Oh......

Rest in peace, Benazir Bhutto.

"It feels great to be back home," she said. "A visit to every city is like a new experience for me. I'm just overwhelmed with emotion. I feel like I have been given a new life to be once more amongst my people."

She was a survivor, and proud of it. Thirteen years before, when a reporter from the Times suggested that her life was the stuff of Greek drama, she laughed.

"Well, I hope not so tragic," she said. "Don't all Greek dramas end in tragedy?"

([link])


A violent life, a violent death...I hope, now, a peaceful sleep.

My long christmas post from my DA. :3

• Listening to: "World Town" -- M.I.A
• Reading: Persepolis
• Drinking: Water

A holly Jolly Christmas to everyone.

Ah yes, Christmas, the holiday I greedily celebrate for the time off of school.

If you don't celebrate this holiday, then I still wish you a joyous and pleasant holiday season. :3

Snow snow snow snOw! Man, it's white and awesome out...perfect.

Aaaand there's cookies under the tree for Santa.

Aaaaand I was coerced into going to mass. Brilliant.
Juli was all pissy because I was reaffirming myself (through whispers) that the host was "just bread", but she doesn't necessarily understand (and, really, unless you were in my mind, one could not really understand). It was a huge moral-ethical-spiritual-thinigy struggle for me. Aaaaand I had/have a migriane.


So, let's end this journal now, I'll most likely update it tomorrow sometime.
...Wow, this entry seems so incoherent to me while I type it, mostly because I'm in desperate need of migraine-relieving-sleep, but felt the urge to write a journal, so am now bravely combating droopy eyes.

Well, as a goodbye I shall quote my favorite artist in saying that "You are not a sinner. You are a goddess [or a god, if you're male ] . The universe loves you. Always."

And "p.s. and if no one told you today.........I love you."


End of incoherentness!




{The Christmas Edit}

I think I might be a tad more coherent now, now that my migraine’s gone.
So, today. A whirlwind of a numbered report (I forgot how fun [to me] numbered reports are. )

1. Woke up around 7AM with a worse migraine.

2. Ever since I started taking my migraine medication, my migraines have changed from the normal (if you could call it “normal” ), intense, painful-as-hell throbbing of my cranium, to the extra-intense, painful-as-all-levels-of-hell-to-the-power-of-20, sharp, knife-like pain in my temple. So I end up waking up with the pain, then forcing myself to fall back to sleep with my hand, palm-up, under my head, pressing on my temple. The pressure helps (it always has for my migraines) until you take your hand away, then it’s WHAM! back comes the pain in full-force.

3. Anyway, so that’s what I did, but it still hurt. So I risked getting “OMG! MERRY CHRISTMAS”’ed by my mother/sister(s)/father and stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed my migraine meds. Took one, told mother what was a’happening and went back to bed. 10 o’clock rolled around and I woke up again. I stumbled downstairs with some residual pain and was revived by the smell of coffee. “Christmas” ensued.

4. Swag? Oh, okay. :3

5. Box-set Shek trilogy, the third Pirates movie and (OMGWTF!!) Hairspray! ;D
Japanese wall hanging and Chinese hair stick from Juli.
Amazing graphic novel’s from Alexandra.
Various stocking stuffers from mom and dad.
Lots of chocolate.
A cell phone.
And a sewing machine.

6. Let me break it all down a bit more.
Movies!!!! ;DDDD
Those Asian things from Juli are beyond gorgeous.
The graphic novels are a box set of two entitled “ Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood” and “ Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return.” They’re amazing. Alexandra says that the story is being turned/has been turned into a movie and, my first chance, I’m seeing it. It’s about a young girl (and eventually woman) who lives in Iran during the Islamic Revolution. She lives in an extremely liberal family and is trying to understand revolts and princely problems and theorists and how she can prove to her school-friends that her relatives are more heroic than theirs because her uncle was in prison for 9 years and then lived in Moscow. Really. Remarkable work.
Stocking stuffers, on a lighter note, are always hilarious.
As is chocolate, especially in vast amounts. Hence my girth.
A cell phone…well, see, mom won this phone as a door prize (of all things) at some dinner she had to go to with my dad (‘cause he’s on some board/committee thing) so, naturally, since both sisters already have one, it was given to me. Keep in mind that I don’t phone anyone and hate answering the phone at home and you’ll see the hilariousity. So far I’ve been using it to text-message Juli in the next room.
Aaaand a sewing machine. Oh em eff gee guys, I’m finally going to learn to sew! XDDD
I’m going to spend all day tomorrow reading the manuals for my phone and sewing machine…because that’s what I do. Read manuals. It’s a weird obsession of mine…so sue me…

7. Speaking of tomorrow (or today, since I just looked at the clock and it says 11:58PM and I’m not done this yet… ) the entire kit-and-caboodle are packing up and heading off to Sudbury again for the annual 3-ish days of fun with the loon-family!

