What My Depression Feels Like

I wish I knew how to explain depression, my depression. Whenever I think of putting it into words all these cliches run to the front of my mind. I have a feeling I won't say it right the first time around, maybe after a few tries I will have gone a bit deeper. 

Oh, off topic, but, after looking at some past journals stowed away in my old room I have realized that when I used to write as a teenager I was more honest, even cruel with myself. I was a straight shooter. And maybe that is because I was so depressed, I don't know. Lastly, it seems, according to my journals, that I've always wanted to be a writer and tell stories. 

My depression. My depression is like a veil, a scrim, going over my eyes, blocking out sunlight, distorting how I see the world. The color drains from everything around me and all I see is a dull and hopeless surrounding dying before me. Nothing has happiness, everything is there because it is, it has no purpose. I go through the day interacting with so many people and things, and yet they all feel grey, colorless, empty, foreign things that don't speak my language. I am alone and the world is lonely. Everything tainted with a dark shadow. 

The cruelest part is that when I'm there in those moments of despair, when everything around me is part of a daily strum with no direction, it is in these moments that I am blinded by my own illness. I can't even realize and or understand what my mind is doing. To me it's not a trick, it's my reality. In that state of mind I am not cognitive enough to see that it's my depression making everything gray and bleak, and rather the world is truly not that way. I can't even tell I'm depressed. To me, it's normal. It feels as if I am on a track, spurring along with no decided direction, rather something is pulling me and propelling my body to whatever is next in the game called, "life," but I do it mindlessly, but not with ease, without motivation or hope. I do it because I know nothing else than this repetitious behavior. 

I just wish I could emphasize more how my mind does not work properly, or how it plays tricks on me, or how everything feels like a silent movie with me on a conveyor belt going through the motions because that's all I've ever known. Being depressed and in that moment not knowing that it is your mind telling you to put the lighted fire closer to your skin is the most frightening and bewildering thing I think I have experienced. It's like being mind raped while you are immobile and petrified. 

During that second when I think about burning myself never do I have the second thought of, "this is my depression talking." It's taken over my sanity. "I should not burn myself not just because it is wrong, but rather because I am in an altered state of mind that does not match what I feel in my soul." I don't trust my mind. In fact I don't even know if I can call it my friend. It frightens me and tricks me as if I'm a fool. No, it's my depression. I am smart, not only with my mind, but with my heart. You might be able to pull the wool over my eyes, and whisper my fatal and upcoming tragedies in my ear, but you cannot take the essence of me, the thing that survives the rubble every time you push me off that god damn cliff. 

I hate you. I hate that you make me think I am nothing. I hate that you make death seem like a peaceful slumber awaiting me in the distance. Just past those trees you will find your happiness. The trees are crowding the good. There's good in there amongst the dark and the only way to find it is through. It's hard, and I hope your mind never wins that battle where it takes you and leaves just a memory of who you wanted to be. Keep going. 

The light pervades. 

What the future holds...some prose

Before I start I'll say, "This is me processing my feelings. No, for now, I will not kill myself."

Each day I walk in
the doorman says, "Hello"
I smile and pretend
telling myself to be happy
act like you are happy,
even though you are not
engage with people
say, "Good morning"
and, again, don't forget to smile
when they look away you can stop
drop it all and go back to your sadness
but whenever someone looks your way
"play it again, Sam."
because you can't let them see it
sucking the life out of you
drowning you to the deep bottom of nothingness
how every day is torture
being there, where they don't want you
dreaming of somewhere else
a place where you can take the next step
but, instead you are here
and every bit of me says, "Be grateful."
good money, nice people, still in the industry
I am screaming, but I am silent
"Get me out of here."
These times, dying feels like heaven
my worries would be out the door
and the anxiety would cease
I'd be dead and silent
in peace
away from adulthood
away from responsibilities
all of you try to help me
but a part of me is willing to leave it all behind
just to get some quiet
because I don't want to be tormented
torn in different directions
pushed one way or another
when I am trying my best to move forward
yet no one will give me a chance
they see through me, my desperation
and I am not good enough
or something else that disqualifies me
so, I think, death would be the alternative
and my will to kill is so little that it won't happen
for now
but, maybe in a year
who knows the landscape of my mind
once again digging for happiness
and coming up with dirty hands
no rubies or jewels
nothing
then you say, "I want to be nothing."
this weight is too great
I can not handle another day
struggling to get by
pulling out my teeth
asking, "Do I look happy now?"
a fool amongst the foolhardy
yet no one kills themselves
it's just me
forever depressed
constantly a mess
no way to move forward
stuck where I am
anxiety ridden
a villain conquered at the end
goodbye to dreams
hello to peace
awaiting me on the other side of
what's good and what's not good enough 

Abby Normal

Sobriety, what a tricky little bugger it is.


