princess

inside of me i have always wanted to be a princess. you know a beautiful maiden who runs around in a feild full of flowers and sings with the birds. full of sweetness and purity and beauty. now, i am under the recognization that every little girl just like myself probably dreams for the same thing. but not everyone can be princesses can they? i dont know. i do know on the other hand, that a princess is exactly what i am not. i am all jagged around the edges and my voice cracks at the high notes and there are definately no fields of flowers anywhere near me. but with that understanding in mind... i cant decide what to do. do i let go of the dream, do i realize that its all a fairy tale and wake up to the real world? or do i continue to live under the belief that i might someday magically become the princess i wish to be? what is the real world?
i have come to know and expect that nothing truly good can happen to me or my family. thats just how it has been. i go to sleep one night and the next morning i wake up to find chaos and tears and tragedy. my mother has been beaten, abused, demeaned, manipulated, torn down by so many men, now she is married for the fourth time and i just couldnt see how it could be truly good. i mean how sad is that that i dont even believe in true love anymore? but i am starting to see some really good stuff coming out of their marriage and it almost frightens me. it challenges the way i think. is it really possible that something could be good and true and not a lie, not a pleasant mask that hide a monster of deception and theivery? everyday i realize that i am even more messed up than i thought i was. today i discovered that i do not believe in love, good things, happiness, and i most certainly do not believe that anyone could love me. i look down at myself and all i see is ugliness, distortion, selfishness, and pride. who taught me that? who made me look at myself that way?
the other thing i know about princess, is that even through years of being locked up in a tower, even through years of working and slaving for her evil stepmother, a princess never gives up hope, never gives up on her dreams. she always knows in her heart that her prince will come.
but on the issue of my hope, on the issue of my dreams, even the Lord Almighty has been silent. when i ask the ceiling if i am beautiful, there is no reply. there is no reply from anyone. at the end of the day i feel like maybe there is just nobody out there who thinks i am worth the pursuit, worth the trouble. today i saw myself in so many revealing lights, and i can find no reason or justification within my being to believe i am anything other than a experiment in dreamers gone wrong, and i am just simply going to have to accept that there is no fairy tale waiting for me on the other side of this mess. to me, to me that almost means there is nothing worth living for. and that may sound totally stupid to you because maybe you dont give a damn about princess and flowers and singing. but i do. this is who i am. and you can go live in your real world while i die in mine.

i watched i am legend tonight. it was not that good for me because a lot of the movie was centered around robert neville's intense loneliness. when he was in the video store saying hello to the manequin after his dog died... and he started crying and begging the manequin to say hello back... man that hit me right in the heart. there are points when i really feel like that. like i am sitting in my car and i am just crying and i just want to hear from someone anyone i just want someone to say hello back. loneliness... i think it must be the deepest rooted problem of my soul because i can never stop thinking about it... i am more lonely around friends sometime then i am when i am just sitting by myself. there is something inside of me that is just so untouched, so unreached, so unloved. i feel like i havent been touched in years. i miss hugs, shoulders to cry on, honestly caring and compassionate physical representations of affection. i miss kisses. as revealing as that is to say on a post... its absolutely true. i miss protective arms. although i dont really know how i can miss those things because ive only really tasted and seen quickly passing shadows of the real things. so maybe missing isnt the right word, maybe its just more of a longing for things i have never known.

im am sure even as i am writing this that there are multitudes of people out there who are longing for the same things. there is probably another girl about my age very near by sitting at her computer and imaging strong and warm arms just coming around her and saying everything is going to be ok. sometimes that is how i get through my day. imagination.

i just got finished looking at pictures of chistopher daniel shabaglian! so cute. i mean probably the cutest little baby boy ive ever seen. look at him there with his daddy! i have a picture like that with my daddy too.

its hard when others peoples joy brings back memories of your pain. it makes me want to say to myself, "thats dumb, cant you just be happy for someone for once and stop thinking about yourself?" and i try to, i really do. i am just browsing along smiling at all the wonderfully cute pictures and thinking happy thoughts when WHAM! its like someone hit me in the gut and all the sudden i have a tight feeling in my chest. when i saw this picture... it just took me down. the reason for that is that the picture that i had like this with my dad was the one thing that made me question all these years whether or not he really did love me. through the hard times, through a lot of broken promises and emotional abuse i just looked at that picture and told myself there was a reason to hold on to hope. but i stopped believing that a couple of years ago. and when i see in jon's eyes that he truly loves christopher and he is never going to walk away from that love it causes me to mourn for love my father walked away from.

nevertheless, he is the cutest baby ever.

angela

whats the truth?

am i beautiful?

