Sometimes I get into these moments... where I feel like screaming at someone "You're asking me for too much. JUST too much. Stop asking for so much!" but really. what if they aren't asking me for anything at all? What if what they have requested is so simple and so mundane that it feels earthshatteringly heavy to me because of how PLAIN it absolutely feels. I guess I never considered just how much I am always asking of everyone else. I wonder how they feel. I wonder what it's like to be inside them and see the world through their eyes. I wonder for example, what my best friend feels like when he wakes up in the morning. I wonder what my mother falls asleep worrying about. I wonder why my father finds refuge in television and food.
At times I even venture past that. I end up considering how it is that I appear to others. My Art History professor for example. I adored her. But a lot of times I wondered if I was a nuisance to her. I wonder if my employers really genuinely have faith in my ability to work well at my job, or if they keep me around because I'm willing to trudge through it and still come out ok. I wonder if they even like me. I don't really care whether people like me at the end of the day but it would be nice to know if they did or didn't. I like knowing what to expect from people.
I love my cousin, Carmen, and I think she loves me too. I wonder how I affect her though. I wonder if once I'm not around anymore, she'll still feel the same affection or if it will slowly turn into that distant "oh that memory is great" affection. I wonder if my best friend will be around in 20 or 30 years. I tell myself that giving eachother space is healthy, but I feel guilty not being able to cheer him on all of the time. I wonder if my habit to hurt myself unpredictably scares him or makes him sad. I wonder if I'm memorable, rather than just imposing myself on peoples existences.
I know I'm exhausting. I exhaust myself.
I wonder if they feel exhausted by themselves too. I'd love to have those indepth "where is the world going now?" conversations with quite a lot of my friends but I think they're afraid to consider it. I think talking about it tires them out, so they shrug it off. It's understandable. If I were anyone but me I'd like to shrug it off. I probably DO want to shrug it off, but the reality is intense and frightening now, and sure, when you compare it to the past struggles of others, what we are going through now as people probably isn't anywhere near as bad. But it doesn't make it any less scary.
I keep trying to write in my novels but I find myself writing a sentence and getting tired, or losing whatever drive I originally had to write at that moment. I can't even enjoy the films I used to love. I haven't read a decent book in a while. I keep picking up this book that is riveting but unlike the past me, I can't seem to read it for more than half an hour. I don't paint or really actually draw anymore. Most of my time is spent wondering what my next step in ANYTHING should be. I don't sleep anymore. I sleep if I get so exhausted that it hurts to breathe and my eyes almost always feel sore and like someone punched me. my lips hurt from biting them. My cuticles are disasters from constantly biting them.
This is reality. Life is really hard. Life is about struggling and pushing forward and finding the happiness. It isn't handed on a silver platter. As for those who say that money is the root of all evil? They say it just because they've never had to live without it. Would I take wealth over fame? In a fraction of an instant. I'd finally like some financial stability. Does it mean I'll do anything to get it? Heh, nothing stupid, thats for sure. Will I work hard to get there? If I have enough energy in the morning, and probably even if I don't.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Belated entries and a bottle of whipped cream
So, we've entered 2010. This year is now a month and 15 days old.
I don't celebrate new years. It's never been my thing to sit around and applaud a year gone by and a year closer to being dead. It's morbid. Why don't people EVER realize how morbid it is?
On a lighter note. I have a job I love. I have coworkers I actually like being around (I did at my last job too but this job is also more active and I get to move around.). Peaches right? Not really. Due to things that aren't anyones fault, hours have been scaled back dramatically until a new system begins rolling. It's not necessarily something that we can control so I have to be tuff stuff and hold on tight until things get better.
One of the things swimming around my head is that, while I've progressed greatly with my novels, lately I haven't been writing very much. My head feels tired and swollen from thinking too much and I haven't had any creative juices flowing. Topping off this feeling is the desperation of wondering whether or not I will ever be a published writer. That is a very hefty thought when you consider how easy it is to be rejected and how difficult it is to be accepted in anything.
Sometimes it feels like my writing is so far out of left field that if I were to try and get it published I would probably end up like the kid in gym who always gets picked last for basketball. It's not a good feeling and the idea of rejection is probably causing me to slow down a lot on my writing. I know the advice "just write and deal with the rest later" but when I can't see the excitement in someones face while reading, or hear it in their voice, I get disillusioned easily. What can I say? There are still some new things I'm growing into, like self confidence in my work.
So, as a way to motivate myself I wrote something recently. A short short story per se. Hopefully just having it on here might make me feel motivated enough to continue writing my OTHER stories.
