pixie_fragments

whats been going on in my life?
boundcreature asked so i thought i'd post my email to him here as it occured to me that i've always been kind of cryptic and flaky in my journals. so for once, and maybe the only time heres my heart of hearts.


there is this apathetic melancholy that surrounds me and everyone who knows me says i look empty unless im stoned or drunk. it seems rather ironic that i was done with drugs when i was 15 and yet, here i am twenty years old reliving the way i felt when i was 15. i was just a stupid kid then. i couldnt reason out why the things i was doing were bad, now i can and i simply dont give a fuck.

i work five days sometimes six or seven at a coffee shop that only has 5-7hr shifts. i feel fucking lazy. i'm used to working my hands raw and dry until bleeding. im used to my back hurting and knowing thats the feeling of completion. the physical pain from my last job gave me something to rage against and yet feel a sense of accomplishment.i simply dont have that. today i wore my knee-high fuck me boots because my ankles hurt so bad from the lack of abuse. you know the pain of sitting too long and your entire lower half has fallen asleep and it makes you feel like the soggiest sack of shit for vegetating like that?

a week ago, i took some valium (supposed to be for finishing my tattoo but i'm a fucking wuss) and went outside to the back yard in just my panties and bra when no one was home (there are woods behind my house) and i punched the tree that Ryan Bower carved his name into until my knuckles were bloody. i cracked the 1st knuckle on my right hand on my pinky finger. it kinda throbs and i fucking like it. i spent the next two hours carving my brothers name in that tree and carving out Ryan's name.

i told my boss i tripped and fell in my driveway which is gravel.

yesterday i met this girl Valerie and vented for about three hours on her. she is my soul twin i think. she reacted to me how i would have reacted to me, which was exactly what i wanted. she's also a leo i found out later, and i dont usually feel connected to humans the way i did her. on a strictly platonic level which is also wierd for me. i dont have a single friend i wouldnt date. randy says thats fucked up. so i tried to make some friends i wouldnt ever want to fuck and i forget about them and find them irritating after a few weeks.

im so stoic like a cat. the only person who has seen my tears in over a year is Randy and i feel sick about it. especially since he yells at me when i'm upset and tells me that i should stop bottling things up and talk to people about it. what i wonder is how come my interactions with people have to be so impersonal. when in public and asked about my brother i sound so angry and dismissive i surprise even myself.

this is going to sound horribly petty but why cant Randy be like 6'ft tall and like 200lbs. (he's only 5'8 and like 135lbs) i miss cuddling with someone who makes me feel safe simply by having an imposing presence. Randy makes me feel tough as though i can take the world by myself but also that i have to because he cant protect me. i punch like a girl and he says my punches hurt and that he doesnt like play punching. every time he says that i wish he was twice his size so he would think they were wussy little girly punches and laugh at me. im really not all that big, i'm only 5'6 and actually shaped like a woman. he says im the tallest and "biggest" girl he's ever dated. fuck him, i've lost over fourty pounds in the last six months because i simply CANNOT make myself eat some days.

he finally starts wanting sex more than once every two weeks or so and its the same routine everytime and it never lasts more than a half hour. (it used to be much better) and i'm so fucking pissed that he always thinks he's some kind of god in the sack and i have to go take a cold bath so i can go to sleep because i'm still all fucking wound up.i tried to talk to him about my novel today, and he couldnt follow me at all. im starting to think that although he's witty he's simply not smart enough for me. dont get me wrong i love him, but lately it seems like its more of a "long term friendship" kind of affection rather than the way i should feel about someone who i'm planning to follow around the country.

im a dreamer, i live in a world of my own making and i fully understand this. i want so bad to make my world fit into what everyone else percieves so that everything will be less confusing when i actually confront reality. however, like always i jump into everything i do with both feet and end up screwed by everyone around me when reality finally hits.

reality is that Randy will probably never fall inlove with me. i will never get my brother back. i will never be able to inflict enough pain on Ryan Bower, if i get to at all. reality is that when Ryan comes up for parole (when ever the judge decides that will be) i will have to come back to michigan to see that his evil sociopathic bastard self will rot in his cell. year after year i will have to relive this pain. reality is that when my children are born (if i can find someone i deem worthy of raising a child with me) my baby brother will never hold them. never will they sit on Uncle Jordans lap and be told one of the fantastic tales he was known for. never again will my parents go to sleep knowing their son is safe in his bed. never again will i get to kick, punch and tease my baby brother. never again will he accidentally slip and call me sister.

i remember being twelve years old and pinning him down with a hot curling iron, knelt upon his stomach screaming "dont call me sister, i have fucking name. you better fucking use it." today, that is one of my few regrets.