self-mutilation and dead flowers

there is no amount of pain that i can cause myself that will make this go away. it doesnt make any sense i know... but its just this growing desire to wrench a corkscrew through my heart... to cut deeper and deeper and deeper... it somehow feels like if i hurt myself then all horribleness will go away? CANT YOU SEE THATS WHAT I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE TIME? i am digging deeper and deeper scrubbing it away but i cant get it off me and in the process i am losing my mind, my dignity, and my friends. LOOK AT ME! i am a beast, i cant control my thoughts, emotions, one day i am fine the next i am buried in the lowliest of pits. once i think i cant get any lower i find myself lower still and no matter what i do i cannot rid the earth of the wretchedness that is my instability, my inconsistancy, my unfaithfulness. LOOK AWAY FROM ME! for i cannot bear for you to see the reality of my soul. nothing is hidden to you... all of my secrets are laid bare before everyone, i never lied about how awesome i was or pretended that i had it all together. its not a game to me, this is real. its not a want for me, its a need. its a matter of life or death. there is no playing around for me, there is no time just to live carelessly and shout out peace when there is none. there is no peace within my frame, there is only harlotry, confusion, loneliness, and hurt. i multilate myself to make myself feel better. my heart is seeped in sickness and disease. this is a poem i wrote a few months ago... just recently i realized that it is about myself:


Lemon Juice

Tiny wine bottle cork screws behind the lemon bar.
She shrinks beneath the pool table and listens to rocks
roll down the hills. Sliding, peeling, blood like pomegranate
juice oozes down her arm unto the imported Italian

grapevine floor rug. Above the game continues on as
red striped universes fall into leather netted black holes.
And heart slows with less and less to beat about
as the white peach hookah smoke seductively wraps

itself around her self-abasing cherry lips. She lies
facedown inside of her green felt ceiling world and
finds herself looking at an imported pair of leather
soled shoes with the subway map etched on the bottom.

With the one contact she has left in her summer’s afternoon
hazelnut eyes she squints and seeks out her destination.
Run away, Lilian. Run away to the pineapple beaches and
orange grove valleys. Now the pomegranate juice seeps

out of her current spacial confines and the corkscrew winds
itself deeper into her wrist like a music box turn key finding
its ways to faster melodies. In her last few minutes of passion
fruit pleasure she remembers the time she found
tiny wine bottle cork screws behind the lemon bar.

i dont just talk about self-multilation and suicide to get attention. there was a time where i was seriously questioning if i was just making all this up because im so lonely. but now, now that i know that suicide is no longer an option, now that my heart has explored that road and has decided that it leads no where, i thought that the thoughts and images of killing myself would be gone. but they are not. do you know what the first thing i saw in my minds eye this morning was? a picture, an image, of a razor making a vertical cut all the way down the inside of my arm to my wrist and then me reaching my hand inside the cut and pulling the skin off my arm. ITS INSIDE OF ME. when i wake up, when i go to sleep, and in the middle of the afternoon. i see flashes of myself hanging from the bar in my closest... i picture blood running from a neat straight line on my arm. if i let this devil in then i have no idea how to get him out. you can see it in my poetry even. the enemy is seriously trying to get to me. why? i have no influence, no power, no significant redeeming qualities, i just dont get it. i am just a mess of a person in a mess of a world. what is happening? why is this happening? i feel like im stuck in a horror movie.

sadly its the second best poem i have ever written. the best poem was coincidentally also about someone killing themselves. its seems like the only value i have is in that which pertains to darkness, and when representing beauty the only reference point i have is sorrow. i couldnt paint a picture of a flower if i wanted to. a dead flower on the other hand... now i can do that. what a pleasant realization to come to.

angela

dead trees by still water

hey its me again. have you noticed how my posts have been incessant lately? i just cant stop. i am just crawling out of my skin... like i have cabin fever of the soul. my thoughts, ideas, feelings, desires, they just need to get out of me. i cant explain it but i have never experienced such a drought of people to talk to. i am just totally lost as of what to do. sometimes i am just seriously grieving, other times i am just ok, other times i am rejoicing in the Lord and His providence. Lord please help me. please just send me an angel from heaven like in touched by an angel where they were so nice and sweet and glowy. i keep feeling like i want to tell the Lord, " Lord i cant do this, this is not the life for me." but at the same time i dont because i have a persistant recognition that i really have no idea what is best for me in comparison to the Lord's understanding of my needs, wants, and desires. but i do seriously question how long it can go on like this.... and how long it will. is my family next? is God's purpose in this time to strip me of everything i hold dear until literally all i have is Him? i have a hard time understanding that. i have a hard why God would not want me to have friends and family. i dont know what to believe about His character or His way of doing things. there is so much in the bible... i cant seem to find a clear answer. there could be so many reasons this is happening... it could be anyone of a lot of things He commands me to do. Obedience, fear of the Lord, humility, worship, honor. where do i even start to figure out what he wants me to in this particular situation. i dont know.

