Dear Diary,

I saw on t.v. or a movie (or some kind of media) recently that someone had the ambition of exchanging journals with another someone they liked.  Which made me think of the Nintendo series “Harvest Moon” where, at least in some titles, you have to read your love interest’s journal to get a vibe of where they’re at in your budding romance.  Which made me wish I were keeping a journal or a diary of sorts in the event of cute guys.

I mean, I suppose this whole blog is more or less a journal.  It’s all about my feelings, after all.  But everything here is so depressing.  If I had a prospective love interest, this blog is where I would send him before I make nookie with him and then eat him alive like a black widow, baby.

This place is sad.  And repetitive.  Endlessly so.

I hate feeling so invalid.  What I have to say isn’t important to anyone.  It’s unimportant to even myself.  So much so that I oft times have nothing to say at all.

Being younger was so much easier.  I miss high school a lot these days.  Sure, I felt I was depressed in high school too, but there was so much more going on then.  So much more to look forward to and to have feelings about.  Dinner at the café and then movies or video games with a couple friends on Thursdays.  Procrastinating homework to the bitter end on Sunday.  (Hey, it made dicking around on my own feel a lot more productive than it ever does these days).  Even school itself made things feel more acceptable.

School was an ego boost.  Teachers loved me.  Getting good grades gave me purpose.  There were tons of people my age at my disposal for friendship or comradery. Other people who were feeling low.  Other people who were feeling rebellious.  Other people who were feeling studious.  Other people who were feeling mediocre.  Other people digging art, or video games, or anything under the sun.  There was always someone for me to relate myself too.  I miss that.

If I were keeping a day to day journal in present time, and I shared it with someone I valued, it would go something like this:

“Deary Diary,

Today was pretty average.  I showered last night so I could sleep in a little extra this morning.  It wasn’t especially helpful though because I stayed up late waiting for my hair to dry.  I guess either way I got my standard 6 hours…

I watched a few more episodes of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood before work as well.  It was good, but I had trouble focusing.  Then I was almost made late for work trying to decide which method for hiding my chest would be best today.  I ended up just wearing my baggiest hoodie over top of a tank top. Thank goodness for winter!

Work was okay.  I had a lot of trouble today and asked a lot of questions.  Even though I’m still pretty new, no one I work with has any patience with me at all. Everyone is very aggressive and the way they answer my questions makes me feel lesser of myself every time I ask… I don’t like these people, and even though I do like this job, I don’t know how long I can put up with the same few people everyday who have nothing in common with me. I spend my breaks in the bathroom stall just to escape the noise and the hostility.

The walk home after work was nice, however. It was very cold, and I wore my really short ankle socks. My scarf kept my face warm but I loved how cold my feet were. Sometimes I feel like the cold biting at my feet as I walk home is the only sensational part of my day. Everything else is forgettable.

The cats ate good for me when I got home, thankfully! Not a day goes by that I don’t worry about them getting sick again. I rinsed their bowls and kissed their noses before deciding to eat dinner myself. As usual, I really don’t have much to eat so I settled for baked perogies again.

I thought I would try and pick up A Link to the Past after dinner, because I really just want to beat it and move on to A Link Between Worlds, but I didn’t have the motivation. I watched some recordings from last night instead and accidentally fell asleep. Luckily, the girls woke me up when it was time to feed them again, so I did just that and then crawled in to bed.

I thought about crying tonight, but I just didn’t feel like I had it in me. Maybe tomorrow night will be a better night for it, since I won’t have to be up early for work the next morning.

Until then,


And the saddest part of all of this? I don’t have any love interests. I don’t know anybody. There’s no boy in my Science class who sits next to me so I can do his homework in exchange for subtely smelling his beautiful being. And there’s no homeroom teacher from the house down the street to crush on and pretend he has a vested interest in my life when in reality its just his job to keep track of me and the other kids appointed to him.

It’s just me. I don’t even know any boys. What are those anyways?

Dear Diary, help me.


By the stars (I am obliged)

Beyond the looming stain of day, afar

is where one’s body lies frozen–gilded by stars

and the wisps of cold that tease down thy breasts,

cooing bursts of dew from within lost breath.

I speak for the one, but should you query

whom, your insistence does leave me quite leery.

‘Speak for the one who knows not what to say,

and regards boundless confinement as the only such way.

