Oh my, Sugar Pie.

[This is a picture of me with a scar on my shoulder. It's healing!]

It has been too long.

I feel like I should write, but where do I start?

Ah, forget it. That was a silly idea. This is not a journal.

My hair is shorter now. And I've gone through many different colors since I last posted.

I feel like I go through stages, and rereading that last entry about the Secada, I feel what I'm about to say is redundant, but I'm saying it anyways.

I go through stages. I think I always have, and I think I always will. Actually, I kind of hope not. I hope this is the beginning of me settling down. I feel good. So good! And healthy. Much more so than before.

I'm talking with Sara again. She's a friend of mine, and I've missed her. She told me it was alright that I hadn't been around, she'd just figured I had made myself a little cocoon, and I wasn't ready to come out until now.

I felt that those words were perfect.

Me, Now.

I saw an actual Secada for the first time in my life recently.

I have seen the exoskeletons before, my whole life I've seen the remnants of themselves they leave behind. I've heard them about every night my whole life too, I think, but never before had I seen one. I always only ever saw their shells.

I feel like there is this power in me, there is this force that, until recently, has been lying dormant within me somewhere. Somewhere dark, perhaps, and unexplored. Somewhere even I had never dared venture to seek out.

I don't know why, but for whatever reason, everything is coming together in this odd way inside of me. I feel like my mind is rearranging itself and fitting together perfectly right now.

I've gone through this shedding process... Actually, that isn't where that metaphor starts.

I think it starts where Dad left off.

After Dad died, I started developing this shell. And I sunk into myself.

I went through periods of being okay, but always to be brought back down a few weeks or days later. Sinking into depression seems to be the phrase most frequently used to describe what I went through.

I have been depressed. Yes, I think that is a good word for that.

I'd been crazy. I'd been self destructive, but not in a thrilling or explosive or awakening kind of way sort of like I am now, but in a bad, fucked up way.

I let the shit in my room just collect. I had been yelled at and screamed at and gotten into fights about fixing it, and I knew it would be part of the process, and that is probably why I let it get so bad. I hadn't the motivation to make it any better even though I hated it. And I didn't know what the motivation was, and even now don't exactly know what it is... I dunno, but basically, it was beyond stydom. There was shit piled at the door so you had to literally squeeze into and out of the room. There were moldy glasses and messes I'd made but neglected to clean up. There were clothes absolutely everywhere. Anything new I'd gotten would just be dropped on the floor like everything else. I sometimes amaze myself at the mere ability to function despite anything.

And all of a sudden, I realized. I wanted to emerge. And be seen. And show off this shiny new self that I had realized was there, growing, shaping itself inside of this brown, dry shell I'd created. I was ready to shed. I saw myself and realized that through all the shit, I'd made this new, better, colorful me, ready to be revealed to the world, but most importantly, to the mirror.

And so I cleaned my room. And went to an art gallery showing. And modeled. And spoke of God and freedom.

I am fearless. I have a whole new outlook on things. I know I am still a bit self destructive, but I feel like I have purpose and can better see things. I have a better sense of what I am feeling and why.

I crave experience and independence and love in all forms and fashions.

I crave creation and live insatiably.

I am living fearlessly and excitingly and loving every single moment, good or bad.

Alee cat.

Morning After.

Peaches.

Sweet.

Juicy.

Gigantic.

Peaches.

There were always Peaches the morning after. And she loved that. She thought briefly that it may have been something self destructive, but she didn't care and she loved that. She figured if it was really self destructive, she'd feel bad about it. At least afterwards. But she never did. Not once.

Especially not when she was with him.

It wasn't like, he knew exactly what she needed and gave it to her. He just so happened to be everything she needed and he just so happened to do everything she needed him to do and play the music she needed to hear and feed her the Peaches she needed to eat. He just so happened to be. And every moment was perfect. Everything was Peachy.

And she was Peachy keen.

I'm the Type of Person People Live Vicariously Through.

Believe it or not, this is a picture of my best friend Morgan Miller, living vicariously, through me.

Nostalgia.

I feel like I know you so well.

I feel like you've been mine at one point and yet I cannot remember specifically when... But I know I know you.

I know you so well, I feel like you're a part of me...
I close my eyes before I fall asleep and I can feel you there. Inside of me somewhere, waiting. You're a part of me and everyone like you I have ever known, and all of my expectations of you, and all of my experiences...
I want you so badly, I can feel it. I can almost trick myself with my eyes closed.

You're there, you're within reach of my imagination, but it's like looking for something in the dark... Even if you know your home like the back of your hand, you still end up pawing at the darkness and stumbling to find what you're looking for. Even if you have looked at it every single day you've lived in that home, at least twice a day, when you wake up in the mornings and go to sleep at night, you still find it difficult to put your hand on in the dark.

I know what I'll feel once I finally have you. I know it, and I want it! I want that. It's like an itch.
You're familiar and unexplainable. God, I want you more than I think I have ever wanted anything else.

Maybe you were something I had in a past life...
I'm feeling nostalgic.

This is Our Love.

I am wiry and fragile.

You are strong and resilient.

My bark is thin and chips off like layers of paper.

Yours is thick and can be harder than leather to cut through.

I am succeptible to harsh seasons.

You can withstand anything nature throws.

I will always shed tear shaped leaves.

You will shed nothing but needles.

We are both reaching.

For the sun.

But we may never come close to reaching eachother.

The Lady's Not a Tramp...

I could hear Sinatra sneaking out from under the door. She looked at me and smiled.

Hey.

She said.

Got a light?

Her cigarette was resting between her lips.

I lit her a match and she closed her eyes as she leaned in for the flame. Her face was a perfect gold at that moment.

Thanks, stranger.

Another smile.

She looked away. Turned towards the moon.

It was bright and clear, and the sky was a very deep purple.

The moon was pink.

She saw it, and she smiled again.

She was flirting with a blushing moon.

"The Lady is a Tramp!"

Said ol' Blue Eyes.

And as I took my last drag, I thought,

"No... The Lady is a flirt."