Gut Screwdriver

January 31, 2011

Last week, I remembered why I liked you so much. I emailed you about it.
This week, I remembered why I stopped seeing you. I’m not going to return your phone calls.

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To whom this may concern:

What’s the deal, man? They say to find God you have to be so low you bounce off the bottom. I can feel my toes scraping the ocean floor… do I have to drown to float back up to the surface?

I have neglected friends and family. I’ve given up lying about it… someone asks how I’m doing, the just-add-water-instant smile does not pop up on my face with a “GREAT!”. Just a tensed cheek, a lip bite, and a “eh, it’s been better.” Some people I just say “It blows. Everything blows. I hate everything” I’m getting to the point where I feel like I shouldn’t be in New York anymore, but I’m not sure where I’d go that would be any better.

Lesley is going to come visit from Mississippi and potentially distract me from the fact that I hate waking up in the morning. My weekends, I look forward to sitting on my couch and watching Netflix documentaries and make up art projects until my eyes dry out. I’ve given up dating and seeing most friends altogether… that false intimacy is driving me insane, and I’ve got to cut myself off cold turkey before I make more trouble for myself. I’ve become a crackhead, placing the blame on sex, when it should really be on me. I have to remember how to like myself before anyone else will, and so far the sand under my toenails isn’t helping.

I’m beginning to see aspects of myself that I really hate. That other people must hate. It must be why I’m still struggling to fit into my place here… I’m going through this phase 5 years later than I thought I would…

I’m not waving, I’m drowning.

Sincerely,
Natalie

I watched this amazing documentary called “Beautiful Daughters” this morning. It’s about transgender (m>f) women performing Eve Ensler’s “Vagina Monologues”. Calpernia Adams was in it (oddly Jane Fonda initiated the project), and I actually studied her story my freshman year of college. Her story was so difficult to digest when I heard it, but what I felt doesn’t even compare to what she had to go through. Seeing her so successful really brings me hope that there are some brilliant trans role models out there… and seeing all the brilliant women in this film reinforced that as well.

There was one woman, Valerie Spencer, that stood out to me, and it was an oddly religious experience. She spoke about the acceptance of her mother… how she told her mother that she wanted to be who she wanted to be whenever she was home; her mother told her to “come home.” The acceptance of her daughter – realizing that her success was the happiness and success of her daughter – was such a beautiful thing to witness. Realizing that her daughter was happier as a woman than a social-unaccepted flamboyant man shocked me probably as much as it shocked her.

Then they went to church.

I’m still struggling to accept how this scene made me feel. Archbishop Carl Beam spoke at the Unity Fellowship Church in LA and said things that knocked me down… He embodied what I believe a Christian should truly be… someone who believes that it doesn’t matter who or what you are or how you feel you should be as long as God is in your heart. He made it clear that sexual orientation had no affect on God’s love. For one second, my atheism lapsed. It takes a lot to do that. For a second, I might have believed in the strength and beauty of faith.

Halfway through the movie, I no longer saw men who felt they were supposed to be women. I saw women. Smart, beautiful, courageous women. Valerie Spencer almost made me feel like a weak woman… she was so comfortable in her own skin, and so confident in her life that I envy her. “I only date men of substance because I’m a woman of substance.” God. If only I loved myself that much.

As someone who has always felt strongly about sexuality and gender-related issues, this short reminded me of that. I applaud this film for their positive example and hope that other documentary filmmakers follow suit.

I am incredibly grateful for my upbringing. I never had to fear that I would be disowned by my parents for my personal choices. They supported me, and continue to support me, though everything. If I were to announce I was attracted to women, my parents would support me 100%, no questions asked. My mother has even told me this, stating that the only sadness from this announcement would be because of the struggle or discrimination I could possibly face. I have had friends who have come out and have not had this support from their own families. Their bravery and strength amazes me daily; I only wish I had that sort of fearlessness in my own life.

“When we really get free as the human civilization, we’ll be fluid… Liquid.” Amen, Eve Ensler. Amen.

