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O. Ouellette
07 March 2036 @ 11:03 pm
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O. Ouellette
07 March 2035 @ 12:00 am





~2012~ ~2013~
O. Ouellette
On February 15th, 2014, I got married.  It is important to say from the outset that though I had reservations, as any person will have when confronted with a life-changing event or choice, I do not have a single regret.  I am happy; I know that this choice will ultimately lead to my happiness and, more importantly, to the happiness of my spouse and the happiness of people around me: my siblings, friends, acquaintances and more.  In some ways, I have changed more in the past year with my then-boyfriend now-husband than I have in many years of life.  The increased sense of self-worth and personal growth I feel is beyond wonderful.  As a budding feminist, it is by no means my intention to say that union with a man is the only way a woman can actualize herself and learn that she is beautiful, precious and good.  There are so many other things that a woman can look to in an attempt to explore her deeper self and her worth, so many other places to look for self-actualization and self-realization, but that is a subject for another day.  Instead of saying that a woman needs a man, I would like to present the fact that a man just happens to be part of my story's first chapters of deep self-acceptance, and I would like to present the idea that being loved genuinely by any person, man or woman, spouse, friend or stranger, is a transforming experience.

This leads to the topic of my contemplation today, a contemplation that has been ongoing for many days and weeks and months as a developing idea.

I am not yet well-educated enough on the topic to know the proper terminology and the proper method to address the subject, but I will say in the crude way that I know how that my husband is a victim of suicidal thoughts, has attempted suicide twice but changed his mind in the process and stopped of his own volition, and also is the victim of undiagnosed PTSD.  It has taken me a long time already to understand that my husband is serious in his desires to end his life; before recently, I was perhaps in denial.  It is something that has simply proved very hard for me to understand fully.  I have heard so many things about suicide, that its victims are mentally ill, that they do not really want to die, that suicide is a cry for help, that it is an attempt to escape; all of these things have muddled and confused me.  A few weeks ago was the time of my husband's second suicide attempt.  I had a suspicion that morning when I was leaving for school that he might do so, though I was not sure.  I left him alone out of a personal faith in him; after many conversations on the matter, I trusted that he would not leave me.  Upon returning home and hearing from him that he had attempted to kill himself, I knew that my trust in him was not unfounded, and I was grateful, but I knew also that I could no longer assume that his feelings are something that I can understand or deal with as I am now.  Leaving him alone was dangerous to his life.  It was perhaps a strange course of Buddhist thought that led me to the idea that he has the right to attempt suicide if that is what he wants or feels he needs; I'm still not sure if I feel that way or not.

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What I feel: contentcontent
O. Ouellette
19 February 2014 @ 02:14 am
I really REALLY don't want to go to school tomorrow.  Don't want to move.  Feel terrible.  Being alone makes me think endlessly about the things that trouble me.  To much to even explain it all.  Don't even feel like writing in correct grammar anymore right now.

I want to escape.  I am not nor have I ever been suicidal, but I fear that I may be some distant day, because I just want to get away no matter what.  I want to get away.  I'm starting to feel desperate about it, like I would rather just sit or just become nothing than keep going, keep doing these tiring, pointless thing, keep being afraid and pressured and worried and upset and frustrated and determined.  But I know there is a better way.  I hope I never lose hope in seeing that better way.

Don't want to go to school tomorrow.  I wonder what's the worse thing to do: just stay in bed and not care about going or forcing myself to go by pumping myself up with more self-pressuring.

I wonder if this is what my sister feels like every day?  If so, I wonder why I never understood before, and if my sister is a person of few feelings of hope like I have often thought she is, then I wonder what has taken away my hope to make me like this.
What I feel: exhaustedexhausted
O. Ouellette
I am doing something wrong.
I have not been able to escape this thought for the past few months.  My husband my have heard me say it at least half a dozen times now during my darkest moments.  I know what it is, and yet I do not; it is something both obvious and dark and illusive, and it scares me.

A year ago, I met a boy.  A man, I guess; we're not children anymore.  That's when it started, though it is not his fault; it is something that is in me: my problem.  I wrote about it in some detail before, last January or February, I guess; I knew it was there even then, and even back then, I couldn't escape it, didn't know how.

