and i need yellow diamonds

hi hello,

this post is currently titled “and i need yellow diamonds” which i find embarrassing! so i will have to change it at some point. it is a reference to peter (b.o.m.b.) (which stands for Back On My Bullshit), a song by kitty who i love and adore and support. from her album ROSE GOLD.

i am desperate to change the title. soon. its time will come!

i am editing selfies to look retro, with an app. in bulk! i am also moving files on my pc, because multitasking using multiple electronic devices is in my top ten hobbies (maybe.)

i honestly think ROSE GOLD is likely to be my favorite album of the year.

i’m wearing a pink pleated high-waisted miniskirt and a fuchsia turtleneck Barbie sweater. i absolutely look like a cheerleader! it’s cute though.

i’ll include a picture shortly, but not yet. in the words of many, but in this case werner von croy, a fictional character in tomb raider 4: the last revelation, “patience is a virtue” … he says that in the intro level, in cambodia, before the entire rest of the game which save one chapter in paris is set in different parts of egypt. for a long time, it was my favorite video game.

huji (the app i am using that i mentioned above) is taking a very long time, a verrrry long time to process these photos! i am impatient. i should take my own damn advice re: patience.

and for good measure, a favorite from an indie youtuber:

i like their videos.

i have new videos maybe? but whatever. WHAT EVER DOT COM. (is that a site?)

i have a crush on everyone! but especially my partner, who i have been on-again-off-again with but who i hope to continue dating… ♡

(i can’t help it, everyone is so cute)

it’s best illustrated by a comic my friend cory made his cover photo, that i am too lazy to find for you right now. i commented, “cory i don’t appreciate u putting this picture of me on facebook without asking first” and that comment has six likes. six.

move, copy, delete?

i’m actually listening to ROSE GOLD right now at this very minute…on track seven (medicine ft ricky eat acid)

i’m everyone’s favorite brat.
me dyeing teresa’s hair
the most recent one.
i MAY have uploaded this already?
the thumbnail for the olaplex & chill i edited that i need to re-edit.

i wish things felt better. i hope that they will, with time, and higher antidepressant doses.

i made a new instagram, a trashstragram, a side account, whatever.

xoxoxo

olaplex and thrill pre-halloween personal update

hi,

I don’t know how to go about writing this post. I am planning on making a new wordpress dot com account soon. That will be a more personal space. This space, sugarette dot net, I consider to be partly yours, too – if you are neurodivergent or chronically ill, or disabled.

TW SUICIDE in this post

It’s weird seeing that I wrote that I’m safe on september 9th, because two days later I made my most serious suicide attempt yet. I originally wrote “so far” but I don’t want to do that any more. I may want to, but I won’t, because after being intubated and unconscious for over 24 hours, and seeing how much I scared some people, and watching yet more people walk out of my life as a result, I don’t want to do that again. Not for myself, but so that I do not hurt others.

I don’t mean to hurt others. I don’t want to hurt others. To be selfish, I must admit it hurts me to hurt others. I am constantly hurting because of the hurt of others. I feel too hard.

I started making videos about mental health, like I’ve been meaning to for literal years.

Here are the first three of my Olaplex and Chill series, which are already published on my youtube. I have other videos, but for this blog, these three seem the most relevant, at least right now.

Olaplex and Chill 1:

Olaplex and Chill 2:

Olaplex and Chill 3:

It is the third one in the series in which I address my most recent suicide attempt. I put trigger warnings in all of my videos before triggering content.

The Olaplex and Chill concept is simple, I shower and apply olaplex to my hair (which you are welcome to subsidize the cost of by sending sephora.com e-giftcards to zelie at zelie dot co so that I can purchase olaplex for videos more easily), then while it repairs my hair I sit and talk to my camera. I “chill”. It’s obviously a play on “netflix and chill”, which I enjoy, because both first words end in X and both last words are “chill”…obviously.

I can’t afford the adobe suite right now, since my promotional intro period price ended, so I cancelled my subscription. I have a week long free trial to use to edit video footage, and then I have to find the best open source video editing software for me.

I’m not going to address that aforementioned suicide attempt in much detail in writing right now – I’m not ready.

I titled this blog post partially “olaplex and thrill” for halloween/samhain. I am taking my wicca more seriously, so to me it is samhain. My spirituality does a lot to help my mental health. I am taking steps to try to help my mental health get better. It is so bad! I am safe, but of course now, here, that means nothing.

Things are bad. The political climate is scary – terrifying, even. I have gone numb, despite my best efforts. I stopped looking at the news. I have not stopped caring, but for the most part (very much mostly but not entirely) the fire inside of me that burns to help others is being overshadowed by a great burdensome need to take care of myself and my body.

I have a new handle. @zeliethorn . I have a new twitter and the same instagram at a new link and the same thing applies to my tumblr page. I will be updating the links on this page momentarily to reflect any changes since they were last updated.