I feel as if I was raised with a martini in hand, not because of my parent's teachings, but because of the media and what society preaches. Especially in the way our culture reacts to addiction of any sort.


It is made a mockery of, a huge deal, a conundrum of some sort. Look at the coverage celebrities get when they go into any kind of rehab. It is a huge fucking deal that is broadcast over tabloids and social media sites. Please, don't get me wrong, I love gossip and scandal as much as the next person, but America's knee jerk reaction to it all is not healthy for addicts nor our society.


In my world when you tell people you don't drink the majority are shocked and confused, and their lack of compassion can lead to you being chastised for being different. This isn't everyone of course, but there are people out there. Most people just aren't educated on the disease of addiction. They think, "oh you can't be an alcoholic you're only 15." "One drink won't hurt." "You're way more fun when you drink." "I'd Love to see you drunk." "You don't smoke? WHAT?! Girl, you fucking up." "You think you're better than me just because you don't drink?" "Wait, why can't she go with us to the bar? Oh, she has a problem? Well she can still come, she doesn't have to drink."


People don't get it. As if drinking makes everything better. People shy away from you when you don't drink with them and feel less inclined to drink, plus no one likes to drink alone.


I have multiple friends who either don't drink, are supportive of me not drinking, or who never even breach the subject with me because we have fun without alcohol.


This is not an attack on all my amazing friends. This is just what I have experienced throughout the years.


Half the time I want to be sober and the other half I want to have some tequila with a lime and some salt.


I was thinking on it today and looked up sober celebrities and it surprised me how many there were. Whether they had had issues with it or had never been interested in drinking or doing drugs at all, they were sober.


I guess you come to a point when you realize that drinking does nothing positive for your life, and instead just shits all over it. Some people can handle it while others are just, addicts. No one person is better nor stronger than another.


I was sober for a year and now I drink every once in a blue moon. Drinking is part of the world I live in and I would love it if it wasn't seen as abnormal not to drink. It is hard to stand alone in a bar with all your friends who are wasted off too many shots. I'd like to point out I don't expect anyone to accomodate my choices or to take care of me, just be respectful of everyone's own life decisions.

Lastly, I am sober today, and that's good.





Want to know more? I believe this site covers a lot of unanswered questions.

http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/info/addiction/

"Yeah Bitch!"

Being comfortable is comfortable, obviously. So, why relinquish the static habitual bliss ? Same is good, but more often than not I find that change is better. Therefore, to grow you have to move and stretch like the ever reaching branches of a tree. I have yet to see a tree have down turned branches.

You must move forward, mix it up, do it differently, or whatever it may be. In order to get a different outcome you must choose different actions. So, here I go into a slice of adulthood that holds my hopes of a future. It may be terrible or totally grand, it's an experience none the less, and that is priceless.

My point is don't be afraid of being uncomfortable.

The other day as I hung in a rock climbing harness that looked like a diaper climbing halfway up my ass while it squeezed my bloated stomach out of the cover of my shirt, I struggled to find the right route to take without falling backwards into the void of loserville. People at the rec center could see me from all angles, pretty or not. Despite all of these grand perks, it was extremely thrilling to be scared. To be vulnerable. To be at the hands of another person's ability to belay me.

I somehow climbed to the top of the rock wall and squeezed that ridiculous bike horn. Yes, I looked like a demented spider with its legs turned backwards, but I did it. I conquered the fear, or took a bite of it and spit it out like a badass. As Jesse Pinkman would say, "Yeah bitch!"

Make life your bitch, not the other way around. Ya dig?

Heroine

Sometimes I think it would be fun to still be the villain, and also the victim of my own clandestine self destruction. How can someone play both parts at once? I don't know how I did it for so long. I would viciously tear myself down and build myself back up with a foundation as shaky as my confidence and much smaller than my self loathing habits. I never understood the self depreciating Isabella Swan or Anastasia Steele (who are basically the same character). Always thinking they are less than what they're supposed to be or could be. I hated seeing a woman yank herself out of the game because of some convoluted notion of not being good enough. I despised it because I was the same way. All I had done and everything I believed I was brought me pain and a faulty perception of what I one day could or could not be. I'd say,"why would you let him do that" or, "you're so fucking dumb, you can't even keep up" or, "I am weird. I am wrong." Some variation of self hatred.


