Dear Tod.

Fuck you.
Fuck you.
I hate you more than anything in the world.
I hate you some much that I gave you a nickname. 
(T1D, so just Tod.)
It's not funny.

I've never really hated this before.
Tonight is the first time I can remember that I have actually been like,
frustrated, anger, pissed off.
That I fucking have this.

I am actually crying I hate it so much.

I had half a coffee, not even that much sugar.
And my blood sugar is through the freaking roof.
No amount of saltine's is going to help.

And I can't afford insulin.

The way health care works is such shit.
You're healthy? Here is  cheap health insurance that you won't really use all that much.
You have some kind of 'issue'? Fuck you. Pay a shit ton and we will barely help you.
Doesn't even make sense.
Can't afford health care alone, let alone the medicine.
I've been able to cope so well.
I don't know what is wrong tonight.
It actually hurts.
My body, my mind, and my spirit.

I don't even know why I keep it such a secret.
[Lie. You know why.]
Yeah. It makes me feel so weak. 
It just hurts so bad.
I don't want anyones pity.
It just sucks so hard.

Tod, you are ruining me.

Nervous belly.

Meeting someone for the first time.
Is so nerve racking.
I usually bail out.
But I haven't lately.
I never make plans and break them, when possible.
If plans are made, I go through with it.
I just get so nervous before hand.

Like, the first time with Brian.
I was a wreck.
I thought I couldn't do it.

But I did.

And now with Rory.
My stomach is in knots.
I'm excited and anxious.

And some day, Dillon.

I'm shaking.
I don't know if he will notice.

Being nervous is so silly.
It's so pointless.
It's going to be fine.
Right?
Right?
Right?  
 

A-way oh.

I have such small lips. 
My mouth is so tiny.

I'm not used to having hair in my eyes.
I hate my eyebrows. 
My chin is so big.
My right eye is permanently blood shot.
No idea why.
It just is. 
My hands are weird.
Super wrinkly. 
My teeth are crooked. 
I'm pretty hairy, for a lady.
I have so many scars.
When I got chicken pox, I scratched them and they scared.
I used to be fatter.
So now I have stretch marks.
On my sides.
And on my ass.
On. My. Ass.
What even is that.
And on my lower back.
It's weird.
And I hate them.
My skin is never the same color.
Some parts are darker and redder than others.
My chest is always pale and sickly.
My ass is always a weird shade of red.
My face is lumpy.
That one doesn't make sense, really.
Unless you saw it up close.
My tongue is weird. 
My nose doesn't fit my face.
My eyebrows are too low and too big.
My knees bend inwards.
I'm bow legged.
My arms are hairy.
My eyes are so weird. 
My butt is so weird.
It looks all right in pants.
But so awful naked.
I have muffin tops.
Hardcore.
I have a weird belly.
I can't seem to get skinnier.
My ribs are such a weird shape.
My nails are awful.
My feet get dry.
My thighs are massive.
I get so many ingrown hairs. 
I have a long neck.
I actually like that one.
And my collarbone.
Two things.
On an entire body.
That I am mildly okay with.

I guess my hair is okay too.




This was so easy to type.
But so hard.

The fuck.

I wish I could.

I wish I was pretty.
I wish I was desired.

I wish someone wanted to spend every minute of every day with me.

Meh.

It's three in the morning.
I smell pretty bad.
I need to shower.
I need to sleep.
I need to get over it.
Meh.

I don't have anything productive to say.
I'm still kind of sick.

Don't know what I'm more excited for:
Today-
Going to make snowmen and stir fry with Rory.
[You don't have a chance with someone named "Rory." Let's be real.]
Yeah. I'm aware.
[How can you live so damn close to a Rory and not be aware of his exsistance.]
Shut up. K?
Then a party.
WEEW.
Then late night pancakes with Dan.
That can only go well.
[You have so many suitors. You are a slut. None of them even like you.]
Can we not.

Tomorrow-
Walking Dead returns.
And I can't wait.
[You realize you're a major loser, right?]
Yeah. I get it.

Corporate rock is for suckers.

Picture time.
 It's just the Eco Geek logo. Getting it tattooed. Woo.

 

How to be a metal man.

I cut my hair. Finally.

It's different, I swear. Maybe in different light.

It's shorter on the sides and the back.

I didn't die it, the light in my bedroom just sucks.

It will be redyed red again soon.

It looks so much better now.

It does look all right when I actually do it.

This is a good sweater and I don't care what you think of it.

I wish I looked like an actual human.

Maybe if I tried to take decent pictures.

I'm sick, so that is my excuse.

Dem dimples.

Dem collarbones.

I have officially committed to a new tattoo.

I am going to get two small antlers behind my ears.

When people call me "dear" I will laugh.

Because I will be a deer.

I will have all the doe.

The buck stop here.

Play on words.

I haven't slept.

I'm getting my belly button pierced on Sunday.

Because I can.

Why not?

I need to do something different.

Worth a shot.

What could it hurt?

Apparently not Sunday. 

But soon.

Merp.

I should clean today.

Do some laundry.

There is supposed to be a huge storm coming.

They're calling it Nemo.

Cute.

I have the hiccups.

I AM SEXY.

Sing me a song.

 

Wind me up.

Or am I just a boiler with nothing inside?

I've decided to not call Brian until I move out. 
Which should be soon.
 As soon as I get a job. 
Which should also be soon.
Moving in with Rory, potentially.
As soon as I get a steady job. 
I may have a super part time job working at a sunglass kiosk in the mall.
Only 10-15 hours a week.
Better than nothing. 
Meh. 
Still looking.

