense of responsibility than anything. She's a sweet dog, but her pooing and peeing in the house occasionally just makes me want to blow my top, as well as her constant focus on food and nothing else.

I'm also just uncomfortable with the idea of owning a dog, or any animal with a free will. Dogs are so much debased, actually, the more I think about it. Owning a cat's closer to having a relationship with another human, rather than owning a slave / toy, which is what dogs almost are. I mean, seeing dobermans get yanked around by their collar by obese, self-righteous people is just laughable to me. I try not to yank my dog around; she walks in front of me, I don't bother training her. I'd like her to have free will. Of course, that means I'd need mine too.

I always think people who own dogs, especially like 3 dogs, and they keep replacing them after one's died, are people who just want that sense of control over another creature's life. Kind of like having kids, except a dog will never leave you. I mean, you get the dog / kid before they're even able to make value judgments, so they're FORCED to love you. I hate forcing people/animals to love me, and also being forced, like with my parents.

I just need to constantly remind myself never to have children--it'd ruin my life at first, then it'd ruin theirs. I can deal with the "lack of love" in my life... as long as I have my freedom. Freedom, the single most important thing in a human's life. We feel the lack of it most intensely, more than other animals.

...today, on the way to Willow Street with my mom, in the car. Over stuttering, of all things. I just get seriously so insulted whenever someone says to me, "Why aren't you using your breathing technique?" "Why aren't you trying to get better?" 1) Stuttering isn't a disease, 2) If it were a disease, I would kill myself before "getting better", 3) "Getting better" is neurologically, physiologically, SCIENTIFICALLY impossible.

I challenged her in the car, "Okay, take a breath, and say exactly 3-5 words per breath, count them on your fingers" and she wouldn't do it. Anyone--imagine having to do that for every single thing you say. It's enough to make you want to become a mime rather than live that way. I mean, sure, there are ways not to stutter--become a mute, talk in a robot voice, talk in a whisper, sing-talk, talk in time with a metronome. Great. Those are all almost fool-proof ways to become what one would call "fluent". And then--the process of living? What would that be like? Stutterers are speakers, sure, but we're also HUMAN, with lives to live and feelings to feel and faces to save. Unless you are really that dedicated to decreasing your speaking time by seconds, it's really just not a viable option. And you know what--fuck anyone who doesn't wait. If they won't wait, I won't speak. Or I'll speak to myself, if I feel like it. If they don't want to hear it, fine. I've moved my castle away from the foundations of social existence years ago, and I plan never to return. My mom didn't understand that I wasn't mad at her, but at the entire dregs of humanity. As a parent, I know it's a pretty helpless feeling when you're child is worrying about how to go through job interviews to get a job to support herself, so all you can do is displace those feelings of anger onto yourself, and try to help your child work through those emotions, but she can't possibly bring the entire gob of humanity in front of me and allow me to vent.

it's humanity. Humans. Beings. And I , sadly, am one of them. Been trying not to be for years, but at 20 years old and a college senior, I realize I may not be able to hold the world at bay for much longer. And it scares me, but it also gives me a chance to prove myself, not to anyone but myself. I'm always ready to kill myself, which may seem like a sign of mental illness, but for me, it's much healthier than the other options people choose to take: fooling themselves, deliberately tying themselves down with commitments (spouses, children, houses), working soullessly at jobs they hate, watching endless sports games and pretending they're not contributing to pro players earning a disgusting amount of money at their own expense. Death is, heaven, compared to many of the options we have here on earth. I used to feel ambiguously about what death was--that it didn't matter whether we stayed or left or partly left or partly stayed or whether we still had a soul or conscience in the afterlife. I believe that yes, we DO have a part of us that moves on to the afterlife, and I'm willing to see what's on the other side, if things get bad enough here.

The afterlife cannot be ambiguous for me any longer, because many of my best friends are in the afterlife. Writers, thinkers, philosophers, even the occasional entertainer--all of them give me hope for living, to accomplish a fraction of what they achieved here on earth. And now they've moved on, but obviously not to oblivion, because they live in all of our hearts. But do they live on in their own hearts, or each others' hearts? Oh, one can only hope de Beauvoir and Sartre found each other again. That the Lindberghs were reunited and are zooming around in airplanes above the clouds. One can only hope, is all.