So here it is:
All the pretty things will hurt
copyrighted 2010
Laying my hot tired body on the cold black marbled floor, I stare at the shattered glass around me. Like some disarrayed formation of glittering broken stars glowing with moonlight surrounding me they beg me to touch them. My finger glides across the nearest one and my eyes feel sore at the sight of the intense red blood now flowing down the length of my fingers. I part my lips to whisper "it's warm" in surprise, but my lungs have collapsed and there is no air to push out the words. They die in my throat. 'So this is what it feels like to be truly alone. Even the pretty things can hurt." Tearing a soft white sheet of silk from my skirt, I wrap my finger and attempt to get up. The pain in my stomach forces me to collapse again, and I can already feel the bruising spread. The only thing left to do is lie there and wait. The cold floor is inviting, the pain is numbing, and my lungs are barely letting me breathe. 'Wouldn't it be simpler to just die here?' I wonder as I stare up at the wires sparking electricity from the ceiling. 'No one is waiting for me anyway.' My hand reaches for the golden shell shaped purse I had saved for this particular occasion, a party celebrating myself. Once it's inside my grasp I pry it open and take out the pocket watch with the black birds on it. The time is 3:10 in the morning. The sky is pitch black outside the windows, and the sound of the violins floats upward, hinting that no one has even missed the hostess. 'All that's pretty will hurt.. what have I even done to deserve such a party? I can't even remember the last time I did something kind just for the sake of being kind.' My lipstick is smeared from so much nervous tugging at my lips. It's a horrible habit. When I get nervous and cry, I rub my lips with my fingers until it hurts. I never knew why. The blood on the silk is now blended in with the crimson lipstick and I stare at the mirror across from me. The glass shards of the now broken chandelier reflect against its smooth surface, like diamonds surrounding me. I wonder if the accident is a form of karma. Getting killed by a beautiful thing after spending so many years pursuing beauty myself. 'Have I disregarded... everything? Have I forgotten what it was like to feel insecure and without power?' Even after accomplishing so much, I kept doing nice things for others but somewhere along the way it stopped being out of generosity. I began to do it for the pictures, for the smile and nod of approval from others, and I began resenting doing those nice things. 'Why didn't I think to turn on a light when I came in here. Surely someone would have noticed then... I think.' I lie there silently and wait for my lungs to stop hurting. Events from the past come flooding in front of my eyelids and I understand why so many people say they see their life flash before them when they are close to dying... but I'm not dying. 'Someone will find me.' My head tilts to the side and I feel like I'm asleep, but I see myself. I'm not sleeping. I see myself and I try to touch my face but the amount of space between me and myself seems endless. I hear laughter in the distance and watch so anxiously for my breathing. The lungs have stopped. The glass around me all over the floor sparkles from the moonlight, winking in little beats. I wonder why I focused so much on my lungs and forgot all about my heart. What was it doing all this time, I can't remember.
_________________________________________________________
I hope everyone enjoys it and that it sparks something in my readers.
Always,
Plutonia
I don't celebrate new years. It's never been my thing to sit around and applaud a year gone by and a year closer to being dead. It's morbid. Why don't people EVER realize how morbid it is?
On a lighter note. I have a job I love. I have coworkers I actually like being around (I did at my last job too but this job is also more active and I get to move around.). Peaches right? Not really. Due to things that aren't anyones fault, hours have been scaled back dramatically until a new system begins rolling. It's not necessarily something that we can control so I have to be tuff stuff and hold on tight until things get better.
One of the things swimming around my head is that, while I've progressed greatly with my novels, lately I haven't been writing very much. My head feels tired and swollen from thinking too much and I haven't had any creative juices flowing. Topping off this feeling is the desperation of wondering whether or not I will ever be a published writer. That is a very hefty thought when you consider how easy it is to be rejected and how difficult it is to be accepted in anything.
Sometimes it feels like my writing is so far out of left field that if I were to try and get it published I would probably end up like the kid in gym who always gets picked last for basketball. It's not a good feeling and the idea of rejection is probably causing me to slow down a lot on my writing. I know the advice "just write and deal with the rest later" but when I can't see the excitement in someones face while reading, or hear it in their voice, I get disillusioned easily. What can I say? There are still some new things I'm growing into, like self confidence in my work.
So, as a way to motivate myself I wrote something recently. A short short story per se. Hopefully just having it on here might make me feel motivated enough to continue writing my OTHER stories.
