Ghost Girl Stories (AKA Journals)

[ghostgirlstories]

...

That time you felt seven Benadryl burning in your tummy and thought, "Am I gonna die in my sleep? Could I even die in my sleep?"

And then you thought that maybe you should tell someone...

And then you decided, "Fuck it, let's roll the dice. Who cares."

Maybe I should leave a note for them to just put my body where it truly belongs... in the trash.....

Just in case I don't make it....

Who cares...

Stop whining about it and just die already. If you're gonna kill yourself you should at least do one thing right in your life and fucking commit... you'll probably fuck that up too...

[ghostgirlstories]

Stuff... fuck it.

*Singsongs*

When you know you're destined to die alone...

[ghostgirlstories]

Journal with a number blah blah blah

......

...........

When you want to destroy the world because it destroyed you, but then you realize how futile that is because you're a fuck up who can't do anything right that no one will ever love and why should they?

I mean... look at you.

And then it dawns on you that that's what you should have done the entire time... destroy yourself.

It's okay. No one will miss you. No one will even notice you're gone.

YOU won't miss you...

[ghostgirlstories]

And Now For Something Completely Different (Journal #9)

May 17th, 2017

Stardate:  94977.56

In this journal/blog/blahblah I seem to always post when I’m having a downward spiral and I noticed that I hardly ever post when I’m feeling okay. Good even.

I decided to change that. 

Good things about today:

-My hair looks killer adorbs (albeit a bit lopsided.)

-I look pretty cute in general. 

-The effects of sparkly nail polish are real!

-I got free coffee from a handsome guy.

-Lunch was satisfying. (And yummy.)

-Life overall isn’t awful. (Which I know is a wide, general statement, and every day there are things that make life both good and bad, but for now I choose to be happy. That’s the difference so let me live in it while I can.)

This past Sunday was Mother’s Day and i got to have a great experience with my mom. She came up for dinner, which I got to buy for her with my own adult money! 

I should probably mention that all the things I’m about to say are going to potentially sound stupid to others, and that’s okay, because it’s not their muthafuckin’ blog so it doesn’t matter! Moving on!

So I drove my mum to dinner, brought her said dinner like a real person, and then afterward we spent some time milling around a beauty store nearby because we happen to share a love of beauty things. After all was said and done we cuddled on my couch and watched some TV before she left for home. 

A couple days before, actually I think the evening before I had been very down on myself about not being capable or feeling like I wasn’t progressing as fast as everyone else around me seemed to be. I have deep issues with feeling stupid or feeling like I’m failing and sometimes I just get bombarded with the idea that I’ll never be as good as I hope to be. 

So to have a few moments with my mum where I could take care of her and show her, “Hey, I’m an adult! Don’t worry, I’m okay. You really did raise me to be a survivor, thank you.” meant the world and it ended up being what I needed. It’s now Wednesday and I think in a way I’m still riding high from it so I’ll just coast on those glowing embers for as long as I can. 

The key, now, is figuring how to maintain that balance of being kind to others and also grow as a human, to treat myself and others with care. 

New goal is at hand. Let’s see how it goes. 

<3

[ghostgirlstories]

The Update (Journal #8)

May 1st, 2017

Stardate: 94934.25

::SPOILER ALERT:: 

Depression is fucking real, man.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

So let’s just talk about some shit for a minute, shall we?

You know and I know that I haven’t made a post in about 6 months. Is it shitty? Yes. Does it bother me? ....Kind of. Do I miss it? Yeah, pretty well.

Will I go another 6 months without making a post?

.......Maybe, who fucking knows. Life’s weird. 

So where am I at mentally right now? Hmm.. that’s a good question. 

Well I low key cried in the car on the way to work today and I’ve been thinking about stabbing myself in the throat with my pencil all day today soo... let that be an indicator I guess? 

Some days I wake up with an idea of who I am and what I’m doing. Things are clear. Other days I wake up and all I see are opportunities to kill myself, at least if I died then no one would have to hear me whine anymore so that could be really nice I think. Silence could be nice. 

Recently I watched a Louis CK special and in it he talked about how he liked living just a little more than he liked the idea of killing himself. I heard that and I wanted to laugh, but the amount of familiarity in his statement was shocking to be honest. The line between wanting to be alive and the alternative is so thin that it’s surprising. 

