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[fuminorikyou]

Sand Mixed With Peach Juice by L’Oreal

I died a few years ago. At the very least, that’s what it seems like. On that fateful evening in November, I had wrapped a noose around my neck and hung myself. I had lost consciousness, then came to, noticing the following: Hanging up by a noose hurts like hell. Your passage ways are constricted, plus the pressure of all of your bodyweight is being placed on your neck. I took myself off the noose, then punched the bed, frustrated at my own cowardice. It was around this time I got admitted, and then medicated. Ever since that time, I’ve just been hovering around, feeling like a ghost trapped in purgatory. To be perfectly honest, it actually does feel like I’m in purgatory.

What got me to this point would be long and tedious. However, there was someone I was hoping to meet again. She was just a twenty year old girl meeting the big world. How we met was quite something else. My friend at the time invited me over to his place, saying that another friend of his was coming. He stated that she was seventeen. Being twenty-one, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Why in the hell are we hanging out with a high-schooler? I came anyway. I’m not sure of the reason, I think it was due to me having relationship problems and not wanting to deal with them. That girlfriend of mine (well, ex-girlfriend now) was draining the life out of me. It had gone on long past the point of us needing to break up, but I was optimistic. Maybe one could even call us foolish. Maybe we were just young. At any rate, I found myself at my friend’s house, sitting on the familiar couch that I’ve plopped myself on for five years straight, inside the house that had begun to feel like my own. My friend came down the stairs, and the door opened, and thus she had entered the house and my life. She looked cute, but I wasn’t going to hit on a literal child.

I can’t recall the conversations we had word for word, but I do remember us becoming friends immediately. She was from Arizona, was a complete stoner (without being annoying about it), had done the same drugs as I, and had a boyfriend, who seemed to be super controlling. She was Mexican, and her name was Taylor. Taylor Hernandez. It tickled me how she had a Spanish last name and an English first name.

I spent the rest of that summer going to my friend’s house, hoping to come across her, as well. She almost always came, usually with food from the restaurant she worked at. My friend ate it, I ate whatever was in his house. Like I always did. We talked about everything and nothing. At some point, the friend who introduced us would become the third wheel. To his dismay, he even became the butt of our jokes.

The summer passed, we exchanged contact information, and then she went back to her life in Arizona. The seasons went by, both of our relationships ended, and we continued to talk over the phone. We wouldn’t become close until the end of next summer. We did LSD together, along with her boyfriend at the time, for a good portion of that summer. At some point, they had an argument and he left. The main factor was likely due to her shoving him down the stairs. No, that was definitely the reason. It had something to do with his continuous acts of cheating. (Or at least trying, there were times he got rejected.)

It was around this time we started to grow close. Both of us were single and had a lot of free time. I wonder what I should call this short time period. Maybe “The Happiest Days of Our Lives”, or perhaps “Happiness Found in the Mundane.” I’m going to go with the latter, for the days were very dull and uneventful. Little did I know that these days would be some of the most joyful days of my life.

There was one particular day we dropped acid, then decided to go to McDonalds. Beforehand, she was showing me this skin cleanser. It had sand mixed in with peach juice. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you seriously think sand mixed with peach juice will help your skin?”

“Well, my skin certainly looks okay.”

“It looked okay to start with. If anything, that’ll ruin your skin.”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe I can make a living doing that. I’ll add California sand to lime juice and say that it’ll get rid of blackheads. I’ll make millions.”

We both laughed as she was applying literal dirt to her skin. I grabbed a bike, she grabbed a longboard, and off we went. It was dark out, and only the moon lit our way. We somehow managed to dodge every branch that came across our way. Looking at her back, I was imagining telling her kids all about our silly adventures. We made it to McDonalds, got paranoid because of the cops suddenly arriving (thankfully not for us), then went back to her place.

Later that autumn, she went back to Arizona, winter came, then I went to China. We spoke some more times, I left China, then we hung out, then we stopped seeing each other for a minute. I cannot fathom the reason why, we just stopped seeing each other. Winter came, I got put back on the car insurance, then I saw her again. I picked her up at her other friends house, then we got pizza. I remember paying for everything, but I didn’t mind. After all, is it not up to the older sibling to foot the bill?

