msjessica's Diaryland Diary

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before butterflys wings

it's almost 10am, i'm still up from a really great saturday night smoking meth, drinking booze, talking all manner of real and unreal things, seeing

-

wait, wait.

i'm rushing ahead of myself.

i'm biting my cheeks.

my night was amazing but i'm writing because because because that stupid fucking boy sent some words, some maybe 30 words and i wonder if he knows what they do (of course he does).

HE IS A PARASITE,

THAT IS HIS FUNCTION.

-

i do not reply.

i will not play.

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ah fuck

i wonder if when i have sent him hard heart truths if it has affected him like this. if so what A FUCKING BEAUTIFUL WORLD TO LIVE IN.

how fortunate and lovely for him to have been in a space of constant adoration and praise, to feel wanted and lusted for, to have the power of silence, even if it is confusion and anger and hate and disgust, how nice to feel wanted, to feel powerful full stop.

-

my night - my day was refusing to be beaten down by my bodily weaknesses, dressing myself in amazing outfits, forcing myself out into a grey day to shop, to spoil myself, to fight for this new sense of self

an old friend visiting, my room is a mess, i have bright yellow sharp disposal units on display, balls of cotton in bent soup spoons, empty bottles, snack foods, make up, books, scattered pieces of some kind of life i guess i live but i feel so disconnected from.

talk talk talk we talk so much we spill our hearts and there is no judgement (i guess. i don't know anyone. i don't know what they think, who ARE you)

talk talk talk hours hours HOURS it's so early IT'S LATE WE NEED TO GO

in between we've smoked through this miniature light bulb pipe, that is her world, her drug, i have no judgement, she is generous because if someone else is doing it it's not a problem

more pipes than i can really keep track of.

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i went to the gig and the bass hits my heart and makes it stop start, shakes my core, her voice is like heaven, i just stand like a tree with my eyes closed, i am strong and secure and steady and sure, the lgiths shine up like sunrise and i feel my neck stretch and my head tilt like i am being caressed, when i open my eyes is stark reality, people are still and boring, there is so much space, i close my eyes again and i am all powerful encompassing, i am here and here is me and life is ok and beautiful. i feel my meds hit and interact with the meth and the spots behind my eyes get fuzzy, it feels like mdma for awhile, or like acid, some visual fuzzy kind of high.

it's beautiful.

this is why i am alive, moments like that inside myself, being in the room while the music i love is being made. this is it. this is everything.

afterwards.

afterwards.

-

some oblivion i guess.

i don't know. there was connection. there was touch, there was desire, there was

-

really there was a whole bunch of nothingness. that kind of false space that drugs bring about, where you feel at the time like you're connecting but it's not really connecting, it's just filling time and riding out the electricity in your brain, just playing out those impulses on whoever is close by, i felt at the time it was false but i just ride along because

because why not

where else would i be

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after many hours and a couple of clubs and some lip kisses with various people of various gender and sexual identities i come home with that same old friend and the night ends how it started

somehow we get to talking about death

i think we talked about my cat dying, then about her mothers partner, how they tended the body for 3 days in some hippy quasi christian ritual i don't know death i don't know the smells the shapes the way a face contorts during last breaths, i am ignorant

but i am cocky and start sprouting my thing about how maybe it's the sole reason i am here, is to die.

i hear myself giving birth to ideas that feel like home, like if we're so intent on confronting every other norm, every other ideal, why is it such a fucked up idea to challenge the idea that we need to live until circumstance decides otherwise. if we want to take control of our own lives, of our own stories, why is it so taboo to think that maybe the control we take is to just NOT. to just stop.

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it was hard for her, i guess maybe i shouldn't have spoken about it, fuck that, i'm glad i did. it is healthy to bounce ideas off people and as always when i speak about that it just strengthens my resolve, enforces an idea of alienation.

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it's 10:14am. i'm still sucking and biting on my cheeks, my back hurts and my fingers and toes are cold.

my cat is asleep on my bed wondering why her routine has been disrupted.

that boy sent me a message and doesn't recognise the consequences (or does he?! god. circles.)

i am so ignorant. i have learnt so much.

this is never ending.

9:48 a.m. - 2014-04-27

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