angela

*edit: p.s. its like i am screaming with my words. screaming screaming screaming in forest full of dead trees and still water.

you know all the stuff i say in these blogs is just stuff i wish i could say in person but i cant. its the stuff that is going on in my head when everyone is laughing at a funny joke and i just have a quiet look on my face. i may seem pretty smart, but the truth is sometimes i really cant figure out how to say the things i want to say and that is how they end up here. because i have got to get those things out of me and there is no other way but through art. blogging for me is art, its word painting. its adjectives and nouns and verbs all lined up to form some representation of an idea, whether it be abstract or concrete.

another somewhat suprising reality about my blogging habits, is that i will often tell you, the reader, things about myself simply because i wish that you would act upon that knowledge. when i tell you how i think you are wonderland, its because i really wish you thought i was a wonderland. you probably dont give a heck if i think you are a "treasure" or a "myseterious gift". and why would you? it is likely that you, the reader, dont care. so it just ends up being selfishness rather than self expression. its treating others how you want to be treated as a means to an end.

pray for me though. please please please pray for me. please pray that god would send me a best friend, or that He would be mine in a way that i can really get it.

thank you.

angela

it has never really been that i have felt like i am writing to no one at all.

my brain really doesnt have the concept of "no one". i cannot exist by myself, and therefore have never even cotemplated singular existance. and even as i have rambled on in my blogs during the years... i have always felt like there was someone out there to read them. even if that person didnt exist right now... someday someone would come along and they would be like... oh how interesting... and what i said would matter to them and they would want to ask questions and know more. it never even mattered to me that my words might be stored in a time capsule for years until they mattered to someone else. words ferment with time, like wine and cheese, the longer they are left alone the richer and deeper they taste.

but tonight, i kind of do feel like that. the belief in a future historian is like a little spark in my soul that wont quite be extinguished with the lack of a present obeserver, but everyday it gets a little smaller. i never quite realized how much i loved to be asked questions until i stopped being asked them. i never quite appriciated how good it feels for someone to say to you "how are you doing today?". it is totally the Lord that He has kept a friend in my life who is willing to make the effort and take the time to ask me stuff like that. cause without that i really dont know where i would be.

have you ever been excited and curious about the contents of someones heart? like a walk through their personallity, their hopes and dreams, their fears and desires, their thoughts and ideas, is like an adventure through a glorious and overflowing garden. just like i think its so cool to know that in ancient egypt, anytime they drew a human being it was kept to the exact same scale as every other drawing of a human being in egypt for four thousand years. can you imagine? i mean just imagine. if every representation of a human being you saw in movies, tv, paintings, pictures, look just like... brad pitt. for the next four thousand years the only image that is used to represent humans is brad pitt. that is really very interesting to think about. but back to my point, all i was saying is that just like i get excited about that, i get excited about you. you are a wonderland, so to speak. a treasure. a mysterious gift.

so yeah, tired. randomness complete.

angela

p.s. to that future historian who is reading this, thanks for reading and thinking. you are a warm gooey substance in my soul. a warm sticky bun on a cold winter morning. thank you.

letter to a future historian, the story of the present

you know what i have realized? I have kind of settled into my loneliness. after all the crying and all the agonizing and all the just plain wretched empty nights i have just kind of got used to it. i mean right now... i am just as lonely as i was before, but im not sobbing my eyes out, im not huddled on the floor in a heap of despair, im not tearing at my clothing or covering myself with ashes. i am just sitting here watching my abc.com in the middle of the night contemplating how loneliness is no longer a plague upon my everyday life, it has now just become a part of who i am. its not a sickness anymore, its more just like a missing limb, ive learn to walk without it. i dont know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. i think mostly bad though. deep deep down inside it feels worse, even though the symtoms dont rise to the surface. but if i were to sit down and think about it, as i am doing now, i realize that all i really really want is someone to come up and talk to me. someone to say "hey... who are you? i really want to know, tell me more. what are your dreams?" "oh really, thats very interesting. and what about this? and that?" i feel like i am stuck in a time box. i feel like i am stuck in a reality that will not change no matter what i do.

i used to kind of wonder if maybe i was sick or something. if maybe some of my feelings/symptoms could be explained by an involuntary illness contracted through some outside malicious force, i.e. the devil or genetic inheiritance. everyday it is becoming more and more apparent that i am not in control of these feelings, or the loneliness that creeps back in the second i take my eyes off the metaphorical emotional wall. thats the whole reason i even write this dumb blog, is i just want to talk to someone so bad. its sounds so lame and i know i have said it a hundred times but i am just so dang lonely. and i guess it feels a little better to know that at least there is a record of this loneliness so that when something happens to me someone out there will be able to find out why. when someone comes along who cares enough to ask the question the answer will already be there for them, the words i mean to say but never can will be written in virtual stone.