#6: Feel Good Lost, Again

I know I already wrote a post titled this once before, but I have another story and I’ll tell it to you now. 

For the longest time, I was nineteen and there was a winter and a move to the smallest of small schools and me sitting in my room waiting for things to start happening. Or me wanting things to happen and not knowing how to get them to start. 

I met this narcissistic poet in my poetry class and I knew he was douchey from the minute he called me ‘dear’ and bummed my last cigarette, but ya know. The whole lonely thing. 

So he would call me late at night and I was go over to his room in my daze, because I was just always dazed then, and we would have really terrible sex, like sex where I thought I was somewhere else and his dick felt like rubber tubing and I would just lay there thinking, “You should be better than this by now. You should be doing anything else.”

I would lock this memory away for ever and ever, but he did one thing that made me feel whole and good and alive—and this was not one of those times in life where I ever felt like that— he played this album. Always. I think he even tried to change it once and all I said was ‘I like the other one so much’ and he never tried to change it again. 

I don’t know why, but it was just this one good little thing I had. Bad sex to beautiful music. 

But whatever, college ya know?

#5: Philip Seymour Hoffman

I paid $2.99 so my internet would think I was American, just so I could get pandora, just go I could listen to that Joanna Newsom station I had so dutifully constructed late at night the year I freaked out so badly and university I had to drop out and have since been able to pin point exactly what happened in a. Reasonable way.

So now my ipad thinks I’m American and I want it to think it so true it takes away the Russian YouTube commercials and the Russian advertisements for tits or green cards or whatever that shit is. Sometimes I hate Russian so bad I run out of the room when Ben gets a business call or the tv gets flipped on for like a second, a second. I hate it that much.

It’s not even that I hate Russian, I just feel so childish in its presence. It’s mature and honest and broken but it has it’s name and it’s sounds and everyone everywhere knows it except me.

Some song came on from my past just now, but I can’t really figure out if it’s from my own time and my own memory and my own inner dialogue or if I stole it from some movie and just told someone about it.

It’s like I remember being somewhere on the day before something happened. Never quite feeling the blowbacks, never quite getting the full effect. Just knowing I was close enough to miss it. Something… This song„, I missed something. I just can’t remember anymore, I haven’t heard English in so long. You’d forget things too.

I stayed wake for hours telling Ben everything I could remember about the guy who showed Philip Seymour Hoffman and made me feel human and smart. He took me to movies in the city and didn’t ask my opinion, knowing his was better. He quoted things flawlessly and teared up when he felt passionate. I was young and treated him badly, but I remember him fondly. Not that that matters.
But when he showed me PSH films and told me why they were important I felt whole and heavy with messy life. And when you’re seventeen that’s a nice feeling.

To be honest I don’t really think he’s dead, but this post is as close to an RIP as I’ll ever give, so whatever.

#4: I don’t know about you

but gifs just fucking confuse me.
Like I got all high so I could sit here and wrote something cool and then I was just distracted for an hour watching the same two seconds on loop of Taylor swift like not be sentenced to prison at the Grammys or something.

So now what. It’s 2am and I already called off work tomorrow because I got sick yesterday. Or maybe I’m just still hungover, I’m not sure and I’m trying this new thing where I don’t care.

So the worst fucking part of like, my life is, is that I moved to fucking RUSSIA without any interest in Russia, any desire to learn the language, with really no reason at all except I thought someone told me once that living abroad for awhile made your writing better even if you went home and just wrote the same fucking-the-neuroscience-major-on-your-dorm-floor shit you were writing before. Like you’d be all holier and changed.

And I really thought that. And it’s been a year now and I have half a sci-fi novel written on my computer that I’m pretty sure I stole from someone and some watercolor a of robots getting dusty in my cabinets. And it’s been a year.

So I don’t know. Dick jones is dead and if you want to be my new pen pal, step right up and send me an email filled with honest things. Or lies. Whatever I won’t tell either way.

Do it. But don’t laugh at my email address. Just send letters to it and I’ll write back, I promise.

Liveinsunshinee@gmail.com

#3: before

So, I was going through my tumblr and unfollowing people I didn’t know. I saw your old tumblr and for a moment forgot that it was old. And I clicked it. And then there you were: exactly as I remembered you.

In love with me. Red haired, and in love with me.

You stopped writing there before you really got to know me. Before we started WRITE OR DIE, before the tattoos, before you getting off the bus-unshowered and excited- running towards me in a parking lot in rural Wisconsin. Before I gave you that book of poems “please don’t let me be lonely” and you called me crying and promising that you never would.

It was before we got drunk in my dorm room and told each other secrets that felt like jokes. Before I kissed you because I was too nervous to wait any longer. Before you stole your parents car to visit me in the snow. Before the time we got pulled over by a cop who made us laugh when he asked if we were smoking weed.