We talked a lot during that icy evening. Once again, I cannot remember the exact words that were exchanged. We talked about opiates. We talked about relationships, and the horrors of the dating world. She called me a POS for casually dating two girls at once. I couldn’t help but agree with her. Being the true friend that she was, she wasn’t afraid to tell me when I was in the wrong.

I won’t delve too deep into the following months that followed, for I don’t feel like jotting down every memory I had with her, so I’ll skip ahead to the very last time I saw her. I arranged for my friend group and her to go get pizza, go bowling, and drink. We were all high on cocaine, and frankly, we were having fun. Me and her ended up at her place, where we finished off our coke and smoked some marijuana. We talked about many things, and for the first time in a long time, had a heart to heart.

“You know, I always find myself going to you whenever I have a problem, but you don’t do the same. Okay, like, you tell me about your problems, but…..you don’t talk about how you feel about them, you know?” For some strange reason, that sentence resonated with me. I decided right then that I was gonna rely on her more, like she relies on me. The next day, she went to Phoenix.

At this point, I went on a desperate love quest, speaking to her often on the phone. She was having an interesting time in Phoenix. She wasn’t quite twenty-one yet, so she had to ask her roommate to buy beer for her. I judged her for getting Tecate. She said that it was a great beer and that I was too picky.

I told her about the chick I was dating, and she in turn told me about this guy she was seeing. We gave each other advice and calmed each other down, making sure that neither of us went too crazy. I slept with said woman on the same night she told me all about this oxy pill she found. She didn’t respond for a day. I thought that she was just busy with her new life. In other words, I didn’t think too much about it.

The following morning, I got a message from her mom telling me that she had died. What do you mean she’s dead? What kind of silly joke are you guys pulling? She’s not dead. She’s the least dead person I know! After all, she can’t die. We both can’t, we had that conversation. We agreed that our one curse was that we couldn’t die. I called her phone multiple times. There’s just no way. She’s probably laughing at her own dark joke in Phoenix. She’s gonna enroll in the University of Phoenix, she’s gonna work in forensics when she graduates. That woman sure did love looking at corpses. She loved perceiving herself to be tougher than she actually was. She can’t be dead, she told me that it was impossible for her to die! She’s likely bothering a snail right now with her marijuana smoke. I swear she had a grudge against those things. She told me that her curse was that she couldn’t die. She’s not dead. She-

Her mom then called me, confirming that she was, in fact, dead. She thanked me for being her friend, then hung up. I couldn’t help but breakdown. I called my best friend and sobbed into the phone. I still wanted to be in denial. I wanted someone to call me and tell me it was just a joke, but I knew in my heart that was impossible.

I eventually got her in a jar. She’s currently inside my box with my prescriptions. I haven’t exactly felt the same since her passing. In all honesty, they probably never will feel the same. I loathe my birthday these days. When she passed, I was twenty-four, she was twenty. We were supposed to go drinking when she turned twenty-one, but God had other plans. I turned twenty-five that year. She remained twenty. I hung out with her sister to reminisce. The bitch just talked bad about her and ended up crying. A whole year passed after that. I turned twenty-six, my friend remained twenty. I hung out with her sister again and the same thing occurred.

It’s been two years now. I’ll turn twenty-seven, and she….will remain twenty. Her younger sister will be turning twenty-two. Twenty-two! I know that must be fucking with her, even more so than me. Even more so than Taylor’s other friends. Up until the bitter end, their relationship was rocky.

There’s no real lesson nor even entertainment value of this story. All I did was jot down my memories so that she can be immortalized. I still feel like I haven’t done her any justice, but in all honesty, I don’t think any amount of writing ever will. How does one convey intense platonic love? Amazingly, that’s all this was. Platonic love. A friendship that could last a lifetime. The bitter irony is that we would’ve lost communication anyway, what with her being in Phoenix and all. She would’ve made new friends and forgot about me. And you know, I would’ve been happy for her. I would’ve thought about her less and less, then we would be distant friends.

