I'm Not Dead...

There is absolutely no excuse for my utter lack of writing lately besides the fact that I've been slightly uninspired. I can no longer spill my guts the way I once could. Although I tend to lean toward the belief that my life has become a bit boring, there have been sporadic events that have blossomed in bittersweet ignitions. I got married. There have been a couple of deaths. I've patched every ragged relationship in my life. I have learned to refrain from my bitterness.
The truth is that the things I could write about are either too painful to divulge or are just simply uninteresting.
My husband bought me a laptop in October that I've only used to look at pictures of boobs or download bad music onto. I received it in the hopes of writing again and at first the reason I couldn't bring myself to was because at the time I was too comfortable and happy to find anything in particular to rave about. Unhappiness and complacency seem to be huge artistic motivators for all of us who find ourselves members of the creative realm...but alas, tragedies resurfaced. I realize these tragedies are of no particular interest to enquiring readers seeking entertainment and besides that if I forced myself to tell the world about them I can honestly say that the welling of tears in my eyes would make the completion of any entries pertaining to them nearly impossible as well as unbearable.
My issues with self-loathing, destructive behavior, and suicidal ideation haven't completely disappeared, but they have become a fuckuvalot more scarce as compared to other periods in my life. I haven't felt the need to write droning twelve page epistles dedicated to how worthless I am or how much I want to die upon the lined pages of comp notebooks. I haven't felt the urge to fill a blog with posts slamming the existence of everything I love and hate. I will, however ALWAYS have those dark passages deep within my psyche...I will always have bouts of my being lost within them...I can't make that go away. I will never try to.
I haven't done anything very differently, so I'm not quite sure what has brought about this hiatus of my utter batshit insanity...but I think that the fact I have felt something very foreign or ill received has been helping to keep me alive and coping for the past year or so...
real love.
...and I believe some gratitude and groveling is in order to those who have given me this love...
it may not even be love...it could be respect, or understanding, but whatever it is, I'd like to thank those who matter the most in my life for making me finally feel like I'm deserving of it.

People To Meet?

Why is it so fucking impossible for me to find intelligent people to hang out with that aren't fucking creeps? Every time I think I've made a new friend that I can carry a decent conversation with they always have some kind of terrible personality defect or horrendous skeleton in their closet. "Hi. I'm going to ruin your week by telling you that I fuck bats and children." or "Oh, by the way, from here on out I'm going to say something sexually suggestive in nature or talk about porn every fifteen mintues." Let's not forget all of the crazy fucking idiosyncrasies that are too annoying and invasive to be quirky or cute, like "Disagree with me and watch me get pissy and pout," "I don't listen to other people or music when I'm at home,"...blahblahblah. UGH. It would be nice to just be able to find someone that likes to sit around, drink booze, and listen to music with without having to worry about getting hit on, being made uncomfortable with disturbing facts about the other person, being saturated and bombarded with their pretentiousness and haughtiness...fuck. How hard can it be? I miss my old bar.

YOU GONNA GET RAPED.