Now let me take a moment to say that I love my boyfriend, I love my parents, and my family. I cherish my friends. However, there are lots of people who opt out who are surrounded by loved ones. It’s not that they’re not important, just some days I feel so clunky in my body that I can’t stand it. I feel clumsy and unrefined... like a burden and hey, I’m all about manners. Any way I can unburden them is nice. 

-Insert dry, sad laughter.-

Fuck, I just don’t have answers. And the one thing I thought I could do to give myself an equilibrium is tucked away in a beautiful, rusted metaphorical box called a promise. So here I sit.. not sure what the fuck to do with myself on a Monday afternoon. 

I guess I’ll just go home and nap.

Or set myself on fire. 

The night is still young. -Insert rainbow and sparkle emojis.-

[ghostgirlstories]

The One Where I Talk About My Period (Journal #7)

December 13th, 2016

Stardate: 94554.58

Okay, you’re fine. You do this every month like clockwork. (Almost.)

Yes, you may want curl in a ball with a hot bag of rice in your vagina while you slowly die while watching Star Trek. (Mmmm.. Commander Riker. Amirite? Not helping my hormones, btw. They should put a fucking warning on that shit. “Pussies known to convulse then eventually explode when exposed to Riker smiles.”So accurate.)

You don’t remember what you were saying.... 

.....OH YES!

You’ll be fine. You may want to eat chocolate chip pancakes covered in chocolate layered with brownie ice cream and Reese’s. While simultaneously scarfing on a Five Guys burger with cheese fries (let’s be honest) that you probably killed some patriarchal dick bag for. No shame. He fucking deserved it. Now drink his warm blood and eat his burger in victory! 

You know what just dip those fries in his blood like sweet, sweet thousand island dressing. 

IT WILL BE WORTH IT.

And yes, you know and we allllll know that you want to fuck and be fucked with the fiery thunder of the Fuck Gods. You want to cum so hard you forget how hungry you are. (Spoiler alert: not gonna happen, but nice try though. Fuuuuccccck.) Basically your body is ready to burst and what you feel like doing is ripping your skin off, transforming into the werewolf you know you are, but for some fucking reason hasn’t unleashed itself yet (you’re 27, the muthafuckin’ clock is ticking, bitch), and stalk some man in the night before you ravage him and drag his body into the night while shrieking and howling. 

Eventually you will dance naked under the moon, covered in sex and still warm blood, worshiping the spirits that give you life and the strength to survive from moon to moon, ensuring that you won’t snap and masturbate with blood before going insane.... 

.......Yeah, you’re gonna be fine.  

Fuck, I want some Oreos.... 

[ghostgirlstories]

The One Where I Talk About Perspective (Journal #6)

December 6th, 2016

Stardate: 94534.03

I’m not sure if the Stardate thing will become a permanent fixture is these journals, but while I work my way through watching Next Gen they will be. 

Also, let’s just talk about Star Trek for a minute.

So in all my nerdiness, I must make a confession to myself. is it to myself? I’ve never seen any Star Trek series all the way through. Being the only nerd in my family means that I was very late to the game. Not until my formative years in high school did that particular flower begin to blossom in the form of Anne Rice novels translated (more often poorly than not) into film, the Whedon verse-something I live and die for to this day-and surface ideas of goth culture. Not even until my college years did I really start to nurture that particular flower with comic books, art, and the budding interest in rpgs. Now at 27, on the dangerous cusp of “adulthood” am I finally filling in some of the blanks. Star Trek being one of them. 

While I immerse myself in this world I can’t help, but find strange parallels between it and my own point in life. Perhaps that why Trek is so loved. As I write this, the episode “Datalore” plays in the background and the conversation between Data and Lore about the merits of being more or less human seems to hit home more than anticipated. It’s something I seem to struggle with as of late. What is it to be human and to have these emotions that seem to run rampant all the time? Where do I draw the line at reigning myself in, but also allowing myself to feel with a full spectrum? Which feelings matter and which are just false truths that only get me into trouble? And can I only lock some away or is it truly a situation of all or nothing? Maybe THAT is the human condition?

The older the I get the more I seem to learn and this week, the world continued to drive home the idea that situations are what you make of them. Many times this week (though two stand out in my mind significantly) I pressed myself into a situation full of preconceived notions about how the evening would go and both times I was... pleasantly surprised. Is every situation going to be that way? Doubtful. In fact, just last night I experienced the reverse. But I’ll take the blessings where I can get them and until then I’ll just work on adjusting perspective/expectation versus outcome as it happens.