I met a person.  "Person" sounds better than "man" or "boy."  Yes, I met a person, though it started before the meeting, long before then, back in a now blurry, indistinct time of seeing him, watching, thinking.  Wanting.  I wanted to be with him; I wanted him in my life.  I have never wanted so badly before.  Ever.  I thought that I could curb that want with efforts to love genuinely, efforts to get past the egotism of want and focus on how things simply are, but it is not easy, and months later I still find myself in a vicious cycle of want that I fought so hard to escape.  Back then, I thought that to be with this person was the right thing but was afraid to pursue him or the idea of being with him because of that huge cloud of want want want want that surrounded him and my ideas of him.  I was afraid that to be with him then would be giving in to the world of want that I so fervently believe I should be working to get away from, but I chose to go with that life of being with him anyway, because I could not close my eyes to someone else's suffering when I felt like I could help.  But I did enter into that world or want, and it has opened me up to other wants that I had fought to resist until now I feel myself once again dominated by want: want to be loved, want for company, want to make him happy, want to sacrifice myself for the good of others, want to hurt myself, want to improve him, want to improve myself.  Back at the wanting world and blind again to the world without it.

I never really left that world of want; it's always been lingering there.  It's not something that I'm so conceited to think I overcame then magically fell back into, and that is the only thing that gives me hope: the idea that the world of want is not something you can sit in a closet and hide from but something you have to stare right in the face and say "no" to.  I am staring it in the face right now whereas before I had fought it but never really challenged it.  Imagine a box filled with all my troubles and me, instead of opening the box and dealing with the troubles, hitting the box with a stick; I feel like that has been my course of action so far: not actually solving anything but just getting to the first feeble step of knowing that certain things are not good.  I am seeing that every drop of anxiety--such anxiety it feels like grief--comes from that whirlwind of wants of which I seem to be full right now; that is my only progress as I stare all those wants in the face, but I do not know what to do with them, how not to fight them or deny them or resent them but to move forward.

I am scared.  I am scared in a way I hoped to be brave enough not to be.  Rather, I am scared now in a certain way, and I had always hoped not to be scared in that way.  I am scared of losing what I have.  What do I have?  I have three people I love more than anything, and I have an innate ability/tendency to fight to make things "better" at any cost.  I am afraid to lose those people, and I am afraid to lose those things that I fought to get with my innate ability/tendency.  Every day I get up terrified that if I do the wrong thing, I will lose my sister, my brother, my spouse.  I am afraid that I have already done something wrong to hurt them or to start the process to kill them or push them away.  Every day I fear I am not doing enough to support and provide for them, and I fear that in not supporting or providing enough, I am hurting them or endangering them so that I might lose them.  Every day I fear inaction and my own tendency to be stressed or worn down into states of inaction.  One feeds into another until I become a mess of clinging to the things I do not want to lose and pressuring myself harder and harder to keep working keep working keep working to hold onto the things I want and "need."

I know that right and wrong, if they exist, are probably not a matter of what you do but how you do it: the attitude through which you do it or the mindset behind doing it.  I know that working hard to support my family and make my spouse happy are not bad things, but the doing it out of a want to hold onto them, out of the clingy tendency, out of the fear of losing them, is the wrong part, and that wrongness makes achieving that goal of having them, of keeping them, all the more unobtainable, and it makes me incredibly frustrated and sad.

The philosophy, the concept, of not wanting is easy to understand.  The doing it is hard; the committing to it is hard; the hardest of all, perhaps, is knowing yourself well enough to see when you are driven by want and when you are not.  I feel sick thinking of the huge swirling mass of such questions and thoughts.  I know that meditation is the way, that it will take time, that it's a minor setback in my general effort towards personal improvement, that now is a good, constructive time or recognition and self-criticism, but it's all a part of a huge cycle or fear, doubt and misunderstanding: of confusion.  Does letting go of the want mean I should halt the things that I am doing that are driven by want, even if it means that the absence of my action will harm others?

Maybe it does.

