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LiveJournal for DrWorm.
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| Saturday, June 5th, 2004 |
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I have now seen PoA. Please keep in mind that I have been waiting more than FOUR YEARS to see Prisoner of Azkaban on the big screen. Thank you. ( Spoilers and almost shameless fangirliness ahoy! I apologize in advance. ) *waves little Harry/Remus flag* Whee! Whee! |
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 Don't bother trying to act tame.
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blah.| Tuesday, May 25th, 2004 |
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How do they rise up? In memory of... John Keel Billy Wiglet Horace Nancyball Dai Dickins Cecil "Snouty" Clapman Ned Coates Reg Shoe (technically) Don't forget the hard-boiled egg. |
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| Friday, May 21st, 2004 |
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I think a tree just almost fell on my car. Well, maybe a branch. A big branch. No. No, I don't think so. Definitely a whole tree. Although there is a branch resting on my car. I can't tell whether it did any damage. I'm not sure I want to know, to be honest. ETA: Only thing really damaged was the passenger side mirror. Yay? |
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| Monday, May 17th, 2004 |
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Shut up. Just shut up about the fucking 'cutting.' In fact, stop fucking calling it that! There are an infinite number of ways, and a comparable number of reasons, to hurt yourself. As for "former cutters" ... please, please, please stop starting off every. goddamn. time with "I cut, but I never did it for attention. Oh no, not me." You have no idea how quickly that kills your credibility. I have no doubt that there are plenty of people who do not go to great lengths to draw attention to their self-mutilation, but the "I never, ever showed anyone my cuts or talked to anyone about it because I did it purely for myself" attitude? Oh, bullshit. Bull. Shit. Even the people I knew who wore long pants and shirts year round and kept it hidden from their family members... well, they sure as hell talked to me, didn't they? No pride, no sense of showing off... but not a lot of shame there, either. Just another part of life, y'know? But the desire for attention is still there... small, but there. You say, "Hey, I do this and I can't stop, what's wrong with me?" and I answer back, "Poor dear, nothing's wrong with you. But I hate to see you hurting." We all want to be loved. We all want to feel special. To know that hurting yourself hurts other people is a special feeling. An epiphany. Something you can get a little addicted to. I cut for attention. And I don't really mind admitting that. I mean, I did theatre for attention, I draw for attention, I got good grades for attention, I argue with people for attention... not only is it fairly typical Borderline behavior, but it's behavior that can definitely be seen in the general population of people who are not mentally ill. (The difference being found in level and intensity.) For me, attention can become somewhat overwhelming or irritating, but never unwelcome. Anyway, peoples' ideas of what defines a serious cutter and what does not are sorely, sorely inaccurate. Someone might be tempted to say I'm a teenie-bopper attention whore because I don't always cover up the scars on my arm? How dare I not make sure that you are spared from a part of my body that you find grotesque?! But I wear t-shirts all of the time. Any season, any climate. I've done so for years. I also work with paint or chalk or clay, and have foolishly gotten into the habit of rolling up my sleeves to keep from ruining my clothes... my god, how could I be so thoughtless as to subject other people to the scar tissue on my arm? I must not be 'serious'! I can't possibly be a 'real' cutter! Oh boo hoo. 'Cutting' isn't a club. It isn't a 'subculture.' No afternoon get-togethers for tea and crumpets. I don't want to hang around with these people in mass numbers. Some of them intimidate me, some frighten me, and some irritate me to no end. All self-injurers are different people, and something like cutting isn't going to bring a bunch of different personalities together on a long term basis. (God, I thought this kind of generalization was dying down with gay issues and homophobia, but no...) All cutters do not have some code of solidarity, standing up for one another... absolutely not. (Ask me about the kid in the hospital who told me smugly that my scars couldn't be from cuts, they had to be burns... as if I wasn't doing it right for chrissake.) Besides, I don't give a shit what other people think of the scars on my arm; they're there, I can't take them back, move on with your lives. I hate the romanticism that has been associated with cutting; I wrote a thinly-veiled rant called "Grue" because of it. Cutting yourself is disgusting. It can be painful. It's degrading. It stems from ugly emotions like hatred and aggression and depression. It can land you in not-fun situations, like hospitalization or