I will not let you be narcissus seeds, I promise.

rrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sometimes it feels like the whole world, ever word, every bit wants to come down on my head and poop on it.
sometimes it feels slimy like chicken egg, and sometimes it makes me laugh because it is ridiculous.  sometimes there is so much hate I laugh.

dear narcissus,
you do not deserve to talk to my husband you do not deserve to talk to me you do not deserve your daughters.  what is the opposite of "dear"?

loathed narcissus,
you do not deserve his time you do not deserve his breath you do not deserve our love you do not deserve our children.

pained narcissus,
you have fallen and fallen and you like it down there.  you like the muck and the cold.  you like being hungry all the time.  you like what you take as sympathy.  you suck everyone dry.

abhorrent, false narcissus,
you you you you you.

each petal is a head and I am tearing it off.  I do not want to care what the outcome is.  I do not want to think "he loves me (not)".  I do not want to smell you anymore.

I have little molecules, little seeds in my belly and I can feel them sometimes.  they do not speak and they do not feel the way I feel.  the way people feel.  they are seeds.  but I feel that I need to protect them.  I need to protect me not just for me but for the seeds.  they comfort me and that makes me feel dirty.  I am afraid I am using the seeds the same way grown ups used me when I was small.  for comfort, for love.  at least they do not have sex organs so I cannot use them that way.

I am afraid I will leave my body completely, that a force that is evil and cold will take it over, with all the little seeds, and hurt little sprouts.  I am afraid I made myself go away so that I don't know I hurt people.  I am afraid I am like my parents.  amaranth says I am afraid of this because I still think my parents weren't in their bodies when they hurt me.  rather, I think that they weren't themselves.  that they didn't mean it.

yesterday I spent some time with a friends' daughter.  she was so sweet and cute and adorable.  us three young women were delighted.  I was putting her in her car seat, and it was the first time I had held her, and I was terrified.  I didn't want the baby to know I was terrified, and I was so zoned out, my vision was blurry.
my vision was so blurry that I hit the baby's head on the car door.

I was deeply ashamed.  the baby was alright (I mean, I did hurt her, but she cried and we cooed and she forgave me, and reached her little arms up to be held again, and I said "no baby remember last time?" but she insisted and I held her and was so so careful).  I was so angry.  not at the child!  of course not.  not even at myself (though that was a hard battle to fight in my head.  I didn't want to sink into utter depression, not around a child.  I feel like it's my duty to keep on as much of a smile as I can around a child.  that doesn't mean fake it... oh well, it's hard to explain.  maybe you'll understand).  I was so pissed at my dad for raising me that way.  he was so scared of molesting me that (he did) he was always zoned out.  just gone.  he didn't hear me calling him half the time.  and I got injured a lot too; he was always accidentally shutting doors on my hands, or bumping my head when he would carry me. 

why didn't he do something about it?  why didn't he heal so he could-- oh it doesn't matter.  what matters is that I heal so I don't bump any baby heads on doors any more.

because I know I won't molest children, I am aware of the danger of being a sex abuse survivor and so I won't.  and I won't ever hit a child, I was hit as a child and I would never do that.  but can I guarantee I won't be so out of my body with fear that I neglect children?  no.  I can't guarantee that.  and until I can, I won't have children.

and you shouldn't either, mean people I see on the street.  mean people who used to be in my life.  mean people who raised my friends (though I love my friends, and I'm glad you started their "seeds," even if you are terrible gardeners).  even nice people.  superficially nice people, I discover more and more, can harbour vitriol towards themselves that shows when they have babies.

so please don't, people.  please love yourself first.  and please stop yelling at me because I love myself first.

anniversary

my dad added me on facebook (and sent me a message about how much he loved me) and lo!  IMMEDIATELY I backed out, I thought "he didn't do those things to me, he didn't  mean it, he loves me, he just wants to help me, I'm ungrateful, I'm mean," so I didn't read the whole message, I deleted it, I blocked him, and I removed all of his friends from access to my page.

saw his picture and the anger came back, I realised that the "dad" I think of in my head when I tell myself he loves me and all this shit, doesn't exist, and the real person my dad is irritates me at best.  there is no reason for me to receive contact from him.

then I realised that this is the anniversary of his molesting me.  happy fucking anniversary you sad sack of shit.  I loved you and got my heart broke over and over for your selfish aims.

