I cry, because I will laugh if I don't.

So this Halloween I once again realized that being the age I currently am is grossly restricting. I can't trick or treat any more,which really is more of a let down than I let on. I don't look the part, and don't want to be a creeper. And I'm not yet old enough to enter any establishment that might offer festivities of some kind  [It took me five minutes to write that last sentence because I was so distracted by Helena Bonham Carter on my TV in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.] 

I'm tired. I'm really tired. Not just because it's after four in the morning, but because October has been bizarre and exhausting. My brain is more fatigued than ever from the worst and best occurrences of my life. Surprisingly the worst has taken a much appreciated back seat. And my legs are falling apart due to the obscene amount of walking I've done, which won't be over with until maybe after the All Souls Procession next week. The arch of my right foot that for a few years has been giving me trouble on and [mostly] off is acting up more than ever. When I walk on it bare it feels like jerky that's about to rip, and the sensation spreads through my foot into a few of my toes. Not pain, but shifting. This has also extended into my leg a bit, and because I've been having to compensate with my left foot, it's begun to hurt as well. Waa. This could all be compared to how I'm doing upstairs, except I can't feel it in my muscles or tendons. It's like helium fighting miniature anvils in my organs and snakes all over my skin. Am I complaining? Yes. But not only. 

I passed an accordion player tonight on fourth avenue and seriously considered stealing his instrument and running as fast as I could away. And later I got a water from the fridge for Carley and a boy in the box office gave me a nice look.

I've still got pounds of makeup on my face, and the lower half of my costume on. I'd say it's about time I wash up and go to bed. Happy Halloween. Happy. Halloween.

My secret friend. I'll take you to the river.

My secret friend. Where we can swim forever.

"And they tell you it's not natural."

What I learned in rehab.

Disneyland helps me believe this wholeheartedly.

Disneyland helps me forget about how much I dislike my teeth and my math class, and makes me remember how much I like everything else.

Disneyland helps me have the will to wait in lines to meet actors I still allow myself to believe are really the characters I'm parasitically attached to.

Disneyland helps me forget that I'm not really in New Orleans until my dad points out balconies that have sets of tables and chairs and no doors leading out to them.

 Disneyland helps me remember what it's like to see everyone in my family happy.

Disneyland helps me set aside the five hundred mile difference and spend the day with people I know I would be inseparable from if they lived in Tuck-sin.

 

Disneyland helps me realize how much I love myself, but also how much I love everyone I love... which I love.

So that's why sploosh was so good in 'Holes," they were getting drunk!

Despite the fact that my best friend from middle school killed himself, there's a sinkhole in my living room, we can't use our bathrooms at home, my mom's eye is [for lack of a better word] exploding, I've got over a hundred math problems due by Friday, should really be blocking scene one for WIZARD OF OZ right now, don't have internet access at home, and I won't be able to finish my Halloween costume by this weekend, I've really got nothing to complain about. And I mean that. So many things, not just limited to these, are going terribly right now and I couldn't care less, because it's being outweighed so much with me realizing more and more that I'm really fucking happy. It's sickening in a weird way. Sometimes literally. 

There are times where as a person I know that I've got so much advantage over a lot of people in a lot of ways. Gross. But I also know, now more than ever, why I have the personality I do, and why I have to keep people as far away from me as possible. I've got a huge disadvantage when it comes to trusting people and being able to open myself up. Blah. Blah. Blah. 

Things are changing and all I want to do is write, and draw, and scream, and sew, and listen to myself talk, and listen to you talk, and sit in the passenger's seat, and tell everyone how disgustingly great my life is. 

Some day I'll say real things to you.

My posts are getting short. That's irritating.

All I want to do is write about my life. I made this blog so I could more directly get my feelings out, and I can't do that at the present moment. But I compensate by writing to myself on paper. What a concept. That's what I do during class now. But then again, so is this. I'm in class right now, but technically I don't have a class right now, I'm just utilizing my school's technology because of my lack of internet at home, and I just lied to you. Was I saying something? Oh! I've also been compensating with obscure and inappropriate humor, and no one really knows what I'm talking about because I'm really not talking about anything I know anything about, but that's nothing to kill yourself over. Case and point. 