One day I woke up from a night of binge drinking in a half-drunken hangover haze to some fat teenage douche bag and his 40 year old black drug dealer trying to gangfuck me. I could hear the black dude egging the boy on. "You got her panties off, stick it in her..." he directed the impressionable adolescent. I didn't know if I was dreaming or not, and the weiner was rubbing against my clit. I almost involuntarily started to move my hips. I began to come to and realize that the black dude was actually forcing my fingers around his cock, and the boy was well on his way to entering me. I quickly dug my nails into the dick in my hand and shoved the other guy off of me the best I could in a drunken stupor. The white boy ran out the front door and the black guy ran back and hopped in bed with his girlfriend. I was left alone, de-panted and slightly traumatized.
I left the house and got a ride from a friend of mine to the hospital to have a rape kit exam done on me because as I was walking it became clear to me that something, I don't know what, but something, had indeed been in my asshole. I figured "That shit ain't cool, I'm gonna do something about this." The whole rape kit thing was as traumatizing as waking up to strange man's dick in my hand and after the nurse was finished performing the exam she informed me that I had two weeks to decide whether or not I was going to press charges, and that I couldn't receive the results of the procedure unless I did.
I still lived with my mom at the time, and for the next week she could tell something was up with me. She asked me what was wrong and I told her. Then, she replied with the most unexpected statement ever...
"Everybody gets raped."
I thought about it and came to the conclusion that she was kind of right. Looking back, almost every female I know has at some point had some variation of unwanted penetration forced on her. Maybe not "rape" in the traditional sense, but, well, I don't know what else you would call it. The drunken wake-up hover-fuck, the guy that won't quit groping you on the backroad who's your only way to get home that you fuck after being threatened to be put out of the vehicle to be eaten by coyoties, the sadsack bastard who acts like he's gonna commit suicide if you don't break him off a piece of pussy, etc. It's almost necrophilia. These dudes know that the girl they're screwing wants no part of the act and will most likely be a dead, dry, awkward fuck, but they don't care. It's as dishonourable as rape, if you ask me.
It never seems to matter how fat or conventionally unattractive these women are to most men, nor does it seem to matter how attractive or capable of getting laid the guy is. This happens to many girls and women of all shapes, colors, and sizes, just as it is difficult to determine the particulars of the male perpatrators. It's true. Most women, at some point in their life, will be in one way or another, for lack of a better term, "raped".
I didn't press charges on the kid or the other guy, which means that I never got the results of the rape kit back. I just wasn't enough of an evil bitch to ruin a couple of guys' lives that were doing something that it seems like a lot of guys do. However, I did beat the holy fuck out of a guy about a year and a half later that did it to some one I love...
and it felt oh so good.

Internet Identity

I've never really ever set up any profiles on the internet without giving away, either through photos or by disclosing my name, who I am in real life. Anytime I've attempted to do so I've always ended up giving in to the temptation of telling the world that I, Michelle Stone, am the person expressing the thoughts and feelings expressed through various blogs, message boards, and status-plugging sites. Why do I feel the need to suject myself to such deliberate lack of privacy? Is it some type of exhibitionism? Does it have something to do with the fact I've always wished I'd be widely known for something? Imean, it doesn't really make any sense. I feel terrible about myself in every area of my being, so why do I feel the need to own all of the crap that runs through my head? Why do I let people see my tits? Why do I make my aging face viewable to the world? I need to stop being so judgmental of people who don't understand me, especially on the internet, because I don't even "get" myself.

Bag Lady

I'm unravelling.

I can feel all rational thought fleeing my skull full of shit for brains.

Any sign of expression is absent from my face.

There's nothing left but the vacancy that exhaustion and insanity always seem to leave behind in a crazy person's eyes.

I'm broken, spent, and burnt to a frazzle.

I keep wondering if I should just check into some kind of hospital, but the last time I did that I ended up leaving even more traumatized than I was before I got checked in.

Besides the fact that I'm going batshit mad, all of the relationships I rely on to survive in a world that constantly rejects every attempt I make at being self-reliant and functional are falling apart.

I think it's safe to say that I'm as close as I've ever been to falling off the grid and disappearing into homeless and insane obscurity.

I saw this coming decades ago. I always remember telling adults that I was going to end up a smelly crazy bum when I was a child.

Every aspect of my self-worth is fading. It's to the point where I barely exist.

Eat.
Shit.
Cry.
Jack off.
Lie in the numbness of my auto-orgasms until it wears off and start all over again.

Nothing soothes me. I've worried myself into heart palpatations, tremors, vomiting, diahrrea, and cry headaches.

I was scolded today for "giving up".

What the fuck else can I do?

I'm so tired of having the proverbial door slammed in my face every time I try to accomplish anything.

I've sabotaged every role I've had the opporotunity to act out in my crummy fucking life.

Mother
Friend
Lover
Daughter
Sister

I'm trapped in my own existence. Yeah, I'm a pussy in that I just want an escape.

It looks like the only way I can be free is to escape myself. Become a walking caucophony. Completely let go of my ego, composure, and useless talents.

What say you?

New List Blog

Check out my new list blog here on blogspot.

http://mainliningilinerlistorama.blogspot.com/2010/06/fuck-t-pain-best-of-auto-tune.html