I was watching Torchwood: Children of Earth yesterday and thinking about my Introduction to Nonviolence class.  In Torchwood, earth is being visited by aliens with superior technology known only as "The 456."  These aliens have visited earth before and demanded an offering of earth children.  They always asked for relatively small numbers until present day when they demand 10% of all the earth's children.  If earth does not comply, then the aliens wipe out all of humanity.  The children, it was discovered, would not be in pain but would be in a state of being eternally preserved and contained while being attached to the aliens while the aliens would feed on "chemicals" produced by the children's bodies that would have a drug effect on the aliens.  So the aliens needed the children not as a necessity but to use them as recreational drugs.  The debate then ensues between leaders of the world whether or not to comply; it would seem that complying would be the only option, as compliance would cost 10% of earth's children while refusal to comply would cost 100% of all humanity.  It was a typical many vs. few scenario; thinking about it brought up ideas in my mind of certain aspects of passivity, pacifism and nonviolence, particularly peaceful protest and especially civil disobedience.  One of the fundamental ideas behind effective nonviolent practices is the idea that you are not just going for the choice that causes the lowest amount of consequential harm.  To see the world in terms of immediate outcomes and immediate direct harm is to see the world narrowly and economically as a world of profit and loss only as far as our own two eyes can see, not in the scope of reality but in the scope of subjective convenience of thought.  Rather, to see the world in terms of immediate or direct harm or good is to miss the bigger picture of cause and effect.  This is why nonviolence seems so unattractive and useless to many, because its purpose is not immediate good outcomes but to lessen the catastrophic, accumulative long-term outcomes that are not so easy to see.  In this way, sometimes acting nonviolently might indeed cause more immediate, short-term harm for the sake of decreasing the harm that occurs overall in a world of willful violence.

And remember that every atom of hate we add to this world makes it still more inhospitable.
- Etty Hillesum

To create war for the sake of peace or justice, for example, is to deal in short-term outcomes.  You march in and crush "evil" and stop the harm being done to the victims of that evil group, but in the process you perpetuate the very cycle of violence that caused those "evil" forces to act as they did in the first place.  You may pause the violence for the moment, but you increase its presence over time.

The idea of civil disobedience is not to fight outright but to simply refuse to do an unjust thing.  I think this is at the heart of nonviolence: that more important than being judge or jury in cases of injustice is refusing to do the violence or injustice that you hate and working in positive, non-hateful, non-forceful ways to deal with the violence that you have, not try to crush it or force it to be gone.  You can't force violence to be gone.

So, anyway, I was watching Torchwood, thinking about this as I watched this fictional scenario where everyone decided to give up the 10% of children to the aliens to save the human race.  I think the best most nonviolent think to do, in that situation, would be to refuse to let the aliens take your children and work on dealing with the consequences of that refusal.  Bear in mind, too, that if the aliens were addicted to the children as drugs, then they invariably would be back for more.  This scenario struck me as a cycle of violence.  It's just my opinion, and I'm not saying that it would be easy to make such a situation or that I personally would be capable of making it, but as an observer looking at a hypothetical situation, I was frustrated that they would give into an unjust demand; the right thing to me seemed to be refusal to be apart of the violence towards the children, even if it meant indirectly submitting to violence on an immediately larger scale.

It is a delicate matter, and I don't want to keep going in circles struggling to explain my reasoning.  I don't remember anymore why that tangent arose; I will return to what I was saying before...sometime later.  I am very tired.
What I feel: exhaustedexhausted
O. Ouellette
19 February 2014 @ 12:50 am
I have partaken in various forms of self-harm ever since I was young.  I realized this today.  The over-eating and neglect of sleep as a teenager, the consumption of paper since my toddler days, the procrastination of schoolwork, the taking on of more and more responsibilities when I can't even hold down what I have and the accepting long hours at work... It hasn't been just cutting, not something so conscious and voluntary as that.  I seem to have had a fascination since childhood with finding ways to degrade my own life and its quality, almost as a form of sabotage.  The only explanation I can think of is that, watching my mother suffer with terminal illness and single motherhood, alone and without sufficient help, always sacrificing for her children to the point of slow and painful death, I somehow equate sacrifice with goodness and with strength and, not having the internal strength to see my own potential and self-worth, try to wear myself down to replicate her sacrifices.  It's not something I think is right; it's something that I am just prone to do on a deep visceral level.  I am only at this moment seeing it perhaps for what it is.  I have not had the level of self-reflection to know exactly why I find some pleasure and pride in doing things like not eating, not drinking, not urinating, not sleeping, not some small way reveling in every headache, every day of stress, every UTI or break-down or ache or pain caused by my own foolishness.  Even now, when maybe I have touched upon some kind of understanding of it, it comes to me not as an epiphany but something I already knew but was hiding from.

