Special’s Neighborhood

So, I have abandoned Vox in favor of Twitter. I didn't mean to, but the small character limit just fits me. I came back to Vox today because for the first time in a long time I have something I feel like I need to get out that will take more than a couple of sentences.

I have been in a funk all year. Mostly from the fibromyalgia, hypothyroid and chronic backpain. I have had severe fatigue which makes even the smallest problems seem insurmoutnable. This last month I have been especially horribly depressed. Aside from a handful of trips to the grocery store I have only left my house to go to the doctor.I can't and don't really want to do anything else. I can't really fingerpoint any specific reason for this turn for the worse, but I stumbled upon a ripped up scrap of paper in my bedroom and that is was brought out this entry.

When I was 19 I was going through a similar bout of not leaving the house. It had even turned into slight agoraphobia at a certain point. I was going to see a very apathetic psychiatrist at the time whose name I can't even remember. She never really talked to me during sessions other than to ask if I was feeling better. I would say no and she would just give me more medication or change the meds I was on and ask to see me again in two weeks. One other thing she did tell me was to start journaling when I had nobody to talk to. I took this advice and started journaling compulsively. I was rarely seen without a book and pen in my hand. One day when i was in a really bad spell I decided that the journaling was a bullshit waste of time and I ripped all the books to pieces. There was about 20 of them and they were torn to bits and thrown away. All except for one small bit of paper that I ripped out of the book and then decided I should keep. I don't remember why I decided to keep it, but that's what I stumbled on today.

It was the top third of a page with the date intact. 26 October 1999 almost exactly 10 years ago to the day. No other words on that side of the page, but I had taped on the emergency room bracelet I had worn the day before. the other side says "I will never forget the hellish way it felt to get my stomach pumped. It was awful, I..." and the rest was lost to the rubbish bin

 That's when I had my stomach pumped after swallowing hundreds of pills. pink, yellow, white and more. A rainbow! I actually remember the doctor asking me as the contents of my stomach were coming out, " was yellow the only color of pill you took? oh wait there's pink!" I had a plastic piece in my mouth so I couldn't bite down and the tube down my throat so how he expected me to answer, I don't know.

Even though I can remember the entire ordreal perfectly there are a few things that really stand out in my mind. Firstly, having my wrists tied down to the side of the bed and thinking it was just like in the movies and then instantly feeling trapped when they made sure they were tight and secure. the second thing I remember was machine's alarm going off and being told I had to calm down. I was crying so my nose was running and my throat was filled with a big tube so I couldn't breathe. Of course I wasn't calm! Suddenly though one of the men in the group of interns who had been brought round to stare at me, jumped behind me on the other side of the bed and started to rub my tummy. Such a simple and silly thing, but it worked. I was able to focus on his warm hand rubbing my tummy and the machines shut up and I could hear him telling me it was almost over and I would be just fine. I also remember bullshitting the psych doctor that came down to decide if i had to stay in her ward for a few days. It was very easy to lie and get out of it.

Sometimes it feels like 10 years have passed and other times it feels like it just happened last week. I remember hoping that in the future I would laugh and think how lucky I was not to have died. 10 years on and I can't honestly say that yet. Maybe in another ten years I will be able to.

After way too much time, I am pleased to announce that Frozen Barbie is now on Twitter! There are many others with similar names on Twitter but this is the OFFICIAL Frozen Barbie page:

THE Frozen Barbie

As I was browsing around I noticed there are also a handful of character Twitters happening. If any of you had happened to watch True Blood you are probably aware that they also had character Twitters which were SO fun to follow. We are missing a LOT of Dexter characters so far. I think it would be very, very cool if some others snatched up the names and played along.

The following are the Twitters I have found and I will be calling them the "Official" Character Twitters since they all appear to be the originals:

Dexter Morgan
Rita Bennett
Debra Morgan
Vince Masuka
James Doakes
Lila Tourney

We are in need of Laguerta, Lundy, Quinn, Anton, Angel, The Trinity Killer and a TON of others.