interrogation by authority figures. Obviously, it can make you a topic fit for ridicule. And yet, I still do it. It's part of my sense of self. It's something I can use to comfort myself or manipulate others. I'm competitive, and how many or how deep your scars are seems to translate to "How big are your problems?" Part of me hates the scars on my body, but part of me is fulfilled. Hurting myself fills holes in my life and personality that I'm afraid I could not fill on my own. Is this true or rational? No, I suppose not. But even in the face of the rational, I prefer self-mutilation. That's life for me. What's truly disturbing to me, though? Other people trying to fit self-injurers into an inaccurate description that never changes. People self-mutilate for so many reasons, there is no possible way for an ignorant individual to determine who deserves the 'title' of "cutter." People react in so many different ways... have we all suddenly forgotten about the concept of individualism? Does it cease to exist here? A psychatric diagnosis is nothing like a diagnosis of cancer or of the 'flu. There are only guidelines, not a set progression of symptoms. It's called an "inexact science" for a reason, folks. This is it... this is the whole point: You cannot rationalize this. You cannot use logic to figure out why a person cuts, bites, slaps, chokes, burns, or otherwise mutilates himself. You cannot say "This person does it for attention and this person does it for ___ reason." Unless you are a psychotherapist who has worked fairly extensively with people who cut, you should keep your damn mouth shut and not try to make a diagnosis. You will not understand. People who hurt themselves don't understand. Your logic is wasted. This is a much, much different territory. We're through the looking glass, people. |
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infuriated.| Wednesday, May 5th, 2004 |
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| Back home. | ||
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Don't bother trying to act tame.
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| Thursday, April 29th, 2004 |
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| And back to the crisis center I go... | ||
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Don't bother trying to act tame.
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| Monday, April 5th, 2004 |
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This is a late art entry for ![[info]](http://library.vu.edu.pk/cgi-bin/nph-proxy.cgi/000100A/http/web.archive.org/web/20040612150259im_/http:/=2fstat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} maeglinyedi's Worst Nightmare Challenge.( The Spoils of War, PG-13 ) |
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Don't bother trying to act tame.
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| Saturday, March 13th, 2004 |
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I promised myself I'd never do this, because it tends to annoy the shit out of me when other people do... but... Only benign entries, concerning fandom or web updates, will be public from now on. I'm not friends-locking the older entries, since I don't see a point (and there are so many of them... ugh) but from now on, anything vaguely personal will be locked. I use this, and regard this, as a journal. I'm not doing so hot emotionally, and I know this--and it's come to my attention that it might not be good for the rest of the world to know it too (duh on me). I'm not too keen at the moment on "talking" about my problems, seeing as "talking" usually consists of another person lecturing and me supposedly listening and absorbing. This is the one place where I talk and no one talks back... and if someone does, I don't have to give a damn. I'd prefer not to lose it. So I won't. *hugs friendslist* This doesn't really apply to you, of course, or even to future friends... I'll still, more often than not, add people on my own and add people who friend me first. I've just decided to take advantage of some of the screening options available. |
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| Friday, March 12th, 2004 |
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Accomplished today: laundry, rat maintenance, reread The Phantom Tollbooth... All between violent bursts of crying (haha, another one coming, I so suck). I hate the fact that my father is back. He's not acknowledging my presence anyway, so I probably shouldn't be bothered, but just the fact that he's in the house is making me unhappy. Feels like I can't breathe; I got used to being able to actually live in my house instead of holing up in my little room and surviving on Diet Coke and the Internet. God, I'm so sick of drowning my pillow in tears and snot. When will this just end? Never, never, never, and I'm so tired of these emotional maelstroms that I can't predict or control and that leave me feeling even more broken. I just want to go back in time to when I was still able to function sort of like a normal human being. I whine too much, but I have no one else to talk to... |