So here it is:
All the pretty things will hurt
copyrighted 2010
Laying my hot tired body on the cold black marbled floor, I stare at the shattered glass around me. Like some disarrayed formation of glittering broken stars glowing with moonlight surrounding me they beg me to touch them. My finger glides across the nearest one and my eyes feel sore at the sight of the intense red blood now flowing down the length of my fingers. I part my lips to whisper "it's warm" in surprise, but my lungs have collapsed and there is no air to push out the words. They die in my throat. 'So this is what it feels like to be truly alone. Even the pretty things can hurt." Tearing a soft white sheet of silk from my skirt, I wrap my finger and attempt to get up. The pain in my stomach forces me to collapse again, and I can already feel the bruising spread. The only thing left to do is lie there and wait. The cold floor is inviting, the pain is numbing, and my lungs are barely letting me breathe. 'Wouldn't it be simpler to just die here?' I wonder as I stare up at the wires sparking electricity from the ceiling. 'No one is waiting for me anyway.' My hand reaches for the golden shell shaped purse I had saved for this particular occasion, a party celebrating myself. Once it's inside my grasp I pry it open and take out the pocket watch with the black birds on it. The time is 3:10 in the morning. The sky is pitch black outside the windows, and the sound of the violins floats upward, hinting that no one has even missed the hostess. 'All that's pretty will hurt.. what have I even done to deserve such a party? I can't even remember the last time I did something kind just for the sake of being kind.' My lipstick is smeared from so much nervous tugging at my lips. It's a horrible habit. When I get nervous and cry, I rub my lips with my fingers until it hurts. I never knew why. The blood on the silk is now blended in with the crimson lipstick and I stare at the mirror across from me. The glass shards of the now broken chandelier reflect against its smooth surface, like diamonds surrounding me. I wonder if the accident is a form of karma. Getting killed by a beautiful thing after spending so many years pursuing beauty myself. 'Have I disregarded... everything? Have I forgotten what it was like to feel insecure and without power?' Even after accomplishing so much, I kept doing nice things for others but somewhere along the way it stopped being out of generosity. I began to do it for the pictures, for the smile and nod of approval from others, and I began resenting doing those nice things. 'Why didn't I think to turn on a light when I came in here. Surely someone would have noticed then... I think.' I lie there silently and wait for my lungs to stop hurting. Events from the past come flooding in front of my eyelids and I understand why so many people say they see their life flash before them when they are close to dying... but I'm not dying. 'Someone will find me.' My head tilts to the side and I feel like I'm asleep, but I see myself. I'm not sleeping. I see myself and I try to touch my face but the amount of space between me and myself seems endless. I hear laughter in the distance and watch so anxiously for my breathing. The lungs have stopped. The glass around me all over the floor sparkles from the moonlight, winking in little beats. I wonder why I focused so much on my lungs and forgot all about my heart. What was it doing all this time, I can't remember.
_________________________________________________________
I hope everyone enjoys it and that it sparks something in my readers.
Always,
Plutonia
Friday, December 25, 2009
Since when does religion equal a good person?
Happy Holidays everyone!
Never a dull moment in this concrete jungle full of citrus and ocean breezes. I've often noticed that Miami is built a bit like a barricade. Even though we have almost immediate access to the ocean, most of the city is inverted so that the buildings block out any natural light, the sight of sea water, and human interaction. There are a few areas that I absolutely love about Miami but they are heavily outweighed by the things I dislike about it.
One of the things I can't stand, for example, is the way that perfect strangers who try to preach at me or try to force me to go to their church react when they find out I'm Jewish. "But... you're hispanic. How can you be Jewish?" or "That doesn't matter, you need Jesus in your life, come to my church we'll FIX you." and the ever most infamous "You can't be Jewish. Jews killed Jesus. Do you think thats right? That they killed Jesus? We can save you."
What.The.Crack.Are.You.On? No. The Jews did not kill Jesus. According to even the Christian Bible, the Jews just stood aside while the ROMANS killed Jesus (yeah, those very same romans that have a vatican in Italy with a pope.). There are many things I do not agree with when it comes to religion, even in some cases things that pertain to Judaism. Here's the thing though, I don't claim to be a good person because of a title of 'belief' that is placed on me. No. I'm a good person because I bend over backwards to help others, even when they are not very nice to me. Also, because I'm just plain kind of heart. I dislike seeing sadness or pain on anyones face. My instinct when I have an uneaten bag of chips in my purse after lunch, is to give it to the man rifling through the trash for food when I get off the bus, even though I know I'm struggling in my own way.
Money is a big deal to me, a huge deal really. Not because I want grandeur, but more so because I abhor owing anyone anything. It pains me to know that I signed on for something and then halfway through can't meet my end of the bargain. I avoid luxuries and I give give give until so little is left that even if I did have the urge to splurge I just can't. Never once do I complain. When I get preached at, when people try to drag me to their sermons, when they spit on my beliefs and accuse me of not being 'good enough' for a blessed after life, I smile and shake my head gently, always saying "Excuse me, I really have to go now. I need to take care of some things." and I leave without hurting them.
Faith is a beautiful thing. I admire those who can have faith so blindly. I think it's noble. I also think it's a little naive but I wouldn't want to burst their bubble if it's what keeps them going.
On a very serious note, however, I find it incredibly cruel to have someone sit there and say the above things to me. I find it harsh for anyone to assume that a building with a cross on it, will make any more of a difference than a building with a star on its door or a Book of Shadows (for the ones who celebrate Paganism or Wicca), or for those who go to a Muslim temple or Buddhist.
It is not our place as human beings to define god, or the gods, or any spirit. It just isn't. That is like saying that instead of the universe (for those who are atheists or agnostics) or God (for the religious) is controlled by US the humans. It's incredulous. Blasphemy on every religious level.
Therefore, it is also not our place to say, "My religion is the right one.", because guess what, your religion, is the same as mine, the same as the next persons. Overall they all say the same thing, be good unto others. Be good unto your earth that feeds you, be kind to the ones that gave you life, and be patient with the ones who make it harder.
Do not tell me I cannot be Jewish because I might as well have killed Jesus. Do not attempt to tell me that I can be saved. I can be the only one to save myself and I think I've done a rather fantastic job at that. Don't ask me to disregard my beliefs just because it clashes with my skin color or the language I speak or the island I come from. Most of all, don't you dare assume that you are a better person than I am, just because under a piece of paper where it says "Faith" you can check off anything else, or nothing at all. I am myself, my beliefs are what they are, and I still embrace those I love and even those who have hurt me, and wish them the best. Not many people have that kind of faith... in themselves.