I let my villainous self massacre me. I was the victim to my own crime. How twisted and bizarre of a time it was when death seemed like an answer because reality was my hell.


Now, here I am 6 years later and a heroine to my own story, my own life. As a heroine and warrior I know the battle is never over, things will come and go, heartbreak and tragedy will ensue, but also that the light I keep in my heart will somehow prevail. Instead of hiding and shrieking for a bottle of beer to solve life's calamities I am now tensing up and waiting for the hit, packed with armor and a sword all welded with my bare hands. Life may annihilate all I have but I'm still the heroine, holding myself up, looking towards tomorrow instead of the past. Life is a bitch, but it is far more pleasant when you are the heroine of your own story, instead of prey to your own folly. Don't believe what they tell you about not reaching these invisible standards. You are your own worst enemy and your best supporter. Do yourself a favor and give up on being helpless. Simply be your own heroine.

Misogyny Unleashed

I may not post as often as I'd like to, but when I do I make it count.

Today I encountered a group of misogynistic men in their 50s. When I offered them complimentary dessert for the one man's birthday, they asked whether it "came with a spanking." I courteously and maybe too politely laughed it off and said how that was not part of my job description. Looking back I regret that I didn't say something like, "What the fuck is wrong with you, you misogynistic motherfuckers. Are you sick in the head? Who told you it was okay to sexually harass me?" I didn't though. A missed opportunity I suppose.

Those pieces of shit weren't worth me losing my temper.

Some might say these men were joking or just poking fun. Since I have been in a situation before where a man has undermined my gender with his idea that it was okay for one of his company workers to comment on my "tits," I know how infuriating it is to be so appalled in the moment that you end up speechless. The kicker was the fact that he expected my answer to be a placid, "thank you."

What hurts is that these men, grown men, thought it was okay to say these things. What is even worse is that they expected me to accept it. Although I did become silent, I learned even more so what to do in these situations.

This sort of touched on the topic of rape and unwanted sexual comments or behavior from a man or woman. People make arguments about the validity of rape with the comment of, "Was she asking for it? Was she wearing sluttly clothes?" Some people respond with indifference to what the girl (or guy) was wearing and instead preach that men (or women) should be raised to respect everyone regardless of how they look, talk, dress, etc. So, was I asking for it? Was it my bright coral lipstick that seduced them into thinking I was open to their chauvinistic comments? Who can say, but I know that that is not okay. Their comments are not okay.

Respect everyone. Men and women. Gender should not determine what you do or don't do to someone.

50 Bucks of Kindness

They say money can't buy happiness, and I would say that is mostly true. But 50 bucks can prove that humanity and unbridled kindness still exists. I was working a shift. I'm a waitress you know. Every god damn shift I have someone who is complaining about something or pestering me about an item I have yet to bring. Sometimes they are just plain standoffish, giving me dirty looks and questionable stares. Yes, I am there to serve you, but remember I am a human being and not your slave. I forget things and make mistakes, let me fix it without you giving me the nth degree death stare.


Needless to say I really dislike my job, yet I also love it. The people you meet whether it is your co-workers, managers or the customers can secretly be a blessing in disguise.


Now, back to my story. I was working a day shift and I had a table of two. They were older, maybe in their early 50s. Both of them joked with me and were appeasable customers, and when a table like this comes along you don't mind hustling your ass to get them extra ketchup or even another plate. While I was chatting with them I found out that one of the two men had just recently got out of a coma. He was in a serious motorcycle accident where he broke his jaw, all his ribs and had internal bleeding. By the description of his injuries it sounded like he should've been dead instead of sitting there talking to me. I was amazed at his story and his willingness to be open about it. It was an important meal for him because for awhile he was only eating his meals through a tube. He of course got a rack of ribs and ate every last bit of it.


At the end of the meal I dropped the check. He handed me a folded up 50 dollar bill and said, "this is for you, not anyone else in the restaurant." I was shocked at his generosity seeing that their meal was about 40 dollars in total. He said he understood great service. I thanked him profusely and just walked away, eyes watering and all. I know what you're thinking, 50 bucks is chunk change. For me 50 bucks is a lot. And not a lot of money to buy things n such, but 50 bucks worth of kindness. So, what if he had left me just a regular old 15 percent tip? I would've still have been happy to have met him and had him at my table because he reminded me that life is precious, appreciate people because you never know what may happen next. Sometimes we get lucky when we don't deserve it, therefore pay it forward. And, for your information, I did.