Anger Management

January 26, 2011

I am a jealous person. I always have been, always will be. I don’t think any amount of therapy or self-medicating can get me over that. So a warning, know what you’re getting into.

Jealous + facebook = disaster.. Especially pictures. There’s no denying those. I don’t know why I take it so personally. I would read a self-help book or something but I’m totally worthless. I see a picture, you might as well have tweeted “I’m fucking this chick”. I think it’s why I suck at dating. I’m trying to quit it altogether, as these one night relationships with people that don’t give a shit only leave me grasping at the strings of false intimacy. That blows. I honestly feel like this pathetic attempt to find something meaningful and settling is worthless. Its worse than a breakup sometimes. The back and forth is horrible and hurtful. Hot and cold. I’m sick of it.

As I give up some addictions, I find new ones. That hit of intimacy, even the day after, is a rush. Like a crackhead, I itch for more and and end up putting myself in another compromising situation. What a sick cycle I’ve perpetuated for myself.

And most of it’s because I confuse curiosity for interest.

Note to future players in this game: don’t play this bullshit caring game. just be up front, and that’s the end of it.

Tiny.

January 25, 2011

I’ve been insanely depressed lately. Like more than usual. And it’s not the weather. The cold and the snow actually make me pretty happy as I love looking out my window to watch the flurries. The temptation to step out in front of fast moving busses and subways has definitely strengthened. I’m trying to fill the time with fun friends and the like, but as those are scarce as is, I guess that’s part of the issue. I live in the biggest lonely city ever.

I do what I want

January 24, 2011

I’ve written myself into my own Maury episode, haven’t I?

The past few weeks have been insanely difficult. I’ve hit a new low, a super classy one at that, and only now am I starting to pick my face out of the snow bank and start to get the feeling back in my fingers. Not sure if the visit from lil bro jump started it, or the fact I’ve played hermit all weekend, but nonetheless, I think the bitch is back, safe and sound.

It all started when I came back from Oregon. I was a little on edge – all of the plans I had set up for myself were suddenly backordered from the flight delays and the ensuing chaos. I was floating the fine line between having all of my ducks in a row ready to go and drowning myself in the bathtub. I had been at home, in this kind of high school bubble of memories and old friends, trying to hold on to the railings of a staircase that seemed like it would go on forever… endless looping. Escher style.

I got trapped in the bubble. I got too comfortable, so upon returning to New York, I overcompensated. I went above and beyond… overbooked myself and overextended what I was capable of keeping in control, added a dash of bad habits, and made a mess of it all. An intervention phone call wasn’t even enough to stop the shenanigans.

I tried to turn it around. I tried to spend time with people that bring good energy into my life and spent my energy on things that make me happy. I cut out bad habits, like internet dating and drinking until the wee hours. I cut back on the negative energy I’ve been expelling into every corner of the universe. Did I mentioned I watched this crazy documentary on the Dalai Lama last night? Yeah, it’s messing with my perception of reality a little bit. Making me sound a bit more new agey than I usually am. Next thing you know I’ll be collecting crystals and shit.

Anywho, I made an attempt, relapsed, tried again, relapsed, and here I am now, trying to dig myself out of this hole. All that anybody can talk about is the fucking Jets, but I checked out of that after the Colts were out, and the patriots got beat (my philosophy is “Go Colts” and “Anybody but Patriots”).

I can’t fucking focus on anything for more than 30 minutes. And I’m also going on a diet this week, so expect me to be crabbier than usual. I’ve got a wedding in June to tone up for, and knowing my eating habits, and my uncanny ability to relapse, might as well start now in a feeble attempt to clean up my act.

Ugh hating myself today. I hope you’ve enjoyed this short exploration of starting out with a good mood and shifting to a bad one. Barf.

Adventures in Babydating

January 21, 2011

I am kiiiiiillllllllllllllllling myself.

I’ve had a lot of fun in the last 48 hours doing next to nothing. Watching movies, catching up on art projects, writing screenplays with my roommate, and drinking way too much whiskey in the kitchen at 8pm. Nothin like having cool roommates to help you get through a shitty week.

