History [aka the life of disasters.bitch] (written early 2010/late 2009)

This is my history, for any of you who are wondering. It might not get posted right away- hell, it might not get posted at all- but its something that's been sitting on my chest for awhile, and it will be good for me to write it all out, and I'm starting at the very beginning. No secrets. No lies. Okay?
I don't really remember anything from birth to about six years old. Yeah, I have random nonsensical snippets, like watching my father china paint or coloring in the church's basement, but nothing substantial happened then. At six, I started to go to camp. That first summer, I attended three weeks. Two were things I was actually eligible for, being six, and one was a puppeteering camp that my father was directing, and I came with him and slept at home, since we lived close. That's when I fell in love with theatre, at six years old. I loved watching the grown-up kids putting on their makeup, singing on the somewhat makeshift stage and dancing with each other. That was also the year that Dad directed some choir, and we travelled around watching them perform for couple weeks. I love choirs.
When I was eight, we moved for the third time in my life. I don't really remember any of the other moves- I wasn't ever upset that I remember, because, to my memory, I had very few friends as a child. When we moved from the third house, I remember being a little sad- I loved my house, and I had a small group of friends, who I realize now probably weren't the best ones- but kind of excited to make new friends and be popular. After all, everyone said that when you moved you got to reinvent yourself.
This might be the time to mention that I was a really, really dorky child. At JC Penneys, they used to sell these shirts in the kids section, and the girls plus section (which was basically womens clothing for large children like me) that were short sleeved, incredibly soft, and had little embroidered emblems in the center of the chest. Palm trees, butterflies, flowers, dragonflies, things like that. Over time, I collected an insane number of these shirts. Enough that I wore a different one every day. Obsessively. I wouldn't wear other shirts, until winter, when I wore sweaters. Hair was usually in a headband, long, honestly because I didn't know how to make a ponytail, and at the time, Mom was preoccupied with three little kids and I didn't want to bother her to learn. When it wasn't, it was french braided down my back, like it was on 9-11, when I found out about the World Trade Centers on our living room floor, and understood that it was bad because Mom pulled too hard and she almost never did.
But back to the move. I thought, being my eleven year old self, that this would be the year where everything changed for me. I'd get my period, lose what I thought was baby fat, and become stunningly popular and beautiful, and I'd finish all my work and start medical school next year. Needless to say, the exact opposite happened. I remember having very few friends the first year there. Mainly, it was one named Michelle, who, if lesbianism turns out to be conditioning rather than  genetics, was the one who "turned me into a lesbian". Got that, critics? It wasn't my mom. It was the bullying, obsessive, moody best friend I had when I was eleven, who threw fits when I didn't give her her way, and thought she would become famous singing off-key country music. I remember her talking about my body all the time- asking what diet I was on, how much I'd lost, and feeling my chest, because I, at eleven, had relatively large curves and she wanted to know what it felt like. I don't know if she really was a lesbian, but she talked more about bodies than anyone I knew.
The next year, I started public school. I was so excited. I thought it would be like the movies- all bright coloring and shiny soundtracks. I'd just finished watching Mean Girls, and I thought that all homeschooled kids really got accepted like that- liked immediately. The first month was a blur. The second month was a painful blur. Of the three months I was there, I came away with five things: I had been to my first dance. I couldn't dance, and I didn't know the music, but I'd been, and I knew what it was now. I had had my first boyfriend- though we'd both agreed that dating in middle school was stupid, and that we were just kind of... betrothed to date, in the future. He did, however, bring me flowers and candy on my last day at school, which was nice of him, and I went on my first date- We saw "A Series of Unfortunate Events" at the two-dollar theatre down by Kmart, and he laughed at all the right places with me. I met my friend Liz, who I doubt remembers me now, but we sat together in chorus and she threatened to tape me to my chair my last day. I met my friend Chris, who I later attended prom with (2009).

Eeeek! I just found something Fabulous!

So as some of you know, I'm a total bookworm, with a preference for lesbian literature (obviously). I'm also a lesbian film buff. Girl + Girl= fab. Anyway, so I was googling something completely unrelated, and found this little gem:
http://www.leewind.org/
What's this, you ask?
A queer literature site. This makes me extremely excited (in a total, nerdy "I love books" way. Perverts.)
Anyway, there's this book called "Ash", which I'm particularly longing for. However, I'm almost certain they won't have it at my local library. I'd also love to read this other book... "Absolutely Maybe".
Okay, so I know this is a short blog, but I've already posted today, so no complaints.
Goodnight for real this time.