It's a huge conflict.  I am scared to die.  I am scared to hurt.  I think that self-sacrifice, or anything, for the sake of satisfaction is wrong.  I am terrified of living a life like my mother's, of making sacrifices like she did.  Instead it's more like, when I am faced with a situation in which I cannot avoid pain or suffering, I consciously look at it instead as a sacrifice I willingly make...but that feeds into the subconscious level of instinctively seeking out those situations of self-sacrifice because they are twistedly attractive, because they remind me of Mom, because they seem more right than having comfort she never had, comfort my siblings may never have, comfort my whole family now is afraid to have for fear of those comforts being wrong in light of Mom's life of sacrifice.

I will never have children: this is what I think.  My mother suffered and died to earn me a bit of comfort and happiness, and yet because of that very same sacrifice she made to ensure my comfort, I feel like I should never have comfort.

That is a dumb thing to say; the cycle can be overcome.  The idea that I should not have comfort is an illusion, and the idea that all parenthood and all situations will result in this concept of inevitable and irreversible harm is also an illusion.  I am still young and still grappling with these ideas; my mom died just a short three-and-a-half years ago.  There is still much to learn and change.

I cut myself last week.  I have never been a "cutter," not in the sense that it has ever been a periodic method of coping for me.  My episodes of cutting are few and far between, the second most recent episode of it having been in high school, which was also the first episode.  I didn't know much about cutting when I was younger; I didn't understand it, didn't think of it, was one of the ignorants who thought that cutting was what suicidal people did, thought that putting a knife to your skin and actually cutting it was sick.  Instead, I burned myself, but burns are very painful, more of a pain to treat, take longer to heal and leave worse scars.  I gave myself a two-degree burn on my hand with a curling iron in high school and five years later, the scar is faint but still there.  Cutting though is not so bad, which makes it seem more practical and attractive.  The pain is intense, but only for a day or two, and in the long-term, there are no scars.  There is no evidence of my high-school cutting, which is perhaps the sole reason why I can do it again: because it is so appealingly temporary.

I said that I wouldn't do it.  Buddhist philosophy sees violence to the self as a form of violence to be avoided just as much as violence to others.  Violence to yourself is violence to others just as violence to others is violence to yourself.  To take out frustration or anger in a violent way against yourself, even to cope, is still an act of aggression and ultimately will not help you down the path of nonviolence or non-aggression.  It's a step in the wrong direction just as much as allowing yourself to lash out in anger at someone else...and yet, I still gave in.  I still cannot say why, but it scared me.  Part of me thinks that I honestly could not help it, that because I have not yet worked hard enough or successfully enough on non-aggression, I reacted aggressively without "mindfulness," without rational thought and earnest reflection or clarity, and that by that point, I was too far along the path of emotion to find a non-aggressive action to make.  That is what it felt like on one level, but on another level, I think, I know, that that is not true.  I'm not saying that all people have a choice not to cut, not to react in the moment, but I did.  I chose to cut myself.  I wanted something to make me feel satisfied, to make me feel better, like a medicine.  I didn't want to just sit and take it anymore; I wanted to let go and break just a little.  I wanted that freedom.  But it wasn't freedom, and I came out feeling selfish, scared--scared of myself--and more confused than before.