[ghostgirlstories]

The One Where I Try Not To Cut Myself (Journal #3)

November 29th, 2016 You will not cut yourself. You will not cut yourself. You WILL NOT cut yourself. Yes, you feel everything bubbling to the surface. Yes, you feel like you could either claw your face off or smash someone's head in. Yes, you have emotions that seem to be eating you alive. But promises to people who love you are important. More important than your urge to rip things apart, including yourself.

[ghostgirlstories]

The One Where I Talk About Relationships (Especially How Complicated They Are) (Journal #5)

November 11th, 2016

I’m not sure how to start this. I’m not even sure what I want to say so I guess I’ll do what I do best and ramble. I’ll get to the point eventually. It’s been a while since I’ve written down anything that’s been circling in my head. 

Sometimes I like to imagine the inside of my mind as a vast cavern that’s eerie and dark, yet beautiful in its strangeness. The caves walls are covered in glitter, but you can only see that because of the multicolored, luminescent, glowing pools scattered on the ground. They vary in shape and size, but each one is deep. Deep enough to pull you under if you get too close. If you dare to dip your fingers beneath the surface. 

Deep enough to drown you. 

Other times I imagine the inside of my mind is nothing, but bright colors and street graffiti; it consists mostly of song lyrics and a language that only I know. 

At times I find myself fantasizing about a love that can decipher my ideas; someone who can see them for who they are and maybe even understand my brand of crazy. Dare I say even love me because of or in spite of it.

But I know that idea is a lie. It’s not real and maybe that’s just some shitty manic pixie dream girl bullshit I’ve been fed my entire life. The idea that someone can love my crazy and that my specific neurosis can make life better overall. The truth is the my feelings are always complex and make love more difficult. My feelings of self worth (or lack thereof) are constant and at 27 I grow more fearful at the possibility that they may never really go away. That I may never be able to wrestle them into submission and that angers me.

I guess what I’m saying is that I hope for a day when I don’t feel like an afterthought or an inconvenience. I’ve spent so much time trying to reign in my emotions that I never considered the idea that they may never truly be under my thumb. I know the day I give I’ll never make progress again though so each day I try and I wake up and tell myself that I have a place. I’m not some figment and I don’t exist solely because others say I do.

And I light incense and sweep the floors of my cave, waiting for a visitor.

[ghostgirlstories]

Mornings with Johnny Cash (Journal #2)

Some day in August, 2016

There are moments in life that you experience that present you with an odd cocktails of sensory details. You remember what you smelt, how bright the sun was, how tired you were, what time of day it was, and who you were with. And you’re not really sure what it means or if it even means anything, but when it’s over the pictures remains burnt into your brain. 

Sometimes when I ride in the car with my fiance and the radio plays, I have those moments. Typically during them I try to take stock in my life and what happens is that honestly I try to remember that not everything is terrible and that, given any typical day, I’m very lucky...

I’m not sure what this entry is supposed to be about.

In truth it’s the 30th and I started this entry over a week and a half ago. I may or may not have lost the meaning, which in and of itself is ironic. 

I lost the meaning. 

I know there were things I wanted to write about. Like my trip to the State Fair with my dad, just the two of us. Honestly I think was the first instance we’ve spent time together in... has it been years? Man, that sounds bad, but good at the same time, you know? The older I get the more life surprises me in so many ways.

It was real. Being at the fair with my dad was real and I kind of.. lost myself. I let my guard down and I was just happy to be with him. I let him win me stuffed animals and buy me nachos and I played Skee-Ball with him. It was everything that I wanted, but had given up on. And I started to see a chip in the wall that was my broken childhood. The thought that maybe I could just let it go. His alcoholism and my constant loneliness. The way his addictions set fire to what I cared about so deeply, which coincidentally was him. Could I possibly live in a world where he could die and I wouldn’t be left with all this weight of shit left unsaid inside of my chest? Maybe I could die without it too? That’s never an option before, but it might be...  

Anyway... it’s good to know that life is still surprising and that sometimes the roadblocks seem like speed bumps after a while. 

[chaoticdreamer08]

Some Funky Title While I Work Shit Out (Journal #1)

August 16th, 2016

While I wrote journal zero yesterday I was already thinking about what I’d write in this first entry. The perfectionist in me wants to have well organized thoughts so whoever reads this, if anyone ever reads this, can follow along without trouble… but I don’t think that’s gonna be a thing. 