I can't think right. it feels like there's an immense pressure on me all the time. the weight of a full grown man on a child. my muscles start to cramp, like a charlie horse, rip rip rip. I can't sleep. everything smells like shit, literally, like feces. the air is too thick to breathe. or is it the weight on my chest? I can't breathe but I'm trying not to freak out. I know I COULD breathe if I really wanted to. so this is my fault? no no no shh. okay. I can't get a grip on things. I can't think right.

today, just today

I felt like someone felt it. But I also felt so alone
I just... I couldn't sleep, I was convinced that someone was going to come in and rape me, even though the door was locked. And I felt like there were ghosts all around and demons and they were waiting for me to let my guard down so they could fucking bite me and rip me to shreds, but slowly, so inconcievably slowly.
So I read books, I had to hop from book to book because I was so upset and delirious and I tried to calm down and it just wouldn't work
I guess I finally fell asleep, but I woke up at 8:30 am and even though it was daytime, I felt completely terrified
已寄出 (星期五 ，下午 01:47)
so I read and read and finally mustered up the courage to eat and ate a little and then mustered up the courage to shower and I just felt so hopeless and small and I knew it was because I was little once and everything was awful but it felt like the end of the world and I thought "how can I bear being alone the rest of this week? how can I bear ANOTHER fucking week? how the fuck am I going to be able to work[....]on my own for a week? I'm never gonna get to go home," and then I thought "maybe [my husband] will send me home with the money he made this week," and then I imagined being in [our home country] without him and I felt so desolate and then I felt disgusting for being so codependent but then I thought "love isn't bad, I'm figuring it out" but then I read one of his journal entries about [....] I remembered how he used to be super retarded about his dad [....] and he's not retarded [....] anymore but he's retarded about how he was retarded, he hates talking about it because he feels like if he breaks any modicum of my trust even once he doesn't deserve me, because he was my "兄 ちゃん" and he's supposed to be more honourable than that, and I hate it because I hate how he'll just give up and decide he doesn't deserve me, it makes me sick, and then I thought I hated him for leaving me here, even though I'm the one who sent him and we need this money, to get home, and I thought .... that's a lot of text. haha
eventually I thought "I am being negative because I am hungry and about to bleed, it's okay, it's gonna be okay, just go out and eat." so I went out, and it's so beautiful today, it breaks my heart in a good way,
and I got on the bus, and was feeling much better though still very vulnerable and there was this guy I've seen before, he looks about 17 and his cell phone rang and he talked to the person in english, American english
and I got really excited but it took me 10 minutes to muster up the courage to say anything and I did and I walked him to the MRT and it felt so, so good to talk to someone in person about anything and I felt dumb and big and fat and ugly but I didn't care, and I went to 50Lan for some tea but was upset already, and I didn't know how to tell them "I want something fruity but not passionfruit." I mean, I did tell them that in chinese but they were like "uhhhh crap we don't know english" so they yelled at each other for a while, and then the nice nice boss lady came out and was like, "oh hey sweetie what's up" but in chinese and I was like "hurrr" and they laughed and I brought out my DS and looked up "lemon" (檸檬) and showed them so they made me a lemon tea and then the boss lady gave me a cheatsheet of all their teas in english. so that was nice.
and then I went to the bakery in the basement of trendy ass [mall] and bought some garlic bread, a "french egg sandwich" and a donut. and I've only eaten one tiny garlic bread but I read an email from [oxeye] and one from [kincaid] and I feel better now, but I know once I have to go back up to that awful [house] and be all alone in the dark I'll feel awful again.
and [eglantine]'s stupid phone is dead, and I know they
're probably not dead but what if [amaranth] is? and why do I care so much? why do I feel like my life would be over if he were dead? and I think "he's your husband, aren't you supposed to think things like that?" and then I think "well people who are dependent and don't love themselves super annoy me" and then I think "BUT I DON'T FEEL LOVED I NEED TO FEEL LOVED HE LOVES ME HE'S GONNA DIE" and then I scream and sob and sob and sob.


已寄出 (星期五 ，下午 02:25)
a thunderstorm is coming I think...
maybe I'll bleed when it bursts


I dreamed that there was a yellowed skeleton on my wall, and it was creeping slowly slowly towards me, and as it creeped it grew more flesh. It moved like a spider weaving its web. I watched it for many days and when it finally grew near me....somehow I stopped it. It dropped to the floor, dead. But my stepmother entered my room and fussed and said things like "oh this won't do" and hung it back up, on the door so that it was looking right at me. I watched as its dead papery flesh began to shift and grow once more.