So the Bridge School Benefit concert has come and gone. Conor Oberst, once again, is the source of this heartache. How long has it been? ...5 1/2 years, if I am truthful. I've made great strides, I think, if I were to toot my own horn. I've given away all my bright eyes shirts (indirectly) to farmers in the China countryside. I listened to Bright Eyes in the car a couple of weeks ago, which was bad, but I haven't since. I don't know how to erase his songs off my iPod, and I still have his CDs in my cd shelf. But I've recycled all magazine clippings and pictures I've accumulated over the years regarding him.

But then he pops up on ONTD, which isn't helping. I caught his performance on Letterman the other night. It wasn't really that good, which pleased me in some way. Actually, whenever he disappoints me or fails to meet my expectations, I breathe a sigh of relief. The obsession is held off for that much longer. However, then he does something really cool or amazing or just plain cute (I mean, you know how cute he can be...), I feel like I'm a high school sophomore all over again. When in fact, I am a college senior. Gosh, how long will this last?! I always said I needed to find a real boyfriend, and goodness I've gotten close a couple of times, but no good. I've even met a couple of real flesh-and-blood boys that, on the surface, would give Conor a run for his money (unbelievably cute AND artistic), but then they're a disappointment. I think it's just that PEOPLE are a disappointment--even Conor, if I ever met him. In fact, from what I hear from fans who've met him, he's more often one than not. So, I mean, I'd love to meet him and be disappointed. But then ALL illusions of humanity are shattered. And... what if I meet him and he's NOT?? That'd be even worse--I'd be in love for the rest of my life, probably. I've been filtering him out of my life for years, and I think I will be successful one day. It's just like a long-forgotten ache that twitches in my side, once in a while. Like a lost childhood best friend or past illusions about being in a happy family. It's just one of those things that rise up in your throat once in a while, but you swallow a couple of times and continue with your day.

And you wait... God how everyone WAITS, for the day when you're not just "continuing" but living. I can't even imagine what that would feel like: to wake up every day excited and ready to live life, to feel IN LOVE with someone who loves you back, to wake up next to someone like Conor Oberst, I wouldn't feel like I needed anyone else in the entire world, for the rest of my life. It's that sort of thing. And yet, I don't feel myself worthy of that. I know I'd be endlessly happy, but I'm not so sure about him. That would worry me. I'm a person who needs adoration, and constantly. Not just in the beginning or on special occasions.

It's what Simone de Beauvoir needed, as well (she's in my icon), though she never got it. Not from Sartre, anyway, and only for a period from Algren and Lanzmann. Sartre was too famous for his own good, just like Conor is for his. Too many suitors, too much temptation. Sartre wasn't even cute, and he got laid like crazy.

Oh, but whatever this thing is will die down, if I have anything to say about it. I spend most of the day arguing with myself, talking to myself, making myself more interesting for me to talk to that it's no wonder I don't have many friends. Who needs them, really, when there's books stacked on my bookshelf waiting to be read, all those conversations with minds more brilliant than any to be found in my immediate vicinity?

Oh, to meet a brilliant mind in MY lifetime, in THIS place. Of course, I do know the chances of my meeting one are decreased if I don't even LOOK--but that takes time, no? So much wasted time of "socializing" and "facebooking" and talking about stupid things like weather and post-graduation plans... gee, who has time for all that? I'd really like one day to hire someone to do my socializing for me, like an agent. I'd also like to hire someone to scan potential books for me and tell me if they're any good, so I don't have to waste my time reading them (because once I pick up a book, it's highly unlikely I will put it down before finishing it, no matter how bad).

Okay, decision made: I am going to write in Microsoft Word, to get my thoughts out as rapidly as possible. I'm always paranoid that people who read this will think my life is one long list of complaints and internet-hate me.

Whatever.

