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Scrambles The Death Dealer Hits Florida

My life feels like that episode of Metalocalypse where the lead singer of Deathklok becomes governor of Florida and anarchy ensues and Scrambles The Death Dealer the hurricane hits Florida and then everyone is fucked. My fiance is the hurricane and every time he leaves our room, he finds a way to FURTHER destabilize my life. Really, how difficult is it to STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE TO THE PEOPLE WHO COULD KICK US OUT ON OUR ASSES WHENEVER THEY PLEASE?!

I am fed the fuck up with babysitting this bullshit. I want my quiet, solitary, predictable life back. NOW.

Unemployment Scares Me


That last post was appalling, I realize. I sincerely apologize for putting something so negative out into the world. I'm not like that. I just feel like I'm doing too much harm to myself keeping this all inside. For a year and a half since I've moved here and began pulling away from everyone because of my anxiety I have been carrying all the weight of my troubles without release. I just needed to feel a little lighter. I do. A little. I had forgotten how deeply writing used to help me. I really don't have anyone to talk to. I refuse to burden anyone. This way, a person can stop reading and not feel any social obligation to preserve my feelings or our relationship by listening. This way there's no hurt feelings, no entrapment.

I promise to write something more positive tomorrow. But I must warn whoever comes along and sees this that it is my last resort to come back to journaling to ease my stress a bit. I've been amazingly strong in carrying myself through this past year's trials, far more than I ever thought myself to be. But ever since my father died a few months ago I've felt it to all be too much for me alone.

I'm so sorry. The last thing I ever wanted was to let anyone I care about know how much I'm struggling with life and my sanity. That is why I don't call or write to all the wonderful people who make me happy.

Abrupt ending...I don't want to cry.
I am finally past a four-day panic attack. I'd like to write some grand recounting of the events of the past few weeks that have sent my sanity spiraling into the depths of hell. My exhausted heart will not allow me.

I will allow the words of another to describe the emotions of what happened to turn my world inside-out so quickly:

…I conceive that in the well-known catastrophe here alluded to, words led to blows, bad usage brought on worse from mere irritation and opposition, and that, probably, even remorse and pity urged on to aggravated acts of cruelty and oppression, as the only means of drowning reflection on the past in the fury of present passion. I believe that remorse for past offences has sometimes made the greatest criminals, as the being unable to appease a wounded conscience renders men desperate; and if I hear a person express great impatience and uneasiness at some error that he is liable to. I am tolerably sure that the conflict will end in a repetition of the offence. If a man who got drunk over-night, repents bitterly next morning, he will get drunk again at night; for both in his repentance and his self-gratification he is led away by the feeling of the moment. But this is not wickedness, but despondency and want of strength of mind: and I only attribute wickedness to those who carry their wills in their hands, and who wantonly and deliberately suffer them to tyrannise over conscience, reason, and humanity, and who even draw an additional triumph from this degrading conquest.


Even in a case less palpable than the one supposed, where “some sweet oblivious antidote” has been applied to the mind, and it is lulled to temporary forgetfulness of its immediate cause of sorrow, does it therefore cease to gnaw the heart by stealth; are no traces of it left in the care-worn brow or face; is the state of mind the same as it was; or is there the same buoyancy, freedom, and erectness of spirit as in more prosperous circumstances? On the contrary, it is torpid, vexed, and sad, enfeebled or harassed, and weighed down by the corroding pressure of care, whether it thinks of it or not. The pulse beats slow and languid, the eye is dead; no object strikes us with the same alacrity; the avenues to joy or content are shut; and life becomes a burthen and a perplexing mystery. Even in sleep, we are haunted with the broken images of distress or the mockery of bliss, and we in vain try to still the idle tumult of the heart. The constantly tampering with the truth, the putting off the day of reckoning, the fear of looking our situation in the face, gives the mind a wandering and unsettled turn, makes our waking thoughts a troubled dream, or sometimes ends in madness, without any violent paroxysm, without any severe pang, without any overt act, but from that silent operation of the mind which preys internally upon itself, and works the decay of its powers the more fatally, because we dare not give it open and avowed scope. Do we not, in case of any untoward accident or event, know, when we wake in the morning, that something is the matter, before we recollect what it is? The mind no more recovers its confidence and serenity after a staggering blow, than the haggard cheek and sleepless eye their colour and vivacity, because we do not see them in the glass. Is it to be supposed that there is not a firm and healthy tone of the mind as well as of the body; or that when this has been deranged, we do not feel pain, lassitude, and fretful impatience, though the local cause or impression may have been withdrawn? Is the state of the mind or of the nervous system, and its disposition or indisposition to receive certain impressions from the remains of others still vibrating on it, nothing? Shall we say that the laugh of a madman is sincere; or that the wit we utter in our dreams is sterling? We often feel uneasy at something, without being able to tell why, or attribute it to a wrong cause. Our unconscious impressions necessarily give a colour to, and re-act upon our conscious ones; and it is only when these two sets of feelings are in accord, that our pleasures are true and sincere; when there is a discordance and misunderstanding in this respect, they are said (not absurdly as is pretended) to be false and hollow.

The Golden Dawn

I would gladly give up so much if it meant we were living our lives together still. I never thought physical distance would take such a toll on me. I am struggling, gasping for air. I cannot seem to relieve the panic attack that has plagued me since Monday night. I am doing all I can to keep it from him, my tears, my pain. It affects him so much to hear me so unhappy.

I don't know that I can do this. I need him. I need our intertwined lives. I need his affections. I need his touch. I need his face when I awake.

I can't do my job, I can't sleep at night. I am torn into pieces. I just want him near. I can't even see him. I feel so lost.

He is my best friend. Being with him was the first time in my life I wasn't lonely. It was the first time I was happy.

I just want our happy life back.

Oh, how quickly the problems come.

Our asshole landlady has reneged on her promise to let me use her internet, something vital to Abdias' ability to work and to my sanity since Abdias hates television and I can entertain myself on the net better than I could staring at walls. I get the distinct impression she wants us to move. If it were me alone, I could move back up to Aventura with my ex-roommate, Isabel. She actually has no problem with Abdias and I moving in. Abdias, however, I don't think will take the isolating move up to Aventura particularly well. I have no car and no means of getting us around. I'm overwhelmed by the prospect of seeking a new apartment. I have no credit and not only a boyfriend, but a cat. I fear that he may find too much disturbance with the upheval and decide to take off to New York.

*sigh* I could make this a much more eloquent entry, I'm sure, but I'm feeling far too defeated right now. I need a cigarette and a stiff drink, neither of which I have because I'm broke.

I am not looking forward to yet another move. *crying*

Did you see this, Vin?

From: HIM
Date: Jun 29, 2007 7:26 PM

Are you the ultimate HIM fan from the US? If you are and can prove it, you can win a trip to meet HIM at the opening night of Projekt Revolution in Seattle, WA, plus get your own private performance from Ville and the band, and have the whole journey documented on video and have it appear on the HIM DVD coming in 2008. If you think this should be you, if you bear your heartagram proudly, if you think you know all about HIM, send us a video no longer than three minutes letting us know why you should be a part of this event. Only residents of the US will be accepted. All other countries will not be eligible.

Just upload your submission to youtube or any other video service you like and email the LINK ONLY (non-hosted files will not be accepted) to himbiggestfan@warnerreprise.com with the subject line "HIM Biggest Fan contest" no later than July 5th. We'll notify those chosen to participate on July 6th via email.

Click here for rules.

Michael Moore's Sicko: Complete Film