Thursday, May 27, 2010

Too Much

Sometimes it justs hurt to much to talk about. And when it gets this bad, I write.

I've put up walls around myself to hide the cracks in my heart and muffle the tearing sobs in the dark. I smile and like to act like I could put up a good fight if I needed to. I act like I can take on the world and win. I hold my head up high while I collapse against a wall. It's ridiculous. I have nothing to be proud of. Yet somehow I act like I'm something special, like I'm somebody in this world when I know it's a load of bullshit.

I don't have anywhere to go. I ran out of money after losing my last job, and therefore got kicked out of my house because I couldn't afford June rent. I got in touch with my parents, asking about maybe moving back in. They took me out to dinner and explained how things would go. I would have to pay rent to them as well, and have a curfew of 11:00pm. Problem is, I work from 11:00pm-4:00am at my new job. I offered other forms of good behavior in exchange, but they dodged those. Eventually my parents said I'm too difficult to have home...I'm a bad influence on my younger brother...my presence makes it nearly impossible for them to have a peaceful and well-polished household. I'm not quoting them directly, but I am not exaggerating. My mom went on to say that "I mean, you can come home if it comes down to you sleeping on a park bench or something..." and I shut it out. I'm not sleeping on a park bench, I'm sleeping in Brett's car and showering at the community college. I carry a backpack of essentials and keep the extra stuff in a locker at the school. Sometimes I sleep in other friends' cars or at their houses. It's really not bad, but the label is still in the back of my mind: "homeless."

I haven't gotten any money from my new job yet, so I'm also broke and homeless. I can't buy cigarettes or food. The food thing is handy, except it's a weird feeling. It used to be a choice, "don't eat." Now it's a fact. "Can't eat." The lack of cigarettes is killer though. I'm running out of stress-relievers.

I called Paul last night. Being homeless makes you miss people of the past. In fact, I really, really, wanted to see him. He didn't pick up right away, but texted me back a few hours later asking what I needed. I called him again and told him I just wanted to talk, and hang out like we used to. He eventually told me in the same awkward tone that he couldn't have me around...I was too much of a bad influence on him and an upset to his life. I was shocked. You all remember Paul, the love of my life, the best friend of my life. In some ways, he was my life. And he closed the door on me like my parents did. He heard about my situation and said, "I'm sure they would take you back now."

I explained that if someone makes it clear they don't want me around, then I'm not going to try and gain their pity so they take me back. All part of me having pride for no reason. I'm a fat useless bump on society's log and I still try to pretend I'm not.

Eventually I told Paul I had to go. I lied. I wasn't doing anything, I was at a playground in the dark with a couple of my friends talking by their car on the next street over. I hung up the phone, hung my head, and cried harder than I have in a long time. Visions of the past kept flying through my head. You, my dear anas have been there through everything. You have seen me through Joe, Paul, and now Damian. All of which I have loved dearly. Joe is completely gone...I never see him or hear from him. He could have moved out of the country and I never would have heard about it. Paul is fading away, the last memories and connections he has with me being rubbed out like traces of ink on a paper.

Why does everyone try their best to forget me?

Last night I wanted to scream at someone, anyone. I wanted to demand answers to the questions flying through my head. SOMEONE, ANYONE, TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? I wanted to grab the nearest person and shake them, begging them to tell me WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH ME?

Nikki from Letters From Ana is doing a 4-day fast with me, and I am throwing my everything into this. I'm planning on flushing out at some point, and using any and every pill to increase energy and fat-burning. I will escape this hell.

Stay strong,

xoxo

~Kat

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Brett

Brett is awesome. I haven't given him nearly enough face time on this blog, but I need to make this clear, and make him known.

6'2" and something pounds of fantastic, he is the insufferable arrogant bastard who you can't get enough of. He is the most cheerful and sweet guy who is insulting you continuously in his head. "Oh you're taking art classes here?" That's great, well you're a fat bitch who won't get anywhere in life so enjoy those fucking art classes. You won't be able to afford them for much longer. Nobody likes fat people. Hehe.

That's one of the great parts about Brett. He insistently declares that fat people aren't real people. Like, really fat, obese, "three double cheeseburger" people who have no excuse for their fatness. "It's a glandular problem!" No, the 8-layer burrito in front of you and your total lack of self-control are the problems. Don't give me that bullshit. Control your damn insticts. That's what makes you a worthwhile human being.

And he's my best friend. :)

Some of the best days of my life find me chilling with Brett in his car, a beat-up blue Ford we deemed The Hooptie. We roll the windows down and smoke cigarettes, complaining about how fat we are while laughing at life in general. We both worship the goddess Casey, and he and Damian are like brothers. All together we make a fun group.

We often like to describe Brett as a god. We even took a picture of Brett and Damian sitting together on a bench, sharing a smoke, Damian sporting black from head to toe plus his usual trenchcoat and steel-toed boots. In direct contrast, Brett is chilling in a white Express shirt and pants, white leather loafers, and Armani sunglasses. He quite literally glowed. So altogether we have the goddess, the god, the devil, and what am I exactly? Some sort of fallen angel I guess. I like to be a good person, and yet we all know I have an evil mind. ;)

By the way, Brett's homeless. Lives in his car. (What? I KNOW!)

I have such an epic life. I love these people!

He's also incredibly funny. I've had abdominal pains that last for days from the shit that comes out of his mouth. "So this one time, I'd almost just crashed the yacht..." WHAT? And even better, that's not even the story. It's the opening line, and remains barely connected to the story itself.

