Since the New Year

I wanted to update all who are still reading this diary blog that I have posted things since January, except I have taken them down. About a month ago, I wanted to conduct an experiment with myself, and properly analyze my perception of an old friend I used to have. About two weeks ago, I decided that was a bad idea to do, and removed those posts from existence. The experiment was a reaching out to him, even though I knew he was never going to answer. More and more, I have been losing interest in even being his friend. It is sad enough that friendship requires mutual communication, a point he has always had the power to deny me. This, itself, is rather manipulative, but I’ve explained enough already.

There, an update. Shoo.

A New Year Is Coming, But It’s Just Another Day To Me.

Hello again. The new year has been making me think of my past years. I’ve been out of high school for longer than I was in high school (because the middle school kids in my hometown mesh in the same building). Still, it was an important time in my life, filled with many other things besides learning about math, Spanish, and specific American history events…

For instance, my high school friends were a major reason I went to school at all. That group was mostly a conference of gamers, so we all sat together at the same lunch table. We all liked to talk about new games coming out, and laugh at things we don’t even have time to consider important anymore… I don’t even remember what was funny anymore. We were all awkward in that way. Some of us didn’t like being so awkward, but that’s how high school worked. You hung out with people most like yourself.

I know that at least four of the guys on that table had a crush on me… Since high school, only one of them hasn’t admitted it, but I know he did because he stopped talking to me after he found out who I liked. He’s probably wise for leaving me be because he’s the only one from that table that I could smile and hug when I see him again.

One of the few girls on that table likely still hates me. She likely wants to destroy me in satanic ritual for breaking her crush’s heart. I imagine her stabbing a goat and drawing a star in blood on the ground to do it, but since belief itself can cause an equivalent amount of pain, she’s likely done the most harm to me so far by stalking me online, and writing incredibly mean things to me… Even if I could forgive her, I don’t think I could ever be her friend again like we used to be. You don’t get over someone willing to kill you. I also don’t know her full reasons. I never related my side of the story. She’s never been direct with me.

It’s like that doesn’t even matter, though… all my old friends seemed unable to approach each other directly. It almost seems like we all asked each other about each other, and the game of telephone commenced, messing up each other’s impressions, and crushes. Each of us likely caused some of us to not admit crushes until the last minute. It’s strange. It’s ridiculous. I’ve gotten a lot less scared of asking how people feel about me since then, so that’s probably why it’s so silly to remember now.

For me… I sat at that table because video games were one of the few things cheap enough to buy in my house. We had one old television that played SNES, and we had to deprive our mother of the other television to play Playstation games. When I didn’t have the controller, I would play outside, and I stopped doing that when I was about fifteen, and full-chested already. My neighbor’s daughter told me to avoid her father. After that, I played in my room with Legos and little hot wheel cars, pretending they were characters in my stories, working out plots, and crises. At night, I would talk quietly to my teddy bear, trying to work out dialogue.

And no, I don’t think anyone else on that table would’ve found that remotely normal. That’s why I didn’t belong at that table. Still, I sat there to hear just one guy’s strange responses to what everyone else was saying.

I don’t know where else in that lunch room I would’ve sat if I didn’t have a crush. Without being focused, I would’ve realized how awkward it was to sit there, and never would’ve sat there. I used to be a good runner before middle school. I probably would’ve joined track, or something.

But no, had to be in love instead.

Car Song

Car Song“. It’s another story from my story blog (Tiny Thoughtless Tales, btw). I figured I’d share it here, like I did with “Afterall”. Enjoy! (Well, actually… it’s emotionally grinding. Don’t really enjoy it… you can be quite sad afterwards.)


Anya Ehrim:

I published this on my short story blog (on the 9th if I remember right), but I figured, for Christmas, my interlopers here should also have a taste of my second-person writing style. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas, everyone!

Originally posted on Tiny Thoughtless Tales:

Everyone sleeps. It’s common fact. Everyone takes it for granted, except you as you lay under three warm blankets assuming sleep will come eventually to you, too.