If any of you know of others or decide to make your own, please post here or @reply THE Frozen Barbie.

Let's make this fun!!

Seeing my last NIN show for the "foreseeable future" was a bittersweet, exciting, hurtful, sad and joyous experience. I had already accepted the fact that I already saw my last show in June, where I met Trent finally. Tickets for the NYC dates were impossible for me to grab no matter how many different times I tried. I figured the Universe wanted my last time to have been when I met him. The Universe had other plans.

Around Tuesday or so of last week Bean, Puff and I were discussing my birthday which is coming soon. I will be the ripe old age of 31 and just because I'm old doesn't mean that my mother has stopped planning surprises. I don't always like surprises on my birthday. Last year, because I turned 30, I made the plans. I saw NIN the day before and ate grilled cheese sandwiches the day of with my teenagers.

We discussed last year and I said how I didn't really want to do anything big. "But if she wants to do something than she can get me motherfucking tickets to one of the motherfucking NIN shows", said just off the top of my head knowing full well how impossible the tickets have been to get.

On Sunday there was a mysterious little box that had, apparently, been sitting on the table most of the day. Bean is the one who noticed it. With her help, the box was opened and up popped a note that said "YOU ARE GOING". Tears of joy, of course, happened. Then disbelief. Then... Nervousness.

My mother got the tickets from eBay which is a huge no-no in my book. Especially with these, which were ticket-less tickets and scammers could run wild. In the aftermath, all went well and I really had no reason to worry. Apparently, I am not the only one who is able to handle ticket grabbing.

The drive was long. The traffic in the tunnel sucked but there was hardly anything that could spoil the happy. During the ride I thought about each show, all 11 of them and just how prepared I was that I already saw my last show in June. This show was a new monster. The unexpected last goodbye. One last roll in the hay with a lover who is leaving me. This one was to be my closure.

We arrived and met up with Mr. eBay Seller Dude. I was to have this pretty, pretty princess silver sparkly star with me so he'd know who we were. We had no problem getting in and once inside I couldn't give two shits where the handicapped area was, I was just so happy to be there. We learned my area was directly on the left side of the stage on the safe side of the barricade. My view was ridiculously awesome. I was right at the front where the surfers would stumble out from and had a clear view of Mr. Reznor in all his muscular glory.

While I was taking in my view, Vic was going to grab a drink and a shirt for me. It was then that my fellow Twitter/Blog friend, Al, got my attention. I said to him earlier that if he sees me to come say hello but didn't really expect much. In my experience, I usually have to sit in nosebleeds and all of the fun people are miles away on the floor. But there he was and I was down there with him, just in the safe zone.

I have to say, it really made my night that he was right there. My whole (NIN) life none of my friends have been into this band. Vic tolerates it because he loves me but he couldn't give a shit about them. With Al there it was like I had an ally. Sure, a big crowd of NIN fans but... usually they all make me feel like an outcast. They aren't really the friendliest group of people and here's me, weird awkward little thing with an old man who talks a little too much. Al doesn't have that snooty air about him. And his sister is just awesome. It was nice to be by them but I'd have to leave them in order to see because of my smallness.

The details of the show and the setlist (**) is fairly unimportant to me. When Trent came out I had the reaction I always do... awe. He sang and my eyes welled up, knowing that this IS it. As the show continued, I suddenly realized that I met that man. He put his arms around me and healed my soul. The rest of the show then became something else.

He was leaving. He is giving this up. My attention went to the crowd, which I am part of, and felt their love for him. I noticed Mariqueen right above his head on the balcony, watching, taking photos, existing, waiting for her man to get done working. When you really look, you see just what he is giving up. It couldn't have been a spur of the moment decision. I hope people realize that.

During the quiet songs random people would shout "Thank You, Trent". Yelling during those moments would usually annoy me but I teared up every single time. I felt it with them. Thankful. For him. For this. All of it. The past 16 years of my life... I was thankful and they just happened to say it.

