chronicles of a walking stick

I don't know what to do about Steve.


I have just come to the realization that I am not ready for a relationship.  I am much too emotionally fragile and extremely unstable.  I require constant attention and reassurance.  I am quick to indulge in sick fantasies of him merely putting up with me, rather than being with me because he loves me.  I have a horrible temper these days.  I feel that he has ruined my life.  I am not ready for a relationship.

Before I met Steve, I was already pretty messed up in the head.  I have abandonment issues.  I also need anger management.  I ask to be hurt, beg to be hurt, then play the victim when I finally am hurt.  I am fucked up.  Then Steve came along, and my almost year-long feelings of unrequited love only magnified all my fucked-upedness.  Then I put myself through these self-mutilatory relationships because I was so freaking depressed and completely starving for male attention.  Now, I finally have Steve all to myself...and it's not what I thought it would be.  I've made a complete turn-around in my progress against depression.  I'm worse than ever.  I've regressed.  He makes me unhappy.  But I need him.  I've developed a complete emotional dependence on him.  I don't want to be in a relationship...but I can't just stop loving him like that.  If we even tried going on a brief hiatus, I would kill myself.  I'm not joking.  But the way things are going, I want to kill myself anyways.  It's a complete lose-lose situation on my part.  I just don't know what to do.

Kill myself?  No...too easy.  Leave him?  No...I'd be killing myself.  Staying with him is the only option.  And for thinking this, I would like to slap myself in the face and tell me, "I am completely and utterly disgusted with your behavior, Catherine Touchstone."

I just don't know what to do anymore.

i thought it was no big deal and we made up and everything, but i cant even lift my 10 lb dumbells because my arm hurts where steve punched me last night

Not really.  But I usually just tell people that I have my name tattooed on another woman, and I'm automatically the most badass person in the room.

Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive.
• NO CAPTIONS!!! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words.
• They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason.
• You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like

( lolwut. )

were gonna move to canada







soon

AND EVERY NEW INSECURITY THAT I HAVE THAT KEEPS ME FROM WANTING TO EVEN DO ANYTHING WITH MY LIFE AND THAT MAKES ME HATE MYSELF EVEN MORE....HAS STEMMED FROM SOMETHING HE'S SAID TO ME.  He will directly criticise something about me, something that makes me ME, and all he does is succeed in making me feel like shit.  So see these walls?  They're new additions.  Oh, you want the number of the architect?  JUST CALL STEVE UP AND HE'LL GIVE YOU AN ESTIMATE

Steve and I are fighting almost all the time now and I'm just absolutely fed up with his shit

But why is it that he's still with her? It's been two years since they got together. After fucking up every single girl's life that he came across, he leaves us all for yet another girl he cheated with...and he's still with her? Why is that? She's way too young for him and I never thought her to be much his style. Does he cheat on her, too? I'm just really fucking curious as to why he had to fuck up a whole slew of girls (who were pretty nice before they ever met him) and then suddenly seem to change his ways for this one. And he doesn't seem to have ruined her life yet. It just makes me wonder: what made her so fucking special? And why did he have to go through us just to get to her? She's a little girl. Wtf. Through all the chaos, cheating, broken hearts, rumors, retalliation, and everything else he did, he probably just found a little girl who didn't mind getting messed with. I'm just pissed that after all the scars, and after all the grief and anger and frustration I had to go through, the end result is a little girl with freckles that dyes her hair and listens to My Chemical Romance and has no curves whatsoever.

End rant.

Is it even worth it anymore?  I keep asking myself this.  I've been asking myself more frequently now than usual, though.  I still don't have an answer.