I got accepted into Psi Chi (read: National Honor Society for Psychology)! Yay. I didn't think my GPA would be good enough, but apparently it is. Sweeet. You see, in high school, there was a National Honor Society Club and I really had no idea what they did except sit around and admire each others' brilliance, but the people who were in it had SUCH bragging rights that it made me sick. Anyway, my getting into Psi Chi just shows how much better college is for me, because I feel I can actually achieve stuff here. High school was just disappointment after disappointment, letdown after letdown...drove me insane that way. I feel like I am really finding out who I truly am in college. I had a really good session in therapy today. I remembered some painful memories from my childhood that I didn't really want to think about so I pushed them into the back of my mind, but today as I was talking about it, I realized there was a sense of peace within me that is able to let that stuff go and just progress into a better person.

Today, sitting in Abnormal Psych, I realize I may have a bit of Borderline and Narcissistic Personality Disorder in me. However, I don't think I have the full-blown disorder, because my symptoms are not chronic and pervasive. It's just that I have some issues with abandonment and excessive pride when it's not really warranted. Maybe a little bit of Schizoid disorder too, because I tend to sabotage any potential relationships for fear of being abandoned. It sucks, because I really want a boyfriend. Like, I finally feel ready to have one. But...this one guy who's pretty cute, totally my type...he's too happy for me. He's so social and he dances salsa and he's always happy. It makes me feel weird, like I have to be happy too. Then this other guy isn't as cute, and he smokes pot and cheats on tests. I actually smoked pot with him that one time and afterwards I felt really stupid. But I think he understands me a lot more, because he knows how twisted I am. I actually went to high school with him too, but I didn't really know him then. I dunno...I've always liked rebels, because I consider myself to be one. I got really mad at him for cheating, though, and he just didn't give a shit. I called him delusional, and I think he is. I also think he may be a bit Antisocial though (this does not mean un-social, it means acting in ways that go against society). I just like bad boys (let's face it, ALL girls like bad boys, no matter what they say...)

Andddd....that's all the guys in my life right now. I saw my best friend while I was working at AMC (in my frumpy uniform with my hair in a messy ponytail...lovely) and it was really awkward and there was a girl with him. So, great. But I don't think that was his girlfriend. Anyway, he's always been more a little brother to me (you can't spend 12 hours a day with someone, look at their penis, and watch them pee in the ocean without feeling like they're family), but my mom told me that his dad called her and told me he had planned to call me up for lunch or something before he went back to school, but he forgot. I wish he would've, but oh well.

That reminds me!! I'm writing my autobiography for my Life Writing class and I've been writing some GREAT stories (not to brag.) And the whole peeing thing reminds me of another happy memory with him. Nearly all of my happy memories have him and/or my dad in it. But anyway...we were at the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk, standing on the turf and sticking our toes in the wet sand when all of a sudden I see this stream of water trickling from his swim shorts. I asked "what's that?" and he said "I had to go to the bathroom but I didn't want to leave." Anyway, I just CRACKED UP and my parents came over and cracked up as well. Anyway, we put a towel in the car for him to sit on as we drove home. It was just hilarious. Another one was during a piano recital (that we were both in) when he got up on stage, got like 10 bars into his song, turned around on the piano bench, looked remorsefully at our teacher and said, quite matter-of-factly, "I forgot." She turned several shades of red and just nodded for him to leave the stage. Afterwards, his parents were like "what the heck was that?!" and comparing his performance to mine (I played Fur Elise).

Goddammit...let me tell you, if I got married to him, life would be so near perfect it's not even funny. Like...he KNOWS me, inside and out. There is no way I can build that sort of relationship with anybody else, because he knew me from childhood...those innocent days where best friends didn't talk behind your back and your friends completely and truly accepted you for who you are. It's a kind of innocence that no adult can ever experience again, and all relationships that occur after puberty will be tainted more and more by the weight of the world and aches of the heart.

I just miss that part of my life so much, I cry nearly every time I think or talk or write about it. And yet...I know it's over. And I know I may be a little delusional about this. He knows who I was as a child, but not who I was since middle school. He's had numerous girlfriends and engaged in some risky behavior. I'm not sure I know who he is anymore, but I feel like we could pick it up SO fast if we just made the effort. I mean, this was the guy I jumped on his mom's bed with and played the whole "I'll show you if you show me" game. I lay on top of him (and his sister on top of me), each hugging a couch cushion and rolled off the couch numerous times, falling on the ground and laughing so hard I'd be gasping for air.