I hope to make videos about coping, soon. I hope to cope, myself, soon.

xoxo
Z

twenty eighteen

i am so so so scared
and i can’t cut/snip/bleach my hair
cause i did that to cope too many damn years in a row
(and i cried the next day every time)
i am so so so tired
caffeine as a food substitute
but i can’t let this or anything worse truly show
(because the hospital doesn’t let me see my cat)
my best reason to live
i feel hopeless and sad
i’m taking it minute by minute
(but this world is unfair and i’ve become far too bitter)
i see everything fall
how to help when i’m not standing myself
i try to fight but my face is streaked
(with tears and my blood)
i can’t move or talk at times but then who knows why i sure don’t
everyone would rather question my poor memory than trust i could do a thing right
and perhaps i could even survive all by myself one day
(i don’t know i don’t know)
what circumstance could possibly allow for such a thing to happen
i try not to die and i do that each and every day
most days i do sort of well but i’m still not okay

not extinct

i’m here. not extinct. for now.
it was a meme, a cute tidbit from the net
now it lives inside my head forever too
i’m not extinct. see, i like that
to put it obviously: it implies i am endangered
but still alive!

what a joy. what a thing.
something, at least, to be alive still
i can’t talk about how badly i’m doing
without instinctively smiling because
i’m scared someone will put me back.
inside the hospital.

it’s not so much, so little, so anything
that these monsters need to be extinct
extinct unlike me. for now at least.
maybe my rapist needs to be fired from the local psych ward
but i already reported him twice
i remain alive.

i fought on out of spite. i did it.
for six months i swear i didn’t even want to die.
after the second time that i have in my memory
i guess it lasted too long, or i had too many injuries after
or maybe the second rape is just worse, but i didn’t want to die
prove he couldn’t do that to me

nobody can do that to me
i could go through worse. i almost always can.
the only person allowed to hurt me is myself
the only person i let touch my soft core
is the little demon that lives inside me
fills me with self hatred.

cuts me up. inside. where it hurts.
it doesn’t hurt outside like the knives in my stomach do
and brain and heart and being always ache
when i have taken razors or scissors or nail files or needles to my skin
it hasn’t hurt so much as bled. i sit here crying and writing
this is an alternative to the tiny weapons

it’s not uncommon to keep a kit
a little box full of self-harm tools
it’s been written about in comics and essays before
it’s been evident from the tiny metal boxes i hide in my room
i invite too many friends over for my loneliness to choke on
to be visibly this sick.

i haven’t even used the kit in months.
i thought my friend was dead, again, but this time more so
i considered it but honestly
what is the point of a wound when a death will do the job better
and though i stopped caring about living for revenge after some time passed
i still stay alive for my cat and

i guess, i suppose, my new antidepressant is working.
it’s hard to admit when you are attached to your sick girl identity,
but then when i think about attempting with these deadlier pills–
i think about how i’d feel if i survived and they were taken from me
it’d only be my own damn fault. not extinct.
if i died, would that be better?

the slow ache of the invisible prongs
of these ugly murky invisible starfish attaching themselves to my soft skin,
tugging at the edges and eating me from their middle
tearing away at my skin and my muscles
i cannot go there again. i would not, even for death
but death would be so sweet without the means to overdose

is the grass always greener, or whatever
in the sense that if i start to get better it will feel too uncomfortable
and if i start to breathe properly people will expect me to function
so i let myself starve instead. i let myself drown so, so slowly.
a drop of water in my mouth every week
eventually i will choke and drown

that’s the plan, right? that’s the method.
that’s how sometimes eating disorders are actually suicide.
how you can hurt your family less by giving them a disease to blame
rather than themselves
if it was accidental and just got too severe, it won’t hurt them much, right?
neither my mother or i want to outlive each other.

but i am moving tomorrow. today. it’s 2:46am as i write this.
i am not packed and i am running out of hours to keep surviving in a way
that keeps others happy…of course i can’t keep myself happy while not extinct.
but there’s only one me and if i died, i would be. extinct.
no more pink haired sick girl to listen to her friends and cuddle xena
and no chance at some kind of future like i want to want

the message is always positive at the last minute, the paragraph i write before i publish.
so that nobody reads this, calls the authorities on me & causes a panic attack or worse.
and also so that i learn to one day believe my own words. live on and write more of them.
each paragraph here is getting longer, maybe my life will be similar, maybe i’m not so bad
not so doomed, not so destructive. maybe i can get better.
i have to remind myself, but it’s not just words, it’s the truth.

a chance may not be much.
but i am still lucky to have that.
i am still thankful to have that. i think.
i will still keep fighting because truly what else is there to do
besides the obvious. isn’t it too obvious?
wouldn’t it be amazing if i died of old age rather than suicide?

maybe i can

i stay alive

i took two overdoses in 2016
combined there were over 300 pills in my body within those two months,
just the times i shouldn’t have had them in my body,
not counting the times i took medicines as prescribed

i don’t remember too well what happened
but i remember how i felt
lost, scared, panicking
unsure of any other options. nothing seems as solid as a suicide attempt sometimes

it’s hard to describe anything i go through sometimes
my brain becomes a mush-up
a mess of tangled neuroses (and other problems)
really i would like to feel happiness but the more realistic option is the absence of pain

my pain and suffering are not small things
they are big monsters that bite chunks of my flesh away and leave bone exposed
i am in bed for days crying over their existence
i am standing up and taking prescriptions and fighting too

the problem with suicide that never matters when your head
is full to the brim with pain
and won’t subside or ease at all
is the hurt you are too swollen with fresh tears to notice isn’t all your own

i cannot deny that multiple people tell me they love me
they care about me
sometimes it even feels real, if temporary
but i know when i push back my emotions and force logical thinking to overtake them:

this is a thing i can do
a thing that i have done
and it will solve almost every ache and problem i have
but comes back threefold for those who were brave enough to truly love me

i don’t want to do that to anyone
least of all the few who weren’t scared
when i broke open my ribs and skull and showed them what lies within
also, my cat, so for now:

i stay alive