Worth the Space

Love changes you. Unconditional love from another person (family members don't count) gives you self worth. Of course some are built with this worth already streaming through their blood (we sometimes call them, "pompous assholes"), but there are others out there who only see the flaws. I would love to admit that with my own mind and eyes I saw my self worth, but that isn't true. It has taken a lot to even build up my feeling of specialness, especially when it was constantly being shat on by myself and everyone else. Well, not everyone, but you get the point.


Anywho, it wasn't until I met someone very special and dear to my heart that I saw what he saw, the amazing me. It's corny to say aloud, let alone write it on my blog, but it is true. I see that I am so much better than my distant want to be a stripper or the fantasy of being a Playboy centerfold. I see the respect he gives me and I now expect that from everyone else and rightfully so.


I experienced something recently where I was disrespected as a woman and a person. I smiled and just laughed it off, but it wasn't until later that I realized how disgusting and contemptuous their actions were. See, I am still learning. I still have to check myself and say, "Hey, are you really okay with that?" or "Why is it okay for him to say that to you?" I won't go on my feminist rant just yet, but the resolution is that you as a person are worthy of so much more. Allow yourself to be respected and cherished for your amazing and unique qualities. Relish in compliments as if they were chocolate and a free spa treatment because they are. Compliments, praise and respect should give you value. Most of the time we deny ourselves of these things because we don't believe we deserve it, but let me tell you, WE DO.

Am I there yet?

My biggest problem: Wanting to write, yet not knowing what to write about.


Deciding whether to please my audience or myself.


Wanting to lash out at each imbecile I meet through the words of my blog, yet knowing this is a terrible idea and very wrong.


Wishing I had a pseudonym to use for a new blog


Hoping my writing is interesting to read. Trying to answer the question of why anyone would ready my blog out of the bazillion already out there.

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

The Benefits of Death

It's a funny thing to think about. The benefits of death. Huh?


People die. It's the circle of life. Your mom will die, your dad will die, your best friend will die even you will die. Whether it is someone close to you or maybe a celebrity you watch every week on TV, the death of someone you feel connected to can break your heart.


After hearing about the death of Cory Monteith, the "Glee" TV star who plays Finn Hudson, I immediately felt heavy with depression. Shock came over me. Why him? Why now? Thirty one years lived and yet gone within such a short time as I hear the news from a friend over breakfast.


I am an avid glee watcher, from the beginning pilot to this past season. It is hard to accept that he won't be a part of the show anymore. He will never walk on this earth anymore.


So, as I sank into a deep and dark place I began to think about my dear "Uncle Bob" who also recently passed away very unexpectedly. I asked the same questions. Why him? Why now? I was still unable to come up with justified answers. Naturally, I teared up, feeling as if the world didn't understand my pain. Everyone is so happy, yet I am still grieving.


After talking with my mom, shedding some tears for their lost souls, I was able to see the benefits of death.


I can look at all the people who have passed away and see their beautiful qualities they once bestowed on this world. I look to them on how to act, how to be. I can learn from them. Remember them whilst I trudge through this so called life. I will never forget my grandpa; Bob, Cory Monteith, and all the other deceased souls. I will cherish what they taught me. I will reap the benefits of their deaths, because once a life ends another one begins, and the ones we have lost forever will guide our hearts as best they can.


I grieve, but I can still see the footprints they left behind.

Italia!

Check out my new blog, all about my current monthly stay in Florence, Italy!

why is it so hot in here?

Life is hard. Why am I back on here? I want to keep moving forward, but here I am sitting on my couch like a lifeless sack of nothing. Is nothing inherently lifeless? I don't know. I am having a mini panic attack in my mind. Another year of school? oh fuck. No tattoos from my tattooer beau? Oh fuck. No more drinking? Oh fuck. I am scared. Scared about the past and scared about the future. I just don't know what to do. Maybe I should've kept with biology and tried desperately to bribe someone to give me a PhD. The only thing that seems sensible right now is masturbating. Masturbating is a mindless activity that solves everything. Well, sort of.