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The panther is very unhappy and, thus, I am also generally unhappy. I know, it's not a particularly emotionally healthy system... can't help it. Love is love is love and he's about the only person I can muster up empathy for. So I shall. Besides, it gives my suicide/mutilating side a taste of its own medicine... or at least that is what sommeone feeling cynical might say. Dunno if the medicine'll work too well, though, seeing as I'm in a bit of an "I should just slit my wrists and get out of everyone's way" mood lately myself. (This sounds so pathetically like a cry for attention, but I don't really regard it that way; it's more just me talking about my day. Other people mention what happened at work or what's going on in fandom... I'm just documenting my suicidal ideation and mood swings. Deal.) I hate other people who get in the way... it's like being sneakily undermined by someone who thinks they're being nice. I want to push them away and say "Get away! You're not good enough for him!" Or, if I'm feeling even more possessive, "He's mine, mine, mine, and you are not allowed to try to take him!" There was one woman whom he emailed occasionally... I remember her first letter was so goddamn snotty that I instantly developed a grudge. And I hold pretty serious grudges... often against people I don't know, but have taken an instant dislike to because they have wronged my panther or (sometimes worse) he has taken a liking to them. Yes, I'm jumpy about being "left" ... I've gotten used to having it happen to me, so I perceive other people as a complete and utter threat, no matter how irrational that makes me. Hi, I'm Stephanie the Stalker! Oh well. I'm jumpy about a lot of perceived "threats," and since my instinct is to get defensive rather than reticent, I don't tend to be very popular or friendly (and now you know... ah, enlightenment). Then there are the people who are nasty, and I just want to shake them and say "How dumb can you get, asshole?" I hate when someone's off-hand, stupid comment makes everything that I say that is actually true or good completely obsolete and unimportant. It's like they're actively stealing from me, and that's the most maddening thing ever. Crying now. Ah, shit, shit, shit, why does it never stop? |
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crushed.
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:P I'm going to animate the .gif images later, but here's version 1.0 for scrutiny. |
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amused.
| Thursday, March 11th, 2004 |
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Am feeling... petulant, I guess. I seem to be pretty good at sitting down in front of my computer and going, "Hey! I really suck!" And nothing seems to prompt it. Not thinking about being worthless or worrying about the future or worrying about money or self-hatred... none of those thoughts. Just a sort of generalized depression. Everything does not suck, but I am nonetheless unhappy. Applied to run a Herbert/Dan fanlisting, to operate in conjunction with a Re-Animator slash site. Have a pretty good handle on what I want to do with the layout... my only stumper is that, if I align the main content left, I should have a chunk of space going unused on the right. I was thinking about putting in a sidebar, but I'm not sure what sort of content I could stick there... more links? A picture? A set of randomized pictures? Fanlisting affiliates? Features? Or just scrap the sidebar idea? I am torn. Suggestions welcome. I'ma go do something else now, I suppose. ETA: Also for text on the splash page: "Herbert West has a very good head on his shoulders... and another one between his legs." Too dirty? Too stupid? Too confusing? The name of the site is going to be Mad Scientists Give Good Head (don't blame me; ghostgecko thought it up, and I'm just stealing). So am I going overboard with the 'head' thing? Again, suggestions welcome.
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gloomy.
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Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I just hate the tangled relationship my ISP and my computer have. Maybe I'm just bothered by the fact that I'm having problems breathing again, coupled with chest pain. Had a good talk with ghostgecko this morning in lieu of going to my therapist, seeing as I'd much rather talk to him than to my therapist any day. You see, I do believe he's gotten a bit exasperated with my erratic medication-taking and subsequent mood swings/freaking out/threats of suicide, so he's started calling me in the morning to say "take your pills." I'm afraid that I'm being a drain on his funds, but I've enjoyed talking to him the past couple mornings. (As my mother put it when told about the new pill-calls, "See? If that isn't love, it's at least deep affection.")Also had a nice talk with my mother today, so... a good day for me and talking. Or, for me and talking to anyone who isn't my father (or my therapist, ha). Not such a good talk, that. I suppose he's upset with my grandfather's behavior and Alzheimer's... now there's something I don't know how to or feel like dealing with. Arrgh. |
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Don't bother trying to act tame.
