I’m frustrated with everything, Yesterday was the first good day ive had here this semester. I’ve been trying really hard to fake being happy the past week. on a day like today i notice this because everything just kind of fell. off my face. into my lap. like i was wearing a mask and it wasn’t tied on correctly. However, yesterday was the first and last good day i think. this week will be hell. thank you carnegie mellon.
i’m admitted to a psych ward. GREAT. THIS IS JUST PLAIN IDEAL.
what’s your first memory of home?
So i used to be a happy drunk. I was that girl who drank to let go a little. Mingle appropriately. Show people she can be personable and social and engaging. Unfortunately that girl has also decided to leave me in a precarious position- one where alcohol involves me drinking for the taste. me drinking and being angry. it just brings out the most ridiculous things inside my head, and the levels of anger i reach are not only embarrassing but also unhealthy. Maybe i have a problem. I should probably solve it. i’m REALLY tired of dealing with people reminiscent of high school personalities. I would like to have meaningful relationships. I would like to have intelligent conversations. I would like to be around people that aren’t just fucking around. Maybe i’m too uptight and crazy, but i’m also just trying to get away from the four years of the former. I refuse to deal with the male species that just want to play games. I played those games and wasn’t amused. you’re in or you’re out. but let’s be real here. i can just say, fuck that shit and avoid this nonsense. I came here to work my ass off so i can be something someone somewhere, not much else matters. Let me tell you though, this attitude is going to provide a stepping stone for a cycle of unhappiness and anxiety. Dr.Hirsch can pump me with medications and words of advice…but i’m going to purposely fuck it up. yes? no? blah.
also i think i’m going to do a french minor.
new hair.
selfportrait/antiselfportrait piece
glimpse of my project for EMS
chuck.
Quotes from Diary by Chuck Palahniuk:
“When they were in school, Peter used to say that everything you do is a self-portrait. It might look like Saint George and the Dragon or The Rape of the Sabine Women, but the angle you use, the lighting, the composition, he technique, they’re all you. Even the reason why you chose this scene, it’s you. You are ever color and brushstroke.
Peter used to say, “the only thing an artist can do is describe his own face.” You’re doomed to being you.
This, he says leaves us free to draw anything, since we’re only drawing ourselves. Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away.
Everything you do shows your hand.
Everything is a self portrait.
Everything is a diary.
Peter used to say that an artist’s job is to make order out of chaos. You collect details, look for a pattern, and organize. You make sense out of senseless facts. You puzzle together bits of everything. You shuffle and reorganize. Collage. Montage. Assemble. Because everything is important. Every detail. We just don’t know why yet. Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.
Peter used to say, an artist’s job is to pay attention, collect, organize, archive, preserve, then write a report. Document. Make your presentation. The job of an artist is just not to forget.”
_______________
“Walking, Misty told Peter about the chemistry of painting. How physical beauty turns out to be chemistry and geometry and anatomy. Art is really science. Discovering why people like something is so you can replicate it. Copy it. It’s a paradox, “creating” a real smile. Rehearsing again and again a spontaneous moment of horror. All the sweat and boring effort that goes into creating what looks easy and instant. When people look at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, they need to know that carbon black paint is the soot from natural gas. The color rose madder is the ground root of the madder plant. Emerald green is copper acetoarsenite, also called Paris green and used as an insecticide. A poison. Tyrian purple is made from clams. “
i’m not sure if i’m feeling like this because i’ve been really sick for two weeks or if i was feeling like this when i got here…but i’ve lost every bit of motivation, passion, drive…i dunno..everything but apathy. i don’t even know if i have the energy for apathy. everyone keeps saying i can’t catch up and my dad wants me to take a semester off…i don’t even care about art. i don’t care about studying. i don’t care about success and med school and jobs and people. and being good. and doing the right thing and caring enough to sacrifice so much. i just want to sleep. and lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling and stop feeling things. this is literally not feeling or caring. its like constantly being on painkillers and being awake enough to understand what’s happening but too weak to move. too weak to get up and wash your face. brush the sadness out of your eyes. i lack any remote desire to make friends or talk to anyonre. i haven’t been on a bus since i got here. i have the worst anxiety i’ve ever had. i’m frightened to do anything and everything. i don’t remember the last meal i ate and quite frankly i’m okay with that. i guess it’s okay for me to be taking all the meds because i’m sick..but i can’t stop. i take triple the dosage for everything i’m on right now. i’m running out of codeine. i didn’t fill the prescription for vicodin because i was afraid i’d be irresponsible. my stomach really hurts because it can’t handle all the drugs and no food. i kind of like sitting here barely propped up against the bed, mouth too heavy to shut, eyes halfway closed and red. lips purple and dried. listening to nothing but my raspy breathing.
i dunno. i suppose i can’t care enough to do anything but write it down.
now they think i have mono or meningitis.
wtfwtf. i need to see a real doctor