However, there is one thing that gives me comfort. She died happy. She was on her way to fulfilling her dreams, and whatever pessimism or cynicism she may have faced in the past had since faded, and she was looking to the future with a gleam in her eyes. And I know that she would want me to look at the world in the same way.

[fuminorikyou]

One of the drugs in my cocktail is a barbiturate, so godspeed

[fuminorikyou]

You know, since I'm relapsing, I may as well do it right. Tonight's drug cocktail: 250 mg of butalbital, 4 grams of gabapentin, and 140 mg of oxycodone. If I had some Adderall on me, then it would be perfect. I hope to live through this lol

[fuminorikyou]

I died a year ago. After making an oxy-xan-ambien cocktail, I washed it down with a pint of vodka, the only liquor that I can still drink straight. First you get dizzy, then extremely tired, and finally, euphoria, before you fall asleep. I thought I would wake up in hell; you can't die before your parents, especially by your own hand. However, I knew that whatever was awaiting me in hell was better than on Earth. In hell, they'll skin you alive and then burn you, but at least you won't be able to think. To remember.

I thought I failed at first, waking up with throw-up all over my carpet and a bloody finger. When did I ever bite it? Despite waking up in that state, I felt nothing. No headache, no pain, not even frustration over having not succeeded.

[fuminorikyou]

"You'll just take anything you can get, is that it?"

Of all people, it wasn't a girlfriend nor a frustrated friend who said this. It was Ellen, a girl I had a one-week fling with. Those words bothered me, but I tried hard not to think about them. The reason I tried ignoring said words and ended up hating her is for the simple reason that I knew the answer to be yes.

There was a period of time where I was this hopeless romantic who constantly daydreamed about meeting "the one" and then living happily ever after. It didn't take long for it to turn into a raging desperation where it would suddenly tie into how I viewed myself. No longer was I looking for love; I was now looking for a justification to exist.

This would all tie into the early stages of my mental disorder. Eventually, even losing my virginity got tied into my self-worth. "If only I can have sex, just once, then I should be okay."

I got hurt and then I hurt others. I thought I was doing all this for "the noble cause" or whatever, but it was about my stupid self-esteem issues in the end. Which is how I got to the point where I would take anybody who showed interest. Of course, all that BS stopped when I met V, who was the one to finally break me.

[fuminorikyou]

I wish my suicide attempt in 2019 was successful. I know people would be sad, but maybe it would have been for the best. I'm no longer whole, I'm still trying to pick up the missing pieces of myself. I'm lost and unhappy. Yet, I'm being told to live. How could me living be an important thing? I'm nobody. I want to join my friend in the afterlife.

[fuminorikyou]

When I was asking to feel again, this wasn't what I meant. My best friend was having issues tonight and so I consoled her. She fell asleep, she was fine by that time. But she mentioned her husband and his actions, and my heart, well, froze. I asked the Lord for the umpteenth time why she hadn't met me first, instead of him? In reality, there's no guarantee that we would've ended up together in such a timeline. I don't know if there even is one. Maybe, strangely enough, this is the timeline. If this is the timeline where we end up together.......

So many people are going to suffer. I've already had these thoughts before, and I always come to the same conclusions, and nothing ever happens. I realize that we can't be together, decide that being her friend would be best, that ending up with her might hurt us even more, or throw us into more problems. And so nothing happens. Words go unsaid, I forget about this feeling, she continues to be oblivious, then we both go about our lives, pretending to be happy until one of us confesses that we're still miserable. At some point, this feeling comes back, and I start hating everything. Hating everything, because her husband has the life and woman I want more than anything, but all he does is complain. If me and him traded places, he would be asking to trade back after three days.

*Sigh* Regarding Christin, I decided to check out her profile. See how she's doing. She's now single again, going back to her approval seeking ways, and I can just tell she's not doing well. I didn't want this for her, I was hoping for the best, but more than that, the illusion of her being perfect for me was instantly shattered. When I was deep in my depression, she seemed perfect for me. But there are many factors, one being distance, the other being circumstance, the other being that she's likely running around just not getting the treatment she needs. Now I feel stupid. Stupid for giving up on love because of a woman who, frankly, wouldn't be good nor realistic for me.