With honesty and best wishes unto everyone under the sky, whether religious or not,
Sincerely (although long-winded),
Plutonia
Never a dull moment in this concrete jungle full of citrus and ocean breezes. I've often noticed that Miami is built a bit like a barricade. Even though we have almost immediate access to the ocean, most of the city is inverted so that the buildings block out any natural light, the sight of sea water, and human interaction. There are a few areas that I absolutely love about Miami but they are heavily outweighed by the things I dislike about it.
One of the things I can't stand, for example, is the way that perfect strangers who try to preach at me or try to force me to go to their church react when they find out I'm Jewish. "But... you're hispanic. How can you be Jewish?" or "That doesn't matter, you need Jesus in your life, come to my church we'll FIX you." and the ever most infamous "You can't be Jewish. Jews killed Jesus. Do you think thats right? That they killed Jesus? We can save you."
What.The.Crack.Are.You.On? No. The Jews did not kill Jesus. According to even the Christian Bible, the Jews just stood aside while the ROMANS killed Jesus (yeah, those very same romans that have a vatican in Italy with a pope.). There are many things I do not agree with when it comes to religion, even in some cases things that pertain to Judaism. Here's the thing though, I don't claim to be a good person because of a title of 'belief' that is placed on me. No. I'm a good person because I bend over backwards to help others, even when they are not very nice to me. Also, because I'm just plain kind of heart. I dislike seeing sadness or pain on anyones face. My instinct when I have an uneaten bag of chips in my purse after lunch, is to give it to the man rifling through the trash for food when I get off the bus, even though I know I'm struggling in my own way.
Money is a big deal to me, a huge deal really. Not because I want grandeur, but more so because I abhor owing anyone anything. It pains me to know that I signed on for something and then halfway through can't meet my end of the bargain. I avoid luxuries and I give give give until so little is left that even if I did have the urge to splurge I just can't. Never once do I complain. When I get preached at, when people try to drag me to their sermons, when they spit on my beliefs and accuse me of not being 'good enough' for a blessed after life, I smile and shake my head gently, always saying "Excuse me, I really have to go now. I need to take care of some things." and I leave without hurting them.
Faith is a beautiful thing. I admire those who can have faith so blindly. I think it's noble. I also think it's a little naive but I wouldn't want to burst their bubble if it's what keeps them going.
On a very serious note, however, I find it incredibly cruel to have someone sit there and say the above things to me. I find it harsh for anyone to assume that a building with a cross on it, will make any more of a difference than a building with a star on its door or a Book of Shadows (for the ones who celebrate Paganism or Wicca), or for those who go to a Muslim temple or Buddhist.
It is not our place as human beings to define god, or the gods, or any spirit. It just isn't. That is like saying that instead of the universe (for those who are atheists or agnostics) or God (for the religious) is controlled by US the humans. It's incredulous. Blasphemy on every religious level.
Therefore, it is also not our place to say, "My religion is the right one.", because guess what, your religion, is the same as mine, the same as the next persons. Overall they all say the same thing, be good unto others. Be good unto your earth that feeds you, be kind to the ones that gave you life, and be patient with the ones who make it harder.
Do not tell me I cannot be Jewish because I might as well have killed Jesus. Do not attempt to tell me that I can be saved. I can be the only one to save myself and I think I've done a rather fantastic job at that. Don't ask me to disregard my beliefs just because it clashes with my skin color or the language I speak or the island I come from. Most of all, don't you dare assume that you are a better person than I am, just because under a piece of paper where it says "Faith" you can check off anything else, or nothing at all. I am myself, my beliefs are what they are, and I still embrace those I love and even those who have hurt me, and wish them the best. Not many people have that kind of faith... in themselves.
With honesty and best wishes unto everyone under the sky, whether religious or not,
Sincerely (although long-winded),
Plutonia
Sunday, December 13, 2009
If you love them, feed them!
If there is one thing that makes me feel amazingly warm inside and hopeful, it is watching other people enjoy a meal I've cooked for them. The process of cooking, itself, is wondrous and fulfilling to me. I learn so much about myself in the process. Probably because I am so focused on what is happening, that I don't have the space in my mind for the clutter of the outside world.
When I cook, I reminisce, but more often than that, I envision the type of lifestyle I want in the future. In my future I picture snowy white winters filled with warm stews and delicious home baked bread. I see kids running around competing with each other to see who gets the biggest cookie right out of the oven. Thanksgivings filled with so much food that everyone walks away with loads of leftovers to take home. More often than not, I see myself falling asleep peacefully and with my mind cleared.
It's easy to fall into a rut and think that no matter what we do, nothing will ever make us feel better. Remember those movies where the girl who is so sad over her breakup that she stuffs her face and never leaves the bed? Well, sad to say, a lot of the time for many people that is how they handle pain. It's understandable. After all, seeking comfort in familiar things tends to heal the heart. The thing those movies never tell you, however, is that sometimes it feels even better to take yourself to the market, get a bunch of ingredients, and cook your heart out.