By the stars soaked through one’s cloth,

I am obliged to shed light on flesh; a moth’s

flame to guide the forgotten back from wence

it came–no measure, no morsel of penance.

Starved of immortality and weak under

wings of war, I too feel my flesh torn asunder

by the seeds of humanity that grow about

my oneness; the stars bearing life I am without.

Perhaps I am the one; the gilded expanse,

a folly of the stars in line with the romance

of tranquility and dawn.  The irony of a dawn

that is broken but will not break.  Where has it gone?

Please state your given name

I remember a time when my world was something I would have envied, should it not already have been mine.  Sure, I’ve always been prudent, but somehow I’d never questioned who I was or what I liked.  I feel like in a way, I was confident in myself, but never outside of myself.

Life sure was easy as a kid, I definitely don’t deny this.  The further back I look into time, the easier it was for me to connect to people, and to adventure and imagine and create.  I wasn’t struggling with my identity as a medium, I was wielding it as a looking glass.

Some days I’d like to see life through those eyes again.  Maybe I would become inspired… reinvigorated with my sense of self and desire to humour the unfamiliar.

“a positive thinker and a mind of his own                                                                                                    outgoing, adventurous and one who dares to                                                                                             be different and be his own man                                                                                                                  will go the extra mile for a friend, or to                                                                                                        have others say ‘job well done’                                                                                                                      sharp, witty and clever of speech, words                                                                                                     flow from him                                                                                                                                                    loves the challenge of the unknown, testing                                                                                                both his body and soul                                                                                                                                    a lover of life and his freedom”

This quotation has been framed in my bedroom for as long as I can remember.  It is quoted beneath my given name, so I presume it is laid out as my destiny of sorts.  The meaning behind my name; my birthright.

I remember as a boy, I would read this quote often, and somehow it would always reaffirm how I felt about myself.  I would go down the lines and nod in approval, or smile at the idea of something greater designating me of all people to be this charmed, extraordinary person.

I almost find it funny how confident I was in myself back then.  So much as to even think of myself as this princely child who’s cards always fell in line–my karmic destiny a force to be reckoned with.  But I was humble and gracious.  At least that’s how I remember myself!!

Now I read this quote and I couldn’t feel more distant.  This quote does not describe me.  This has not become my destiny.  And yet that is still my name.  I feel betrayed by the universe in many ways.  My identity has escaped me and my confidence has been pilfered by an illness I am reluctant to address.  What is the use in naming it?  It seems to me a name is but a vestige of deceit.

Absolute Farewell; …

…as in I will never hypothetically speak to you again.  No more letters, no more musings, at least none that I can anticipate being directly meant for you.

I found pictures of you on instagram today.  I’d like to pretend that I wasn’t looking, but I think I really was.  I didn’t *have* to be casually browsing an instagram account that belonged to a location you were sure to hang out at that just so happened to post tons of group photos of it’s clients.  I also didn’t *have* to quickly skim over all the pictures, glancing left and right for any trace of your ever-recognizable face.  But I did.  Ohhhhh did I.

Earlier this year, one of my cats got crazy sick, and I was so certain that she’d taken all of my feelings away from you.  As it turns out, a lot of it was just distraction.  Of course I still think about you, but of course, like any relatively sane human being, I have thought of you less and less.

Anyways, obviously I wouldn’t torture myself with “coincidentally” finding pictures of you online and “accidentally” spotting you out a mile away from me on the streets unless I still had a case of the lingers.  I can only pretend karma’s a bitch for so long before I need to own up!!

But today’s picture findings were different somehow.  Maybe it’s that this time around, I can actually see your face, and not your trashy manhood pics.  Buuuut I’d hate to admit that after all this time, my emotional train wreck of a life has no one to blame but me and my attachment to your junk.  *sigh*

You look gay.

Which is totally, absolutely, splendidly, totally actually fine.  But I didn’t fall in love with a gay man.  I fell in love with a hetero-normative closet case who played video games and worked out.  Which in a weird way, is kind of what made my feelings for you so hardcore.  I’m by no means trapped in the closet or shy about who I am, but I just have this complex of being in a totally heterosexually-defined role play of a relationship.  One where, duh, I play the classy lady who gets pretend knocked up with your kids and spends all day raising hell (I mean a family).