I’m not sure why I approach every entry of a journal or really any sort of writing that has no parameters with a sense of structure. I guess that’s me trying to be an adult. Speaking of, my preconceived notions of “adulthood” are going to be the death of me. At least that’s what I’m feeling right now. I’d like to say with confidence that I believe that adults can do or be anything and adulthood is something that’s in a constant state of flux. A construct if you will. I know this to be true and yet I have these standards that I am constantly holding above my own head. And just when it feels like I’m about to touch the bar, I move it farther away until it’s juuuust out of reach again. Maybe in an effort to push myself?

I suppose this is how personal progress is made in theory, but really it feels more like little me is being taunted by a much bigger, slightly older version of me. Like kids in grade school. I am my own bully. I know this about myself and yet I have not figured out a way to actively combat this behavior, which is maybe the most frustrating of all. It might be different if I didn’t recognize it, not necessarily better, but then it wouldn’t feel like I’m watching the gears of a broken clock malfunction over and over again. But I digress…

So anyway, preconceived notions about how adults live. The ones that I seem to having the most trouble with right now are:

-Adults know exactly how they feel all the time.

-Adults can effectively choose how they feel.

-Adults can effectively choose to ignore their feelings without backsplash.

-Adults don’t cry in front of others.

-Adults don’t confuse themselves.

-Adults can make ends meet without remorse. 

And here’s the real kicker…

-Adults know how to properly communicate with other adults. (And I don’t mean about shit like what show they watched last night. I mean about real shit.. like thoughts and feelings and hopes, etc.)

The longer I live the more I feel like I’ve learned some universal truth about life that demolishes any of these ideas. And that’s okay. I knew they weren’t true, but I’ve been taught for so long that adults just have their shit together and that’s what i want. I just wanna have my shit together so the seams of my life don’t unravel as quickly. Or at all. That would be great. 

[ghostgirlstories]

The One Where I Tell You To Fuck Off (Journal #4 because 2 & 3 are being written)

August 18th, 2016 TRIGGER WARNING: Self worth issues and anger. Fuck you. Fuck you and her. Fuck you fuck you fuck you FUCK YOU!!! Fuck you and your bullshit pacifying words. Fuck everything you said and how I felt better like the stupid piece of shit I am. Fuck you and how angry I am at you. Fuck you and how angry I am at how angry I am at you. Fuck you and the sudden sinking feeling in my whole goddamn body. Fuck you and how I feel like I'm gonna throw up. Fuck you and how you're the person I wanna run to, but I can't because fuck you. Fuck you and how worthless I feel. Fuck you and that little nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me I should just bury it and settle because no one will ever look at me and love me the way you do. Fuck you and fuck you and fuck you and fuck me. Fuck me.

[chaoticdreamer08]

So.. this is a thing.. maybe. (Journal #0)

August 15th, 2016

So for a while I’ve been trying to get back into writing. As a maker and honestly, a sensitive human being, writing was part of my daily routine for a while and in the past couple of years I’ve gotten very lax in that practice. 

This is my attempt to remedy that. 

While I don’t turn my nose up at writing in a physical journal, in fact that was my motus operandi during art school, I have this impulse to experiment with a different format. I will admit that this style does lend itself to a certain accessibility. 

Also the backspace key is real. So very, very real. And let’s not forget about our good old friend spellcheck. That feature alone is enough to make me look more than once at chronicling my thoughts and day to day life digitally. And let’s just talk about the time factor too while we’re at it. If I had been writing this by hand it would have taken me twice, maybe even three times as long. 

To be honest, I’m not really sure what this is gonna turn out to be, or if I’ll even keep up with this regularly, but any progress is better than none and if I can somehow manage to bridge the gap then it’s worth it. I’m also really unsure of what will be talked about in these journals. Anything, everything. I’m almost positive I’ll repeat myself because my emotions are a constant cycle that seem to be never ending, but I have hope that maybe I’ll make some breakthrough. 

Not every entry will be serious, or even meaningful, but I do know that I will put as much out here as I feel comfortable with. I think also what I’m looking for is a place where I can just talk and no one has to listen. It’s not gonna make sense all the time, but it’s better stored somewhere than in my head. And if people read it then.. well.. that’s cool I guess. If not.. at least I’ll figure some things out about myself I hope. 

So in advance, I’m thankful for what this gives to me. 

[ghostgirlstories]

So I can store these (mostly) all in one place...