The Bleedy Song Redux

This was a song I wrote about three different encounters. It started as a joke--probably because it's hard to digest a lot of the terrible things that happen. Anyway, the first verse is showing the dichotomy of sexual encounters for women (from my very biased perspective--describing two very different situations), and the second verse is about getting sexually assaulted. I'm writing out the lyrics because this guy who is recording Ten Antenna right now heard this song and liked it. Also, I recently changed the words a little to make the song a little more descriptive, and therapeutic for me to sing.

"Are we goin' on Holiday?" was still ringing in my ears,

when I focused on famous faces over his shoulders.

Two little children trying to give it meaning

(to mean it to you).

"He's got five other beauties waiting in L.A."

when I focused on the ceiling, not on his breathing.

He said:

"We're so grown-up, we don't have to give it meaning.

Our timing was wrong."

I didn't bleed the first time, but I am bloody now

I didn't try the first time, but I am trying now.

We were using brute force,

I'm carrying this burden on my under-eyelids.

I put the elephant in the room, recklessly drank it down.

I'm sure I played some part, my role--it's frustrating.

Variables of action verbs confuse me-

I am so tired.

"Zero to sixty on a dime," helps me understand,

'Cause I'm still feeling the echoes of one night

that drew a line in the sand, I'm now who I am.

Replaced all my parts.

I didn't bleed the first time, but I am bloody now

I didn't try the first time, but I am trying now

He was using brute force

I'm carrying his burden

On my under eyelids.

Probably the least narcissistic thing I've ever done

My therapist is pretty smart. She's almost always right, actually.

I wish I could tell you what she says about you, but that would be really fucked up. So I'll just tell Gillian.

Anyway, last week she told me that I need to have a "crush on myself" for a while. Harder than it sounds. Trust.

How fucked up is that? I find I've been partially depressed this whole time because I was being fueled by what I thought someone else would want me to do. Very fucked up, is the answer.

My room is cleaner than it's been in a while, and I'm actually considering consuming more than just coffee this morning.

Conclusions? Fuck.

I've always wanted to be one of those people who could say timeless things. Not like cliche things, but new things that are timeless.

Two years ago my parents moved out of the house I grew up in. It was very sad. I had to go home and get rid of all of the stuff I'd been carefully hoarding for my entire life. At the same time I was going through one of those "line in the sand" break-ups; the kind that makes you go up to strange couples on the street and growl "...he will break your heart..." All of the change at one time didn't really suit me.

I didn't actually have to be present for the move. I was in New York, my parents moved from Potomac, MD to Gaithersburg, MD. I didn't see the new house until everything was unpacked into a smaller version of the house that I still picture as "home." I feel like a ghost in the new house when I visit. Like I'm invading some other family's life (a family that happens to have similar stuff).

In the bathroom in the foyer, in a single frame, all five of our names are written in calligraphy. Under each name, the meaning is listed and is accompanied by a pressed flower. My parents have clearly picked out which definition they think fits each family member. They have picked broad definitions for themselves, but have gotten more specific for the three kids. My sister, who is in finance, has been given the definition,"helper of mankind." My brother, who is popular and athletic has been given a similar definition. My definition, however, was set as "contemporary, sophisticated."

"Um. really cool and hard to understand?" I asked myself, "fashionable? that's what my parents think? that I'm trendy? For fucksake, I have a degree in social work, why didn't I get 'helper of mankind?' That's not very social work-y of me..."

It's a little crazy, thinking that much about a cute decoration that my mom probably bought at the beach.

more things, more stuff.

http://brotherladies.tumblr.com/

this is going to be kind of a mind fuck too, because this blog feeds into that tumblr. CYCLICAL

ev'rybody wanna piece

Yes I have many many many ideas. But I'm good at ideas. Execution, however, has always been a problem.

It's like ADHD: you can't read to the end of the line, or listen to the rest of a sentence, because you get it, and you're BORED.

So yes, maybe I've thought of an article to write for whatever blog I'm writing for, but I just can't write it.

My brain never stops whirring. ever. Even my dreams are intricate and vivid. I'm never at rest. It's totally exhausting in here.

*side note: I don't mean that I'm alert. I'm not talking about mania, I'm talking about attention-deficit/hyperactivity.

To friends of mine who are "stuck" creatively, I always say: take care of yourself. You're like a little toy car. You gotta rev it up a little before you can just let it go. But for me, it's like as long as I have a modicum of brain activity (conscious or not) my brain will just keep going.