His final song was Hurt. A song which exists in every ounce of who I am. Every show that he has played it, I have sobbed through it. I was right there. Right with him. His voice broke. My tears came. I was 15 again, seeing my first show and this was the song he closed with. A fitting ending for me. More shouts of "Thank You" and more tears. A wave goodbye and it was over.

I turned and saw Al. This was the other side, the after. What I really wanted was a blankie and to curl up and cry on the floor right there. Instead, I did my best to compose myself so I don't look like a complete asshole in front of someone I really only just met. It's bad enough I had a pretty, pretty princess wand with me. Add sobbing like a douchebag and he'd surely never speak to me again.

Al and his sister both went up to Leo and got two of Justin's picks. I waited for them so I could say goodbye. Al's sister handed me her's and Al said "I have one and you have one!" and I thought, but didn't say, "Awww! Best Friends ForEVER!!" I thanked his sister. She didn't have to. I adore kindness.

We filed out, slowly, and I don't remember much talking around me besides Vic. Perhaps I was too in my head to notice. Once out, reality came back in the form of three bitchy females waiting for us. Apparently, they did not have fun in the city.

My post-show depression seemed to be sever but is now on hold because I have contracted the NINcooties. Everyone I know who was at the show is now ill in some way. Good times.

** Side notes:
• Because of my location I kept moving for Mr. Rob Sheridan so he could pass and not trip on me.
• I witnessed Mr. Rob Sheridan get a swift kick to the back of the head by some ignorant fuck going over the rail who didn't even try to apologize.
• There was a very weird little bald man around me. Very, very weird. I ignored him.
• I was hug attacked by a girl I know from the Philly and HOB shows after she body surfed.
• I found out after that one of my Philly heros was there and caught Trent's tambourine. I wish I got to see him and am thrilled that he was the one who caught it.

Myself and my awesome imaginary dream boyfriend, James, all traveled to London together for a play James had produced.

James and I were walking along the very famous London Bridge together. We have already been together for a while. It might have been about a year or so. I was 17, almost 18. He had just turned 21. He was the producer for a very popular and uprising play, which was the reason behind us traveling to London. I believe we lived in England but it was no where near London, which is why being there made everything seem so much more incredible.

As James and I walked hand-in-hand across the London Bridge, watching the sunset, we began to talk. It turned into a rather heated discussion. It got to the point where both of us were screaming at each other. All I remember is him yelling over and over again, "You were never good enough for me. You suffocated me. I cannot be with you anymore." Amazing thing to have screamed at you in front of many strangers that are driving, and even walking, across the bridge.

I kept trying to calm him down, to tell him everything was going to be okay. I remember turning down the volume of my voice to a calmer, more sincere tone, to talk to him. I had hoped that, instead of yelling, a sincere tone would go over well. He stood there, still yelling, pointing out all of my flaws, how I was bringing him, and his career, down. I was standing in his way of being something great, something unimaginably wonderful. I can still see his face, the distraught, unhappy look that he wore while he yelled.

I tried to touch his arm, his shoulder, his hand, anything to calm him down. It was not working. I was failing him, once again, as his girlfriend. The next thing I knew, he jumped off the bridge. He had killed himself because he couldn't tolerate me anymore. Paramedics were called immediately, and they arrived almost instantaneously. They had pulled James out of the water. He was dead.

The paramedics rushed him to the hospital. They said he had the slightest chance of surviving. They could tell that the jump was not what killed him. Instead, it only stunned him. However, the cause of death, if he died, would be drowning. Sometimes, with some great miracle, doctors can save patients that have drowned. That gave me the smallest hint of hope and comfort.

The doctors worked on him for hours it seemed. All I could keep repeating to myself was, "You killed him. You killed the man that you love the most. You didn't make him happy, you never did. This is why he's dead. Look at what a terrible girlfriend you are. You never deserved such a great man like him." Finally, the doctors came out. They delivered the news: James had died. He drowned just moments before the paramedics got there. The short period of time from the bridge to the hospital was too much to save him. He never had a chance.