For the sad hearts, I suggest cooking pastas with rich tomato based sauces, delicious bread full of herbs, and mushrooms with loads of cheese. For those seeking bravery, definitely go with a strong steak (if you're a meat eater that is) and potatoes with a nice glass of wine, nothing makes you feel more ready to tackle anything than a good old fashioned meal. For those in love, bake a cake, a pie, whatever is sweet but tart and keeps your head in the clouds but your feet on the ground. I swear, there is a meal for every emotion. Food is such a beautiful thing when it is handled right. Food should NEVER make you feel guilty. You should love what you're eating and your body just as much after eating it. The right food, will never make you feel disgusting.
It's important to know how to cook food in a healthy and delicious way, as much as it is important to enjoy it wholeheartedly. If you feel guilty about what you've eaten, chances are it was not cooked the right way and that is why you feel so sluggish and depressed about it afterward.
I have friends who have severe issues with food. I love each and every one of them so much that it is often on my mind that I would love to show them that food can love them back in a healthy way, not in the frightening way they've become used to approaching it. I also had severe problems with my relationship with food. In middle school and high school I battled with bulimia, with long periods of not eating, and pill popping, all to fit into an image of myself that I really thought I wanted. It's not as though food is the real problem, but approaching it with a fresh idea of what is POSSIBLE to do with it, might help overcome this.
When a friend gave me this website to view new recipes as well as a fresh perspective on what food is really about, my passion for cooking escalated and any guilt that used to accompany left in an instant.
Visit: TasteSpotting
You're probably thinking "That is not possible. Things like that don't go away so easily." and you'd be right, it wasn't JUST the site that gave me that closure. It was the many hours I spent reading and discovering how other HEALTHY people approached food and how they felt about it. It was beautiful. The food that we disregard so often is actually gorgeous when you see it for what it is. Sans chemicals, food tastes BETTER. With less salt/oil and more herbs, food tastes light and filling without the "ugh" factor after it.
When I finally have my own home one day, I intend to take those friends by the hand and lead them to a table where the food invites them in, and says goodbye to them in a healthy way, a happy way. I want them to eat the yummy things they are afraid of and smile happily in the process. I want to see them enjoy who they are, the body they in, and the food that they get to have that day.
Eating disorders are not funny, chronic dieting is frightening, and pill popping is just downright reckless. If you love someone who has these issues, discover a new way to cook, get them psychological help, and feed them the guiltless foods you learn about along the way. Remind them that they are wonderful, but hold them when they are in doubt without trying to force them to see themselves differently. It will always take time, sometimes even a lifetime.
Eat safe, Dine happy, Live free,
Always with love,
Plutonia
When I cook, I reminisce, but more often than that, I envision the type of lifestyle I want in the future. In my future I picture snowy white winters filled with warm stews and delicious home baked bread. I see kids running around competing with each other to see who gets the biggest cookie right out of the oven. Thanksgivings filled with so much food that everyone walks away with loads of leftovers to take home. More often than not, I see myself falling asleep peacefully and with my mind cleared.
It's easy to fall into a rut and think that no matter what we do, nothing will ever make us feel better. Remember those movies where the girl who is so sad over her breakup that she stuffs her face and never leaves the bed? Well, sad to say, a lot of the time for many people that is how they handle pain. It's understandable. After all, seeking comfort in familiar things tends to heal the heart. The thing those movies never tell you, however, is that sometimes it feels even better to take yourself to the market, get a bunch of ingredients, and cook your heart out.
For the sad hearts, I suggest cooking pastas with rich tomato based sauces, delicious bread full of herbs, and mushrooms with loads of cheese. For those seeking bravery, definitely go with a strong steak (if you're a meat eater that is) and potatoes with a nice glass of wine, nothing makes you feel more ready to tackle anything than a good old fashioned meal. For those in love, bake a cake, a pie, whatever is sweet but tart and keeps your head in the clouds but your feet on the ground. I swear, there is a meal for every emotion. Food is such a beautiful thing when it is handled right. Food should NEVER make you feel guilty. You should love what you're eating and your body just as much after eating it. The right food, will never make you feel disgusting.
It's important to know how to cook food in a healthy and delicious way, as much as it is important to enjoy it wholeheartedly. If you feel guilty about what you've eaten, chances are it was not cooked the right way and that is why you feel so sluggish and depressed about it afterward.
I have friends who have severe issues with food. I love each and every one of them so much that it is often on my mind that I would love to show them that food can love them back in a healthy way, not in the frightening way they've become used to approaching it. I also had severe problems with my relationship with food. In middle school and high school I battled with bulimia, with long periods of not eating, and pill popping, all to fit into an image of myself that I really thought I wanted. It's not as though food is the real problem, but approaching it with a fresh idea of what is POSSIBLE to do with it, might help overcome this.
When a friend gave me this website to view new recipes as well as a fresh perspective on what food is really about, my passion for cooking escalated and any guilt that used to accompany left in an instant.