Exhaustion

So... Maybe I'll actually blog for once.
The past few days/weeks have kind of been a blur.
I think I'm developing depression... let me look up those symptoms.

Sadness or hopelessness (check.)



Irritability, anger, or hostility (check. I'm a really un-angry person, but lately, I've been really grouchy. I've been pissing myself off.)


Tearfulness or frequent crying (check. Again. Never used to cry.)


Withdrawal from friends and family (check.>.> I've been sitting up here alone for the past four hours... okay, not unusual, but I haven't talked to anyone, except a brief set of emails on facebook. So...)


Loss of interest in activities (check. Not wanting to go to drama, write or do artistic things? What?)

Changes in eating and sleeping habits (check. I can't keep an eating pattern anymore, and I can no longer sleep at night.)


Restlessness and agitation (check. I can't BE here anymore!)


Feelings of worthlessness and guilt (check. check. check.)


Lack of enthusiasm and motivation (Hahahahahahaha. check. What if I no longer really want to do anything?)


Fatigue or lack of energy (check! Sleep...)


Difficulty concentrating (check. Blogging rather than homework, and I'm barely sticking to finishing this.)


Thoughts of death or suicide (check.)

Anyway... Ummm... Shout out to A.B.(did you realize your initials are AB? *giggles*) Anyway... Danke for the comments, and I'm glad you appreciate my writing. :)
So... I'm feeling really awful. I suppose I've got some kind of cold-thing now, but I'm not exactly sure why I'm so achy. Maybe it's the cold- I hate the weather here- it's so yo-yo-y. If I wear long sleeves in the morning, I sweat all day and still freeze by the time rehearsal's done. If I wear short sleeves, I shiver until I get home, and it takes ages to defrost under my blankets...
Speaking of blankets, I had an amazing nap tonight. About an hour and a half long. I just passed out, and didn't resurface until I had to get up and shower, to rid myself of the sticky sweat of wearing long sleeves. Now, of course, I'm freezing again, because my hair takes hours and hours to dry when not blown dry, so after an hour and a half, it's still dripping.
Lesbian updates... lets see. Uhhh. Oh! Found out a girl (from our county rival school, that I've only met once) has a crush on me! Not just any crush, mind, but a crush large enough that on two separate occasions, with two separate friends, she's mentioned it to people, who were sworn to secrecy that they wouldn't tell me. She's a bit shorter than I am, red-haired, with beautiful eyes, though the part the messengers in question (who by the way, did not spill the beans... I guessed.) focused on her flat-chestedness. From my memory(which isn't perfect, as the occasion we spent together, which consisted of seventeen hours together on a trip to New York City was over six months ago...), she wasn't that flat chested. Although, I am a terrible judge of chest sizes, because, to me, anything below a D-cup is rather small in comparison... (I'm a triple D, moving on up into an E soon.) Maybe she is. I don't know. But she's a very sweet, if not a little interesting. However, perhaps it's this whole kiss-withdrawral syndrome thing...
Speaking of Syndromes, does anyone else have the problem when they'll go to say an acronym, and they mix up the letters? For example, in my A&P class today, someone asked what SARS stood for. The teacher replied "That Asian flu thing, right?" Now, before you get on him for being a racist... well, okay, he is a racist. Anyway, I piped up with "Sudden Asian Respiratory Disease"- forgetting of course, that SARS is spelled with an S and not a D at the end. I quickly stuttered out "I mean, Syndrome." But by that point, it had instilled doubt into their minds (otherwise, I'm nearly positive they would have believed me. I can't believe how much stuff I can make up in that class. =])
Oh, and on the subject of flu- just so everyone's clear, yes, I did have h1n1, and no, it wasn't that bad. I'm still alive... unfortunately.
Anyway, on that happy note, I'm off to bed. Mmmmm, sleep. I haven't slept in ages... almost two hours now! Horrors! Goodnight, faithful readers... who never comment?

 So... If I don't have it, I'm not sure what this is. But yeah. I think I might.