so many of my friends have died from their own hand, or their own overdose. never have any of them been taken without their consent in one form or another.

i cleaned the blood off the walls, i saw the handprints, the struggle that my brother went through to live. i picked up the three inch strip of skin that had blown off of his elbow when he was shot the first time.

when he was six he crawled into the top bunkbed in the middle of the night and was crying. he said "sister, i was shot again." I said "nobody shot you, go to sleep" he was so fucking terrified of that gun, and Ryan says that they were playing with it. two point blank shots is not fucking PLAYING. on tuesday we find out if Ryan is sentenced to 10-15years, if it goes to trial, or if the judge will sentence him to murder two without regard to the sentencing agreement. fuck the prosecueter for pleading out. i hope it backfires in his lazy fucking face.

i've been working on my novel alot, mostly drawing maps of cities and making lists of royal families so that i can better visualize the fragmented images of my story. im almost ready to sit down and write it but Randy is always making fun of me for spending so much time drawing and not writing. i'm still creating a world which is what i love to do. he cant even follow the storyline so fuck him anyways.

i live in squalor. there are spiders everywhere and i'm covered in bites and my usual winter rash i get from living in this fucking house. my skin is meant for pampering but there is simply not enough lotion in the world when i live in this house. the balast is broken in the kitchen lights. if dad would get the parts i can fix it. i can fix just about everything except for myself.

i can weld, and write, and beat the shit out of just about anyone. yet somedays, i cant even pick up a pen because my wrists hurt so bad. i'm 20 years old, not fifty though sometimes it feels like i am. i wake up aching from the cold because this house has no central heating so we use space heaters. i hobble into the bathroom and have to flush the toilet with a bucket. there is this mold under the swatch of carpet we put down in there so we wouldnt have to step on the mold. it makes me sneeze and i leave this house each day looking all super puffy in the eyes like i've been crying because i'm so fucking allergic to this house.

on top of all of this, i spent three months supporting randy while he had no job and now i've overdrawn my bank account, i owe my credit card 350 dollars, i owe randys friend jeff 400 for the security deposit on our last place because randys cat pissed on everything. my phone got shut off because i couldnt pay it and so0 did my netflix movies which i really adored.

sometimes i think about how much i'd love to live in the woods and trap my own food and fish and make a fire and churn butter and write because i may be better suited to being a hermit. then i go see my friends downtown and i feel alive for the first time in weeks and wonder if i should just leave ann arbor and make a new life. but running from problems doesnt make them go away and i've learned that time and again so here i am, stuck here in my own hell, partially self imposed, trying to pay off my debts so that i can leave.

then i think about leaving and i think where can i go? i cant sleep alone. i wake up every morning when randy gets up and cant go back to sleep. sometimes i cant get to sleep at all and end up being awake for days despite heavy doses of risperdal that my parents gave me. about a month ago i took over 30 risperdal, finally slept after six days of insomnia. only slept four hours and felt groggy for the better part of a day.

i have no health insurance because i refuse to go to school in michigan so i cant go see anybody and have to do this on my own.
part of this self imposed struggle is good for me and my dreamer ways. part of it is really bad when i show up to work on three days of insomnia.

i often spend HOURS dancing furiously in my living room when no one is home in an effort to quell whatever it is that is trying to push its way through my skin. sometimes though i need eight or ten shots of espresso to get me going and another two each hour to maintain a normal level of activity.

and the most horrible part of all of this, is that i want to find someone else who will love me. i want to settle down and have a family and take my kids to school and have a purpose that i feel strongly about but i know in reality that i'm really too fucked up right now to ask anyone to take on the burden that is me and too self centered to be able to fully care for a child the way i believe they should be cared for.

i believe in marriage until death. i want nothing less. but i also want that marraige to be one of devotion and love and for them to worship my skin and eyes, and soul and intelligence when i'm sixty with jowls because i have chubby cheeks.

i think maybe, i'm asking too much. and that is the reality that scares me most.

boundcreatureasked and i delivered...
i probably delivered too much but here it is.

EDITED TO ADD:
randy tells me all the time that he'll probably never fall in-love with me, its part of his super honesty kick.
my skin is so bad in this house because of the well water which is mostly iron and limestone from the ground.
im not this unhappy 24 hours a day, just like once a week.
all of those times of insomnia were when i was out of pot.
when i say i want someone who will do all that stuff for me, its because i do so much for my someone and randy even admits that but it actually makes me want him less because he recognizes that he should do more.
i really do love how easy my new job is and how much time it gives me to write. i just miss the old one sometimes.