Horrified, I woke up around five in the morning, with the thought of "Oh my God, I killed a man by dating him" stuck in my head.

*** All names have been changed in the dream to protect the identity of those I think would jump off a bridge. Or I just changed the names so the people in my dream don't know I'm dreaming about them. :) It's a win-win situation.

I have had the sudden urge to proceed with a writing project that has been boiling in the back of my mind for ages. This is only the beginning to, hopefully, an amazing writing project. Here's a glimpse:

               It was a warm summer’s day when it first happened. I remember it as if it were yesterday. After all, that’s what keeps me sane these days. Just look where I wound up. Who wouldn’t lose their mind in this place?

     I loved him with every fiber of my being. I still do, of course. None of this was his fault. He can’t help that he’s lovable, right? Good guy, fun personality, nice house, reasonable income, and attractive. What trait does he lack? None. He’s perfect. Well, almost perfect. Besides his horrific flaws, such as his drinking problem, constant abandonment habits, and smoking, he’s perfect; he is what every girl looks for in their knight in shining armor.

     So, why is it that he’s so desirable when he has such horrendous flaws? How can he win over so many people? And why can’t he stop searching for love when he has already found an amazing girl that loves him for who he is, including his imperfections?

     Those are the questions that drove me crazy. Those are the questions that put me in here. Those questions have been eating away at my conscience for the past two years.

And this is why sometimes, I really hate sleeping:

I was a medical student at some dark, ominous school. The place where the cadavers are prepared was in the basement, along with the actual class that handles them. (And by class, I mean the dissection. There ARE other uses for cadavers; weird experiments for body transplants, crash dummies, etc.)

I was downstairs with the teacher / doctor. There was a cadaver with a beating heart lying on the table. (Yes, they DO exist). It was male, white, dark hair, scruffy face, and chest hair. A white sheet covered his manly bits, since they were unnecessary for this lesson. I was the only one downstairs with the doctor. We were in a secluded room, branched off from the actual "classroom". I had to stick a giant needle in him to stop his heart, without causing him to bleed to death or harm any of his main arteries. I remember the teacher saying that it had to be in his neck, but I did not listen. I tried stabbing it in his heart. I figured "Well, if it's closer to the destination, it'll move the process along a lot faster." Unfortunately, me being the giant klutz that I am, stabbed it in the wrong spot (mind you, the needle was also a foot long) and caused this poor cadaver to start bleeding to death.

At this point, the dream starts to become a bit hazy; I don't quite remember the transformation between the "classroom" and my house.

I walked into my house and yelled, "My GOD work was exhausting today. I killed a man." Nothing to be proud of, but I was. I walked down the hallway and into my bedroom to get changed. The time was very late but the sun was still shining. I slipped underneath my pink and green plaid comforter and started thinking about the day. All of a sudden, I hear my voice talking to me, but it wasn't in my head, or so I thought it wasn't. I looked over in my mirror and I saw myself standing in it, talking to me. I was saying how I was going to die because of all the horrible things I have done and so on. Me, thinking I'm just hallucinating from lack of sleep and working really hard, starts arguing with my mirror self. To prove a point, my mirror self killed my human self. But then my dream "rewound" itself. (It was really just my mirror self giving my human self another chance to put up a fight before I die.)

The mirror self was taunting my human self, saying how I meant nothing and that I (my mirror self) will be doing all mankind a favor by erasing me from the planet so I (human self) couldn't become a doctor. So, once again, I'm baffled and in shock, still denying the fact that this mirror self me is killing my human self me, without even being in the room. (It was kind of like that movie "Mirrors" except... better.) Well, history repeats itself, right? So did this, except this time, my mirror self broke the mirror. It wasn't like my mirror self broke it from inside of the mirror, though. It was as if I broke it, but I didn't, or so my human self thought. (I honestly have no idea whether or not I was a crazy person and just imagined that my mirror self broke the mirror while it was really me, or if there really were two of me. At this point, I would assume crazy person.) 
 