The first time I remember sitting down and cutting myself was my sophomore year of high school.  I was watching a boy I liked hanging out with other people; I am not a jealous person, I don't think, but I felt slighted, ignored, neglected, belittled.  I watched him walk by me and not say hello and I couldn't stand what it made me feel.  The only thing I had on my was a mechanical pencil, so I detracted the lead and rubbed one side on a piece of paper until it made a point and cut myself with it.  Just like that time back then, this time last week I started and felt like I couldn't stop, but this time it was worse.  This time I used a needle; shallow scraping cuts hurt worse; they cause more damage to the skin than clean cuts with a razor blade, and scraping to me doesn't feel as visceral as slicing.  To forcefully scrape out a cut feels better to me.  It hurts.  It hurts badly, but I'm not endangering myself.  Knives and razors and other seriously sharp things feel dangerous to me, especially when the purpose is not to maim yourself but to cause pain.

Like that time back in high school, I couldn't stop.  I ended up with about three dozen cuts, progressively deeper.  The scary part is that cutting made me feel worse.  It made me feel aggressive, and feeling aggressive feels vile to me.  In my Introduction to Nonviolence class that day, I sat with my arm hurting under my sleeve and listened to a student mention a part from the reading that said that every violent action one chooses to make further cements them into habits of violence, strengthening violent patterns in ourselves, making future violence more easy, instinctive and habitual, just as every nonviolent action makes one more conditioned towards nonviolence.  I felt that in myself.  I felt a feeling that I was afraid of: that choosing once to take out my negative feelings in an aggressive way would open up all the past feelings of and tendency towards aggression I had buried away.  After cutting myself, I felt even more panicked, more unsettled, because I was cutting for satisfaction, but I could not cut enough to be satisfied; violence does not satisfy! aggression does not satisfy!  It just feeds the cycle, and once I let myself be violent a little bit, once it did not work, the natural thing to do was to do it more, to give in more to the violent thoughts and tendencies until I had over thirty cuts on my arm and my hands were shaking, and it did not end at school, did not end hours later after hours of external calm; the dissatisfaction and the feeling addiction to violent means of coping did not end.  I was exhausted, lying in bed with my now-husband and crying and scratching and pinching at the cuts he had covered with gauze for me until I bruised myself, because the physical hurt felt good for a little bit, and for that little bit of time, it's not that I was satisfied, but I could be distracted and forget that I wasn't satisfied.  For the first time, I thought that pain felt good, and for the first time, I was terrified of myself in the idea that perhaps I do have masochistic tendencies when I am in such desperate states of mind.  I felt ultimately broken in that moment.  I felt lost, because was not only severely dissatisfied but was also stuck in a mindset of wanting to inflict pain on myself, wanting violence and wanting to run away: all ideas that I had told myself were against my beliefs and my way of life.  The stress that made me want to cut myself was not gone; it was still there, but it had been joined with the devastating feeling that I had failed and that I was messed-up and crazy for feeling as I did, for turning my back on my beliefs then and letting myself get caught in those ideas.

Those feelings are still there, because I want to cut myself again today; the overwhelming stress and the want to make it go away is back today, but I am afraid of that feeling of loss of control, insanity and failure.  Plus I am alone today.  My spouse is not with me, and I don't know if I can deal with those terrible post-cutting feelings alone.

If it will feel so bad after I do it, then why do it?

So that part is relatively simple.  Don't do it.  It's tempting, but I can follow this rule.  The difficult part is the realizing, as I have today, the that self-harm isn't just the cutting.  Everything I do is laced with it.  It is normal, I know, but my situation is not.  I do not think that my life is so much worse than anyone else's, and in many ways I am very fortunate, but I am not stupid or blind or cowardly or simple-minded enough to not accept things for what they are.  This is what they are: I have very little support, and it is not enough, and it will probably never be enough, and that makes me vulnerable, and it makes things more pronounced.  Though I struggle with the same problems as everyone else, though everyone battles with self-violence and aggression and bad habits equally, it is a lot more immediately scary, dangerous and blaring for me, because I have so much to loose and because I have so little help.  I am not trying to complain, but it is true.  That in and of itself is scary.  A "normal" person, or a "privileged" person (better term, I think) might go their whole life with self-harming tendencies and may never have it endanger their life.  For me, though, not being able to cope effectively, not being able to keep the right mindset, might indirectly cost my home, cost my family and husband a roof over their heads and food on the table, might cost me my degree, my future, my health, might land me in more debt with more hospital bills I cannot pay if it affects my help, might land my family as good as dead, because when you have this little help and support, if you are not capable of doing the things that needs to be done, there is no one--NO ONE-- who will step in and offer to do it for you.  I had my get-it-together psychological vacation back when my mom died and everyone gave me time and space to recover; that time is over now.