We're also a very trippy pair on the occasional usage of drugs. Ever done acid? That's one thing. I'm sure you had fun. Ever done acid with Brett? Probably not. I have. It's 10 times BETTER. "Brett, Brett, where are we? Tell me?" I cling to his sweatsoaked button-down shirt while we stand on a balcony in 40 degree weather after a rave, not cold in the least. Brett looks down, calmly, holding me gently. "Everywhere."

I ruin the moment. "NO! No seriously, like, where are we??"

He pauses, slightly confused. "...anywhere...?"

"NO! Where ARE we Brett?!"

His voice deepens. "We're on a boat."

I died laughing.

He's also really deep. I'm trying to get him to start a blog, and if I do, I command all of you to read it. He's one of the best poets and philosophical thinkers I know. I can be dead tired, chilling in his passenger's seat at 4am, and then he starts to quote some of the things he's written. I can't tear my mind away. I can't stop listening. When I listen to him talk that way, I feel like I can do anything. If he told me to try flying by jumping off a building (not that he would...I mean unless I REALLY pissed him off...or if there was a pool below us...) I would probably do it.

He's also the best friend I've ever had. Sure, I annoy the hell out of him sometimes. I am slightly ditzy at times. But in the end if I'm crying over another fight with Damian or whatever, he rubs my back and softly tells me all the right things to make me feel better. Not empty things like "it'll all be okay," but useful things. He offers real solutions. And the backrub helps too. ;)

We make a good needy pair. He can come to me and say, "I'm lonely. Pet my hair." Which he does on occasion. I have no problem doing it. And he pets mine in return. He's actually doing it right now as I write this. Ahhh....

That feels nice.

Anyways, so that's the introduction to Brett. You'll hear much more about him from now on. Brett quotes are my favorite. And hopefully you'll be hearing from him, in his own blog if he decides to start one. Either way, you now have enough backstory to understand why Brett says the things he does. Like, "why would someone say that?" Because it's Brett. Hehe.

xoxo

~Kat

P.s. Today's calorie count: 290

Monday, May 24, 2010

Love you, hate you

Sometimes feelings just well up inside me to such a degree that I feel like I'm going to explode. They can be good, bad, or intensely neutral. I just watched two of my closest friends, Brett and Casey, leave for a date. Casey came bouncing in less than half an hour ago to the school lounge where Brett and I were hanging out. She wore a strapless tanktop with black ruffles and cute old-style jeans shorts. Cowgirl boots and dark red hair. She flew in with a ray of sunshine and looked so completely gorgeous I was quite literally taken aback.

I don't know how I manage to love her so much, because inside ana screams with jealousy every time I see her. We go to raves in the city occaisonally, donning short skirts and glowsticks to dance the night away. She always dances beside me, and she is always the center of attention. Casey is honestly better than me in almost every way imaginable. She is a constant presence of cheerfulness and lovable. She can dance like no other girl I know, she can throw glowsticks like nobody's business. She works 2 jobs and makes shit tons of money, some of which I have borrowed to pay my own fucking bills. She offered sweetly and I am still working on paying her back. She is a petite 5'4" and 102 pounds of creamy white skin and nice ass. We all say that nobody's perfect...but she's damn near as close as it gets. Why she chose to be my friend, I never understood. But I love her, and I feel terrible for the way I hate her sometimes.

I was made acutely aware of the deficit in beauty and success when she ran in, looking the way she did, while I sat on my ass with my laptop, watching some abstract anime Brett had recommended to me...wearing old ripped sandals, size 10 capri pants, and a T-shirt I got in florida I wore solely to hide my ridiculous stomach flab. She was a glorious goddess and I was a fucking piece of gum on the bottom of her size 7 shoe. Even her feet are small.

I haven't eaten today. I've had a coke zero and an aquafina flavored water. An icee from Burger King. But how long will I continue this way? The willpower I worked so hard to build has dwindled to near nothingness. But maybe seeing Casey this way will remind me from now on how inferior I am, and how being skinny is the only goal that I can hope to achieve that will put me anywhere near her level.

She even has a better relationship. Brett cares for her so well, paying close attention to her needs and working things out with her when necessary. They fight occaisonally, rarely. But most of the time I hear only good things about the relationship...from both of them. Damian is the love of my life, and I love the time I get to spend with him. But there's always the question in the back of my mind of how much I really mean to him.

I don't know what else to do. Something needs to change. I need something to hold onto in this world that I can be confident in. Like, "there goes Kat. She may not be able to succeed at home, at work, in her relationship, with her family...she has no money and no real worth to society, but at least she's thin."

*sigh*

I'll get there.

xoxo

~Kat

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Ranting

I apologize for the long absence. A lot of things have happened since I last posted...I hardly know where to start. First of all, things have gone downhill in a general sense. I lost my job this week due to an extended period of illness which caused me to sleep like a brick...through several work shifts. Waking up at 6:00pm when you are supposed to work at 5 is a bitch. So now I have no money, and potentially no house since I won't be able to pay bills unless I turn another job around very quickly. I have the rest of the month to figure things out. There aren't many available jobs in my area, so I may have to move to my parents new house in the next town over. It's further away from most of my friends than I would like, but it's actually closer to Damian (who is now back at his parents house again...long story) and my close friend Christine. Yet the thought of living with my parents again is both humiliating and comforting at the same time. No, not comforting. Familiar. After all...it was under my parents rule I first began this blog and all the thoughts associated with it.

The strongest thought on my mind right now is Damian. I wasn't kidding when I said that boy would be the death of me while I can't live without him. I feel like I spend a ridiculous amount of time seeking him out to spend time with him, and being utterly miserable while he ignores me. Sometimes, rarely, I can get him alone and he kisses me gently and says he loves me too. Then, all too quickly, he's gone again. The beautiful beginning is like a quickly fading dream, and I don't know how to retrieve it.

There's always the obvious...be skinnier.