Before you broke my heart in your “final essay” that read like truths I wasn’t ready to know. Before you’d ever made me cry. Before you ever made me look at myself in the mirror and ask what was wrong.

Before we happily moved into that apartment of magical thinking. Before we bought that mattress and promised that when we had to discard it, we’d write PEOPLE FELL IN LOVE ON ME! on its squishy satin moors.

Before our crazy summer nights. Before you cried in my arms in some tent at a music festival, high on acid. Before I started messing with those pills. Before you knew the bad parts of me and I the bad parts of you.

It was your blog from before we started drifting. Before you told me you really we’re going to move to LA. Before I started sleeping with a Russian major who lived on my floor. Before we went to that wedding we were already over at and had the most beautiful, saddest sex to the rain drops outside your window.

Before we ever even had sad sex. When I was just a girl, an idea, a whispering promise, because that’s how things start. They start with hopeful blog entires in the form of letters and you forget about them and now, after all these years, I’m the one looking and I’m not even sure where to put my missing.

If you see this, call me please.

#2: Lend me your eyes, I might change what you see

It was probably nothing, but it felt like the world. 

It was probably the recycled air, the feelings of everyone around me being soaked up into the air, coming up through my nose, reaching into my private veins, bringing me their aches, that caused my eyes to grow twice their size and melt pools into the spiderwebs of my eyelid. 

I travelled across countries and on the flight “home” I wept into my arm rest and whispered into his ear, “I don’t want to go back.” And I dreamed of the plane landing somewhere else, somewhere tropical and forbidden, and we could just get off there and wander through their world. And we could hide. 

But the plane brought us back to Moscow and I kept my head down and spoke my Russian softly and sadly. 

I feel endlessly young and endlessly lost.

Recently there's been a trending article circulating Facebook called "23 Things to Do Rather Than Get Engaged Before 23", and it's generated lots of heated responses; both positive and negative. I read the article and a couple angry response articles, and I'm wondering (if you've read them} what your take on the whole deal is? I know you and Cam plan to marry young, but the article also discusses the importance of traveling, making crucial mistakes, discovering yourself, etc. How do you feel?

growingfromroots:

(I’ve read the original article - but none of the response articles that you alluded to)

honestly - I think in a lot of ways it’s a positive article. it encourages you to live a full life. it encourages you to avoid making a casual decision when it comes to picking who to marry. all positive things which I support. I can easily see how this article could help A LOT of people if they really took it in and absorbed it. I really can.

but, it has not changed my views of marriage in the slightest and here is a little bit of why:

1. the message that this article is depending on is the belief that all young people lack experience, wisdom, and stability. while that is true for an enormous number of young adults, it isn’t applicable to all of them. it just isn’t. there is no way that a statement which covers such a huge number of humans can be accurate in every case. I personally know that I have experienced a huge number of literally life altering events in my 19 years of life. both good and bad - I have lived so many things. so many experiences. so many tragedies and triumphs. so so so much. and living through these things has equipped me with wisdom and knowledge and experience and humanity and individuality and skills and confidence and intelligence and conviction. and I could definitely say the same for Cam. while I will not go into detail about the things that Cam and I have experienced (both together, and separately), they happened, and we grew because of them. along with tons of other young adults. in no way am I arguing that this applies to the majority of 20 - somethings (it probably doesn’t). BUT it definitely applies to some of us, thus making this article less powerful.

2. the article assumes that all young adults are inexperienced when it comes to sexuality, relationships, dating, break ups, depending on others, and being completely and entirely alone. which also just can not be said of ALL young people. do I think that it would be smart for most people to marry the first person they dated or had sex with or even loved? hell no. I know it wouldn’t be good for me to do any of that. no fuckin’ way. but sometimes it works. and even more often than that, there are young people who ARE experienced in these areas. there are young people who have slept around and around and around and are ready to leave that behind. there are young people who have loved and lost and who have learned because of it. there are young people who have experimented with their sexuality, and who are confident in committing to their current partner. there are young people who have taken time away from relationships and who have invested in themselves for long periods of time, and who are more well-rounded and self-knowing because of it. there are young people who know what the’re doing.