I don't know what I'm saying anymore.  The stress that made me want to cut myself is still here, but the new stress of fearing regression back to a willingly-aggressive, out-of-control state is just as pressing.  The result: lots of pressure.  In the end, though, there is beauty in it, because since I have so much to lose, it is easier for me to lay out the things I need to fix and to do.  Everyone may struggle with aggression equally, but because of my troubled life, I can see very clearly how aggression hurts me and those I love, so I know I need to straighten myself out in that regard: this is something that I have that others may not, and for that I am grateful.

I got married last weekend.  I love my life.  I wish that, if I love my life this much, I could be more happy about it.  I'm working on it.  There are a lot of things that I can appreciate and love, that I can see, because of the things I have experienced.  I am working on focusing on those.  I am  working on it.
What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
05 February 2014 @ 03:01 pm
Helping a Depressed Person


What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
It is heartbreakingly unfair when children are tried as adults.  They are not adults; they need love and care, and any crime they committed was out of a lack of that love, care and understanding.  Those of us who are not on trial as children are privileged in that we were not forced to weather the loneliness and suffering and pain of children who are put in situations where they commit crimes.  It is not just to try children as adults, and it is not just to sentence victims of crimes to punishment.

Please, please, PLEASE take some time to sign the petitions below.  A teenage girl is going to have her already difficult life ruined by an unfair sentence in court.

Free Cyntoia Brown Petition | GoPetition

Give Cyntoia Brown a New Trial |

Sign Preston's Petition to Help Cyntoia! |

If you don't know about Cyntoia Brown:
"The 16 Year Old Killer" Cyntoia's Story (full documentary)
What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
03 February 2014 @ 05:59 pm
What I feel: fullfull
O. Ouellette
21 January 2014 @ 06:25 pm
I look in the mirror and see the unhealthiness in my face. I have dark patches around my eyes, and my lips are cracked from the dehydration I keep accidentally inflicting on myself as I remain too worried to remember to drink water. I just can't manage to get a full night's sleep. I can't remember the last time I did. It has probably been two or three weeks since I got as much as a solid eight hours. I wake up feeling sick and scared and tired. Every morning tired even though I slept. Don't have any energy to talk about it... Putting all my energy into fighting to make things better and trying to find ways to cope with the time I have in between...
Tags: ,
What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
18 January 2014 @ 07:30 pm
Too many things are changing too fast.  I spend many days feeling sick and anxious and getting broken sleep.  I am at a landmark low when it comes to motivation.  Schoolwork?  I haven't even had the spirit to write in months...and haven't had it in me to write the way I used to in years.  I receive a lot of encouraging words...but it's just so much.  So difficult.  I know that the dangers of being homeless and hungry and out of school and out of luck can be overcome; I'm good at finding ways to keep my head above water.  I have my mother to thank for that, for teaching me how to live and be okay even when it seems like it shouldn't be possible, even when no one on the outside understands how you're doing it.  I know that someday I will look back and see this as something I got through...but how long do I have to keep struggling and fighting, feeling alone in these struggles, feeling tired...  Feeling tired.  For the past months I have been trying to keep things together without a break.  Trying to keep my relationship together alongside someone who is broken and suffering and angry and sad and discouraged...trying to keep my family's life together when things keep stepping up trying to break us down, when my brother who has always been the dependable leader is either out of answers or out of energy...  I know that I can find a break in mental peace, in meditation...and yet, some part of me is clinging to the sadness, to the despair of just knowing that it isn't fair, knowing that it isn't fair to be four (young-adult) kids alone and struggling with no family and more and more problems just piling on top of us.  Why does it have to be this way?  Even as I know that there is no reason why it has to be this way, that the way things happen has nothing to do with right and wrong and just is how it is, I can't stop that question from running through my head sometimes.  I know that there doesn't have to be a reason why things are this way, and yet, part of me still clings to the search for an answer.  I know I should be meditating, strengthening my mind and my resolution against that desire to find a reason and just be at peace with the way things are, but I am tired, and when I am tired, I get scared.
What I feel: depresseddepressed
O. Ouellette
06 November 2013 @ 01:08 am
In past years...I have faced hard times with forward-looking thinking.  I would think about the impermanence of my current state and realize that any time, any phase, any trouble, would eventually give way to something new.  I can still remember and almost feel the sensation that used to follow, of looking forward and seeing a time without the trouble of the present.  Such a sensation always brought me hope.  I could tell myself that though I could not predict how that new time in the future would come about, it would come about, and it would be better.