The Coachella lineup was released recently, and I’m super disappointed. I don’t think they could have thought of more obviously annoying headliners. Well, if Lady Gaga was sharing the stage with Kanye, then yes, they could have. But really, Kings of Leon? I don’t know if they could have booked a more annoying band for me to not care about. They might as well have brought Dave Matthews Band in, who I actually DON’T find as annoying as the rest of the world seems to (it’s gotta be the Oregon in me, and the fact I saw them at the Gorge, which is kind of unbeatable in terms of venues). But I wouldn’t pay to even see Dave at Coachella. There is no way I’m even considering doing that for Kings of Leon. And Arcade Fire. Goddamnit. Don’t even get me started on Arcade Fire. If I wanted to watch someone play a hurdy gurdy for an hour, I’d go stand in the L stop at Bedford and watch some little shit hipster do it just as well for free. Everyone’s talking about how fucking fantastic Arcade Fire is, and okay, they can fill a night or two of Madison Square Garden, but seriously guys? You didn’t think their last album sounded the same in every track? Again, bring in Dave Matthews and I’m probably more likely to go.
There was also shit tons of speculation that Daft Punk was supposed to play this year, so I guess I got all excited about that potential, and would have EASILY dropped the cash to fly out to the middle of nowhere and dry out like a piece of jerky for 3 days in the desert. The last time I saw Daft Punk was like a religious experience. One of the best shows I’ve ever been to. I don’t fucking care if it was actors in the costumes and they weren’t really pushing the buttons. Say what you want. Just like I’m going to say what I want about the holy shitshow that is Arcade Fire. Ugh. Go back to your liberal arts college and call me when you graduate.

So maybe this year, I’ll spend the money on something else. Maybe I’ll rent a car and drive south for a few days. Maybe I’ll go visit my sister in Atlanta for the weekend or head north and check out my little brother’s life at college. I’ll fly out west (YEAH) and visit my friends out in LA, who lately, in all seriousness, seem to have so much going on that I’ve fallen off the radar. Well some of them anyway. I think that has to do with me being in a bit of a low point, and when that happens, I have a tendency to fall off the radar. SO MY BAD. I kind of just want to take a trip and not have to report to anyone. I’m thinking of taking that trip to Berlin I’ve been talking about, and then this morning I was considering Rome, so I’m guessing I’m going to fly somewhere and not tell anyone where I’m going.

And I wish I could have worn more uncomfortable underwear today.

Scratches on Glass

January 19, 2011

I don’t think I’ve met a single person who doesn’t have some sort of scar on their body. Mine, off the top of my head, include the line of the top of my hand, the weird looking bubble on my knee (the reason I don’t run on gravel anymore), and that gash from where I was recently stabbed in the back.

Well, about that last one… Emotional scars are so much more fascinating.

I hope SOMEONE SOMEWHERE learns a lesson because of what I’m about to write. I totally brought it upon myself… and it wasn’t until after I closed the door and went back into my room did I realize how lucky I had just been.
I really hope I can learn something from this.

A guy I met who lived in the building swung by my room to say hi and got really grabby. REALLY grabby from the second he walked in, and it was not invited. It’s to where I don’t even let it slide once, not even the first time he does it. I’m saying “NO. Stop. Seriously.” and “Please leave.”
I’m just, embarrassed. It’s seriously on me. Well, a significant amount on him as well, but I take full responsibility for something I messed up on. Yes, okay thats fair. We both made a mistake tonight, but I don’t think he would have made his if I hadn’t made mine.

Now that I’ve sufficiently spooked myself into a flurry, I think I will watch some more netflix and put myself to bed, like any other traditional lazy Sunday. Ugh.

It took an unexpected phone call from a loved one 3k miles away to catalyst me back into reality.

Unfortunately, it’s just sent me into a different downward spiral. Figuring out how I can catch myself before I hit rock bottom… again.

Also, had a dream about my brother being a meth addict and I staged an intervention for him at this rehab where Dave Matthews was wondering around babbling incoherently.

It’s gonna be a rough, but long, weekend.