Visit: TasteSpotting
You're probably thinking "That is not possible. Things like that don't go away so easily." and you'd be right, it wasn't JUST the site that gave me that closure. It was the many hours I spent reading and discovering how other HEALTHY people approached food and how they felt about it. It was beautiful. The food that we disregard so often is actually gorgeous when you see it for what it is. Sans chemicals, food tastes BETTER. With less salt/oil and more herbs, food tastes light and filling without the "ugh" factor after it.
When I finally have my own home one day, I intend to take those friends by the hand and lead them to a table where the food invites them in, and says goodbye to them in a healthy way, a happy way. I want them to eat the yummy things they are afraid of and smile happily in the process. I want to see them enjoy who they are, the body they in, and the food that they get to have that day.
Eating disorders are not funny, chronic dieting is frightening, and pill popping is just downright reckless. If you love someone who has these issues, discover a new way to cook, get them psychological help, and feed them the guiltless foods you learn about along the way. Remind them that they are wonderful, but hold them when they are in doubt without trying to force them to see themselves differently. It will always take time, sometimes even a lifetime.
Eat safe, Dine happy, Live free,
Always with love,
Plutonia
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
It's not a curse if you made it happen.
Since my 25th birthday came and went, I've become a bit of an extroverted hermit. The oxymoron is pretty funny but also very accurate. I'm suddenly more aware of myself than I've ever been, and shockingly, I feel like my life has FINALLY actually started.
I used to swear up and down that I'd never live to be 24. Now I'm 25. I remember roughly upwards of 20 suicide attempts. I remember popping pills like crazy to stay awake and study obsessively, then taking downers just to sleep on the weekends. There were times, when honestly, I wouldn't eat. For days. I got so desperate that I drank cooking wine when I was 18. Other times, I'd drag myself out of the house just to buy a case of lager which I'd drink alone in my room until I burst into tears thinking that there was no way on earth that anyone could ever love me, when I couldn't even love me.
Yeah, being young, hurts that fucking much. It is NOT the best time of your life. It's genuinely the hardest. Later on, we can put on brave faces and be extremely strong if we let ourselves be, if we willingly recall the things we learned and conquered in the past.
There were days, when I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Especially those bright, annoyingly sunny days. Yes. Annoyingly sunny, because no matter how bright it was outside, my insides felt corroded and like a window taped up and guarded to avoid all light. I hated sunny days for all of the wrong reasons. It reminded me of everything I couldn't have.
Imagine standing on a platform waiting for a train so you can go to school, when you're 18 and picturing throwing yourself in front of the train. Imagine actually STARTING TO DO IT. That was me. I was the girl who would quietly step up really close to the edge and beg for an ounce of "bravery" to make that jump. Same with balconies, cliffs, and trying to drown. People who say suicide is the easy way out, have no idea what goes through our heads while we consider it. "How much will the funeral cost my family?", "what... what about my TURTLES?", "god, did I pick the right underwear?". Trivial as these thoughts might be, they signify the exact feeling of abandonment that is lurking inside. The thought about costing your family money, it means feeling like a burden. The turtles? They're the only thing that I thought loved me. The underwear? Well that should be obvious. Societal standards, the judgement, the idea of being naked to anyone who is trying to figure out exactly how you died and having them judge you for wearing the wrong knickers. They are acute fears that provide a weak and fragile tie to reality and to life.
I have an ex, who once badgered me like crazy to find out why I cried so much. It was always like some odd twisted situation with us. He wanted to believe he could cure me. He came from a military family, his dad was supposedly hard on him and his brother. Since he kept badgering, I finally answered. He couldn't handle it. The more I cried, the colder and more distant he became. After a two hour explanation of the entirety of my life until that point, he just.... hung up the call. I freaked out assuming it was my fault, as usual, and called back to apologize. We tried to reconnect our relationship twice after that, when suddenly on Valentines day, after a $300 gift of lilies and chocolates (I'm allergic to chocolates but it's the thought that counts right?) he told me that he couldn't love me anymore. That I had left a big black hole where his heart used to be. That I had killed his faith in humanity. After that, what could I say? I simply accepted it. After our conversation was over, I ran to my mother in tears, and in front of her and my father, I cried out this vicious gutteral sob "He left me, he really left me. He said he can't love me" and sobbed in front of my father. Over a guy. One thing my father cannot handle, is watching me cry in that much pain.
As tough as my dad is, he got choked up and had to rub his face to erase the pained expression on it, and he walked out of the house to let my mother and I talk. Talk about what though? All I could do was lay in my bed where she placed me, and sob while clutching my blankets.
Sharing this, after some time, got easier. I took it as a learning lesson. I will never forget it either.
No one can be expected to save you from yourself. That role, it falls on you. This doesn't mean you should ever give up. In fact, it means that you have to NOT give up. To prove that wannabe hero wrong. That you are indeed quite lovable. That you aren't a waste of space and affection. Most of all, if you don't give yourself the chance to reach the next step in your life, how can you expect anyone to want to give up their life time to be with you? Or even an ounce of their life time?
It sure as hell is not easy to love yourself. I don't love myself yet. I'm liking myself a little more each day though. I don't even consider daydreaming about dying. There's no point in it when there are over 180 countries on this planet, over 6 billion people to meet, over a billion varieties of foods to try, of movies to watch, of LIFE to experience. How can you possibly tell yourself that you don't deserve to live? You only get to say that after you've met at least 3 billion of those 6.5 billion people, tried at least 1/7th of the foods in this world, watched a shitload of amazing films, read as many novels as your hands can aquire, and seen at least 3 countries besides your own. Why? You're probably wondering why the hell Princess Plutonia would EVER say such random things.
