My dreams swept into the dustbin, and me along with them…

I got a job.

Lately I find myself crying over nothing and I can’t stop.
I know it’s just depression.
My mom suggested I take something for it.
At three different points in my life I’ve taken anti-depressants because of problems with anxiety.
Sure, I’m a naturally sullen person, but that didn’t change while I was on them.
Each time, I talked like a flapper on a duck’s ass…even more so than usual.
I couldn’t sleep.
And I experienced more suicidal thoughts.
I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down that road again.
And as taking pills won’t change where I am in my life, it’s not as if pain would go away by my taking them.

I know that losing Chloe is part of it.
Residual pain of feeling useless from not having a job is part of it.
But it is now accompanied by a new pain of feeling like a failure, a feeling that this will be my life, a feeling that I will live, die…and my name will be forgotten.
I can write while I work to be sure, but it’s the acting and singing part which causes me pain.
I want to perform.
I’ve always wanted to perform.
I want to write indie dramas which would make people examine the human condition…their own lives.
And I want to act in them.

But the older I get, the harder it’ll be for this to happen.
I’ll only be 23 next month and I feel like…that’s it.
It’s too late.

I have to keep this job because no one in my life believes in me and I would never ask that anyone else be forced to support me in my pursuits.
I don’t ask and no one answers.
And if I did, no one would answer.

I am lost.
Not in the way that so many others are lost…for I know where I want to go.
I’m lost because I can’t find how to get there.
I’m lost because this love is as important as any other and I live without it.
Shall I abide in this dull world which in its absence is no better than a sty?

Tell me something true...

The truth is a nasty cough syrup no one wants to have to taste.
But I thrive on its bitterness.
I take too much and it lives in me, shutting me down, little by little.
A noble death.

I knew a man who seemed to like me, who in fact, could not seem to leave me alone.
He disagreed with everything I said and not even passionately, as he had no reasons to support his disproval of my ideas, my likes, and my dislikes.
I loathed him.

I see now that in part, what I hate in him is what I hate in myself…a resilient stubbornness.
I am in pain today at the thought of hating myself more than usual.
But my stubbornness is different from his.
Mine is not free of passion.
Is it wrong to defend a belief to the death when you feel strongly about something, to try and make credible arguments until you’re blue in the face?
Is it wrong to not give up when you think something is truly important…even when there may be no hope of convincing your opponent?

I am not so closed-minded as to be immune to the convincing arguments of others.
Am I then just the right amount of stubborn or am I indeed closed-minded, but cannot see it?

It’s not like the sea to leave you with me.

Summer will be yet another season in her absence.
No sun will shine on the love she has forgotten.
It has blown through me like wind through the trees.
Embers grow cold and ash too blows away.
It erases all evidences of me from memory.
She focuses her efforts on lies,
Lies of happiness, of unfathomable compatibility.
These lies I can’t combat.
I dwell alone in this house of truth forever.

I just want my baby back...

I lost Chloe on Tuesday and I've been crying since.
My mom and I tried to make her grave as nice as we could, but we couldn't keep from feeling bad about leaving her alone in the ground.
And when it rained, I felt it even more.

I can't imagine life without her, this angel that I loved more than myself and I understand that maybe what's so difficult is not losing what you love, but what loves you.
I'd rather feel this way then forget her.

My back is sinkin' low and I do believe it's time...

I didn't make it to the final round at the Nantucket Film Festival with Good Grief.
I'm feeling very defeated.

I took a look back at the script and fixed any remaining errors and immediately printed two entry forms for The Austin Film Festival, one for Good Grief and one for Singing Swans.

I'm starting to realize that I'm not the kind of person who gives up easily, but I'm also starting to wonder if I'm not being unreasonable and immature.
I'm starting to wonder whether or not sticking with this particular dream is really a good idea, when I've got others and the constant defeat this one carries is weighing me down.

I feel myself trying despite my best efforts to throw in the towel and curl up.
But what does that mean?

"Amid the sufferings of life on earth, suicide is God’s best gift to man."

You can be sad as you want to.
No one can punish me like I do.



In youth, we are much more easily satisfied. With age comes an unquenchable thirst for things, a wanting which can slowly eat us up.
When I remember my first love, I recall feeling like I'd be happy as long as we were married, feeling like I would need nothing else. Eight years later, this sentiment is gone, although my feelings for him remain. I have found a new love, yet one which does not diminish the first, but this romantic love could never restrain a more mature wanting...the desire to be my own person and to have my own purpose. The people I love and my desired course can only coexist peacefully when they encourage my ambition. And to me, that is a true sign of their affection.
I have heard it said that "Ambition is the ice in the lake of emotion," and that may sometimes be true, but it is a dangerous generalization. If pursuing the goal of being the person you believe you were meant to be is selfish, then I don't want to be anything but. However, to me becoming this person, the best person you can be, is proof of love.
I now believe it is possible to be ambitious and still love completely.
I now believe that it is possible to be in love with more than one person at a time.
I no longer wish to marry.
"How time distorts things."

Lately I've been thinking about how conceited people are self-centered, but in their own way, self-loathers aren't much different. Both types of people make everything about themselves, whether inadvertently or intentionally.
Having a tendency towards self-loathing myself, I've noticed an uncontrollable, paranoia which comes in waves, the feeling that everyone hates being around me. Only recently did I realize that reading into every little thing, the slightest unintentional insult, a person's mere absence, reading into these things and making them about myself is self-centered. And as part of the reason I hate myself is my potent desire to not be one of those people who loves myself too much, this is something I hope to avoid in the future.

We are complicated creatures, but we must never cease our efforts to truly understand ourselves.

Three down...

I know I haven't written in a while.
Unfortunately, my Uncle Gary recently lost his battle with ALS.
I was helping my mom with this bowling benefit to aid my Aunt Tina in paying his left over medical bills. In the end she brought in about $5,000 which might not be much, but will come in handy.

I was also working on finishing up my latest screenplay, my third, Singing Swans.
It's all done now. I revised it, but of course there will be mistakes I can't see and things I can't correct until others have read it, but being that the subject-matter is kind of taboo on two fronts and that it's more sexually explicit than anything I've written before (although in reality, I used tricks to get around making it too dirty), I don't know how quickly my volunteers will get through it. It might be uncomfortable.

I'm to that point where I finish something and then I feel empty.
It makes me feel as if I have to start something else immediately or I have no sense of purpose, especially now that I'm done with school and don't have a job.

I applied for three jobs today and eight internships.
Beyond the scripts, there's always poetry, and music, but until I can make it on my own, nothing I do feels worthwhile.

I submitted Good Grief to the Nantucket Film Festival and Singing Swans and hopefully my next script, I'll submit to Austin.

I was also going to audition for Glee, but my brother was a real douche about it and so once again, I don't think I'll have the confidence to try, despite the best efforts of friends I don't deserve to convince me to do it.

Anyway, that's what's crackin'.

If anyone's interested in reading it, you're welcome to, but if you're really ageist or homophobic, I don't recommend it.

I'll share a bad poem I wrote at like 4am last night/this morning.

Why must I have a tender heart
So quick to take a bruise
Why must I find the truth in words
Others can refuse
Why must the ugly always distract
From the one thing I should see
Why isn't the pretty, the good, the praise
As much a part of me
Why is it only jabs and jeers
Repeat inside my head
Why have I built a wall which blocks
Whatever else is said
Why do you not all leave me
Beneath rubble of words I hear
I'm buried too deep and all rescue efforts
Now seem insincere