This was just one night of many more where you are sure everyone is already sleeping. Easily. But you won’t conform. You are just lying there, eyes closed, fan blowing a winter-chilled apartment into your face. You’re thinking nervously about something you wrote how long ago now, ten minutes? An hour? Anxiously pondering, the white noise is too welcoming. Such an old tactic, even though the mind keeps whirring too, constantly reminding you of the other messages you sent much longer ago than a day.

You think He won’t respond. He hates your guts, and he proves it by not responding. You’re nothing to him. Invisible. You think of when you wrote that when he sees you, and looks away, he proves his fear…

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It’s Hard Out There… So Hard, It’s Almost Pointless

Hey, interlopers. I’ve been around, reading my past posts from time to time, and not really enjoying what I wrote. I’ve been good about it, though. I haven’t edited anything. I’m trying to keep this diary-like, after all… I mean, you can’t really change how you felt a year ago. Or two years ago. Time doesn’t let you do that. I wish sometimes it would.

What I want to rant about today is actually a few things, but I’ll focus on my unemployment to start. I realize entirely that the position I’m in lets me live without a job. Even though my student loans are not being paid, my boyfriend understands (somewhat) why I don’t just take any job I can get. I have tried, though; I applied to everything in the immediate area that I can apply to… except the fast food services (which I fear would be just as unfruitful as the rest of the applications anyway). He supports my art and writing career instead, which I hope he understands involves breaking through the popularity barrier. That is going to take a while because introverted people don’t have a lot of friends to spread things around for them.

Sounds like an excuse, though.

The fact we’re considering marriage means that my student loans are going to become his problem too unless I do something about them sometime soon. At the same time, though, having seizures makes it difficult to expand my job search radius farther than a couple of miles. Not having a car (or the allowance to drive one because of the seizures) means that whatever job I get two or more miles away will take one to two hours to get to, rain or shine, just to do. I need that exercise, so that’s not a real problem. I refuse to search farther than that because, despite Grand Rapids having a bus system, I ultimately want to be somewhere when I say I will be there. I don’t want to rely on a bus schedule. I want to rely on myself.

Oh, and the seizures. They are certainly complicating. As far as I’m aware, these started a year and a half ago, after I started a major calorie deficit on a ketogenic diet. That sends red flags for me because it’s been over a month since I’ve had a grand-mal, and all the petit-mals seem to follow from a lack of energy, which I’m now compensating for by eating calories closer to my goal weight (eating 1265 Cal instead of 865). Seizures can happen to non-epileptic people for a lot of reasons. Vitamin deficits are a possible reason. Electrolyte imbalance is a possible reason. My blood-work hasn’t been done yet, but I know there’s something odd going on in my blood. Having both low or high blood sugar can cause seizures. There’s the possibility that I’m even tumorous somewhere; that can cause seizures, too.

Point is, I need more information, but my neurologist prescribed Keppra at a low dosage so that I don’t die from another seizure (this was only important to both my boyfriend and the doctor). The low dosage is only meant to ease me into the more common side-effects, like being extra sleepy and being more emotional. I’ll take half a pill (250mg) twice a day for two weeks, and then double the dosage if my body learns to tolerate the side-effects. I have to tell him about anything that changes mentally and physically while taking it. All this is to possibly prevent my seizures from killing me while I wait for scheduling on an EEG and an MRI, which both have a chance of not finding anything wrong.

I’ll admit now that this is far less “hard” than what others are going through. What is happening to me is not “hard” by any standard. It is just that difficulty is subjective, and I have morality in my way. Gas-powered cars are destroying the planet. Medicine for health problems should be carefully prescribed, especially when the treatment has only been available for six years (looking at you, Keppra). I shouldn’t have to lie about how intelligent I am just to get a job; the lie itself reflects how barbaric the job market is.

This is hard enough for me.