Once again, my dream "rewound" itself. I was alive, once again, in bed, looking at my mirror. Only this time was slightly different. I did not have a mirror. Instead, there was cardboard in the same shape as my mirror was. Mirror pieces were everywhere on my dresser and floor. Obviously these occurrences continued from where they left off, except I had my life. I decided this time I was going to stand up and brave it out. It seems as if my mirror self was gone, considering I had no mirror. Unfortunately, I was proven wrong in a matter of seconds. I felt a sharp piece of glass cut through my elbow joint. It was in one side, and out the other. Painful, obviously. I was a screaming mess while curled up in a ball on the floor. This time, I noticed that I could see my mirror self's reflection anywhere that, well, showed a reflection.  Shortly after I figured this out, I was dead... again.

My life was restored. I immediately jumped out of bed, knowing that something was going to happen, and grabbed the stake on the bottom of my umbrella. As I went to sit back in my bed, I kept my eyes on my TV, window, and alarm clock face. With my umbrella stake in hand and the help of the reflections, I was sure that things were going to be okay. I was wrong. I fought, and fought hard. I injured whatever this thing was, but it was also strange to be stabbing and swinging at air. At times, I would almost talk myself into the entire thing being fake, until I saw a reflection of this thing attacking me. I was killed, again, and for the last time. However, I wasn't dead. At least I didn't think I was dead. I was in the "locked-in state" (See "Locked-In State"). I was yelling and screaming for someone to help me, that this thing was going to do more damage to me. This thing carried me to my bed, and set me down gently. Remember the mirror pieces everywhere? Obviously they show reflection. Before this thing left, I noticed that I was not fighting myself anymore. Instead, it was a little boy. He seemed so familiar but I could not place where I knew him from. I still cannot.

Self conflict?

From my last post, it is clear that I started reading the Satanic Bible not only out of curiosity but to also start the search of finding out what I am. And for that reason, I can say fully that I am NOT a Satanist. I read 77 pages, out of 272, before I started disagreeing with what they believed.

First of all, I do agree that you should see yourself as a great human, as something wonderful... something divine within you. You are your own "God". I also agree with their idea on love and hate. If someone is rude to you, you return the rudeness. If someone is kind and loving, you return that. I also agree that you should not do things to intentionally hurt, or harm, other people.

However, when it got to the part about the difference between the "weak" and "powerful", I started to disagree. I am not one to be repulsed by someone that is "weak". I do not believe that all of the money and wealth should go to the "powerful". From my interpretation of the Satanic Bible, it reads to me as if you are criticizing people that are not like you, that do not have as much talent as you, that aren't as wealthy as you. People face different challenges and I think "weak" and "powerful" can only be determined on what they have been through, how they have dealt with it, and their reactions to those situations.

I do not fully disagree with their views on sex, but they do not suit me well. They are about free love. They think if you want sex, you go get it. You do what pleases yourself, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone around you. I do believe that people should have a choice but I don't think that if you have the urge to have sex with someone, you should act upon it. There should be a stable building block between the two people, first. Then, by all means, have a blast. As long as no one gets hurt.

Since I no longer need to finish the Satanic Bible, since I know that I am not a Satanist, I will be moving along to A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle.

New reading material:

What is your most unusual nighttime ritual?

I've been afraid of the dark since I was a little girl. I still am afraid of the dark. If I decide that I'm going to sleep in the dark that night, I have to make sure that I have the ability to get to my bed without walking throughout my room in complete darkness. I've been doing this weird ritual for as long as I can remember. The ritual goes as follows:

I must have my TV and my lamp turned on. If one is on and the other is not, then I will remedy that situation and turn the other on. First, I will turn off my lamp, leaving the TV on. The TV channel will be set to a preferable channel, such as Nickelodeon or something like that because there are hardly ever any dark commercials. That channel is always fairly lit. Next, I will crawl into my bed, with the TV remote. Reason for this is I have a strange fear that while I'm standing in front of my bed in the dark, I feel as if something (that I know logically isn't there) will reach its hand out from under the bed and grab my ankles. Crazy, I know. Thirdly, I will turn off the TV. Now, I am in complete darkness. Even then I am a little freaked out. So, finally, I throw the blanket up above my head for a decent amount of time in order for my eyes to get used to a darker place. Under my blanket darkness does not freak me out only because I know that there is nothing else under there with me. If there was, the blanket would be lifted in all sorts of strange ways.