Absolutely fucking SICK of everyone's shit.  All of these people that CLAIM to be my friend.  They claim to care.  Which they fucking better since I've been there at their beck and call for four fucking years, through some good times but mostly the bad times.  Haven't they fucking noticed?  When anything bad happens to them, I'm fucking there.  I never ask for anything in return.  Fuck.  Maybe I should.  Because I'm noticing a general trend of complete lack of disrespect and compassion when it comes to me and my life.  They just don't fucking care.  It's always, "ohhhhhh it's no big deal, it's just Cat, she'll be alright."  Well fuck all of you.  I have feelings too and to tell you the truth, you all are fucking hurting them all the fucking time.  And no one even fucking notices or even cares.  I have to have my life dictated to me and controlled by these people that I call friends.  It's fucking stupid, and I'm fucking sick of it, and it's probably about time that I stood up for myself.  Problem is, I don't fucking know how.  I'm just learning how to be a normal person.  I'm sorry, but standing up for yourself isn't something you learn when through your whole childhood, your mother is fucking beating you into a pulp and screaming at you telling you that you aren't worth anything.  So I'm so sorry for being a pushover, but I'm fucking trying.  Now if only you people would fucking give me a chance.  I've noticed that basically everyone that I hang out with and call my friend is a horrible friend.  I don't know why I even fucking bother.  I'm going to move far away and leave everyone behind, and never look back.  I will never call, never email, nothing.  I hate all of these people.  None of you fucking care.  And don't try to tell me otherwise.  When was the last time any of YOU called to hang out with me?  Fuckers.  I'm sorry I'm ranting.  I'm just pissed at the world in general.  And how I'm still hung up on trying to build loving and caring and long lasting friendships with these people that honestly couldn't care less about me or my well-being.  Fuck it all.  Fuck it all.  Hey world, just an FYI, but I exist too and I have feelings that I have to nurture on my own because I have no one else to fucking turn to.  So hey world, just an FYI:  FUCK YOU.

I have never felt so sad in my entire life.

I have too many accounts.  Myspace (personal and music), Facebook, Urbis, now Twitter and Tumblr.  Not to mention my numerous names on YahooMail.  The internet has sucked me in.  And I'm very lost.

I am done with being creative, being inspired, doing anything with my life, dealing with people, dealing with myself, trying to be something, everything.  I am done with life.  It bores me.  I get nothing out of it.  No happiness out of being productive.  Nothing.  I don't like anything.  I am done with liking anything.  I am not suicidal...maybe socially suicidal, but not physically suicidal.  I would just like to sleep all day and have the world pass me by without even having to watch it pass me by.  I want to be the shell that I am, the empty jar of skin and bones and organs.  I am just matter.  Yet I do not matter.  It's just life.  What of it?  I am done with optimism.  I am done with despair.  I am done with narcissism.  I am done with self-hatred.  I am done.  I am done.  I am done.  The only way that I can not be extremely depressed, is to feel nothing at all.  I will never be happy and I have come to terms with that.  I'd be fine with simply wasting away.  I am done.

I wish...


I wish...



I wish...




She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.  Because things were so much simpler when you weren't.  Back then, she would pay for everything come friday, but be broke by Monday, at the latest.  The two of you had an unacknowledged "something" going on...though unacknowledged, still prevalent.  And things were perfect.  She sometimes wishes that she hadn't shied away from initiative and had taken the plunge earlier, so that you two would have made the best of your time and had more experience under both of your belts.  But maybe...maybe she needed to sleep with a loser a month for three months straight.  Maybe she needed all that extra pain.  All of that extra longing.  Seeing you when being crushed under the weight of some random person she found, sweaty and drowning her in the stench of sex.  Seeing you while naked on the floor, watching some sappy indie movie that if you haven't seen it, all the indie kids will either judge you or force you to see it with them at their pretentious-as-fuck studio apartment/loft so they can show you how indie they really are.  Seeing you while a thirty-four year old in nothing but his boxer shorts is telling her how long he's been waiting for that moment.  Seeing you while being attacked by a horrible kisser, who won't stop telling her how goddamn cute she looked that night.

She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.