But...I'm just grateful I still have those memories. I think of them often, and it comforts me to know I was once that happy, and there may be a chance I can be that way again. I will always look at Eric and think of him as my little brother, my soul mate when I was a child. Even if he has girlfriends or gets married, I will always be the first girl (besides his mom) who saw his penis. I will always know the embarrassing stories of him peeing his pants or forgetting his recital song. I've seen him get spanked by his dad and trying not to cry. And as much as it hurts sometimes that those days are gone forever, I am really happy to know I can still remember those moments and draw some comfort from the feeling during hard times.

So today I heard KIM NALLEY perform. Breath-fucking-taking. She is simply amazing and charismatic and humble. At one point, she was comparing herself to Billie Holiday, and she said "Billie was a big girl" and...*slaps thigh* you know, me too." I only paid $5 to get in too, 'cause I'm a student. Pretty sweet.

Anyway, I came upon the realization today that driving while it's raining is similar to driving while feeling the after-effects of pot. The reflection of traffic lights and street lights in the puddles, and the sparkling clarity caused by the rain, and the trippiness when you're not used to driving in the rain made me feel very reminiscent of the day I drove after my first time smoking pot. It all reinforced to me how stupid smoking pot and doing drugs is, because you can get that feeling out of ordinary experiences AND you don't have to lose any brain cells. I remember the first few weeks after smoking pot, I had a lot of trouble concentrating because I missed the feeling of being fucked up. Being the way I am, I have to constantly be in control of myself so I don't go over the edge. I think that's why I freaked out so much at first while high because I was completely out of control, but once I started to give in to it, it got fun. But then I felt like shit for weeks afterwards because I realized what a loser I was to be sitting home every weekend doing nothing.

But THEN I realized that doesn't make me a loser, if I don't think of myself as one. If I choose to sit home and read about French women who lived on the Left Bank and watch Audrey Hepburn movies, so fucking what? That's the kind of person I am. I just read a bit of Kim Nalley's bio and she grew up in the projects and said that people would constantly tell her she didn't "fit in" with her community. Well, her community was intravenous drug users and girls getting pregnant at 14. She was dreaming about being a jazz singer, drinking champagne and eating escargot. And guess what? Now she is.

Today, my mother (who is constantly critical of me) said that her sister (my aunt who's visiting from Taiwan) offered to teach me how to do makeup. I told her "you know what? I like the way I do my makeup, I like my skin, and I like my body." And I do. Because they're MINE. I had bad acne all through high school and I had to endure years of her friends, people in grocery stores, my ORTHODONTIST giving me skin care tips, shoving products in my face, commenting endlessly on how unfortunate such a pretty girl should have bad skin. And after wasting probably hundreds of dollars on useless soaps, creams, medications...my skin eventually cleared up on its own. It still isn't totally clear, but it's clear enough without my having to slather medication on it every night. Things get better with time. Maybe I look like crap now the way I do my makeup, but I like it this way and I will learn in time to do it better, if I have to.

People have to stop judging and start loving. I also just watched Taste of Cherry which, if possible, is more of a mindfuck than Fight Club. The movie is an hour and a half and probably an entire hour is spent watching a guy drive a Ford Ranger around in the desert. But the ending was just preposterous. I don't even know what happened. But it's been 7 hours and I'm still thinking about it -- that's what a movie should do. Anyway, the point, I THINK, is to not take life so seriously. That in the deepest moment of your despair, something may pop out and make you laugh. And there is a happier world not colored by mental illness or emotion that is always going on, as long as you choose to participate in it.

I am still dilemma-ed as to whether I should write in here, word, or my journal. I just don't know. I'd like to have archives of my entries in my actual handwriting, but I usually end up transcripting everything into one giant word document anyway. I don't know what to do. I started using my really fancy Parisian style journal too, which I was going to save for Paris, but I've already tarnished it. So now I feel obligated to keep writing in it. Maybe Barnes and Noble will sell it again. Or, I could look online! Yeah!

Also, I know potentially that someone I know may read this journal so I feel constrained by what I can write in here. For instance, I don't want to mention my name, because it may confirm my identity to people I know. But I also feel better about writing to strangers than to friends or even myself. Something about strangers makes me want to tell them all my secrets. That's probably why people are put off by me; in this world of appearances and deception, people are very wary of honest, frank people.