But if I keep going at this pace, I don't know how much longer I can go. It's been 27 years, and the wear and tear on my nervous system has been brutal.

The Monster Without a Name

This story is from an anime series called "Monster"

The Monster Without a Name

A long, long time ago in a land far away,

There was a monster without a name.

The monster wanted a name badly.
So the monster left to go on a journey to find a name.

But the world was so large that he split into two to make his journey.
One went to the west and the other went to the east.

The monster who went to the east found a village.
At the entrance of the village, there was a blacksmith.

“Mr. Blacksmith, please give me your name.”

“You can’t give away your name.”

“If you give me your name, I’ll enter you and give you strength.”

“Really? If you can make me stronger, then I’ll give you my name.”

The monster entered the blacksmith.

The monster became Otto the Blacksmith.
Otto the Blacksmith became the strongest man in the village.

But one day he said,
“Look at me. Look at me. Look at how large the monster inside me has become.”

Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!
The hungry monster ate Otto from the inside out.

The monster returned to being a nameless monster.

Even when he entered Hans the Shoemaker,
Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!

He returned to being a nameless monster.

When he entered Thomas the Hunter,
Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!

He once again returned to being a nameless monster.

Finally, the monster came to a castle looking for a wonderful name.
In the castle, there was a sick boy.

“If you give me your name, I’ll give you strength.”

“If you can cure this illness and make me strong, I’ll give you my name.”

The monster entered the boy.

The boy became well.
The king was so pleased. “The prince is well! The prince is well!”

The monster liked the boy’s name.
He also liked living in the castle.

So even though he was hungry, he endured.
Every day his stomach growled, but he endured it.

However, he was so hungry that one day he said,
“Look at me. Look at me. Look at how large the monster inside me has become.”

The boy ate the king and even his servants.
Crunch Crunch! Munch Munch! Chomp Chomp! Gulp!

Since there was no one there anymore, the boy went on a journey.
He kept on walking for days and days.

One day, the boy met the monster who travelled to the west.

“I have a name. It’s a wonderful name, too.”

The monster who went to the west said,
“I don’t need a name. I’m happy even without a name.
We just have to accept that we are monsters without a name.”

So the boy ate the monster who went to the west.

He finally had a name.
But all the people who could call him by that name had disappeared.

http://tenantenna.bandcamp.com/track/the-demon-song-live

I rant about this again:

Some people have diabetes, or heart problems, or lupus, or whatever. When shit gets really life-threatening, you tend to tell your friends and family, and ask for support (lets find a cure! come visit me in the hospital!). This is different with mental illness, because of all those normative values and stigma telling us that it's a personal weakness, and therefore YOUR FAULT (and not something biological like say, diabetes, or heart problems, lupus, or whatever). And we all know that your brain is separate from the rest of your body, and mental illnesses should be treated like personal defects of character, and not treatable medical conditions.

I have so many friends who are so against medication and therapists. They say, "it's all mental. You just have to train yourself." Sure, sometimes that's very true. But sometimes, in cases that actually qualify for illness (or "meet criteria"), diet, exercise and discipline don't really cut it. Sure, for someone who is feeling a little low lately, these methods are super effective. And people with reoccurring episodes should practice these preventative behaviors when they are feeling better.

HOWEVER, I think it is extremely irresponsible to adopt the attitude that it's simply mind over matter, especially for mental illness. How are you supposed to eat right and exercise if you've lost your appetite and you're sleeping 14 hours a day? How are you supposed to "make yourself"do anything when you're having uncontrollable thoughts like "I suck. This doesn't matter anyway. I deserve to feel like shit." I'm sure you can get through that yoga routine...once you're done with that random crying spell brought on by feelings of overwhelming guilt, shame and despair. Yes, it sounds dramatic. But it should. This is very serious.

So I'm obviously pissed about the whole thing. I've been a "stigma buster" for NAMI since I was 14, and encourage everyone to actually know what they are talking about when saying "ugh medication...ugh therapists..." If this is your stance, you probably haven't seen what most helping professionals have seen. When people are in crisis, this shit helps. And you know whats even better? To get help before a crisis. Feeling "okay" from diet and exercise is not good enough. Can you imagine living your whole life only feeling "okay?"

I'm sorry, I just think that taking 10mg of something and seeing a shrink 45 minutes a week, and feeling like a functional person is waaay better than NOT taking meds or seeing a shrink and sleeping for 11 hours a day and having constant feelings of emptiness and suicide. Just a thought, tho.