cookiedough: (FOB - Peter Pan)
pretty new myspace default. i've also added a pic of me and Fall Out Boy from the London show. it's possibly the stupidest meet and greet picture ever. check it out and laugh.

reading prozac nation at the moment. upsetting for a multitude of reasons.

I think to myself: I have finally gotten so impossible and unpleasant that they will really have to do something to make me better. And then I realize, they think they are doing all they can and it's not working. They have no idea what a bottomless pit of misery I am. They will have to do more and more and more. They think the psychiatrist ought to be enough, they think making the kind of cursory efforts any parents make when their kid is slipping away will be enough, but they don't know how enormous my need is. They don't know how much I will demand of them before I even think about getting better. They do not know that this is not some practice fire drill meant to prepare them for the real inferno, because the real thing is happening right now. All the bells say: too late. It's much too late and I'm so sure that they are still not listening. They still don't know that they need to do more and more and more, they need to try to get through to me until they haven't slept or eaten or breathed fresh air for days, they need to try until they've died for me. They will have to suffer as I have. And even after they've done that, there will still be more. They will have to rearrange the order of the cosmos, they will have to end the cold war, they will have to act like loving, kind adults who care about each other, they will have to cure hunger in Ethiopia and end the sex-slave trade in Thailand and stop torture in Argentina. They will have to do more than they ever thought they could if they want me to stay alive. They have no idea how much energy and exasperation I am willing to suck out of them until I feel better. I will drain them and drown them until they know how little of me there is left even after I've taken everything they've got to give me because I hate them for not knowing.

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'man is least himself when he speaks in his own person. give him a mask, and he'll tell you the truth.'

true on so many levels. without my face attached, i can say and do and be so many things that otherwise, i'd be too embarrassed, too ashamed, too attached to do. on the most basic level.. dancing. on the deepest... well..... well.

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cookiedough

November 2011

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