My mom offered to fly to Paris with me to help me settle down but I said no, I want to do this myself. I know she wants to turn this into another one of her family trips, but I am determined to do this whole thing on my own, from start to finish. I think it's when I get to Paris that I will REALLY have something to write about. Because let's face it, my life hasn't been all that interesting so far, and I've lived nearly two decades. Anyway, I think I will be scared shitless being alone in Paris the first few weeks, but hopefully I will successfully adjust to life there. I have dreamed about living there for so long that it would be devastating if I had a bad experience. But...bad experiences make for good writing. Every time I have a bad experience, I just keep telling myself "it's okay, it's grist for the mill, grist for the mill." Except when I have bad speaking experiences, because I've written about those so much that I think everyone, including myself, is sick of hearing about it lol. Unfortunately, most of the bad experiences I have had are speaking-related. I really need to start getting out and doing more things, taking more risks, and start collecting those bad experiences for my autobiography (by the way, I'm outlining an autobiography for my Life Writing class).

Well if you read all that...you need to get a life. lol just kidding. I'm very appreciative, if you did. All writers want is to be read.

Well, I finished She's Come Undone, and I put off studying for my abnormal psych midterm to do it. It was worth it in some ways, but it wasn't as good as I'd hoped it'd be. She wasn't as tortured or crazy as I would have liked, and the moral of the story is one that's been rehashed millions of times throughout literary history. I much prefer reading something like The Valley of the Dolls or Anna Karenina, which is about figures in the past, than more "modern" characters; I just really dislike this era, I guess. The people are obscene and sex-obsessed and getting dumber by the minute. 

Oh well. It basically made me scared that I will never be loved. Or worse, that love doesn't exist. That I will find someone to love me, but they will end up abusing me or leaving me. Because let's face it: most people equate love with passion, which is your average have sex a couple of times a week, buy you candy and flowers, "be there" for you, etc. etc. You know, the romantic crap that girls always complain about not finding. Or if they find it, it doesn't stay. Maybe it's because guys only pretend to do those things until they're sure the girl won't leave them. Yes, I know your secret. And to think, I've never even been in a relationship.

But, I have a feeling I'm not missing out on much with this whole "love" thing. I've said for the LONGEST time it doesn't exist, and I have yet to be convinced otherwise. And no, it's not that I'm being stupid and socially retarded and the extreme introvert that I am, because I have tried what normal teenagers do: college parties, pot, cigarettes, alcohol, kissing. Every single one of those things have disappointed me and are things I never plan to try again, except the kissing. What I haven't yet tried is the sex, which I am planning to wait for marriage on.

I get more turned on by Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind than some guy sticking his slobbering mess down my throat.

I think I must be a really late sexual bloomer or something; I've even wondered if I am asexual at times. Now I know I'm not, because I DO wish to be desired by a guy. I do want someone to look at me and want to kiss me and touch me and be with me all the time. But I don't think I want to put the effort into a relationship. Which is why I think I'd really like to be a stripper someday, hopefully when I'm still a virgin. Just to be up there and have guys look at me and desire my body but not getting it. Every woman wants to be desired at some point in her life, even if it's for the wrong reasons. What I'd REALLY like is for someone to desire me for my literary intellect and my skills as a classical pianist, but no one has. In college, guys want the fun, flirty, attractive girls...not the bookworms and musicians. Well, whatever. I've always been attracted to older men, anyway. I find myself unconsciously flirting with older men -- like 30+. I don't know if they see me as a kid and are just humoring me (because I look about 15), but I like talking to them from my jaded perspective and amuse them as they tell me to stop being so serious and enjoy my youth.

