as if a sweater could've made it better

last night i dreamt that you felt the need to publicly recount
that i'd been fully-dressed when you found my body -
as if, somehow, being clothed when i overdosed meant less
than dying as naked as the day i was born.

when the number of days listed was up in the air

i keep lists.
things i need to do, should do, want to do, might do. things i won't.
i don't always know which kind of list the list is going to be until after i've listed it,
and then it usually makes itself clear.
a big indicator is whether or not i actually finish the list,
because really, that should be the number one thing on the list.
these days i don't cross out much.
the idea is to cross things off the list once you've completed them,
but i've been having trouble starting because most of the things i list
require me to get out of bed,
and that really doesn't take into account the fact that i can't.
i tried to make a list of reasons for that, but it turned out to be one of the lists i never finish.
it feels strange staring at a blank piece of paper where before i might've scrawled down plans,
or at least plans to make plans.
feels almost like i'm out of my head,
but the problem is that i'm actually so completely in my head -
i know all the same things i need to write down,
but for some reason they're all out of order, all too faint to make out,
like a thought just out of reach and i'm too exhausted to keep holding out for it, so i go to bed.
i'm the kind of person who sleeps when i have nothing to do,
and i have plenty to do right now, but i can't seem to work it out,
get it down on paper, get it out of my head, i'm stuck,
and i'm afraid of being this way, so i go to sleep.
people ask me why i can't seem to do any of the things i need to do
and i want to tell them that it's because of this, this, and this
but i'm staring at blank lists like it's all i've ever known,
there is nothing here to cross out except for my name at the top of the sheet -
i would rather have a 100-item to-do list than than this overwhelming opening for anything
because i don't even know where to start, so anything turns to nothing.
i've started to list my flaws in the hopes of crossing those out,
but i'm realizing that i can't make these go away,
so maybe i should have made a list of all my strengths that are already gone.
i am too weak to lift a pen.
i have done nothing forever, but everyone keeps telling me i'm trying to do too much,
i'm complicating things, so let's simplify:
i have two lists.
one says, "get better," and the other says, "kill yourself,"
and i KNOW which one sounds less daunting to me.
i don't even know where to begin with the first list,
but i know step for step, pill for pill, gram for gram, the second -
and i just find it infuriating that the one thing i feel i can do,
the one item i could stand to complete
means that if i do, i won't be here to cross it out.
and i am sorry for all these unfinished lists, all these scraps of paper everywhere,
i used to be so organized,
and i'm afraid to get rid of any of these now because i lost track
of how much of this is me and how much of this is my depression
and i am so afraid of finding out that there is no difference.
i stare at the words "get better" and know that i am afraid of trying
because i've been stuck here for so long that "depression" is number one on all the lists of who i am.
i have to keep these lists because i keep forgetting who i am:
i call myself a person who keeps lists and yet i stand here with none
and i guess it's just because i have NO IDEA where to start,
but i know exactly how to end.

"he'd sent me flowers,

and i remember sitting on the floor holding them
and i couldn't stop crying because they were alive
and he wasn't, and it just didn't make any sense."

no, i don't know what it means:

i hope your funeral never ends.

where i live

whose flesh is this?
it's clinging to my bones,
but that can't be right.

excuse me, i can't dismiss
this shady patchwork sewn
in a skin too tight.

so dissect me, if you will;
watch my borrowed insides spill and stain.
i can hold the body still -
we can map the meat from mountain to vein.

i'm as lost as you are here.

intensive care

i wish i had never woken up
and never come home
and never gotten better
and never met you
and never tried so hard
and never fell so fast
and never never never never
NEVER loved you.

i wish i had never woken up,
because then i would never have to know
that you will never never never never
NEVER

love me back.