It's a good thing I saw that rhino coming, because now we're making plans and developing better communication skills. 

I'm on the verge of being totally incoherent, if I haven't already been. This was a bad idea. I need some paper I can be honest with.

All Aboard.

I think it's pretty safe to say that I have more than deserved this vacation. I don't want to think about anything because all I can seem to do as of late is think about everything. I've been sick to my stomach for a week and a half. Whine. Whine. Whine. I can't wait to smell Pirates of the Caribbean, and the gingerbread house in the holiday decorated Haunted Mansion. I'll wear my new coat over each of my pre-planned outfits, and film every second I deem necessary. The scent of the bamboo in Adventureland, and the cobblestone walkways in New Orleans square scream home and there's no place like it. [The movement in the lobby of LTW that I can hear from the office is making me anxious.] I am beyond ready to abandon my worries. I'll walk through those gates and I will just be there and that's all that will matter. I am ready to be happy... not that I'm not already. For all the Jamie Cullum and IAMX I've been listening to, I'm doing pretty damn well.

This has been the most emotional week of my life. For many reasons. Most of which I don't want to talk to much of anyone about. I've never really had a private life, but it seems like that's just about all I have right now.

I've received more details about Gibran's suicide today. I've connected with a few more people in and out of state. I am ready to speak at our whole school meeting tomorrow. I fully anticipate I"ll cry and shout to and at everyone in that room, and hide when lunch comes around because I also fully anticipate people wanting to hug me and tell me they're sorry, even though that's not what I want right now, especially from those kids who didn't know him. And who really don't know me. I'm not afraid to and answer people with a firm "no" when they ask me if I'm doing okay. I'm not.

I was informed by a friend of mine that a girl he knows who attends Flowing Well's High School spoke with the counselor who read the police report. His mother has apparently blamed it on his piers and they will hold a private service. If his death had anything to do with being gay then I'm sure she just wanted to take the blame off herself. He was never good enough for her. It wasn't enough that he got straight A's and was on student council and tried everything he could to be her son. He just couldn't be her perfect little Catholic, Mexican, Straight son. I remember when he finally got the courage to come out to her. He told me she cried. Told him he was wrong. Lying. And if I remember correctly, forced him to watch porn of the heterosexual nature. This was when we were in middle school. 


He hanged himself. Left no note. Nothing on his phone. Computer wiped. He wanted to disappear. And he's done far from that. His Facebook is still active. And it seems that every person who's heard, myself included, has written to him. It's incredible, in an extremely tragic way. The amount of love that has been shown for him is unbelievable. People are confessing things they never had the chance to, recounting memories, and anything else they need to say. But it's not enough to offset the overwhelming number of voids that have been created because of it. And they're going to have a private service. There are kids all over this town seeking answers and closure who are supposed to take the blame for this incident. 

If need be I will take it upon myself to organize a public service for anyone who needs to pay their respects. At a park somewhere. I don't know yet. I'll make a Facebook event to let everyone know that it's happening. This is just too critical to let it slip by. And then I have to think about all of the other people in the world right now that are dealing with the same thing. All of these suicides. Families, friends, lovers. This is too big of an issue. And with disgusting, intolerant people like Boyd Packer [the second highest leader in the Mormon Church] announcing that being gay is 'unnatural', 'impure', 'morally wrong', and can be 'overcome' on a broadcast to millions of people just last week, something has to be done. 
And I need my part in it.

 

My most recent self portrait. I never plan to draw myself, but then again everything I draw could be considered a self portrait.

He never even saw that rhino coming.

October is here and there's nothing better than that right now, other than [maybe] the weather. I'm in the mood for change. Something has to change. Something is going to change, and for all I know that ball could already be rolling. With this surplus of downtime I feel like I'm waiting for something and I can't for the life of me tell what it is. 


13 days.