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| Monday, March 8th, 2004 |
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Because it's bad news, it gets to be the first thing you read about in this entry... "Body Pulled From East River Confirmed to Be That of Spaulding Gray." I can't decide whether I want to reread Swimming to Cambodia, or whether that would be too painful. I don't know where Monster in a Box got packed, although that would probably be ten times as painful to reread. And the fact that it was probably suicide makes it worse. Oh, Spaulding Gray... "An American Original: Troubled, Inner-Directed and Cannot Type." I probably ought to lay off the Sylvia Plath for the next few days I'm alone... and remember my medication too. Yep, I'm all alone... my father went to a conference in Columbus and then is going to my grandparents' house for a quick visit. It is, of course, somewhat dangerous for me to be by myself, but tagging along or finding a place to stay while he was away would have taken a considerable amount of arrangement and effort that I didn't feel like expending... and it would have been me expending it, of course. So if I hurt myself or die, oh well. Argh, almost want to do something to myself out of spite now. I hate me. I don't think my panther is speaking to me right now. This is a really bad time for that, but... I couldn't tell him that. If he doesn't want to talk to me, he doesn't. I can't... blackmail him, I guess. I don't want to. I do want to talk to him. There was going to be not-sad stuff here, except that now I just don't care. I went and made myself depressed. Sob, sob, whine, whine, annoying and stupid me. |
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| Friday, March 5th, 2004 |
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For no particular reason (besides not wanting to redo my Winamp playlist after futzing with my mp3s and moving shit around... sheer laziness, I tells ya) I decided to pop in some Everclear. Volume 1. I don't know why this cd has such strong associations for me... it's like... so summer. Summer downtown, wandering between Auntie M's and the theatre, chasing after Ryan, having fun with Ani... and... Alicia. Shit, I'd actually forgotten her name. I loved her! Loved them! The second Everclear concert, the real one, the one that tested our endurance and strength and cemented the Everclear love forever. And summer school and walking home with my headphones on, lying on the grass in the shade, reading Terry Pratchett books. ... summer. *sighs* No more summers like that, I guess. I really have to do things, like shower and wash my hair and go out and come back and reply to things because I've been very lazy and rude (and insane, harharhar). But, arrgh, I don't want to. Hmmph. |
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nostalgic.| Thursday, March 4th, 2004 |
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 The Cheat is a Little Yellow Squeaky Thing That Somethetimes Steals My Ladytypes ...And Also Love And I'm sitting here wearing my Cheat hoodie, with my Cheat plushie staring at my monitor from his place on the bookshelf. Think I'm a Cheat fan? Merp. :P THE CHEAT IS NOT DEAD! My cat say "MROWWW!!!" She is teh annoying. Just like me. Heehee. "Want to take my pain and throw it in the river." Blah. So stomach cuts are deceptively easy to irritate, especially when you toss and turn a lot. And sleep on your stomach. Like I do. I'd roll over and suddenly... *pinch* Ah! Fuck. Stings. And here I thought thigh cuts would be more irritating. I'm a serious thrasher when I sleep, though. I used to wake up pillowless almost every morning, as my relentless movement would cause it to work its way off the bed. Now it's the stuffed panther. I start off with it huggled against my chest and wake up the next morning to find it on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. ... in the pouring rain... very strange. Doodoodoo. |
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indifferent.| Wednesday, March 3rd, 2004 |
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I have food. But I am full. And Arby's does not keep well, but I guess that's the route I'll have to take. *whines* And we have cake too... argh, my father always ends up bring food home from work. We had a refrigerator full of leftover Chinese food for a month or something. Yuck. But that does remind me that his birthday is coming up. Well, really the only reasons I really remember it are a) I have to get my car e-checked by that day and b) he's going out with co-workers and students and apparently I can come along. I figure I'll get him one of those folder-things that holds cds... currently he keeps them in a basket in the backseat and it's really annoying. My car now has two headlights. I bought yarn and am going to try to crochet a scarf. I think, also, I might go down to this little grocery store near my house and ask for an application; it says they're hiring, soooooo. It's sort of an organic market, from what I gathered. I've never been, but it's very non-threatening. Dairy Mart is also non-threatening, but having to get a police background check and work the graveyard shift isn't quite so appealing. Okekaki is addicting. See Tails of the Ratman. Now I'm working on a far too anal-retentive Nightmare Before Christmas picture that will hopefully someday be finished and will stay in 2draw.net's advanced room. This was why it was good when oekakicentral.com went weird and deleted my inconsistent self. I really liked oc.com, but then so many people were drawing there and so it got stricter and stricter and more and more divided... ;__; All that, and I wasn't terribly good. I think I've gotten a bit better, but hey... Now I'm trying to think of something to draw with homicial_nny. Argh. I'm not creative. :POh, and I now own Rubin and Ed and the original Willard on tape. I hope we won't have a repeat of the scooter incident. >__> |