Tonight

Tonight has been one of the worst nights I've had in awhile.
I don't think I've ever been this hurt by someone.
I've come up with a whole collection of novel ways to hurt myself to cover the pain of her, such as scrubbing my face with alcohol pads (now raw).
My chest feels numb, like a stuffy nose.
My nose, on the other hand, is running like a faucet from all the crying.
My stomach is knotted and making sick, gurgling sounds, like it wants me to eat, but I can't think of anything I want to touch- food would be disgusting.
My skin all hurts and itches, and I just want to cut it all off- though I've realized that I've lost all feeling almost everywhere, because I suddenly looked down and realized my leg was bleeding- guess I walked into something. Don't really care.
I just want to stay in bed and never get up.
Fuck, I have to work tomorrow.
Great.
So my options seem to be kill myself or drown in this depression and die anyway.
I feel disgusting.
Why did I ever think someone as great as her would think twice about someone like me?
Someday, its going to hit me that I might not want her initials scarred into my skin, but right now, I feel like if I were allowed, I'd carve her full name- all fifteen letters and two spaces of it- into my most sensitive skin in caligraphy with a dull spoon.
Tomorrow, I'll work on being okay. Tonight... I just need to sleep and cry.

Changes.

Things have changed since I started this blog.
I'm single. Have been for a few months- just never published it. Being disaster's bitch has taken on a new meaning for me now- disaster seems to rule my life, more so than Zara ever did. I'm still a lesbian, but if I was in the closet before, I'm in a box in the closet now. I like it in here, most of the time... except, how many in-the-closet lesbians can find an interesting, eloquent, intelligent girlfriend who likes them back and wants a little house on the outskirts of a city with two gray kittens and black curtains?


Question: Why are girls so complicated?
My answer to myself: Girls are complicated for the same reason I am. Do I like it when other people expect me to be normal and sane? Obviously not... I'm talking to myself.

Question: Why not? I hear lots of perfectly sane people talk to themselves. Its like a commonplace thing nowadays.
My answer to myself: Commonplace or not, its still the first sign of insanity.

Question: Do you suffer from insanity?
My answer to myself: No... I enjoy every minute of it.



No, in all seriousness... Why are girls so complicated?
Here's my theory: we're complicated because we don't want anyone to understand us. We like that enigmatic feeling of being unknown. Not necessarily all the repercussions of being confusing- just the feeling of power that nobody will ever completely own us. Being confusing is our way of being our own person.

Next question... Why do girls drag us around?
I mean... I don't do it, do I? When I like someone, I commit. This is the girl I want to spend the rest of my life loving... at least until my heart becomes broken and I hate her guts. Is that wrong of me?



I mean... Its not like I have all that much to offer. I'm not that pretty and I can be a total freak sometimes. But I'm loyal and I have enough love to fuel a harem. I want my girlfriend to be happy- even if its without me.

However, right now, I'm on the rampage. The girl I love (that's right L-O-V-E) isn't ever going to like (that's L-I-K-E) me enough to take me seriously, even though I could take much better care of her and love her more than any of her one-week flings. Someday, though, she'll come to her senses. Maybe?

Or maybe you know, I'll end up with the same fucking broken heart I've had all along.

Dear Lovely Readers,

Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my username.
The profanity is not meant offensively, simply as a statement to who I am.
Now that I've cleared that up, today's ranting shall ensue.
Masks.
I absolutely adore masks. Why, you ask, are masks a good enough topic to write an entire entry about?
Lets start with the three types of mask-wearers:

1. People who want to attract attention to who they are, by pretending to be what they are obviously not. These include, but are not limited to:

• Children on Halloween.
• Bank Robbers
• Girls at Costume Parties

2. People who actually want to remain a secret:

• People at Masquerade Balls
• Bank Robbers

3. People whose masks aren't literal, but simply faces that they show the world:

• E-v-e-r-y-o-n-e

Shakespeare once said that the whole world is a stage, and all the people are players.

I say- All the world is a masquerade, and you never know who the hell you're talking to.

I am all three types of mask wearers- I am an actress, I am invisible, and wish to stay anonymous, and I am definately not open with the world at large. But I am willing to change.

So today, with my Brand New Blog, hereby refered to as DBB- Disaster's Bitch's Bitchings (Nice, right?) I AM DITCHING MY MASK. I am throwing myself a coming out party. I've finally taken the plunge(black fingernails), held my breath(ohmygod, people are never gonna read this...) and come out of my little dark closet. Byyy the way- Disaster is a girl. A really beautiful girl who constantly breaks my heart and almost never says she's sorry.

;) Goodnight Darlings.

Lots of Love,

~disasters.bitch~