I'll tell you why. Because the second that you think "this is all there is and ever will be, so I should just die." is the same fucking second that I would tell you "pick up your bags, we're going on a road trip. you're not dying on me today."
So to anyone who reads this, to anyone feeling alone and sad, and abandoned. I will tell you this much. Your turtles haven't abandoned you, the yummy food is waiting, and there are 3 billion people out there, waiting to shake your hand. Greet your new horizons, pack the bags, and always press forward. Turn around to wave goodbye briefly, but don't tether yourself to the pain in your past. Just use the little happiness that existed there, to keep you fueled long enough to find more of it.
I'm passing the metaphorical bread around the table so take a bite.
Always,
I used to swear up and down that I'd never live to be 24. Now I'm 25. I remember roughly upwards of 20 suicide attempts. I remember popping pills like crazy to stay awake and study obsessively, then taking downers just to sleep on the weekends. There were times, when honestly, I wouldn't eat. For days. I got so desperate that I drank cooking wine when I was 18. Other times, I'd drag myself out of the house just to buy a case of lager which I'd drink alone in my room until I burst into tears thinking that there was no way on earth that anyone could ever love me, when I couldn't even love me.
Yeah, being young, hurts that fucking much. It is NOT the best time of your life. It's genuinely the hardest. Later on, we can put on brave faces and be extremely strong if we let ourselves be, if we willingly recall the things we learned and conquered in the past.
There were days, when I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Especially those bright, annoyingly sunny days. Yes. Annoyingly sunny, because no matter how bright it was outside, my insides felt corroded and like a window taped up and guarded to avoid all light. I hated sunny days for all of the wrong reasons. It reminded me of everything I couldn't have.
Imagine standing on a platform waiting for a train so you can go to school, when you're 18 and picturing throwing yourself in front of the train. Imagine actually STARTING TO DO IT. That was me. I was the girl who would quietly step up really close to the edge and beg for an ounce of "bravery" to make that jump. Same with balconies, cliffs, and trying to drown. People who say suicide is the easy way out, have no idea what goes through our heads while we consider it. "How much will the funeral cost my family?", "what... what about my TURTLES?", "god, did I pick the right underwear?". Trivial as these thoughts might be, they signify the exact feeling of abandonment that is lurking inside. The thought about costing your family money, it means feeling like a burden. The turtles? They're the only thing that I thought loved me. The underwear? Well that should be obvious. Societal standards, the judgement, the idea of being naked to anyone who is trying to figure out exactly how you died and having them judge you for wearing the wrong knickers. They are acute fears that provide a weak and fragile tie to reality and to life.
I have an ex, who once badgered me like crazy to find out why I cried so much. It was always like some odd twisted situation with us. He wanted to believe he could cure me. He came from a military family, his dad was supposedly hard on him and his brother. Since he kept badgering, I finally answered. He couldn't handle it. The more I cried, the colder and more distant he became. After a two hour explanation of the entirety of my life until that point, he just.... hung up the call. I freaked out assuming it was my fault, as usual, and called back to apologize. We tried to reconnect our relationship twice after that, when suddenly on Valentines day, after a $300 gift of lilies and chocolates (I'm allergic to chocolates but it's the thought that counts right?) he told me that he couldn't love me anymore. That I had left a big black hole where his heart used to be. That I had killed his faith in humanity. After that, what could I say? I simply accepted it. After our conversation was over, I ran to my mother in tears, and in front of her and my father, I cried out this vicious gutteral sob "He left me, he really left me. He said he can't love me" and sobbed in front of my father. Over a guy. One thing my father cannot handle, is watching me cry in that much pain.
As tough as my dad is, he got choked up and had to rub his face to erase the pained expression on it, and he walked out of the house to let my mother and I talk. Talk about what though? All I could do was lay in my bed where she placed me, and sob while clutching my blankets.
Sharing this, after some time, got easier. I took it as a learning lesson. I will never forget it either.
No one can be expected to save you from yourself. That role, it falls on you. This doesn't mean you should ever give up. In fact, it means that you have to NOT give up. To prove that wannabe hero wrong. That you are indeed quite lovable. That you aren't a waste of space and affection. Most of all, if you don't give yourself the chance to reach the next step in your life, how can you expect anyone to want to give up their life time to be with you? Or even an ounce of their life time?
It sure as hell is not easy to love yourself. I don't love myself yet. I'm liking myself a little more each day though. I don't even consider daydreaming about dying. There's no point in it when there are over 180 countries on this planet, over 6 billion people to meet, over a billion varieties of foods to try, of movies to watch, of LIFE to experience. How can you possibly tell yourself that you don't deserve to live? You only get to say that after you've met at least 3 billion of those 6.5 billion people, tried at least 1/7th of the foods in this world, watched a shitload of amazing films, read as many novels as your hands can aquire, and seen at least 3 countries besides your own. Why? You're probably wondering why the hell Princess Plutonia would EVER say such random things.