I feel like I experienced too many emotions at once within such a short time span. My mom flat out told me that she couldn't give me her pain meds anymore. The situation was honestly insane, but she started giving me the extra painkillers she had garnered in 2018, because I was in severe pain at the time. Like, needing crutches. Eventually, my feet healed, for the most part, but I developed an addiction. I even wrote poems about opiates.

Another emotion, nostalgia. I'm remembering happy times. I just wish that I could separate the bad memories from the good.

I'm gonna be honest here, Tumblr. The death of my dear friend is what shattered me. Somehow, it worsened my drug problem. I started doing more pills, drinking more alcohol, amongst other things. Before her death, I was still partying, of course, but I still spent most of my time sober. I went to work sober, came home sober, then did things sober. But when I did drink, smoke, etc, I actually ENJOYED myself.

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm here, nor what's going on. I don't have a plan. After all, my plan was to either be married or dead by 25. Now I'm 26, alive, and very much single.

[fuminorikyou]

She wasn't a girlfriend, so the idea of "getting over her" never occurred to me. After all, we hadn't even met in person, never mind dated. Yet, after she went and got herself a girlfriend and just stopped all communication with me, I lost interest in dating. It's not like I was going out into the world with this bitter, "fuck all women!" attitude, I legitimately just didn't want to be bothered by any of it.

The thought I had about it, though I never expressed it aloud, though I never really entertained it, was this: what hope is there for romance if I can find someone who seemed so perfect for me, who liked me back, and yet have nothing work out? It's a childish thought, for sure, and it doesn't even make sense. If she was perfect for me, then why did she ditch me for some chick?

I was angry at her for a short period of time, but the anger faded rather quickly. After all, we hadn't even gone on a date, nor did we even send nudes. (Though she did send me a pic of her butt). However, this cynicism lingered, and in it, contained cyclic logic. Love must not actually be realistic, because it didn't work for me. Oh, it worked for others, but not me? Well, there's probably something wrong with me. Or perhaps someone placed a curse on me.

And so, I must work on this issue, this issue of getting over a girl I never even dated. We never dated, but damn it, I nearly fell for the woman. She was quite rare.

While working on that, I have to admit this to myself: I am an addict. I gave my cousin so much shit, but I'm exactly the same. I'm an addict. I love painkillers, they kill both physical and emotional pain, and they feel good to boot. However, if I can get over this addiction......then I will have succeeded at kicking my drug problems. Getting over this addiction will finally help me achieve what I've been wanting since I've come back to the US: to be whole again.

[fuminorikyou]

Stress. Back when I was in college, I handled it somewhat well. I had to, if I couldn't, I would've gotten an ulcer or *gasp* failed my classes. Actually, that's a lie. I handled stress by not looking at it. If I focused on other things, then *that* thing would go away. Avoidance. I latched onto whatever would distract me. Actually, I still do that. When I was 16-17, I immersed myself in anime. 18-21, it was Hannah. I wasn't in love with her, and if I'm being honest, a part of me probably loathed her, but it was still better to obsess over her than whatever was wrong with my life.

After my sister attempted suicide, I guess I lost that ability. After all, her suicide attempt had shattered my entire being. I could no longer view myself as her savior, nor believe myself to be strong. The one who could pull her out of the hell she was in.

And so, my hero complex was erased from my personality.

[fuminorikyou]

I'm beginning to hallucinate a little bit and my chest hurts. In addition to that, I'm getting really warm. I lost track of how much adderall I took. My sister is right, I am a stupid druggy.

My sister is the one who is actually judging me for it. To be honest, it hurts a little bit, because I feel like I let her down. When you're the older sibling, you're supposed to be this role model. And for a while I was. At least on the surface level. I was getting praised by the whole family when I was in college and eventually, in China. But they were so focused on making sure that my sister was okay, that they forgot to check to make sure that I was fine, myself. I can't blame them for it; after all, not even I knew that I had problems. I seemed to be doing so well, then I developed a drug issue and was contemplating suicide.