Today, I skipped class because I felt like it. My mom got home and got mad. It's like high school again...sometimes I wake up in the morning and I just DO NOT WANT to face another day. And when I tell her I'm planning to skip school, she'll go absolutely freak-o on me, ask me exactly what classes I have, what times they are, if I want her to drop off my homework for me. And look where that got me. I became a nervous wreck all the time, depressed, antisocial. Now this morning, I basically just screamed at her from my bed: IT'S COLLEGE. PEOPLE SKIP CLASS; IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL and she went away and hasn't bothered me about it. I played piano for the better half of the morning, trying to relax and not panic about what notes I might be missing from class. I even considered watching a movie by myself and taking a "mental health" day. But then I remembered I hadn't showered and I was gross-looking. But yeah, I really need to get my act together. I always feel like I could be accomplishing great things if I wasn't sleeping all the goddamn time. I just love sleeping too much. I dunno if it's my meds or if I have a thyroid issue, but I'm getting blood drawn on Thursday to check that out. If it's my thyroid, I'll have a legitimate reason for being so lethargic all the time and maybe my mom will get off my case.

Anyway, as much as I always say I don't care about the world and the humans living in it, I DO want to make something of myself, so desperately. So I will no longer be reliant on my parents or my friends and ESPECIALLY a guy. I never want to be the housewife or maid or nanny for a guy. I want to live my own life and have my own money so I will be able to kick THEM out, and not the other way around. But money is such a cliche thing to chase. All those business majors are chasing that money. The problem is, I've always had plenty of money to spend that I've never thought about what'd happen when my parents cut me off. But I don't wanna chase money. I wanna chase passion, and hopefully money will follow. I might regret it somewhere down the line, but I will never regret at least trying to live my life passionately instead of normally.

Period cramps abound. Today, I sat in abnormal psych (which I was 15 minutes late for, whoopee), dying from cramps. I tried to concentrate on Major Depressive Disorder and Bipolar I and II, but all I could think about was gutting myself like the Japanese suicide ritual to rid myself of those damned cramps. Yet another reason why being a woman sucks. Let's see men bleed from their ass and try to still do everything they normally do.

I've decided to start recording about my life in great detail, especially any abnormal symptoms / signs of depression I may have.

I've had a few psychiatrists / psychologists label me as bipolar, while others say I am just depressed. I don't think I am ever happy enough to be considered bipolar...my moods don't really spike, I don't have periods of high energy, etc.

Well anyway, my mom's off playing mah-jong for the 10th (or something like that) straight night in a row, leaving me to take care of my brother. I'm actually fine with this, because the less she is around, the less chance there is of an argument between us. Also, I know she's still in pain over the situation with my dad, and this may be her way of coping with that. I try to be more understanding towards her these days, because I don't think anyone deserves the pain of an unfaithful spouse, especially a woman. Anyway, I just hope she's not sleeping with anybody, though it wouldn't surprise me if she was. I would NEVER ask her about it, though, because...I don't really care and she would deny it come hell or high water, even if she was. She's not like my dad, who still tries to maintain some semblance of honesty toward his kids. That's why I love the heck out of my dad; he's honest, no matter how hurtful the truth may be. I cannot STAND liars, fakers, posers.

I'm really excited about starting She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb. I hope it will be excellent and gut-wrenching, as the reviews claim. I need a book about a really pitiful, losery character to make feel better about my own situation, no joke. I don't know what kind of person that makes me out to seem, but it's true. I need to know that the hero in my story (ie. me) will ultimately prevail. So I read hundreds of books about heroes in other stories and see how they deal with life's low blows. One of my biggest fears right now is losing interest in reading. I've lost interest in playing the piano, hanging out with friends, even writing to some degree. I don't know what I'd do if I were to lose my interest in reading, something I've loved to do as far back as I can remember. But yeah...depression will do that to a person. At least I'm not having suicidal ideations anymore. I used to fantasize about sitting in the car in a closed garage, turning on the engine, and dying peacefully. But I won't do that anymore. Not now, at least. People think depression's a characterological flaw, and that angers me somewhat. Like people who are depressed have weak characters and cannot stand the pressures of life. Like we CHOOSE to withdraw from life and become helpless. I always think of Sylvia Plath, who tried killing herself 3 times, once every decade. She finally succeeded the third time, at age 30. I think about how talented, beautiful, and smart she was. And how much she fought the illness, went through a divorce, raised 2 kids alone in a small apartment in London. And how maybe she didn't intend to die; she wanted to be helped, but it was bad timing so her doctor never got her message and couldn't save her.

Ow cramps. Time to watch Who's Line Is It Anyway. It's probably one of the only things left in the world that can give me a good belly laugh. I need that once in a while.