Breathe Molly. I am beginning to get neurotic with nervousness. This post is merely a place to hold my words. I'd be lying if I didn't say that writing is my passion and has always been my saving grace. I hate how inactive in film I am right now. It breaks my heart. I kind of just want to go buy an expensive camera and start creating stupid shit. No fear filming. This is just one of those moments when the past creeps up on you, taps your shoulder and whispers, "Hey, I'm baccccckkkkk!" God damn.

I just want to erase and start over. You can start over, but your past will forever be there waiting to remind you that you've fucked up before and that you can do it again, fuck up, that is.

It suddenly got sweltering hot in this room.

Oh god, pre menopause.

I haven't even sold a script yet. Menopause, wait!

Son Of a Bitch Everything's Real...-Gary Busey

I am resistant to write on here, mainly because I feel I have no place on the internet anymore except for the occasional tweet and my obnoxious facebook statuses. My blog seems like a part of the past, yet for some reason here I am revisiting it. I suppose the main thing I wanted to say is that I am welcoming back sobriety with open arms. I won't say I had a relapse into the big boiling pot of alcoholic concoctions that are sickly sweet, but I made a direct decision to start drinking again. It all started with that one amazing concert. The moment just seemed to fit. I have been drinking ever since. No horrid repercussions have resulted from my last stint of drinking, but that isn't to say it didn't make me feel different, because it did. I was using alcohol to numb feelings. I was using it to have fun. Looking back, after talking with a friend of mine, I see that the path of sobriety gave me a purpose, a motivating drive everyday. I felt healthy and like I was beating the biggest feat of my life everyday which is just dealing and experiencing reality. Alcohol is fun and quick. I don't deny these things, but I think today I will be sober.

As Gary Busey says... S.O.B.E.R. = Son Of a Bitch Everything's Real

So, cheers to today as a sober Molly.

i'm back bitches... april fools

I took a break from blogging. I found myself censoring my thoughts and words just for this silly blog of mine. It has been good to be completely "real" with myself in my sketch journal. I'd like to say I am back in action, free as a bird, uncensored like Howard Stern, but that is not the case. I don't know when I will return to this blog.

So why even write this post?

I don't know. I guess I wanted to see my thoughts typed out and appearing on my screen again, imagining someone will read these prolific works called "posts."

Molly wants recognition...this is true.

Anywho. I am not coming back for a while. I still need to work on myself and go back to my roots where the love of writing and writing for self expression first arose. To anyone and everyone who reads this, I ask, "how much do you censor yourself?"

I do it way too much.

Chink.
faggot.
the jewish.
my niggaz.
I love giving head.
Blow me.
anal sex is good.
vibrators.
fat asses.
phat asses.
CUNT face.
bdsm.
my pussy tastes like diet coke.
I lie to please, it pleases me to lie.
rug muncher.
dykez for dayz.
titty twister.
dildo sucking fucktard.
retard.
balls on my face.
anorexic binge slut who eats cum for breakfast.
cutter.
druggie.
heroin.
alcoholic at 20.
spanking with your belt.
BIG cock.
NSFW.
life's beggars.
the colored peoples.
meat curtains.
two in the pink one in the stink.
butt buddies.
gay porn turns me on.
I fucked all your friends.
I fucked your roommate.
bisex sex.
pussy power.
they all smell as one race.
discrimination.
gay beaners.
blanco chica bonita.
puta.
floggers.
latex.
baby condoms.
bukkake.
pornhub low quality finger fucking.
tattoos.


Yup, now I feel better. Phew.

Saturday Night at the Movies

How can I make this post short and sweet so that I can get onto the homework I have been putting off for a whole week? I can't I have a feeling this is going to be a very very very long post. Which means it's probably very therapeutic for me and extremely boring for you.

This weekend, in particular Saturday was everything you want a night out in L.A. to be. There was booze, hookups, bras flying, grinding pelvises, joints stinking up the room, and little bits of fame.


Maybe this won't be a long post because at the moment I am having a very hard time articulating what Saturday was for me.

It was freedom. It was madness. It was everything I told, "no" to over the past year.

I drank. It has been a year and a couple months.

"Help yourself," he said. Bottle service. Fuck yeah. Had a total of probably 4 shots worth of alcohol, but even after the smidge of jose cuervo I had I was tipsy. Everyone knows that with tequila off comes the clothes.

After Jose it was a mini handle pull of seagrams 7.