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sort of....| Monday, March 1st, 2004 |
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But guess what I saw? :D THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST! And you know what? I LIKED IT! :P Yeah, yeah... I know I'm not "supposed" to, but I am so sick of people going "Eww, OMGWTF Jesus Christ=Western religion=+3H B4D MU+H4FUXX0R5." Sick of it! Because it was a good movie. Not a subtle movie, by any stretch of the imagination, but then I'm not really sure it's possible to make a subtle movie about Christ. Honestly? I knew it was going to be the kind of movie that would get my panties in a happy twist and leave me geeking over various details like any respectable Harry Potter fan does over details of the upcoming PoA movie. Approximately two hours of graphic violence, religion, dead languages, and Jim Caviezel (J.C.) ... really, it's my kind of movie. And not just me, apparently, seeing as the two o'clock showing we intended to go to was sold out before we got there, and four-thirty showing we did go to ended up being sold out as well. In Kent. Amazing. Also, someone brought their extremely young like four or five years old I swear children. To a movie that is about the torture and execution of the major figure of Western religion. I mean, we're talking buckets o' blood. (Lew asked whether it was more violent than Re-Animator. The answer? YES. There is no comparison.) And no English dialogue. Poor kids, seriously. They had to be either bored or scared out of their wits. Also, Satan apparently looks like Voldemort. :D Hey, Mel, way to go and tie it in with a modern reference. >__> </ sarcasm> But no, really, I liked it. I also saw THE TRIPLETS OF BELLEVILLE, which should have won over Finding Nemo, dammit. That was a seriously awesome, amazing, [insert praise here] movie. Not even just animated movie, but movie movie. Amazing. For anyone who likes good and unusual and witty story-telling. XD "... the triplets subsist entirely on frog and frog by-products..." The world needs more movies like that. ETA: And people, please. The Passion of THE Christ. Get the title right before bashing it, mmkay? |
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dorky.| Wednesday, February 25th, 2004 |
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My mother noticed, quite rightly, that I haven't posted anything in my journal since I talked about Miss Leonard's death last Saturday. This is for a few reasons, most of them illogical on my part. I wanted to keep it pushed to the forefront for a little while, just to prolong the time before everything and everyone started moving on. The deaths of others is a topic that's been eating away at me... sudden death, the unexpected, uncertainty. It can be nerve-racking. I want the people that I care about to be a lot closer, so I can keep an eye on them. Particularly after Lew called yesterday and opened with "Well, I almost got killed today." Brush with a cement truck that forced him off the road. He's not hurt, but... it doesn't take much to get the fear glands pumping. Also, according to my father, Alzheimer's seems to be the diagnosis for my grandfather, who turned 88 on February 2nd. He's begun thinking that his mother visits every morning. I hate that disease. I never want to grow to be so old. Suicide is attractive as a means of controlling the inevitable, in the face of the fact that the point of life appears not to have control over that at all. Whatever. Here's a drawing I started shortly after hearing about Miss Leonard. It's not dedicated to her, mostly because it has little to do with her or the person I knew her as; it's just not in her more upbeat spirit. It was more a way to vent my own frustrations. 
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drained.| Saturday, February 21st, 2004 |
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I don't know quite how to start this... I found out, via hortonhearsawho, that a teacher at Roosevelt (the high school I graduated from last year) was killed yesterday morning in a car crash.Her name was Leslie Leonard, although I suppose she'll always be "Miss Leonard" in most of our minds, and she was an English teacher. She was best known at the school for teaching a senior year only class that focused on creating and initiating community service projects. I never had her, but it was impossible not to know who she was and not interact with her at least once. She really did treat every student as if they were really special and important, whether or not they were actually her student. She shared an office with my physics teacher, so my junior year I would see her all the time, as she was generally in and out of the room. I don't know whether I should feel impacted or not. It's so sudden. Now I really feel blank. This really is a small town, and even though the high school wasn't small, there was a lot of effort to view it as a large (and sometimes dysfunctional) family. Certain faculty members were well known to everyone, whether or not you interacted with them in a formal classroom or office setting. Miss Leonard was one of them. And now she's not. And similar things happen every day to people who don't deserve it, people who cherish and make use of their lives and brighten the lives of others. And the crud of the earth goes on living. Why? I think I'm going to go down to the school and see whether there are still people there. I feel like I have to do something now. |
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shocked.
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LiveJournal for DrWorm.
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