3. there is no reason on earth that a person would be unable to do most of the things on this list AND be engaged/married. you can be in a serious committed relationship/engagement/marriage WHILE you get a passport, find your thing, adopt a pet, start a band, make a cake, get a tattoo, explore a new religion, start a small business, cut your hair, build something with your hands, accomplish a pinterest project, join the peace corps, disappoint your parents, watch girls, ear a jar of nutella, make strangers feel uncomfortable in public places, sign up for crossfit, hangout naked in front of a window, write down your feelings on a blog, be selfish, go to the philippines for chinese new year, etc. I think it would make a lot more sense to call this “a list of things to do when you’re bored, when you’re depressed, when you feel disconnected, when you feel unproductive, when you want to feel alive, or when you want excitement in your life”. the problem with calling this a “list of things to do before getting engaged” is that it promotes the idea that when you get married your life is over. the idea that your individuality is finished, that you can never do anything for yourself again, that you can’t see the world, that you can’t live life to the fullest, that you can’t be yourself. this concept is so toxic and dangerous. the fact that we allow people to believe that marriage is the end of one’s ability to live their dream life and to live in a way that they desire is seriously terrible and depressing and horrid. why do we let people believe that? why can’t we put marriage in a healthier light? why do we let people expect that they will be unhappy when they commit to another human? I don’t know how that happened, but I think it’s so sick and so wrong and definitely something that needs to be thought of differently.

4. this article is cynical as hell. yeah, I get it, cynicism is trendy and (often) super practical. but “get a tattoo: it’s more permanent than a marriage”…really? people remove/cover up/change tattoos every damn day. yeah marriages end. all the time. but that doesn’t mean that marriage can’t be permanent. it can be. it’s a choice. every couple in the universe is capable of choosing to have a permanent marriage, and sticking to it. is that a really hard thing to do? almost always. but is it impossible? hell no.

5. the word choice in some areas of this article is just…immature.

those friends are going to get knocked up and fat soon sssoooo in retrospect, who really is winning here?” 

come on. the article is generally really well written, but this kind of pointed language is offensive and childish. why is does this have to be about “winning” ? and who gives a shit if your pregnant friends gain weight? why should that mean that their life is worse than yours?

6. the piece also implies that the ONLY reason that young people get married is because they’re terrified of breaking up. the whole “why the rush” concept. if a couple is getting married in a year because they’re afraid that if they wait 5 more they will break up - they shouldn’t be getting married. duh. but implying that couples are afraid of being apart so they feel they must get married ASAP isn’t something you can accuse all young people of. it’s just not fair to paint these people as being so painfully insecure and unsure and co-depenent and impulsive and irresponsible. I’m not saying that there aren’t couples who are guilty of being some or all of those things - surely, there are. but being young doesn’t mean that you have no other choice but to be insecure, unsure, co-dependent, impulsive, and irresponsible. some young couples get married for the same reasons that other adult couples marry for. they’re in love, they want to share their lives together, they want to buy a house and start a family, they want to have the rights that married couples have, they want to act like the stable adults that they are. they want to be allowed to make their own choices and live with them.

so basically what I’m saying is although TONS of young marriages are unhealthy, unstable, immature, unnecessary, doomed to fail -

not all of them are, and it is cruel and irresponsible to encourage people to believe that EVERY union between young people is a mistake that deserves to be bashed and thought of poorly. 

Read this

#1: Feel Good Lost

I want to start new.

Dear Diary, Dear You, Dear tumblr screen. Dear deep blue background and newsfeed I need to clean up. Dear changing days and dark skies. Dear, my dear. I wish you could etch your voice into something hearable, I wish we could become one.

I am Joyce, I can write without thought. No, no I can’t, but the only place I can try is here, to you. And I do mean you. 

There was a time, before I was a writer, when I would come to blogs, kind of like what mine was in it’s lightest days, and I would read these broken girls words and I would wonder about their lives. I’d google their names and search YouTube for their voices. 

Who are you and what is your sound?

I was writing on a piece of paper at work earlier that whenever I come here, I have no love in my body. Which is not to say that my days lack love, or even my nights—when I retreat here to write—are void of such feelings, but when I sit in front of this computer screen it is just me with my bare bones and wine-stained teeth. 

Most of this blog is me and Dick and it hurts my heart to travel through the archives. We don’t speak, but we weren’t speaking even before we had it out bad enough to make it official that we weren’t speaking. It made me sad then, but now it’s just a small dull ache whenever I really think that he was probably the last real person to know it all. That there was once a person I could casually talk about the truly terrible and dark moments of my life with and that will never be so again. 

I had to change my about me because it said I was twenty-two and I am, in fact, now twenty-four. I am newly twenty-four. I should be better than I was before, but I can’t make any promises. 

#?

I want to start posting here again. This blog has been in the dusty corners of my bookmark bar for far too long-you used to guide me. This used to be the outer extent of everything that was thrashing inside of my heart. Beat me, move me, you know more secrets than the boys in bed with me, the girls I drink cocktails with. This is my diary, and while I remain only translucently anonymous, I have confided in you, brought myself to you, asked you over and over, is this okay? Am I okay?

Come back, we need to be together. So much has happened, and yet nothing has happened at all. 

I am 24 now and I live in an old soviet apartment in the Southwest of Moscow, Russia. Stranger times, I’m sure, have been had. But I am sleepwalking and I need someone to hear about it.