8. Uh oh. I referred to them as loons. *sighs* Now they’re going to ostracize me again this year. Last year it was because I was stitching “fuck” onto fabric, this year it’ll be because I’m a depressed idiot and called them loons. BRAVO!

9. And Sudbury means “Day After Boxing Day Shopping”. Because all the store are closed on Boxing Day, so (literally) everyone in the entire Sudbury- and surrounding areas (including us) goes shopping the next day. WHYYYYY?!?!?!
I ask you: WHYYYYYYY must we GOOOOOO?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Last year I had forgotten my Christmas money at home, so it was sort of fun and sort of a waste of time (at the same time) walking around a mall with no goals in mind.
There’s freakin’ lineups to get into stores. All stores. Including stores like Clares, a silly teenaged-girly-pink-frilly-jewelry-and-other-accessories store. Yeesh!

10. So, back to awesome graphic novels: Persopolis has its own website ([link]) with trailers inside. I mean, there’s a trailer on the front page, but the movie is in French, and the video is tiny, so the subtitles are illegible (to me at least). So, ya, I suggest looking inside.
I really recommend these books. They’re uplifting and tragic, heartening and heartbreaking. They remind me why I’m so lucky to live in Canada. They make me want to…be enlightened, whatever that may mean.
I’m going to read them again and again and again. :3

11. Well, it’s past 1AM now, and it’s a looooong day tomorrow of cars, slush/snow, manual reading, cousins and other family, and being the odd one out. With Juli. Hurrah!
So, to bed.


PS Family! I’m not stitching “fuck” into fabric at the moment. My latest project is a slow-moving “ Put on your Big Girl Panties and Deal with it!”, but I’m leaving that at home
…Maaaaaybe…
Actually…now that I think about it…I could stitch in the car while listening to music and reading manuals….BRILLIANT! I am a multitasking GENIUS!
Stitchery is now accompanying me! HURRA!!

GOOD NIGHT!
And, again, a Merry Christmas! ;D

I'm not sure where this came from...

All things forgotten and forgiven
in this list of cherry-hill letters.
If I could count the stars
and give them names
of pet hamsters
I would.

The list of letters piles up
and the streetlamps flicker on.
Starry night lost, swallowed in
the forever demanding light
of joyous sun.
If I could name each snowflake
after lost lovers
I would,
but you have yet to leave
and the sun blinds and violently
melts the snow.

I'm back home for Christmas.
Day 2, and I've already been told by both sisters to "shut up" or "GOD! Shut up!" 5 times.
Lovely.
Really, is it my fault that, back with my grandmother, I spend the day talking to myself. Running daily commentary? Yes, I'm delusional. And, yes, they hate me for it. Then, after telling me to shut up, they get all cheery and "OMG! GUESS WHAT?!"
And then everyone wonders why I spend my time at home stuffing my face and eventually freaking out at everyone, about the day after New Years...
Fucking retards.

Mom said “we never found out what Sasha succumbed to. I think it was ‘wasting disease’ because he got so thin. Many animals, I think mostly deer, caribou etc. die of this disease.”

That’s not good enough.
I still don’t know if I could have helped him from hurting.
And that makes me hurt even more.

Thinking About My Baby at 3:45Am

I was lying in bed, not being able to sleep, thinking.
Thinking about if, if I ever got a kitty cat, what I would name it.
I was thinking up names for if it was male and dark coloured, or female and light coloured, then I thought that, if it was male and dark coloured I'd name him Sasha II.
I then thought to myself, naw, that's disrespectful to Sash...my baby.
Then I started thinking about him.
And I was all smiles and giggles.
Then I remember how, when I was home from school one day, I was twirling around in the family room, (literally twirling) and I saw something sort of hidden behind the plant on the end table. I remember looking and seeing his urn. I remember backing up against the wall and sliding down to the floor, shaking. I was shaking. No one had told me it was there. It was...painful.
Then I remember that morning.
This is what I wrote on my DA page:

Sasha was my cat. I got him as a birthday present when I was 7, I got to pick him out myself. I loved him so much.
But the two years before it all, he had been getting more and more sick each passing day. We took him to two different vets and neither one of them could figure out what was wrong with him. Every time we took him to the vet, I was told again and again that I'd "have to make a hard decision soon". I just never thought I would really have to do it. {And, in truth, I never did get to make that decision.}

First Semester, my friend had come over to my house and we had watched movies etc. and then she went home, I went to bed that night the happiest I had been in a while. My mom woke me up the next morning, it was 10:37 (I memorized the time) and told me, through her own tears, that she was taking Sash to the vet, and that it was "time". I couldn't comprehend it. I think I actually went into a state of shock.
I'll never forgive my mom for what happened next. She brought Sash into my room for me to say goodbye, and he was purring. I still don't understand. I mean, sure he was sick. Sure he had went from being a chubby 15 pounds to a dangerous low of 5 pounds, but he was still PURRING!

She took him out of my room and to the vet. I stayed in my room and cried all day long.

