today it was 77 degrees. i overslept and missed pilates but turns out pilates was canceled anyway so it didn’t matter. i went to open studio at around 1 and did my ashtanga routine. afterwards, i sat with my yoga high on the bench. listening to the breeze in the trees. thinking abour robert telling their brother about how everything is music you just have to be tuned into their station. last sat i found if i get hugh and listen to certain songs, i feel my heart and if i tune into the station, i feel robert. it’s a cathartic activity, now one you gave do a lot. but i shivered and sighed and cried and let out little girly mourning vocals. no one was home. it felt good. ‘but today after yoga a darkness descended upon me. i felt i would just go home and lay in bed all day. then i got on my bike and the darkness lifted.

the problem is: the high feels so good. i want that high all the time. but i black out on it now. and my tolerance is so high that i have to take less so i have enough.

im tired of jokey chit chat. im not playing with my full deck of intellect. im honing in on the lowest common denominator. i think if robert lifting me up out of that. the a=way they would talk to me and i couldn’t tell if they were starting a fight with me or not. but i met them there, there intensity and their willingness to jump into conflict so bravely nudged a better part of me. i loved talking to them like this. i loved them.

feel a little pre-occupied with my future and why i cant connect with anyone in nola. maybe its drinking culture. maybe its the transience of everyone. i feel worried about showing up with my whole self AND connecting with other humans before i die. im a whole person, where’s the rest. robert would bring so much. to come to them and sit on the couch with them, putting my leg over there leg, feeling their soft warm taught skin. they held me tight and said “YES!” when they arrived, everything else faded back into the dumb bullshit it is. We were in real life together. they made me so happy. and that’s not even a thinking i believe in. but fuck, i would just ride my bike smiling all the time. i was happy.



i’m stupid and i hate it

my healing is not in a linear path and i find that very frustrating. I will be really good, ok and then back to where i was weeks ago the next day, next moment. i am struggling with being present in my self. i had a real panic last night. and then today i am OBSESSING over how they wronged mew, how the lied. like a detective. the worst thought is that they didnt love me. I cannot bear that thought. I wish they were here to re-assure me. to tell me it’s insane to think they don’t love me, that i’m not smart and beautiful. that i’m not allowed to talk badly about myself. fuck, i hate that i need that validation. i always do this in relationships. i have a totally manageable sense of self and then once i date someone, i give t all away in exchange for what the other thinks of me. and iot takes moths to recover. ive recovered before. but this, fuckm it’s so final. i cant just se them. ever. they are in the ground.

i want and sometimes believe they are in my heart as well. im in high danger of becoming “spiritual” which i very much resent, as a rule, but I’m learning to realize that I don’t know everything about who i am. what a selfish activity though- to delve into more of who i am. as if there aren’t other people around.


I tried to go to pagoda on my way to work to sip my expensive pour-over decaf and read and “relax” – shake off last night. but the phoniness of others filled me with disgust. eh, it’s not rage, it’s true I’m hardly ever angry anymore. frustrated, yes, but anger, I don’t really have it. remember to count your blessings, your steps forward and back, back, back.

i feel my hair thinning and my chin fattening up. my size six pants fit me,  i haven’t even tried the zeroes i usually wear. i relish sweets and food. it’s all i look forward to. but i am pms-ing so i like to forgive myself. when will this period come and wash away these feelings. ugh help.




my therapists keep saying i need to journal more. but i feel like something terrible happens between my brain and the air that colors my thoughts and stories. makes them more clean, idk, inauthentic?

thinking a lot about my self-worth and how much i seek validation in my partners. Like if I have the best partner, a partner that has qualities I admire, I will also have those qualities. that sucks that im like that. thinking a lot about my reserves. the reserves i made when i was a child, to survive. and how that is valid. how i am small but strong.

i feel a constant panic. constant. panic. I think it is new orleans but what if it isn’t? it’s so hard to not romanticize new orleans. it’s not a place, it’s so alive. it’s so dark and fraught with trauma. wet heat. designed to kill you. we were never meant to sit here. this wasn’t even land.



i slept until 2 pm. not enough. hair done and sushi and chocolate. i saw your tag painted over. i saw where you died. it’s more real to me now, that you died. it’s more real to me that i will ease into death myself if i dont get up.

fuck i loved you. wasn’t it enough to keep you alive?

it wasn’t

love vs drugs; drugs always win