Oh, Hey, NaNoWrMo (Which Means I’m Going To Be Writing A Lot)

Not in any way a surprise, I suppose. After all, up until last month started, I wrote every single day for little to no reason, save to answer questions posed for elementary school children…

You may not know this, interloper, but as much as I want to write a novel for this month, I don’t actually have an ending for it yet. I usually don’t have a solid ending for any of my stories. Why? I don’t like that they have to end. It is a complex, perhaps, from my experiences over the past fifteen years. It is a happier tale when I know that the characters are still alive and well. My novels are all interconnected, so I know my characters will end up dying, or the saga doesn’t continue. But still, it sets a bit of a sad note in my mind to write it out…

Overall, this seems to be an intentional hole I dug for myself. Something to overcome, perhaps. As with most things in my life.

301140_10151284276566460_638522092_nHere, this is my sister’s depiction of what she goes through all the time. Similarly, I also seem to be going through this during National Novel Writing Month… I’ll just leave it here so you all get the idea of just how annoying it is to have the Internet (specifically Reddit) working against me.

Other than the updates, I’m fine otherwise. Still having seizures. Still have weird patches of overactive, flaky skin (which my primary care physician has informed me not to call psoriasis until I see a dermatologist). Still have a boyfriend. Still have no job. Life seems to be wonderful (sarcasm). I do have medical insurance now to actually see a dermatologist and a neurologist, so I have that going for me… I also have constant access to the Internet, despite its setbacks on my goal for this month. It really is rather nice to have.

I can’t shake the feeling, though, that I have a short time left to live. I’ve had this feeling since I was seventeen, but it’s like there’s a dark mist constantly lurking behind me, waiting for the correct moment to swing the scythe. I don’t give into the feelings, but that’s not how life or death works. As you all might understand, I’m not epileptic, or I wouldn’t be mentioning this at all.

I just… I would like to live long enough to get the story about my fantasy world out. I’ll keep wondering if that is possible to ask Death for.

In the meantime, I do have a request for whoever is still visiting my blog.

Lucid002bigSee this strange girl? I’m calling her Black Friday Girl, for the impetus of Christmas, which is coming all so suddenly. (Oh, the days of my childhood when it used to fall upon us after Thanksgiving are gone now…) I don’t know if anyone else wants to celebrate the sheer strangeness of this materialistic holiday season by buying a shirt with this girl on it, but… well… it does have a far more innocent point to it.

Since I haven’t been able to find a job, and really want to help my family out this winter, I started a campaign on redditmade to try and get some funding for my mom and sister. You see… they are intending on saving energy this winter by holing themselves up in the living room with a space heater. If I had a job, I would have already told them I’d help pay for the electricity bill.

I am overly hopeful that I can reach 100 pledges, but I also know that the Internet works in mysterious ways, namely, I can’t be the only one that tells everyone about this shirt. SO… if you would be so wonderful as to spread this campaign around, that would be more than enough effort. If you want to buy one too, that would obviously help out as well.

Your prerogative. Here’s the link to it (forgot to put it in the first time):

Alright. Other than all that, I need to go write productive things now… but… stay weird, everyone.

Question 731: What is your bucket list?

This is it. This is the last post. I started this blog two years ago on October 1st, and now, I can cross it off my bucket list.

This project was created because I often need compartmentalization in order to accomplish goals. A good example is when I was in college, and we were forced to draw an entire figure’s shape first, then fill in the details. It is a technique I can only do with charcoal or pastels (or with a unsharpened pencil. I couldn’t let myself see the entire figure or I would never finish the drawing. It had to be in some state of completion from the moment I set the graphite onto the paper, or I wouldn’t want to finish it.

Other than everything I start but never finish, my bucket list is quite simple. I want my life to be meaningful to someone. It doesn’t even matter how many people’s lives I make a difference to. I want how I see the world to be someone’s life journey… and I want their journey to be easier than mine. I’d like to write a book about love, and travel to new places to the point of mental exhaustion every night. I’d like to ride a train to the point I can see the earth curving, and ride a horse to feel the synergy between me and another creature. I’d like to eat food I’ve never tasted before, make brief friends whom I will never see fault in, and cherish farmland nestled in hilly countrysides. I’d like to take pictures full of light and colors. I’d like a chance to see every star in the sky without light pollution. I like to see both the sun and moon eclipse before my own eyes.

I’d like to experience being truly alive.