I have to write this, I'm crying as I write it. At 7, I was alone, I had no friends. I had suicidal thoughts at the age of 7. Sasha listened to me. And then he was taken away from me.

We got his body cremated and then we putt he urn in this cat statue, so he'll always be watching over us.


That's it. That's what I wrote.
So there I was, lying in bed, crying, and I realized that I was never told if we had finally found out why he was sick.
So I got up, and I have just emailed my mom, asking.
I need to know.
I want to know why he had to hurt, and why I couldn't help him.

I think, ever since he was taken away from me, my self-diagnosed depression has gotten progressively worse.

Have you ever heard how cats are used as therapy? How petting a cat can reduce stress? Well, it works. I would kneel beside my bed, he'd be all cozzied up in my conforter and I'd just sit there and pet him, talk to him, tell him all of my problems and he would just sit and blink at me, purring, telling me it was alright, that he wouldn't tell a soul.

It was after he was taken from me that I first hurt myself.
I can only remember binging after he was gone.
I'm the middle child. I don't talk to anyone about my problems.
No one would listen anyways because the middle child has no emotions, but he listened. He cared. And then they took him from me.
I cried for three days straight.
I thought I was over it. I mean, I want a new cat now. But I'm far from over it. I still want my baby.




{Oh god, I can't handle these emotions alone anymore.}

Exams and...well, realizations.

It's exam time.
I had one on the 7th (Advertising in Society), which was brutal.
I got my Advertising Diary back, though, and was pleased to find a 90% on it.
Apparently my prof liked my "self-reflective and almost ironic style of this diary," which is really quite funny since I wrote all of the entries like journal entires {I even started each of them with "Dear Diary..."} and then proceeded to go on 2-page long rants about how advertising is scarring children for life and making the world even more sexist. Silly me.

Anyway, that's the end of that class.
It was only half-year/credit, so no more Monday night classes.
Now I have the second part (Problems in Mass Society) Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but that's okay.

So, I have an exam this coming Tuesday (the 11th) for Social Inequality. I don't think it'll be too bad, since we had a test in it just a few weeks ago and, even though I only got (I think) 67%, I now know what to expect from her so I know what to study.
Then, finally, I have my European History exam on the 14th (Friday).
That one's going to be hellish.
I'm meeting up with my friend in that class on Wednesday to go over things. It seems to be one of those exam where you just have to know your shit and be able to regurgitate it at will. Soooo...I'll probably fail. Oh well. ^^;

I'm pretty stressed again.
I'd been piling myself with work to distract myself, but now that classes are over and all I do is sit in my messy room and study or slack off on Facebook or DeviantART, things creep back.
I'm proud to say that the cuts are fading on my stomach, but not proud to say that tonight I almost slipped.
I ate a bag of popcorn, which is all healthy, right? But I put butter on it. I know I shouldn't, and whenever I do, I eat like two handfulls and already regret it. Then I have to force myself to eat the rest. Tonight I felt like throwing up. I was watching...erm...something, I can't remember because I wasn't paying too much attention. I just kept thinking "Well, if it's as easy as they say on television, and all you have to do is stick a toothbrush down your throat..." then it was "I'll just try it once. If I can manage it once, then maybe it'll scare me off it."
So, after some 20 or so minutes of inner debate, I stood up and marched to the bathroom, grabbed my toothbrush, looked at myself in the mirror then crouched by the toilette.
Then I chickened out.
I stood up, looked at myself in the mirror again and gingerly put the toothbrush in my mouth. I gagged a bit, but see, I've been throwing up since grade 2 because of my migraines, so I perfected making myself not throw up years ago. So nothing happened.
I was, and still am, so pissed with myself!

One of the methods in my books of 101 other things to do instead of committing suicide is make art. Now, I'm not an artist. I really really wish I was, and have been trying to cultivate an artistic talent for years now, but to no avail. But I own a massive drawing book that I doodle crap in.
So I pulled it out, and the scrapbooking paper I sort-of-maybe-took-without-asking from my older sister's room before I moved back here, and her hog pog (or whatever it's called), a crappy-dollar-store paintbrush and a pencil and went back downstairs.
Now, I've been watching suziblutube on YouTube.
She's an amazing girl with amazing talent. She's just so...infectiously encouraging and enlightening.
She's trying to get people to make journals. Art journals.
Like I said, I'm no artist.
But, see? Suziblu emphasizes the simplicity in life, and that no one else has to like your art, only you. It could be "lollipop heads on bodies, like mine is lollipop heads on bodies", it doesn't matter!
So I drew something. Something simple. Then I glued paper bits on it, and I'm going to go out tomorrow and buy some paint and make my picture mine! Because it doesn't matter, only I matter!
And it makes me feel better. Because no one, nothing else matters but me.

I think it's going to be awesome.
Awesome and mine.
And her name will be Suzi, because Suziblu says "be inspired."
I think, because no one else will help me, I'll have to help myself, and if that means near self-induced vomiting to learn a lesson, to learn to matter only to me, then so be it. I need to heal, for my own sake.