Today Google informed me that it had prevented someone from using my password to sign into my old gmail account because it was from an unknown/suspicious location. It gave me the IP address from the attempt, and it was yours.

I changed my password. I'm not upset, I just don't really get it. Anyway, if you want to talk about it, or just talk at all, call me.

To a Penguin

I love you like I love penguins.
Playful, exciting, notmine.
Different climates.
Still we squawk and run
to the gates,
eyes shining bright.
I fed you once.
Was enough.


my eyes teared up as I typed the password to this account and saw it work. God, so many memories. So many people I loved like family before the friendships broke and shit happened and things fell apart and everyone did their own thing.

You know, I can fucking tell who some of you are? I can see it in the writing. And that makes me all twisted up inside and terribly lonely and sad. I miss you guys. I miss the hellhole forums some of us came from. I... God, I fucking hope you guys are all okay, you know? I think about how close my online friendships used to be and I am filled with grief and loss that i let them just... stop.

Though I have a life partner, there is no one in my life I can truly call a close friend. Most of all i need a close female friend again, but... I don't know if that will ever happen.

Heh, I'd love a girlfriend
, but the manipulative, controlling bitch who fucked with me a few months back has put me off the idea. Badly. I... I cared about her. I cared about her enough to let her really, really hurt me.

Sometimes I curse my capacity to love, to care and legitimately give a fuck.

I'm done now.

(no subject)

The friend who steered me here has gone far away-- I'm happy for her having a family, and so much joy, but I miss the broken-wonderful person she was, the one who saw beauty in the oddest places. Right now I'm an occasional fond memory at best, a burden to be avoided at worst.

The boy who tugged me into love has gone elsewhere, finding loves and anchoring with an abundance of riches. He has so many people who love and cherish him, and I can't grudge him that, but I'm jealous anyway. I don't miss him, really, but the warmth...yes.

The woman I love as the dearest friend hasn't gone anywhere, but it feels like I have. She finds love like wildflowers, accepting it with grace when it comes, and shares things easily with her people; when she's happiest, I'm on the fringes a little, which isn't wrong but makes me a little grey all the same.

I look at their lives and mine and run through knowing so many things at once: that people don't earn love like merit badges, that I already have so many great friends, that jealousy will solve nothing, that I can be patient. That Lewis was right.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

But the man I have touched doesn't seem to want me as keenly as I want him, and may move away in a year or two. He is the fire itself when he laughs, only with me in little moments, the life beneath the contained surface. Making him smile feels so good that it hurts, and it's stupid that no one's reached him before. And when he went into an antisocial week without telling me, I walked around, methodically scraping and singing and bruising the sensation there, because mooning over him this way is pathetic. Even if the sincerity in his compliments is unmistakeable. And I refuse.

This week I started watching my food intake closely again. Breakfast, a banana, lunch, dinner. Small snacks of peanuts or lipids when I'm hungry so I can concentrate on my to-do list, or get to sleep. Stop eating when I'm still approaching full instead of past it, cut out the mindless carbs and sugars. Skip group meals with grease in them, claim stomach flutters, having something smaller later. Find small squares of chocolate for sweetness instead of mounds of dessert. Walk around with that edge of high ringing in the ears, wait five more minutes until lunch, win the battle of wills with the body. Exercise more. It's not an eating disorder. But it's a thing that the people I care for would sit me down and talk to me about if they knew. I've dropped enough little hints already from the part of me that wants to be stopped, and now I just...don't. I can do this, ride my stomach instead of the mood swings. It's not a little luxury, but maybe it's a hobby.

Maybe it's enough to get through the fucking dead feeling I have right now. All I want is to be held and warm and loved, to just be not alone right now so I'm not bare to the mental elements this way, but it's not happening. I hate this.

(no subject)

I relapsed about 4 months ago, shortly after we broke up. It started small, like it always does - pot, too much pot, and alcohol. It got to the point where I was drinking every other night, which at this time is really all I can afford. I was spending entirely too much on pot. Then I started in on my prescription pain med stash. I don't know why I never threw it out. I was so happy when we were together, and usually when I'm happy, I clear out my stash.

Vicodin, xanax, oxycodone, klonopin, anything I've acquired through prescription in the last 2 years, is in a basket under my sink. My stash is dwindling, and I'm wondering if or when anyone will notice. No one noticed when I dropped 35 pounds in 4 months, no one noticed when I became nocturnal again, started chewing on my fingernails and my lips. No one noticed when I wore the same clothes for 4 days or started zoning out at parties, hearing my thoughts out loud and wondering if I'm really losing my mind this time. No one noticed when I drove home drunk from the bar. No one cared.

I am who I was before, I am who I hate. And no one notices. Not my family, not that guy I fell for way too quickly, not my best friend or my big brother. I find a new high every day - duster, sharpies, resin from my bowl if I'm too broke for green, my roommate's liquor, some old painkillers from when I had my wisdom teeth extracted. I find a new high every day, and every day I reach a new low.

I don't want to die anymore, but sometimes I wonder how that would go. I wonder if my mom would call you, I wonder how your breath would sound as you drop the phone on the floor, and I wonder if you'd try to kill yourself later in the night when you realize it's real and I'm actually gone. Forever. You told me you would. If I did. You would. Is that true? Do you still love me? Are you seeing anyone now? You were my only reason to stay clean. You were the first person to give a shit that I sliced my thighs up when I was sad. I'm almost 22 years old. It's time for me to grow up and become what I always wanted to be.

I've thought about joining the peace corps. I started my application tonight. But will they really take on a depressed, bulimic, scared shitless drug addict? What do I even have to offer this world? I'm overweight, burned out, and I can't even keep a guy for more than a couple of weeks. I'm sorry I broke your heart, but you deserve better. Just leave me here to rot.

(no subject)

I don't even know if anyone uses this anymore, if if anyone even looks at it. Maybe I'm okay with that. Typing it out here still feels like venting, even if (if not because) almost nobody will see it.

Its very simple, really. And it sounds pretty silly, such a small word. Lonely. I'm more lonely than I've ever been.

Lonely. The word doesn't do the feeling justice.

I'm finally willing to admit I need help.

lildixieangel06 here. Posting here because I pretty much quit posting on my LJ forever ago, and my new blog is public.

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I've been screwed up for a long time but I've been doing okay lately. However, recent events that are leading to future events have be seriously worried about my ability to be okay.

I need help. I want to find a therapist or a shrink, but I don't know how to go about doing this.
How do I find someone?

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.