It felt odd. Like I was drinking for the very first time, all over again. It felt good. I felt stupid, and happy, and good.

It is weird what alcohol can do to you. Let me add that before I had drank I was feeling just as good. This alcohol just added a bit of fire to the night.

Now like oh my god. I broke my sobriety. I am a dry drunk. This is all true. But I wanted to have some fun, let loose and enjoy myself. Plus, I've been scared to break my sobriety. As if I would be letting other people down. I should only be letting myself down. This is my choice, all about me. If I want to drink I'll drink. It started becoming more of a game of how much longer can I stay sober rather than a commitment. I mean everything from my past is true. I have a problem controlling my alcohol intake. I drink usually for the wrong reasons. But saturday night none of that seemed to interefere or whatever.I should still be able to drink. and I did. just as it was my choice and only my choice to stop drinking it was certainly mine to have another one.

150%

This post serves two purposes.

1. To get me in a writing mood

2. To make a deal with myself


Recently I have started a new sleep regimen (with the exception of last night) where I am in bed by 12, asleep probably around 1am, and then awake by 9 or 10am. I have cut my caffeine from 4 drinks to 2 drinks. I don't drink caffeine after 6pm. Hypersomnia and insomniac are my new titles. Anywho, I would say that this is another baby step towards changing my life. Considering that I used to go to bed around 3 or 4 am and wake around 2 or 3 pm, but that's only if someone woke me up, otherwise I would keep sleeping. It's been a week and I feel better. It is easier to get up and I honestly feel like my body's gears are clicking back into the right places.

Also, I am planning on going to a creative writing club at CSUF on Monday night. I met a new guy friend. I am planning to go to an AA meeting with Miss Elin two wednesday's from now. AND I am planning to go on a run with the Snail's Pace running club in MV this Wednesday.

I am going to make it to all of these commitments.

Oh, and I deleted snapchat after one of my wonderful friends who received a nude photo from me made it into this cat picture. It was really funny until I knew he was showing my other friends. Then it made me feel weird. Oh the downfalls of snapchat. Such is life. No more nudes. Tons more condoms (don't ask).

So, what does this have to do with anything.

Well, for once I feel as if I am giving my life 150%. Why not 200% because 200% is an absurd number plus, "15", is one of my lucky numbers.

I feel so happy. Overjoyed. Just smiling all the time when I am around people. It feels good to move on, do new shit and put effort into your life.

I was giving at best 75%. I wonder if for one month I can give 150% every day.

I'll workout when I say I am going to.
I am going to go to an AA meeting.
I will meet new people through the running club and or creative writing club.
I will be a good parent to myself and keep getting into bed at 12.
I shall look at life with an open heart, being nice to everyone who deserves my kindness (there are the rare exceptions when shit is not cool and you gotta be a boss and straighten dat shiiiet out).

^wtf molly? ghetto as hell.

And lets say I fail at all of these...well gotta just get back on the horse (which after falling is honestly and literally incredibly hard to do especially when you feel like crying in the dirt arena).

You may see this as silly and stupid, but I feel unfulfilled. I wonder if you were to look at your own life what percentage you would give it. Are you living the life you want? Maybe or maybe not. The beautiful thing is that you can change all this.

And rest assured that I will have my moments of spit and fire and curse words. That happens every day. The thing you have to remember is to recover from your anger and keep going.

LA PASSION DE JEANNE D' ARC

I had to watch LA PASSION DE JEANNE D' ARC also known as The Passion of Joan of Arc by Carl Theodor Dreyer for one of my film classes. The film was released in 1928 and has since gone through a tumultuous life. In the beginning credits of the film it says how the original footage was lost in a fire as well as the second negative copy. Then in 1981 an original Danish copy of the film was found in a closet in a Norweigan Mental Institution (wtf?). Go figure. Anywho, I am very glad it was found! Not only was this movie unusual and interesting, it also evoked some sort of feeling from within. Maybe regret or introspection?

Regardless of the emotion, the 114 minute film was really just one long day. The whole movie is the sequence of events leading up to Joan of Arc's death. The movie starts from the point where she is in front of a judge to the end when she is burned at the stake(sorry, I just ruined it). Typically I would've expected for the movie to start with her engaging in acts that would lead her to be before the judges, but no, the whole movie was just an endless tug of war in one location. It was like one long scene.