What was the catalyst to all that? I believe that my first ex was the straw that broke the camel's back. I really do. Because I was carrying so much weight and trauma for years, and having her add on to it, well, made me implode.

The rest is history, and now I'm trying to get better. The problem with recovery is that it seems like you're never going it fast enough for anyone. At first they're supportive, but then they start having the attitude of "dear God, you're still like this?"

My heart rate has slowed down, it's easier to breathe, and I no longer feel too warm.

I chose tonight to think about a lot of things, I guess. I still find it hard to process that my mom nearly lost her life. I'm still in awe over how I just blacked out and woke up in vomit and blood. (Graceful, I know.) I miss my friend Ashley. The world really did stop making sense after she passed. I'd do anything to bring her back, but doesn't everyone say that about lost loved ones? I prayed countless times to the Lord to allow me to meet her in a dream, but in the end, that only happened once. I saw her in two other dreams, but they weren't her. They were images my mind made up. She literally only appeared in one dream.

Maybe as a way to distract myself, but I've been trying to convince myself that I'm in a Murakami novel and that something amazing will happen, like fucking Elisa in a dream or whatever. And the funny thing is, that very well could happen. Murakami writes about......normal things, for the most part. I mean, weird things happen around the character, but it's not like they're mortified by the incident.

Maybe some magic will happen if I take a seroquel when I get home.

[fuminorikyou]

When someone is dead, there's no potential meetings that are possible. That much is obvious, and we all know it. Yet, we try to find a way, anyway. There's nothing wrong with trying to unite with a lost loved one, it's just, well, we're quite optimistic, aren't we?

Also, I like how when someone is being too optimistic, they're instead told that they're being unrealistic.

With that said, I keep coming back to Elisa's blog. I already know of one of the reasons; when she died, with her being 21 and me 18, she was merely a spooky hotel story to me. Me and my friends would entertain ourselves with the tale of her strange behavior and the murky water that resulted from it.

But then I watched the documentary and was thus able to attach...a name, a face, an identity, to the girl who died mysteriously. No longer was she just someone who died in a bizarre way. She was now Elisa Lam. She suffered from bipolar disorder, but was otherwise a normal 21 year old trying to make their way in life. Also, she loved books. But not just any category of books. She liked the books that *I* like.

I guess that's reason number two for my fascination: when reading her blogs, they sometime feel as if they were written by me. We didn't just like the same things, we had a similar outlook to life. We could've been great friends.

"Or," my mind challenges, "maybe something else entirely."

One last tidbit, is that, on the night she seemed....unlike herself, I wonder if she was even conscious? Without being on drugs, I blacked out literally a week ago for twelve hours.

[fuminorikyou]

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.  ~Albert Camus

And that is essentially how I think of the dinner tonight. 

NOTHING WENT HORRIBLY WRONG I WAS JUST ANXIETY RIDDEN AND WANTED TO GTFO BUT NO I HAD TO MAKE EYE CONTACT AND CONVERSE ON TOPICS. 

So much freakin walking too. 

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[fuminorikyou]

[fuminorikyou]

I'm so glad I have an outlet with no followers. I can treat this as my personal journal. Even if I do gain a following, I will continue to be anonymous.

I feel like God is helping me gain the pieces of my identity back after I was completely broken by the events of 2019. But one day, I had the strong urge to go hiking. So I did just that, I went hiking. Suddenly, my hobbies came back. I had more interest in anime and books once more, plus I wrote more.

I can't remember everything I did, but pieces of myself started to come back together. After my recent trip to Los Angeles, despite not liking the city itself, I noticed that another piece of myself had attaches itself to my body. I'm not sure how to describe that bit of my personality; it's the part that likes Serial Experiments Lain and Akira. The part of myself that I didn't know I missed. But with everything sort of resembling 2017 currently, at least in my viewpoint, life just seems different.

However, I know there are still missing pieces. I look forward to the day when I'm able to become whole again. I want to destroy the walls I put around my heart.