SORT YER SHIT:

friday, april 10th:
- in-car driving lesson 9am - 11am
- go bus, subway, bus... (brampton - toronto)
- pure + simple head office meeting/training 3pm
- eric's overnight

saturday, april 11th:
- bus, subway, train... (toronto - oakville)
- hair dye/hang out with sammi
- dinner with mom
- mom drives me home (oakville - brampton)

sunday, april 12th:
- in-class driving lesson + final written test 9am - 2:30pm

monday, april 13th:
- CHILL THE FUCK OUT

tuesday, april 14th:
- appointment with dr. snape 2:30pm
- go bus, subway, bus... (brampton - toronto)
- eric's overnight

wednesday, april 15th: 
- pure + simple king location training 10:30am

like i ever held a gun

i've never been good at walking on eggshells,
never been good at putting out fires.

i never did listen to the warning bells,
to the caution and care that i guess it inspires.

i'd never been taught to go biting my tongue,
never learned how to think my words through.

i never was much except honest and dumb,
and i'll never go changing for you.

but like everything i've ever known, you'll disappear one day

so i'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away.

the old lyrics you always come back to, you never forget

you're waiting for a call
that you know won't come.
just when you think you've seen it all,
something bends you to break.

and if you fall for it the first time,
then you're not so dumb -
but you've been in this place before,
and you can't call that a mistake.

you saw it coming.
you knew it would.
could have kept running,
like you told yourself you should.

you've been in this situation
and you know the fucking ending,
it's a definite equation,
so why the fuck are you pretending

that someone that you love
could ever see that in you?
this story fits you like a glove,
and you can cry but it's still true.

FUCKING DO IT

~a gentle encouragement~

there is a tiny person living inside my head

and she is a vicious feminist, ahahahahaha.
like, to the point that i sometimes wonder whether or not she might be weakening my ability to see and accept things as they are.

for example:
i seem to have a tendency to overreact when the boyfriend and i disagree on something. i'm just too quick to anger, i guess, which sucks. it means i usually end up saying or doing something that takes it too far, followed by a swift & sturdy guilt trip, a dash of fear, and then ultimately i end up having to swallow my pride & apologize/explain myself. it's just absolute garbage, ahaha. i wish i could turn it off.

now i've never really thought of myself as a girl, in the sense of belonging to the group, "girls." does that make sense? like i identify individually as a girl, but i've never included myself in the picture when referring to "girls" in general.
i think this can be both helpful and problematic; helpful because i think it gives me a decent idea of the outside picture of "girls" in general, but by not including myself in the mix i think it skews my opinion of "girls" into the negative.

i wonder if girls (myself included this time) really are programmed to be more emotional than boys?
are we somehow designed to be more critical of one another than boys are?

see, this is where the tiny feminist gets involved, because she wants to argue that no, gender is learned, it's nurture over nature, etc. the thing is, though, i think her opinion is more what i want to believe than what i actually believe.
is any of this making sense?!

i do believe that men and women are biologically different, and i think there's enough evidence out there to confirm it. so why do i get my back up any time my boyfriend or someone tries to tell me that girls are naturally more emotional than boys?
to be honest, i agree - i do think that girls experience more sympathetic emotions due to different hormones and chemicals in their brain compared to men. but this explanation does not seem to appease the tiny feminist in my head, so i'm not sure how to proceed.

i guess really what it shows is that even though i do consider myself a feminist, even my own personal experience and subsequent subconscious opinion is that of "alpha male" and "omega female." being emotional or gossipy or whatever seem to be considered inherently "female" things, and because of that assumption, i tend to want to fight it. even as a feminist, i subconsciously view these "female" attributes as somehow being negative, or lesser.

not to mention the complete dissociation i often feel with my own gender group, placing myself as "other." and yet, i think a lot of girls do this.
"i'm not like other girls."
why not? what's wrong with being like other girls?

i suppose nobody wants to think that they're just like everyone else.
special snowflakes, the lot of us. i guess it's just a matter of individuality vs. belonging.

anyway, the point of this post was that sometimes i think about how men and women might experience two different and separate consciousnesses. though my tiny feminist and i would love to believe that the flesh doesn't affect the mind, i feel as though that's writing off a whole lotta biological programming, ahahaha.

in some ways, i probably am "just like other girls." and if my tiny feminist got what she wanted, my knee-jerk reaction to that wouldn't be as negative as it is...
strange.

how much of what we do is predestined because of the chemicals in our bodies?
i'd like to believe that "anatomy is destiny" is total bullshit, but sometimes that seems too simple.

sorry, tiny feminist.

i guess whoever cares less in a relationship wins, huh?

the frustration of making the same mistake over and over again and still not catching it until it's too late? yeah, that.