CandyCox likes art. reading and writing poetry. beat literature. psychologically probing and questionable books and movies. surreal moments. wickedness. debauchery. psychotic rants. weaponry (esp. daggers). thrift stores. 1950s pin-up. wee hours of the morning. sunset over OB pier. lost worlds. Egyptian artifacts. the Sphinx. sushi. cream cheese wantons. cheap Mexican food. vampires. zombies. blasphemy. catharsis. irony. chaos. outer space. Saturn's rings. anti-gravity. black holes. time travel. warp speed. –isms. robots. plaid miniskirts. shameless sex. explosions. erotica. kink. pain. cheesy pick-up lines. procrastination. shouting obscenities. randomness. eccentricity. erosion. lightning. thunderstorms. human behavior. psychology. creation. destruction. the first toke. revolution. partying until 6 am. its bug-eating kitty Zoe. connecting with complete strangers. people-watching. palm-reading. astrology. art museums. synesthesia. puddles & clouds. existentialism. Taoism. Zen. lower-case letters. abstract concepts. abstracting your concept. daydreaming. distorting reality. screwing the system. damning the man.
I was already in a foul mood cuz of shit I talked about with my therapist earlier in the day, and then I just got so sad after seeing a certain someone that I just couldn't help it. My eyes gave out, and the tears started flowing like a rainstorm. I cried about him, I cried about all the shit going on in my life right now, I cried about all my financial debts that have me way in over my head, I cried about my loneliness, I cried about all the things I wouldn't let myself cry about for weeks.
I hate myself for even caring. Why can't I be a heartless bitch like all the self-involved bastards who haven't given two shits about me? God, I'm so pathetic sometimes. Here I go again, letting my heart get in the way as usual... and the sad thing is, I never seem to learn. And it NEVER gets easier.
When I got home, I was really tempted to cut, and I still am, but I'm biting my lip and holding my hands down. I'm always too impulsive, and whenever I feel shitty, like tonight, I tend to run to the most self-destructive thing I can do to myself to ease the pain somehow. Don't question, it works for me. Relieves the ache. Call it a demented form of self-medication. Yeah, I'm fucked up, I already knew that. At least I can put it out there. I'm not afraid to admit my vices.
...but I am afraid of completely losing myself to them.