Once that ritual is done, I will either remove the blanket, for now I can make out objects in my room better. (I tend not to look around too much if I do choose to do this option. Even though I can now see better, it's still the dark. Who knows what might pop out at you?) Sometimes, I fall asleep with the blanket over my head, so seeing in the dark is not an issue.

I have pretty much completely lost whatever blogging voice I used to have and I do blame Twitter for that. Years ago it all came so easily, this flow of words and the ability to form paragraphs full of thoughts. Now when I write something, anything, it reads like a Twitter post to me. Every single sentence can be broken down into a 140 blip and Twittered accordingly. My voice is gone and in it's place is 3,251 (my) family friendly thoughts, all under 140 characters, as they happen. That secret place I used to have is gone completely and, sometimes, I miss it.

My Twitter, this blog, Flickr, Facebook, Myspace, anywhere that I currently exist online can be visited by anyone who knows me in real life and there is no fear that they will see something I don't want them to. Clients can click on anything and, unless they mind my foul mouth, all is good. Nothing is marked private. Nothing is hidden. There are no secret tunnels. There is nothing that is just for me.

A blog used to be a place to vent the bullshit, to release because I've always been unable to release. The sadness, the pain, anger, frustration, hurt and fears of it all. I'd talk about just being me and how difficult it really is because no one in my life understood. Perhaps it was my age. I really don't know. Maybe I felt like I needed to be heard even if I never allowed people in my real life to see it.

Then something pretty profound happened: I had my heart broken.

I allowed a human into my life. I allowed him to see all of me, all at once. He knew all of the things I kept hidden. I trusted. Everything I ever was afraid of, I allowed with him. I loved him deeply, something I never even thought was possible for me to do. I believed him. And then he left.

The loss of, not him, but of the part of me that I gave to him was incredible. Who am I now that he is gone and took that with him? I shut up on all public forums because he had access to them. There was no private flow. I had no place to vent. I just had me and after a couple of months of just me I slowly came to realize that I do still exist.

I drowned myself in Eckhart Tolle, Hugnation, Andrew W.K., Amanda Palmer, Harry Potter, Nintendo -- all things which only brought me joy. When I became hospitalized I forced myself to be as positive as I possibly could be even though I was terrified. My beloved cat died two days before my birthday and though it was hard (still is) I crafted these tools in the real world that help me deal better. Are they "healthy"? Doubtful, but they work and that is what is important to me.

During the process I opened up my web world. Everything became public. I deleted and closed up all secret tunnels. People could ask my URL and I was able to give it. I vowed to myself to always, always remain who I always was but just stop being afraid of it. Because look! I lived just fine through that and I'm god damned proud of it. If there's a shitty day, I'll report it in 140 blips and just like life, it will pass. It will roll off the page with no archive, nearly impossible to find a week from now.

Twitter is becoming my saving grace these days as I am currently a shut in, not by choice, and a flow is needed. Minor frustration, a 140 vent and it scrolls on by. Oftentimes, I'll look back at the end of the day to see how it had went and most of the time forget that I was even frustrated at all. But there it was, frustration now lost into the abyss of nothing. It's therapeutic really. Well, for me it is.

Bean is also now on Twitter because she saw how much fun I was having. We follow one another, Twitter at each other while being in the same room, laugh and share things with each other through it. Her's consist of everything she is. One liners, movie and song quotes, inside jokes, hilarity, geekiness and fun. Many of her friends are now joining in because they see how humorous it all can be, this instant stream of someone's thoughts. Creativity comes with the 140 limit. Some teenagers understand and embrace this. Others use it as a new IM system. Some use it the same way I used to use my blog and would be horrified if their parents were to see the things they write. Few dwell on it, using it simply for attention and become miffed when they see others having fun without them.

