A triumph of the subjective
Mon, Feb. 12th, 2007, 11:31 pm
On June 9th, I'm participating in the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk, a fundraiser for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. The event is a 20 mile walk through the streets of New York City from 8pm til 5am. Each participant must raise a minimum of $1000 dollars to qualify to walk. Considering that in past years, thousands of people have participated, we have the opportunity to be part of raising millions of dollars for a cause that has affected almost everyone we know in one way or another.
I'm walking for two main reasons: To help alleviate the negative stigma attached to psychiatric disorders and to show those suffering from them that they are not alone. In a culture where mental illness is on the rise, yet the puritanical idea that suffering from one is a moral failure remains commonplace, I would like to take a step toward open communication about mental illness. I would like to make a public denouncement of silence about mental health.
I'm asking for your help in raising this money. I know we're all young and poor, but if you've got even a little to spare this is a good place to put it. To learn more about the Overnight and to Donate to my Overnight Fund, click here
Thank you so much, Caitlin
Fri, Sep. 17th, 2004, 12:01 am
Old journal: Baaaaaaad
New Journal: Good
I'm starting fresh and without livejournal baggage at http://myikeyisbroken.blogspot.com/
And I promise to be writing more frequently there. Yay procrastination!
Ok, so maybe there are some feelings I'm not adressing here. And by here, I mean at all, in my life. I have decided not to cry, because to cry would mean that I fall apart every time he leaves. And I don't want to be that girl. So I don't cry. My throat gets tight and my eyes water, but I don't cry. I am a complete bitch to people who don't deserve it, but I don't cry. I am needy and self-centered, but I don't cry. I am drunk far too often, but still, I don't cry.
Except every time I think of him I want to. I wonder if I had just cried that frst time, I would be fine by now. I just don't know how to let him go each time without falling apart. How do I open the floodgates just enough to get over it and then shut them again? I'm so afraid I won't be able to. And why does that make me feel so dependant? I don't know what to say but I feel that something should be said. As an explaination, a starting point...? I don't know.
Perhaps if I was allowing my self to fucking feel anything, I would know how to say it.
Wed, Aug. 25th, 2004, 11:27 pm
So is David Holcombe actually teaching Lighting Design I?????????????
I want my money back.
Thu, Aug. 19th, 2004, 12:29 am
I can juggle! Apperantly. And almost kinda unicycle pretty well. I think I'm gonna drop out of CMU and be a clown, ok? Just thought I'd let everyone know. Weeeeee!
Sat, Aug. 14th, 2004, 12:29 am
So is anyone else terrified of going back to school?
I've been having dreams about school. Three nights running. Not actually CMU, but wierd dream schools where we studied faeries and fashon and something else I can;t remember. In each dream, I was one of the few gifted students. I had extra work, and all I did was work, and I was the special one. Or one of the few at least. I was stressed out and busy, but I loved it. Each morning I have woken up longing for a piece of the dream, missing it. That's sick, isn't it?
I think it might be...
Thu, May. 6th, 2004, 08:52 pm
I have no voice.
I've lost it.
I've looked everywhere, and it's gone. It's not under the couch cushions, not at the bottom of my school bag, not in the heartfelt conversations with my boyfrind, not in the solace of my parents, not at the bottom of a beer bottle, and not in a beautiful ray of light.
And I will cry for the second time today. I can feel it in my throat, behind my eyes. I didn't cry yesterday. It was the first day in months.
I had dry oatmeal and half a bottle of beer for dinner. Half a bagel for lunch/breakfast. I feel sick when I eat.
I sat in the sun in a new skirt and felt pretty for three hours today. Sun burn my skin. Hot, hot coffee down my throat. Wanted to burn the skin, soak in intense heat of done. Done with the year. Three hours.
I tell him what life is like now and he thinks I'm just tired. Burnt out. I tell him I'm scared. That I hate every part of me. He says soon he will hold me. But who will he want to hold? There is no way I am easy to love right now. How can he possibly? What will he do if I don't get better? How will he be able to hold this thing I am now?
Don't know how to ask for help. Don't know who to ask.
Thought about my father. Thought about how easy it was...would be...would have been. Thought I was being overly dramtic. Am being. Am being.
Too much doubt fear hate anger shame need rage. need.
Just because I don't always look like this doesn't mean it doesn't count. Doesn't mean this isn't who I come home to, wake up to.
"Answer me these questions three..."
Ask me 3 questions, no more no less. ask me anything you want. Then go to your journal, copy and paste this allowing your friends (including myself) to ask you anything.
No really, with every fiber of my being. I am embarrassed and ashamed of my nationality almost all of the time. Not because I don't believe in what America could be, or what the idea of America could be, but because of what we are and what we are have done to the world. As a nation, as a governmental system, we embody everything I fight against and I am running out of will to defend us.
All my life I have been silenced with the quote, "My country, right or wrong." It's what they say every time a citizen questions the system. And by "they," I mean not just the government but regular citizens. People for whom I have immense respect but truely beleive that there is an honor in and a duty to believe "my country, right or wrong."
Interesting little fact:
Today I discovered that the full quote actually reads as follows:
"My country, right or wrong. Right, to keep it right, wrong to make it right."
Funny how that last part is allways omitted. God forbid we actually honor the true meaning of democracy.
I wish I had a voice.
I wish that,at 22, I were not already too cynical to harbor any hope for my country.
I wish I could "make it right."
I wish I could believe in America.