It’s messed, I know.  It’s probably something I need to work on!  I guess I just really appreciate the stereotypical roles in a relationship, even though I will never be in a stereotypical relationship.  At least not in this decade!!

AAAANYWAYS, societal expectations and gender confusion aside, I’m just not that into you anymore.  At least not based off of how you look.  (Holy crap this makes me sound like an asshole).  But honestly, I’m proud of you for it.

You look happy.  You look out.  I had a hard time accepting that you weren’t truly happy in our relationship, but my gosh was it ever obvious looking back.  I’m glad that you have friends you can relate your life experiences and problems to, and can (seemingly) express yourself in a way that is so odd for me to see now that it’s obvious it would have never happened in my la la land machine.

I’ll probably always be a little jaded that my first love, (and a love so fine at that), never worked out, but I feel a little bit released from you finally.  I feel less like there’s something I need to prove of myself should we ever accidentally bump into each other.  I’m looking for a big ol’ earthy potato, and you’re looking for fruity little boysenberries.  We don’t even share a flipping garden anymore, God bless.

So even though you clearly never sought my permission to begin with, I give you permission to live your life.  And I’ll try and give myself that same courtesy at long last!

I fucking love what you were for me, and it’s probably best I never see you again  ;)

The art of never letting go–

Sailor Moon is literally just everything to me.

I remember watching the show a lot with my brother when we were little.  It only seemed to air at my grandma’s on WB4Kids or something at the time.  I’m sure it aired on YTV at home, but I don’t recall ever finding it.

He grew out of it pretty quickly once Pokémon really hit the school playgrounds.  I used to rent the VHS episodes with my sister in his stead and watch it at home with her.  She was too young to really remember it, but she loved Sailor Venus because she was obsessed with the colour “peach” at the time and refused to believe Venus’ skirt was orange.  (In all honesty though, my brother and I based our favourites on colours as well–his being Sailor Mars for red and mine being Sailor Jupiter for green).

I don’t know why I loved the show or these girls so much, but they really were something special to me back in the day.  Eventually I switched to good ol’ Pokémon as well though.  My brother decidedly began denying he’d ever watched Sailor Moon, my sister forgot it ever existed, and Pokémon had really cool video games, so on I went with my life.

In the fall of 2005 I met my very best friend.  By this point the Pokémon mania had died down as well, and I only continued to play the video games (even to this day!).  I was nearing the end of my obsession with Inuyasha–mostly just because I’d lost track of where I was and missed a bunch of episodes.  My friend was in love with this anime and we briefly bonded over it before going through the emotional middle school roller coaster of friends to enemies to friends all in a weeks worth of time over and over and over again.

In the summer of ’07 I learned of her obsession with Sailor Moon, and at this point it had been almost a decade since I’d even heard of it.  So I decided to watch the first season on Youtube.

So so many memories came flooding back.  The music, the voice actors, the transformations and attacks.  I remember recalling that Jupiter was my favourite as a kid, and anxiously awaited her arrival.  By the time Mars showed up in episode 7 or so, I knew Jupiter had to show up soon!  I didn’t realize Jupiter wouldn’t show up until episode 21, so I started getting this crazy vibe that Molly was Sailor Jupiter around the time Neflite started to believe she was Sailor Moon.  Molly became my absolute favourite side-character as a result of my confusion!!

So watching season 1 turned into watching season 2, and that turned into trying to watch season 3, but I could never find it on Youtube.  So, I bought the entire series.  It arrived and I spent the entire fall-winter season of the 10th grade watching Sailor Moon.

Who am I kidding.  I’ve re-watched it ever year since then as well!

In early 2011, my best friend and I discovered a fan translation of the manga, and we both read that for the first time.

I think later that year, the official English translation was announced and began slowly being released as well.

At this point, the Sailor Moon hype had returned full force and news of an anime revival started flooding in for years until it finally released earlier this month!

Sailor Moon is… eternal.  I feel like these girls and the themes and morals they stand for will be with me forever to help guide me through my days.

Usagi’s fears of pressing forward through fulfilling a role she never had a say in.  Ami’s struggle to discover who she is and what defines her.  Rei’s conflict of emotions from hiding her vulnerabilities behind her confidence.  Mako’s complex between her perceived masculinity and her feminine self.  Minako’s pursuit of being anything but underwhelming.  And even Haruka and Michiru’s gender themes and sexuality, Hotaru’s struggles with her health and goodness in spite of inherent evil, or Setsuna’s loyalties and lonely destiny.