So, let me give you a rundown of the plot. Joan of Arc is being accused of heresy because she believes that she was sent by God to rid France of the English. It also seemed to me that in the film the judges had a problem with her dressing like a man. Needless to say Joan of Arc was relentless. She never relinquished her true beliefs that she was the chosen one. The judges went as far as to say that she was being led by the devil in her acts. Yet, in the movie we see the judges falsify a document in order to make her revoke her original statement. Plus, they want to burn her at the stake! Who is really being led by the devil?

Anywho, I, myself have battled and played my own tug of war with my belief in God. I've been an atheist then agnostic then spiritual and now back to agnostic. Some may say "who cares", but my lack of belief in God, especially in high school had earned me distrust from others. I had a boy tell me multiple times that I was going to hell because I did not believe in God. I was ganged up on and somewhat coerced into going to church with friends. My dad is Jewish and my mom is Christian, but I never grew up with the stories of God. For a while I knew nothing about either religion. It didn't matter because I believed in evolution.

Now how this all relates to the film...
Well Joan of Arc was persecuted for her somewhat different beliefs, yet she still held in common with the judges and other commoners her belief in God. But they burned her. Burned her flesh to ash because it did not correspond with their exact idealogies of God's will. I believe there is a lot of hypocrisy in religion, not to mention, unlawful killing in the name of religion. Many times I have seen people preaching on SFSU and CSUF campus and I have mocked them and considered them ridiculous. I hate them. I do not need to be saved. You professing the word of God in a public place is certainly your inherent right, but something about it makes my skin crawl. I don't need someone to tell me what is real and what isn't. What is God and what is the devil. But, as I watched this film I said to myself, "maybe I am no better than those judges, laughing at Joan in her convictions, her passions, her everything." I also turned it around and said what if it is the world laughing at me for my lack of beliefs. Whichever way it is, I felt a passion I have never known for the adement believers. Who am I to judge them and who are they to judge me? I still don't agree with the whole preaching on campus thing, but I suppose I have a new respect for people who are concrete in their faith. I mean there is always a double edged sword. Look at the people who are so deep in their faith that they attach bombs to their chests, murdering senselessly.

I don't know if there is an answer to all the thoughts and questions, but I have a new respect for people who believe in what they want to despite what others say. Of course there is a limit to this and I still don't want you to tell me about God unless I ask you, but still. I found the film heartbreaking and enlightening.

I suggest it very much so. Don't be turned off by Joan's over exaggerated stares.

It is free to watch on Vimeo

here is the link... http://vimeo.com/25035903

In my life..

I've been browsing through pictures, reliving memories of everything. A lot of SF memories.

I miss jazzy so much. I miss the street lamps in the sunset glowing as I walked to my brother's house on 29th and Judah. I even miss dizzyingly walking and screaming and calling Chris cause I was so high on molly and liquor.

Yes, I was miserable. But, during the moments when I was high on whatever I could find, god fucking damn I was surely on top of the world. Nothing could stop me. Except maybe throwing up on myself on the muni (I know, super gross, but living the high life aint always clean).

After a friend breakup, jazzy was my shelter. She comforted me and made me start this new chapter of my life. She was my compatriot, my partner in crime. We fucked shit up and were beautiful while doing it. She also introduced me to Eric. Jedi tail man.

Point being, it hurts yet brings tears of happiness to my eyes to look back on this life style, these memories, the love I left behind, not to mention the pain.

I am not friends with these people. I don't know what they did yesterday or what they're doing now.

It's weird how life changes within a year. Your best friends are no longer even friends. merely strangers.

I will say looking back on these pictures makes me want to drink. Makes me want to be the fun, outgoing, funny, sexy, fun girl at the party all over again (I put fun in there twice! interesting). I still wish that one day I'll be able to control myself, but that day will never come until I accept myself. I am still very at odds with who I am and who I want to be and who I've pretended to be.

I love The Beatles of course. Rubber Soul is my favorite album. "My Life" is on there. The beginning is exactly how I feel

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

So there you go. I miss all these people.

I miss jazmine
I miss Maddy
I miss Dawn
I miss Dani
I miss Rashad a lot
I miss Jenn
I miss Jessica
I miss it all


My life changed in San Francisco. I changed for better or worse. Now, here I am sober and moderately happy.

sometimes I think I'd risk everything to go back to that time when my life was a constant party of crazy fun and memories I'll never forget.

are you getting WELLbutrin?

I feel like this post will either be extremely boring or somewhat educational.

I have depression. I take medication. I go to therapy. It has been like this since I was 15.

