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

so i guess we’re back here right now

hi, Sugarette dot net. My Sugarette readers,

I tried to carve out a space for myself elsewhere on the internet, a space that could basically be entirely mine, a wordpress dot com blog, and that was costly…and eventually I moved my blogging/posts to my patreon, and stopped blogging publicly. I set it up so that both sugarette dot net and zelie dot co domains pointed towards my patreon. They still are…maybe not for long.

I have one patron already! It helps. If you can, if you want to, feel free to consider becoming my patron, and as a aresult seeing more content from me, but I’m not here solely to plug my means of making money.

I want to make this blog more about mental health again. I miss having a reader base that so heavily consisted of neurodivergent individuals. I want to provide tutorials for coping techniques, etc.

I want to write more – I’ve been shooting some footage and many photographs, mostly with my dslr, although some with my slr…I want to write more – more poetry, more blog posts, etc.I might put my (depressing) poetry on cherrymess and allpoetry, but really I want it on patreon, so, there’s that.

So I’m sat here drinking coffee, and I put not even vanilla but chocolate ensure in it in lieu of creamer or milk. My mind is going too fast, in the anxious way. I am trying to save things from falling apart but I feel like I, myself, am falling apart. If I return to the hospital, my boyfriend will be at work now, and harder to reach by phone anyways. Most hospitals do not allow much cellphone access. I don’t even know if I need the hospital, or respite, or anything – maybe something, but a higher level of care, maybe not.

I’m too fuzzy for much writing right now, but here are a couple of photos of my new pin board:

comment if you want to know who a pin is by and I’ll dig up the info!

As you can see, I also now have a gaming table. There have been quite a few changes in my life! I’ll update you all more later – either here or in a more personal blog setting that I’d link, as always

My mental health is so weird lately. I am a mix of anxious and depressed, usually one moreso than the other but it varies which is on top. My eating disorder is, for lack of a better word, ??? right now.  Other things are also bad. I’m safe, I’m managing, it’s just bad.

I have been playing kind of a lot of mtg and mtg arena. It’s a time waster (and in the case of the paper cards, a money drain), but a fun one.

Okay, I don’t have energy to write more right now, but I do have the spoons to work on other BTS online/pc related work in order to be more ready with good updates when I come back to post here again.

I love you all.

xoxo,
Z

the entire newspaper except the obituaries

the thing about black and white
hard print no greyscale
all winter no summer and especially vice versa
maybe not especially,
maybe not for plath, maybe not for me, historically,
but this sticky summer is calling my too-long name
the trees are whispering to me like they
never really ever did before

every single sap-filled sweaty bad odor no-saying-goodbyes moment
every summer second is a
second too long, and painful
i go to sleep and awaken on my matted hair
convince myself to shower every so often
only because the alternative is worse
maybe i’m not crazy just a
little too decompensated for a brain this traumatized
i wake up to a new day and pretend again

i’m winning every second i’m alive
and losing every second i’m asleep, not sober
drunk on vodka and/or my own racing thoughts
kept still behind my eyes with yellow flecks
that i was always told to call “golden”
“because it sounds better,”
i can’t really keep track of the day to day, the second to second,
the what is real and what is not,

i can’t talk to myself to soothe any more
i won’t breathe in and feel calm,
my heart races. it is unfair. like so much else.
this world placed a burden upon each and every human
and some of us are given so much, some of us so little
it seems bizarre but not everyone
even keeps the weight on their back…. some of us
hide it in our pockets until we are dead

i hide a piece of hot metal under my tongue
it burns like the solder when i was eleven years old
it stays like the illnesses that won’t leave
it stays longer than the people that constantly grow weary
i am a force to be reckoned with. but water, and fire,
and summer, and heat, they do not mix
so take my body far from here
lock it up in a place which is cool and safe
i may never leave