Today was rather a bad day, speech wise. I spoke up in my Abnormal Psych class and I totally blocked on the first word "is" (short vowels are the death of me) and...everyone stared. Thank God I was in the first row so I only noticed the people around me staring but I'm sure everyone in the back was too. I notice my heart starts beating really fast whenever I even consider raising my hand. After the McGuire Program, my physiological symptoms diminished to almost nothing, but it looks like they're starting up again. Stuttering is such an ebb and flow, though. Easy onset worked really well for me for a couple of weeks, but now it's stopped, because I tend to just drag the sound out forever until I feel "safe" enough to go on the next word. Now what works for me is just pushing through to the next word no matter what, even if I feel like I can't say it.

Oh well. I went to Starbucks with Tiffany today and I stuttered quite badly the entire time, but she was very patient and understanding, as always. I feel really thankful that I have at least one good friend in this world, because one is all you really need anyway.

But yeah...I just watched Life of Ryan where Ryan is called upon by the make-a-wish foundation to meet this girl who has cancer. During the moments when she is filmed, you can see she's not always smiling and sometimes looks like she's about to cry, but she tries to be happy. It reminds me of how I must look to people. At first glance, people have told me I look "emo". People used to come up to me all the time in high school asking what was wrong. Nothing was ever wrong; it's just how I look. But anyway, I love how real disabilities / illnesses can make people. I love how different we are and how devastatingly beautiful our plight is. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather not stutter, but it's not the worst thing I can have. And I'm thankful I can read and thankful that I've developed my writing skills in place of my verbal skills. But, I'm going to continue work on verbal communication for sure. I'm planning to go to the DC course in March, because I feel I could use a refresher in the techniques. Also, I just want very badly to be a room with stutterers again. I've always thought what it would be like to be married to a stutterer. My criteria for a husband used to be he had to play the piano at least somewhat competently. Now, maybe I should add that he needs to have a stutter lol. The only problem is, when I need someone to say something for me, he might not be able to do it because that might be a hard word for him to say as well.

Ahh time to work on my Adolescent Psych paper though. I REALLY need to start doing my homework before 1:00 am lol. This quarter, I want to get a 4.0. I wanna get into Stanford or some really good school like that, because I'm sick of being known as the "average" student while all my friends are off at prestigious universities. Besides, grad school is what really matters anyway. Undergrad is just an introduction to your field of study. And...I can honestly say I love my psych major. I don't care if I don't make a lot of money...I'll figure something out, because I love it so much. Nothing can go wrong when you're doing something you love. Plus, I gotta help out all those stutterers out there! To me, there is no nobler cause.

So today, I decided that I'm going to play the game just like everyone else. Meaning, doing whatever it takes to get to the top. But all this was before my 5-hour nap (after sleeping 10 hours last night).

Anyway, the point is that I am sick of being idyllic and naive when the world is falling down around me and filled with devils. Herein is the difference: I put on my face every morning because I want to look good to other people, because stuttering has made me SO unbearably self-conscious that I need to look good (or what I perceive as good). Just like yesterday, when I went karoakeing with my "friends." One of my friends is supposedly this really smart biochem, pre-med major and she loves making a fool of herself in public. Not making a fool in a cute way, but in an obnoxious way. Meanwhile, I actually TRY to sing well at karoake, trying to impress my idiot friends. I'm just stupid like that. I must have problems.

The point is, I tend to try at things that don't matter while putting off things that could really help my future.

So from now on I am going to be like everybody else and do things that help me with no regard to other people. Because that's how the world works.

It occurred to me that I should be a business major in order to do this, since the number one thing people want on this planet is money and theoretically speaking, business majors make a lot of money. But business bores me to tears and science melts my brain. Lawyers need to talk and I would probably have a heart attack talking that much every day so...there go the three highest paying jobs. I was considering becoming a psychiatrist because they get paid quite handsomely, but I'd have to go to medical school and have science melt my brain. Why couldn't I have inherited my mother's knack for academia??

My worldview has got to change. But I know I can never really change. So I just have to pretend to change to get where I need to go and then I can buy a mansion in the hills and live as a recluse the rest of my life. But I'm putting off editing an article for the newspaper because that's just what I do. And writing is something I actually LIKE. See my problem?!