I want him to see that, without him, my life will be good.
All the stuff he wished I had before,
The life I wished I had on my own,
The stuff he promised he would give me.
That is what I am going to have.
I will show him what I am capable of.
[Oh ho ho. You showed him.]
Wow. Really?
Not now. Loser.

Really, you don't know what you took from me.
What really hurts, is that I can't listen to Billy Talent right now without it pulling on my heart strings.
 That sucks.
But thank you for showing me them.

Why am I dwell on it?
This is the most I've thought about Brian in a while.
It's been.... nice?
Meh.
I sure do miss him.
But there are others.
Still feels so weird. 

[Seriously. Just stop. He doesn't even care.]
I know.

Today I am going to go through all of my shit (again) for donations.
I have a few big bags of stuff, just not sure where to drop it off easily. 
Meh. 
There has to be somewhere close. 

My boobs feel really quite big right now.
I do wish they were a bit bigger.
More.... perfect? 
In a sense. 
More noteworthy.
More desirable.

I think I am just about over the plague.
Just the lingering little bits now.
 Or maybe I'm just used to being sick now.

I ate too many Cheez-its. 

Usually at this point in the morning, I have some kind of breakdown.
Or crazy deep thoughts. 
Like listening to Catch 22.
Or dieing. 
But not today.
I don't know.
I feel kind of... happy?
But not really.

Maybe I should start smoking.
Really not such a good idea.
Maybe I will just buy a pack and keep it in my bag.
Just in case. 
Need something. 
y' know?

Picture time.
This bad boy is from a comic. 
Fat Ninja. 
I bought the first one because it seemed silly.
I can't seem to find the rest of the run.

I need a haircut

My sleep schedule is so fucked.
I don't even know anymore. 
Taking nyquil just makes me sleep all day.
Meh.

Oh hey.
I have plans on Wednesday. That I have to be awake at noon for.
Not missing it again.
Have to go see the GSA. 
Miss those guys.
And it will be Emily's birthday on Thursday. 
Woo!

Rory asked me out for Valentine's Day.
I don't even know the kid.
That is way too much pressure for a first date. 
 So, no thanks.
But his name is Rory.
Come on. 
Meh.
Not the same. 
Not the same.

Now I'm just waiting for the apartment to be empty so I can find something to eat.
And shower. Then I will go to Lucky Dog. 
Maybe cut my hair today, finally. 
Dye it.
The works.

I'd be okay with dieing. 
Not to the point of suicide, 
But I would be okay with it.
[Not that you ever could, anyway. Pussy.]
Not helping.

But you're right.
If I were to be hit by a bus, or take too many pills, or go into a sudden coma. 
I could accept it. 
It wouldn't be the worst thing.
Let it happen.
Y' know?
Not that I'm going to go out and try.
Nothing to worry about.
Seriously.


I wish there was some deep way I could put my thoughts down.
Metaphors and similes rather than just out right saying I'm okay with dieing.
 
I used to want to because of my sisters, the way life was, the shit I was put through.
They always seemed to be better than me. More talented, prettier. 
They were allowed to cry.
I was just a fucking kid.
I thought I couldn't do it anymore.
Now. 
Now, I don't compare myself to them.
I don't want to be like them.
I am me. 
This person seems to be worse than who they wanted me to be. 
I'm not such a fan of me, but that's not the point.
Hating myself and dieing are two separate issues, if that makes sense.
[It doesn't.]
It does to me.

Well.
This got sad fast.
Let's not talk about it. 
K?

Picture time. 
Should draw more.
I drew this one for Brian, even before our first date.
Something about a Roman bear. 
He wanted me to draw it. So I did.
I ripped it out, so I could give it to him. 
It's tapped in my notebook now.
[It still kind of hurts.]
I know.
I know.

1234 1234

It may be lack of sleep, or everything in the past few months slamming into me all at once, but this fucking song. 
Fuck.
[Let's curse some more. Makes you seem classy as shit.]
It has been my favorite for so many years now. 
It's always stirred something inside, just a bit.

But today.
Right now.
Shit.

It started slow.
It came on shuffle.
Hell yeah, I'll listen to this. Nice job shuffle. High five.
[Loser.]

As it goes, I feel. 
I fucking feel everything and nothing, all at the same goddamn time.
And it's awesome. 
It's so fucking awesome.

The song ends.
Put it on repeat.
Keep fucking feeling. 
For once in your goddamn pathetic life, fucking feel. 
Tear down that fucking wall you put up.
No need for it.
You fucking pussy.

I go along.
Lyrics quietly to myself.
At least you're feeling.

Song ends.
Play it again.

The longer the song goes, the louder I fucking get.
All of it, just all of it.

Song ends.
Don't stop.
Just one more time.

I'm fucking belting it now.
I can feel every fiber of my being.
Brain, pushing all the shit further out of reach.
You don't need to think of it anymore.
You're a big boy now, take responsibility.
My stomach, sore from coughing for days.
It doesn't care. 
You're a wet cigarette. 
Lips cracked, no need for water now.
There is more than meets the eye.
I'm fucking crying. 
And for once, it feels good.
Throat, begging, just to stop. 
But I'm not going to.

It feels so fucking good. 

Your battle's been won.
You sit back and smile, this is what you hum, you hum.

Sleep

The fuck has happened to my sleep schedule.
It used to be I could fall asleep around nine and wake up at seven.
Like a fucking normal person.
That is so overrated.
Now I'm up all night, fall asleep whenever, wake up whenever.
It's 11 in the morning, and I still haven't slept.

Yesterday I fell asleep around nine in the morning. Woke up around six, took some dayquil, fell back asleep two hours later, woke up around 10 and was up all night.
[Not complaining.]

Sleeping all day makes it feel wasted. 
To counter balance, maybe I should find a night job. Or an online job.
Something to give this dull existence meaning.

Fuck I'm a loser.