Each of these girls present struggle or a conflict that any person, boy and girl alike, will go through.  And despite all of it, they never fail to be beautiful, wonderful people.

I hope the whole concept of Sailor Moon is reincarnated forever for all young people to be influenced by.  May we all master the art of never letting go, in the name of the moon!


Taking care of anything but me.

It’s been about 4 months since my cat began to struggle with her mystery illness.  She and her sister turned 2 years old last week, which at one point I was honestly fearing wouldn’t happen, and things remain as mysterious as ever.

I remember before she fell ill, I was the most upset I’ve ever been in my life.  I was just in such a dark place, and when she suddenly became my priority, before even myself, I was struggling a lot.  I found myself resenting her, and myself, and my life.  Nothing was working out for me, and honestly I still feel as though nothing is.

But putting her first in my life has helped me in a few ways.  I feel as though the final nail has been hammered into the coffin that is my ex.  I’ve hardly thought of him, and when I do, it’s never really a big deal.  I can play my music, and the songs that reminded me of my sorrow regarding the issue aren’t so sorrowful anymore.  They are my songs again.  And I find myself yearning for something better.  I don’t want to succumb to this nothingness anymore.  But I just feel so helpless.

I struggle a lot with my identity.  I don’t know who I am and I feel as though I have nothing to offer.  I don’t hang out with friends because I don’t have any.  And I don’t have any because I think to myself, “what can I do to be an interesting and good friend?”

There isn’t a lot.

Even before my cat got sick, I would go to work, hate my life, come home, take a long nap, hate my life, mope and get angry at anyone who gave me the time of day, then went to bed.  And now that I want something more, I still hate my work, I still am not fond of my life (though I try!), and I just feel stuck as a caretaker right now.

I’ve never had a very durable sense of responsibility.  I’m exhausted caring for my cat.  I am emotionally and physically drained.  I have to feed her so many times a day, and each feeding is a trial.  After I finally see the last mouthful go down, I feel so much relief and yet so much anxiety.  It’s only a matter of hours before the next meal, or pill, or medication.  I have to sleep or relax or calm my nerves somehow.  I don’t have time for people or friendship or myself.  I just need to be completely alone.  I am very high-stress, and for her sake I have to try so hard not to show her how much she’s hurting me.  I can’t have an anxiety attack.  Last time I thought it was acceptable to lose my emotions in front of her, I paid for it by seeing her go through an anxiety attack herself.  Screaming, hissing, immense physical discomfort.  I just need to stay calm and she will too….

Sometimes I try and think about what my life might look like when and if I ever get her issues sorted out.  It’s hard to picture.  It’s not like I did a whole lot with my life before she got sick.  But I try and contemplate what I can do differently.  How I can work on my perception of what I have and what I really need.  And it all just feels… endless.

I don’t think I’m suicidal.  I don’t really have those kinds of thoughts very often, and when I do, they’re pretty easy to brush off.  I think it’s just my subconscious self being as dramatic as my physical self.  I do think I am incredibly lost though.

I’m sitting here just waiting.  Waiting for my sick cat to die.  Waiting for my healthy cat to die.  Waiting for myself to die.  It’s going to come.  And I’m going to wait patiently for it to come on it’s own terms on all three counts.  But it just feels like there’s nothing else going on.

Sometimes I try and think about dating again to have a chance at passing the time with a human being.  I’m certainly not hung up on my ex anymore.  So why not try?  I am definitely still pretty damaged, is why.  The thought of me being somebody’s “person” actually makes me uncomfortable.  I think about who I am and what I do with my time, and I just cant imagine the kind of person who would go out of there way to spend the rest of their life with me.

I just don’t have a single thing to offer.

I mean, right now I’m actually okay with being alone anyways.  But sometimes I just wish I had someone else to share my burden with.  As in share my cat with.  Just someone to take turns with feeding her so I can space apart my anxiety a little.  Someone to come to the emergency vet with me and keep me company so I don’t fall asleep waiting in the exam room.  Someone to be the strong one so I can just… cry.

I just want to cry.