So I think I'm going to start writing in here.

Writing in my journal seems too slow and I can't get myself open a word document and just start typing. I do write better with a potential audience, I've noticed.

Anyway, I realized today just how much I dislike my friends from high school. I've hung out with them three times in the past month, and it's just...uncomfortable each time. I can't help but feel that my stutter makes them uncomfortable. Actually, what makes them uncomfortable is probably my looking down every time I speak and not meeting their gaze. I hate when I do that, but it's a reflex. It's like showing that I'm somehow ashamed of myself, which I absolutely am not.

Many people who don't know me well or who I meet for the first time, right off the bat think I have very low self-esteem. Because I stutter, turn red, speak softly. I don't turn red anymore and my speaking voice is naturally pretty soft. I also am not stuttering because I am nervous or have something to hide; it's a disability. And they treat me like I have low self-esteem. This is why I have spent almost my entire period of adolescence believing it. When you are repeatedly treated a certain way, you start to become what you are treated. People ask me why I hate the world so much. Why? Because I am this way because of the way I have been treated. Because...1% of the world is like me. I've only ever been in a room with other stutterers for 4 days. 4 out of 6935 days, I have felt included. Can you imagine what that's like? I mean, sometimes I'm surprised I even get out of bed in the morning, that I even make the effort to go out there and be alive in the world.

But, I'm taking small steps and I am slowly but surely improving. I am feeling good about myself, until I hang out with stupid people who make me feel bad. I know they all have bright futures and will become doctors or lawyers and make the six figures and fall in love and live life the way you're "supposed" to live.

And I'm taking Adolescent Psych this quarter and we're learning how adolescents tend to be obsessed with their "personal fable" meaning they think that everything they experience is unique to them. Like, their joys and their sorrows cannot be understood by anyone else and they are destined to live a meaningful, special life.

I grew quite worried during the class because it seems like most kids are experiencing this from 12-15 and I'm 19 years old and I still haven't grown out of it.

I don't expect myself to become famous or anything, but I expect my life to have some meaning. Like writing a great book or making some sort of breakthrough in stuttering research. I am working towards the stuttering thing and I write quite a lot, but I've never even come close to finishing a book.

I really don't even know what's wrong with me.

I'm seeing the therapists, I'm taking the meds, I'm trying the positive thinking, and I'm STILL not happy. I haven't been happy since I was fucking 12 years old. Back when I had a fucking best friend and my fucking parents weren't fighting and my dad wasn't cheating. This morning, I lay in my bed and I pretended I was back at my old house in my old bed with the sunlight streaming through my shutters and picturing my old room, all bright and girly, and it was all I could do not to cry. How I was back then was SO different than I am now that I can hardly believe the little girl from my memories is just a younger version of me. I miss her so much, and I don't know where I lost that. I don't know when I started to fall, but I did.

I just have to stop hanging out with these people. I lost my shit with them time and time again in high school but I thought college would be different. This just proves the point that PEOPLE NEVER CHANGE. NEVER EVER EVER EVER. So maybe give them a second chance, but never a third or fourth. I have some good friends in college who actually understand my stutter and are proud of me for fighting it. I just don't talk to them enough because I hate being on that boring campus. I prefer to drive straight home and eat and watch tv.

Everyone's in such a fucking rat race to make something of themselves. To get internships, jobs, high GPAs, recognition, money, fame, blah de blah blah fucking blah. I hate this capitalistic, individualistic society. I fucking loathe it. I need to get away from this stupid fucking "land of opportunity." I HATE school and I HATE studying and yet I'm going to grad school, where I'll probably die/drop out. And then what? Become a writer? Will anyone want to actually read what I write? I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WITH MY LIFE. I really don't. I want to end it all, sometimes, but I know how hurt my dad would be. I know he's not divorcing my mom for me. I know he loves me the most in this goddamned world. I know without him, I'd be long dead by now because no one else loves me so much.

I know life can be better than this. I just gotta move out, start my own life, and start pursuing my own happiness. I need to stop comparing myself to every single person I come in contact with and just feel happy about my own achievements. But all this is easier said than done.