Just like life.

I wish some people knew that it will all pass which is mostly why I’m actually typing up a blog which will remain, be archived and not lost into nothing. The Twitter world is exactly like the real world. There will be gossip, troublemakers, fun, laughter and trends. People will offend you, attack and act like assholes. You have no control over the others unless you block or hide from them… just like in life.

You can, however, control what you put out there into this Twitter world. What are your intentions? What is your goal? Who are you in this world? Maybe I’m lucky but I have had very few hateful people in my world, Twitter or otherwise. Humans I associate with are all kind. If someone is hateful, I simply ignore them. I do not block, censor or hide myself. I will unfollow, per my own morals, and just not speak of it.

The only instance that I had to make an announcement and block was when Michael Jackson died. I am well aware of how regular people viewed him but I have a fierce love and loyalty to him. I always have. Just like in my real life, I was protecting myself from negativity. I did not want to hear cruel jokes or happen upon a photo of his autopsy on accident. I announced, went through every individual that follows me and blocked accordingly. I did not want to see any negative @replies and so that is why I did it that way. Few people who I follow myself were mean. 98% remained to be the kind humans I thought they were. Then it passed by.

Just like life.

There is a lot of drama that happens in this community I am part of. I get just as frustrated as the others at times but I don’t involve myself for the most part. However, what does make my blood flow are the ungrateful humans: Those who have no idea how good the world really is and bitch and moan simply because they have nothing better to do, those who spew their negativity all over something meant to be so, so positive. Still, I do not name names. I say my peace and let them take from it what they will. Cursing or not, I also say it all with good intentions and never to be purposely hurtful. I fully believe intention is everything. If you are being hurtful on purpose it will come back to you. The same rings true if your intentions are good. You get what you give in this world. Real or otherwise.

I was able to finally meet Trent Reznor. The worlds finally aligned and I had built up enough good karma over my 30 years on earth and I won backstage passes through Twitter long before he was taking donations for #Eric. To even further my good karma and secure my position in meeting him, I also made a $300 donation to #Eric long before Trent announced Twitter winners would no longer have access to him. I donated just hours before all slots were taken, which is pretty awesome. And when I met him and he gave me that amazing love-filled hug I waited 15 years for, I knew it wouldn’t have been possible if I didn’t have that one profound event.

If my heart was never broken, I would have continued to live in his shadow. I would have blindly moved to Japan and hated my life there in a culture which is absurd to me. I would have grown to hate him for making me live there but would have become too dependent to ever leave him. I would have never learned to not be afraid of my head because, with him, I didn’t exist enough to even have my own thoughts. Sometimes I wish I knew then that all that pain was needed. It was a terribly dark hole. Still, the best thing he ever did was leave me.

I sort of wish he knew that I’m thankful for the hurt he caused. It gave me strength. Not in a negative way either. I didn’t close myself off. Instead, I became open. I am ridiculously open and unafraid. When you see me now, you see me completely. It used to feel like I was an opened wound, gutted for the world to view. Now it feels good, like a relief to finally just exist just as I am with no wall. See, I was already in that place where I thought I disappeared so now there’s nothing to lose. There’s no fear. There’s just me.

This entire ramble is also a reminder to myself because sometimes I forget. There are terrible days that happen and my frustration is high, my worry is beyond anything reasonable and leaping off a building seems like the best idea in the world. Those days, I sit and remind myself of all of the above because all of the above is what helps me to keep breathing.

And so I return to my little 140 world, spewing randomness because it eases my mind, even just a little. I will say that this long, never-to-be-read ramble felt quite good. I forgot that this can also be helpful, full thoughts instead of cryptic 140 lines.

You can follow me: @meltinghalo