She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy because not only is she in love with you, you are her best friend, her go-to, her first pick, her first priority.  To her, nothing compares to simply sitting in your car and listening to you talk, or to sitting outside and smoking cigarettes and barely talking, or taking you shopping with her even though she can tell that you're bored out of your mind.  She is still in awe that she found you and has still managed to not scare you off.  Because that's definitely something that she tends to do.

She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.  Sometimes...in fact, in most relationships she's been in, if you gave her a wee bit of time to come face to face with herself, she'd talk herself into hating you.  And to tell you the truth, she's done it to you, too.  But it didn't really work out as planned.  Because the second she saw you again, the hatred flecked away like rain droplets on your car windows.  Because no matter what she hates about you, when she sees you again, she will fall in love with you all over again because she realizes that she loves hating those things about you.

She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.  Because tonight would be the night.  Tonight would be the night that both you and her would realize that you two want nothing more than eachother, and just to be with eachother, and to breathe with eachother, and laugh with eachother, and fight with eachother, be poor with eachother, be rich with eachother, be pretentious with eachother, be chill as fuck with eachother, be dank as shit with eachother, make fun of people who are chill as fuck and/or dank as shit with eachother, be sick with eachother, be lonely with eachother, be creative with eachother, sleep in until the late afternoon with eachother, grow up with eachother, live with eachother, go to school with eachother, eat ramen (the only thing left in the whole fucking house) with eachother...Or, more simply put, to simply be in love with eachother.

She sometimes...
She sometimes wishes that...th-that, th-that, that you weren't so
goddamn
fuck-
fuck-
fuck-
fucking
She sometimes w-wishes that you weren't s-so goddamn fucking busy.



She sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.  Because you know what you'd be doing?  Do you know what the two of you would be doing right now, right this very moment, this very second, if you weren't so busy?  Well, first off, you'd start the night by picking her up at your house.  She would be wearing that coat, you know, that one coat that she's been wearing almost every single day since she bought it, just because she's strange like that.  She would be wearing that coat and walking to your car in the pouring rain without an umbrella.  She doesn't have an umbrella because she thinks she left in your car about two or three months ago, but hasn't seen it in your car since then, but maybe she will tonight.  She'll get in the car, soaking wet- but apparently the rain doesn't wash away the weed or the cigarette stench.  Because she reeks.  Because she has nothing to do with her life.  Because the economy has gone to shit. But the only things that haven't gone to shit are weed and cigarettes, so she's taken advantage of both of them.  Every single day.  She would say hey, and you would mutter hey back, then maybe a peck, then she'd take control of the iPod because it gives her something to do whenever neither of you have anything to say.  Maybe the two of you would drive to the movie theatre, and wait around in the rain and smoke your life away for an hour or two until the movie starts.  You'd go to the movie, and though she'll look immersed, and pretend that she was immersed and talk like she was immersed after the movie's over, you can safely know that she wasn't really paying attention the whole time.  She was drifting off into the black hole of daydreams, or eveningdreams I guess one should call them.  After the movie, you'd run back into the car, braving the storm.  Get inside, turn on the heat, turn on some Modest Mouse or Interpol or what have you, hold hands, and drive.  Maybe you'd go to Starbucks and get something warm, then go outside where it's still pouring rain and find somewhere to sit.  She'd smoke the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes while listening to you talk.  and talk.  and talk.  Then maybe you'd take her home.  But not without a brief kiss in the car.  So you kiss her, and send her back off into the cold, cruel world that is her life.  Send her back, return to sender.  But she'll always be at your beck and call.  She will always be waiting by the phone, waiting for any form of contact.  She will always be there for you.  Always.  It's just...

...she sometimes wishes that you weren't so busy.

life is hectic
will update soon

i have a feeling that i am finally coming into my own.

because light is a source of heat.  i want my ice cream RULL COLD, motha fuckas.

depressed again.  wtf? make it go away.

my first kiss was with a filipino water polo boy turned j-rock.  it was my fourteenth birthday at the irvine spectrum during the movie anchorman.