and all the beautiful people in it

the title is a reference to the beautiful lana del rey song, “god bless america – and all the beautiful women in it” … actually, it’s straight up lyrics.

i’m not tired. i’ve had two coffees. i refuse to be tired!

tw suicide;
my amitriptyline overdose anniversary is coming up. you know, the serious one? the one where i deliberately took more than the 26 years old at the time of his death (i was 26 a year ago) nick drake took and died, and the one where i woke up later in the sicu, intubated, with an iv in my jugular.

i still have this saved on my phone.

i am tired, of hurting, i suppose. i plan to stay alive! i have two beautiful purring daughters, xena and sabrina, my emotional support cats.

xena barely ate after that overdose until i was back. now, for clarity: xena normally has, well, quite an appetite!

i am editing a youtube video for the anniversary of the attempt (9/11/18) but i am not sure if it will be out in time.

i finally cleared every item off my scanner, and scanned some instaxes i had acquired:

as you can see, the photos are in varying quality.

that’s all for now. maybe a post later. MAYBE.

xoxo

bitter bitch (ocd i)

obsessions and/or compulsions and i’m suddenly more disordered
well, not officially, until i get the test at least
but i’m not sure why i think about suicide 3 times an hour without wanting to or
why damp food on hard ceramic plates under cold water feels like it burns or
why i can’t stop physically removing parts of myself in calculated ways

i got to know parts of my body that i never was supposed to,
searching to become clean
for a long time i obsessively thought about setting myself on fire
my username some places is still immolation
but i only wanted to burn the impure out, not die

and the compulsions to…i can’t tell you, because my brain just shut off
but as soon as i’ve restarted i’m forced to know again how
the door handle has to be turned right; to check that it was locked
i know i put the key in and turned it but i’d sooner die than leave without
turning that damned handle one more damned time and oh i don’t know letting my cats die

i obsess over suicide, i obsess over weight, i self-hate like i’m paid to do it
at a good rate, and i do the things, the things i don’t talk about much,
and i do them until it hurts and i’m sort of kind of almost clean
then i don’t talk about them of course because i feel guilty
i guess i can say i’m so fucking ocd now because i can’t stop obsessively thinking about having ocd

before you come for me with the pitchforks and fire, or the wrong size bandaids,
remember how i blinked at every pole we drove past and didn’t stop when we passed a fence and i
gave myself a headache blinking so fast so much (or whatever)
i intricately research suicide methods because i can’t imagine not knowing everything about it
i document moments because i can’t imagine living without memories, and ones were taken from me

so here i am, self-made victim and so “poor me”, except maybe i actually
was built wrong then abused and raped and bullied and made so broken, pushed down smaller
my arthritic joints were ground down and my muscles eaten away for sustenance
and here i am, creative and once-brilliant, even, but then again not really here any more
so i guess it’s both good and bad that i’m feeling incredibly bitter

cake ingredients

i am not sure when exactly i started to evolve

into a newer, worse monster
more like my dad, i guess.
in words that aren’t mine: dna, like cake ingredients
out of order just makes a mess
or it can be in order. that’s from my mom, and it’s true
how do controlling people find time for
each other’s interests when they barely have time for their own?
i’m not sure they ever should have met to begin with
i truly want to kill the beast inside me
but the only way i know how
is by taking myself out, too. and that, is not allowed?
not by my standards, just by others’
i care most about my xena, who meows incessantly
when i go to the hospital or the doctor for a single half hour
i pushed someone important away once or ten people maybe for misinterpreting a gesture
who’s to say i won’t do it again
i’m quite likely to, especially if it comes free with self-sabotage
and who am i? besides that saccharine mess on the floor
of flour and eggs and rainbow sprinkles
but also blood and broken glass from breaking the mixing bowl
i’m no cake, but i suppose i’m not a monster either,
at least not on the outside.
still, who would know better than myself whether i exist only to depart

out of the ash box

i am more, so much more than just a plath wannabe in life
you are here, fighting for every second with my body and my being
i want them with you too but i don’t think you understand me or my strife
i came out of the ash box, i came out of somewhere that left me screaming

started something trivial, now i’d be crying if my body would allow
let me for months past over anything other than a stung eye like an onion
i remember years ago, sitting by the ash, i don’t really know how
but i remember the sketches and burning them in the fire that burned running

i remember the princess and how her love was tortured and then how i was scarred
i remember scoffing because what else can you do when your fairytale is the old kind
the kind that teaches you a lesson! the kind that disney had in their future but so far
i reject love because then you never hurt when you are hurt, when you are left behind

is it normal to tell your child you will leave them? is it normal to do it?
i don’t remember much but i remember enough to be sad
and i remember sketching torture like i’d seen, like you’d showed me, like i knew fit
my life in the ash box when i crawled back in with my skinny short limbs, bad

i am less, so much less than you taught me i am, which is nothing
i am free, never free, because i have complex damn ptsd…well who cares
another victim is just another victim even when their martyr complex is strong
and i am here, but i don’t know if i want to be, but i don’t dare

i remember burning up, watching the flames lick my fingertips as i numbed myself to heat
i remember throwing the evidence of my thoughts and anything i dared be away
i remember keeping the rest in notebooks too miniature to read
i don’t remember much but i sure remember hurt, even as the edges fray

oh! how dare you train me to be so afraid of being critical even to this day
even after my brain has finished developing and my body has hurt for many years
oh! how dare i be critical of you after all you have done for me, after all i have stayed
i suppose i’m awful and i should be punished for my ways and for my tears

am i a demon? no. yes. no. you used to love me, i think. i don’t remember very well.
how could someone do so much damage to family, i thought
and then, ten years ago to the month, i went into the psych ward and learned their spell
they pretend to listen but their words show they never learned anything they didn’t want

i’m okay but i am also never and i am also holding onto the knife’s edge with my fingertips
as they bleed i continue because how else could i behave in this almost 2019 moment
i’m dying and i am feverish and i tell lies because feelings are real monsters made out of shit
hallucinations that were never there become real distressing excuses for being spent

what do you do when your brain falls apart and they threaten to take everything you want away
when do you give in when you know that you need to be sliced open soon
for your own good of course, take the teeth out, remove the rot, let the others stay
a little bit rotten and drilled and filled and buffed and obviously not a boon

that is me, i am my own teeth, and every cell in my body! they fight, except when they don’t
i wonder often if that is your fault, it would help if i had my memories
so i cling to the ones i have: in the ash box again, burning paper just to stay warm, i can’t
holding fingers to moments to see if i turn to ash too, of this i will never be free

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