I'll tell you why. Because the second that you think "this is all there is and ever will be, so I should just die." is the same fucking second that I would tell you "pick up your bags, we're going on a road trip. you're not dying on me today."
So to anyone who reads this, to anyone feeling alone and sad, and abandoned. I will tell you this much. Your turtles haven't abandoned you, the yummy food is waiting, and there are 3 billion people out there, waiting to shake your hand. Greet your new horizons, pack the bags, and always press forward. Turn around to wave goodbye briefly, but don't tether yourself to the pain in your past. Just use the little happiness that existed there, to keep you fueled long enough to find more of it.
I'm passing the metaphorical bread around the table so take a bite.
Always,
Princess Plutonia
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
When ideas flow, walls will crumble.
Ever since my 25th birthday, it's like a giant vault of ideas and idea creating juices has pried itself open for me. I feel like alice in wonderland, with each new candy and treat I get a new idea.
I started out with one book. I ended up with two. Then listening to music one day, another premise for a new book struck me, and now I had three. Tonight, I'm reading an anonymous post from Honesty Box on Facebook, and I am not sleeping (yet again) and I end up with a fourth book in mind!
Badass Retrograde has been renamed Rebel Retrograde. The story remains about Aiden and her growth. The first book I had begun a long time ago, it's an untitled project still and I intend to strip it and retool it as I see fit. Third is about strangers with the key to the same apartment. Fourth is a surprise :p Nya Nya!
I'm excited about the future. About my writing. My parents are on board and supportive. My future is open to my own interpretation!
I started out with one book. I ended up with two. Then listening to music one day, another premise for a new book struck me, and now I had three. Tonight, I'm reading an anonymous post from Honesty Box on Facebook, and I am not sleeping (yet again) and I end up with a fourth book in mind!
Badass Retrograde has been renamed Rebel Retrograde. The story remains about Aiden and her growth. The first book I had begun a long time ago, it's an untitled project still and I intend to strip it and retool it as I see fit. Third is about strangers with the key to the same apartment. Fourth is a surprise :p Nya Nya!
I'm excited about the future. About my writing. My parents are on board and supportive. My future is open to my own interpretation!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Sometimes the events that seem so important pale in comparison to their aftermath.
My birthday came and went. It was fantastic. On the actual day (October 29) my parents were sweet and got me a strawberry cheesecake. My mom was dorky enough to light a match and pretend it was a candle but that added to the charm. She gave me roses and some candy. I'm not really a candy or rose person but the effort she made was nice.
My birthday get together at Miami Seaquarium was awesome to say the least. It was smaller than we'd expected but the fact that my two friends and I were together and enjoying ourselves made it feel like the fun would never end. We took so many pictures and rode the Ferris Wheel. I can definitely say it was my best birthday to date.
I did change though. Somehow mysteriously. I know it sounds funny and like it can't possibly make sense to change your habit in a few short days of turning 25, but it's true.
I've become more forgiving. More easy going. I also say a lot more positive things. I don't really say "This is impossible" about anything anymore. When others complain about things, I turn around and gently remind them that instead of freaking out about what can't be fixed we should make an effort to fix what is possible. I'm a bit more rational now. Well, except for some things ^_^ I still cry like a goon when my boyfriend and I get into a dumb little tiff. Even then though, I make dumb jokes as I'm crying. I actually make jokes while I cry! Like some weird comedic character out of a book!
I don't really know what to say beyond that. There's no hidden mystery here. There's no bitterness or regrets anymore. It's not even a clean slate. The past is still here in my bones and building me up like parts of a machine, but the old parts aren't rusty and hurtful anymore. It's like they've just adapted to their surroundings and to the new parts, to create a really interesting piece of work.
I look forward to getting to know myself for the next 25 years.
Sorry for the delay,
Plutonia
My birthday get together at Miami Seaquarium was awesome to say the least. It was smaller than we'd expected but the fact that my two friends and I were together and enjoying ourselves made it feel like the fun would never end. We took so many pictures and rode the Ferris Wheel. I can definitely say it was my best birthday to date.
I did change though. Somehow mysteriously. I know it sounds funny and like it can't possibly make sense to change your habit in a few short days of turning 25, but it's true.
I've become more forgiving. More easy going. I also say a lot more positive things. I don't really say "This is impossible" about anything anymore. When others complain about things, I turn around and gently remind them that instead of freaking out about what can't be fixed we should make an effort to fix what is possible. I'm a bit more rational now. Well, except for some things ^_^ I still cry like a goon when my boyfriend and I get into a dumb little tiff. Even then though, I make dumb jokes as I'm crying. I actually make jokes while I cry! Like some weird comedic character out of a book!
I don't really know what to say beyond that. There's no hidden mystery here. There's no bitterness or regrets anymore. It's not even a clean slate. The past is still here in my bones and building me up like parts of a machine, but the old parts aren't rusty and hurtful anymore. It's like they've just adapted to their surroundings and to the new parts, to create a really interesting piece of work.
I look forward to getting to know myself for the next 25 years.
Sorry for the delay,
Plutonia
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