flowing west

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zombie nimbus cont’d

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The past two weeks have been a melancholic shit show. Nothing happened, nothing’s happening. I’m still trapped in my room – convincing myself that I’ll never need to step foot in to the outside world, even if I need to replenish anything, since this house is basically a hoarder’s paradise, that I’ll find everything, anything, somewhere.

My antidepressant was a big joke – it worked well, but to the extent that I was driven to heavy bouts of crying spells. Wiping away the river that descended only insisted on a weight I refused to face. I bid myself bedridden due to an obligatory force that states its mandatory presence. AKA you-know-what.

Truth be told, it was Thanksgiving weekend, I gave up on my AD and it was out of my system long enough for me to be able to pretend to be a regular human. It was an eerie event. Everyone was either staring up at the giant flat screen HDTV, or down at their smartphones, scrolling through the abyss of memes and likes. At this point I only had brief encounters with older relatives, trying to fake a smile as they tell me that I’ve put on weight and “it’s good!”. Right. I found my cousins and they’re busy doing homework. No one my age is holding a drink. It was around this point that I started considering going sober; why am I even so reliant on a beverage that will only ruin my liver, weight, and skin?

A friend once told me that she was too vain to do cocaine. 50% health 50% vanity. Maybe it’s time to immerse myself in my narcissism, like the pretty girl I’m expected to be.

zombie nimbus

I’ve been on a mood stabilizer for more than a week, and an antidepressant just under. I’ve been avoiding this blog as soon as I’ve publicized it; do my internet friends really need to know what drugs I’m on? ..which, frustratingly, is the exact opposite purpose of this blog.

I’ve been on a slow, rickety rollercoaster ever since I added antidepressants to my mood stabilizer. My brain fog is preventing me from doing anything, let alone make a cohesive post.

In the worst way possible, I feel 16 again. Trapping myself in my room. Waiting.


In the midst of taking up painting-black-holes-and-nipples, I’ve been consumed with, surprisingly, getting my life together. Other than my resume, I’ve started an online portfolio which can be viewed here.

I’m exhausted and running mostly on caffeine, sodium, and cornbread.

Trying to adult out here – send help!


I remember when Justin Timberlake’s first album came out – it was full of misery and hope, fresh from the Britney break-up. I was a preteen. I asked for it as a gift for my birthday, and no one understood that request. No one understood JT. I already had the entire album .mp3 file via KazAa, Limewire, Ares – whatever evil downloading service existed at that time. 2002 – children are horrible, raw creatures. Feelings exist and we’re all aware that people break, but who the fuck cares? What’s a filter? But if I like you enough, I’m sorry I was a dick. I’ll buy you some candy or sneak out to KFC for you during lunch. I think all the after school specials made sure that we all stayed nice to each other .. while being true to that asshole integrity.

The human condition is one sensitive piece of beautiful shit.

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A/W 16


For someone that’s used to always trying to hide and deny her existence, a blog seemed too invasive – too exposing of the 12 different personalities that (probably) create this confusingly bubbly (I hate it), bipolar, and self-loathing creature. Talking about myself makes my skin crawl.

A giant dump of Things I Do But Not Enough – a collection of projects to strengthen my mental health (by forcing myself to do things again).