{go ahead and judge}

Anywho, I recently decided to cut ties with the guy who gives me drugs. Please note he is a licensed professional and not a thug (reading this 2nd time and is not that funny, I apologize). I made this decision because I was tired of him trying to add more drugs to my already full cocktail of wellbutrin,lexapro,lamictal.

It may sound like a lot to you. 3 pills?! They're milligrams. Relax.

So, long story short I say goodbye to old psychiatrist and say hello to a new one. He suggests that I up my wellbutrin which I was definitely okay with. I have a solid plateau of meds, I don't need to add more, lets just ya know rearrange them.

3 days of 300 mg of wellbutrin instead of 150.

HOLY FUCK.

It is as if I am a new woman. I am fucking happy and elated and excited and motivated. I couldn't help but smile the other day. I find more reasons to talk to people and I keep making weird sort of funny jokes. My attitude has changed. All I feel is happy.

Besides some side effects such as extremely dry mouth, I am also a bit more... twitchy, ocd, hyper, excited.

It's hard to explain, but imagine a cat who one day picks up a frisbee, throws it, wants to go on walks, jumps through hoops and just never stops. That's how drastic the change is. I am a crazy cat instead of a lazy cat.

PLUS, I am no longer lethargic. I woke up at 9 am this morning. 9 am! People who know me would be shocked. Typically I sleep till 1 or 2pm.

Why am I writing this? Because I feel like this is a sham. Are people always this happy? Is this what I've been missing out on?

And...
What is the price you pay for happiness. I am not talking dollar signs. It's more like, though I am happy, I am sort of/have become overtly hyper.

You may say this isn't a bad thing. It's a great thing. I feel the same way. But I am gaining happiness while also gaining shakes, twitches and sometimes racing heartbeat. It freaks me out a bit.

Wellbutrin in particular affects the dopamine neurotransmitter, therefore, this might indicate that I am/was dopamine deficient.

I am of course going to talk to my new doctor about all this, but I thought it would an interesting read for people with depression who take this and or other medications.

Just some thoughts. I have never been this happy before. It's odd.

a hard drive

My computer has hardly any space left on it which makes me sad and disgruntled cause this means I am going to have to load a shit ton of shit onto an external hard drive. Shit takes time. Plus, I am always afraid I'll lose the external hard drive (I lose everything at least once, lost my virginity and I never found it! hardy har har) or have some freak accident where somehow the files don't transfer at all and merely disappear into cyber reality {cue twilight zone music}.

This is the least pressing thing on my mind.

I guess I just feel in a weird space right now. I feel lonely, but not in the "where is my significant other way?!?!" It's more like...where the fuck are all my friends?

Two in Arizona.
One in San Diego.
One in L.A. .
One in West Covina.
One in Pasadena.
Many in SF.

It's just like my friends are fucking nowhere. Spread the fuck out. Dots on a map. The friends I have here are awesome, but sometimes I feel burdensome to them. Like a leech suckling on as much friend blood as I can. I never feel burdensome when I am with Erin or Bree. I've known them too long to feel like a burden, mainly cause I know I am annoying/a burden but we are all okay with it. I wish I could make more friends here, but at this age making friends doesn't work like it did in elementary school or even in high school (middle school doesn't count because it was too awkward of a time).

Like, for instance, I meet a cool girl in my ____ class. I leave class, but turn around to say, "hey if you ever want to hangout some time just let me know." It's CREEPY. So instead I just add them on facebook.

I don't know. I've never been good at making friends which is odd because I believe it to be such a natural and easy thing. Maybe people just don't like me? Now I'm being over dramatic.

Anywho, so I'm lonely and I am on this new tirade about being single, young, and horny. Like I feel very open to the idea of hooking up with multiple people in one night. If anything it reminds me of my old ways, the past Molly, looking for herself in others.

I don't know. It's weird to feel this way since I've always secretly wanted an undying lovey dovey relationship. This feeling of being wild and free feels like a sham. Underneath I am about to turn into crazy lady and grasp on to you because I've decided you are "the one."

The most eloquent way I can put my sexual history and heartbreak without naming names (but stayed tuned cause somehow I always let things slip) is from one of my very very favorite movies. 2 Days in Paris.

Julie Delpy's character relives her past relationships with these words:

"Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can't live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses. "

Jesus Christ that's beautiful.

She is another one of my idols.

Anywho. bottom line. I need to load up my hard drive.