Not only am I having trouble feeling that right now, but I'm also questioning if that is the right way to feel.  Over the years, in response to my mother's death, I have become more and more proficient in the art of coping but perhaps no more proficient in the art of dealing with the present.  So now, in the present and in the recent past, I have found myself frequently in the position of not knowing what to do.  Having faith that the future will be different is one thing.  Knowing what to do with the present is quiet another.  I find myself angry, stressed, sad, frantic.  What should I do?

True anxiety is a feeling I had all but forgotten.  I discover now that anxiety comes of fearing that something will be lost and that I will lose.  This should have been obvious to me, but somehow it was not.

I somehow have this urge to prove that I am capable of something, capable of helping most of all, but I guess I am not.

I don't want to lose the people, the person, that I love.  In past days, I have contemplated the possibility of just that happening, of having another person gone from my life like Mom and having to look back and remember them and having to accept that his absence is not my fault.  To look at this as a possible future feels partially like paranoia...or even like I am wishing away because his absence might be easier.  Despite love, in imperfect hearts and minds, that sense of pending relief does exist.  When it fulfills itself in the end, after the person's absence, it feel like poison.  On the other hand, not thinking about a possible future without him feels like simple naivety and closed-mindedness.  Of course it is a possibility.  Of course it is a possibility.

What stings the most perhaps is the fact that he is the one constantly calling me inept, whether intentionally or unintentionally, whether it is in reality or is just in my head, my insecurity fabricating the distaste I see that he has for me that may not be as big as the love presiding over it but is still there nonetheless.  Life and logic tells me that one rarely feels or suspects a thing without there being some grain of truth behind it.

I think the biggest mistake that I made in this was expecting to be loved.  I knew that love is not an easy thing.  Perhaps even I am not doing it or capable of it as I strive and hope to be, so maybe I am no better.... But I expected to be loved, and like all expectations, this one has let me down, because I am not loved.  I am adored, perhaps, but not loved, and I recognize the fact that perhaps I myself do not love but simply adore.  Of course, in being aware of this short-coming, I see myself as being the one side that is further advanced.  After all, at least I can recognize and admit that I do not love, that love is not yet truly there, when he probably cannot.  But what does that mean?  Does it even matter?  In the end, even if I am the more loving, if I grow upset not to be loved as much as I have loved, then what I'm doing is not really love, is it?  If, in loving, I expect back the exact value of what I give, then somewhere I still have selfish desire that supersedes my love; I still have an ulterior motive beneath or in spite of my feelings and efforts, and so regardless of the other person, that is something for which I must take responsibility.

I could almost laugh.

I could almost laugh.  I had forgotten, truly, what "hard times" were, that "hard times" existed.  I saw them as something I had somehow overcome for good.  I realize now that even if the day should come and I should become "enlightened" and be above the pain of want and the pain of being denied happiness...the "hard times" will still be there.  They do not go away.  I have been a child to look at them as a simple phase that could be passed.  So I could almost laugh, because I have forgotten almost what emotion itself feels like, and I took my absence of emotion as a step in the right direction towards detachment, and perhaps it was just that, but I still have a long way to go.  Back are the days of the late-night stomach aches and the hunger and the shaking and crying and pain.  I have, perhaps, forgotten pain, haven't I?  Then it is good to remember.
Where I am: my dorm room
What I feel: distresseddistressed
What I hear: The Vocaloid Jazz Sessions, Vol. 3
O. Ouellette
09 October 2013 @ 12:58 am
I just had the most terrible image; I guess maybe heart-wrenching would be a better term.  I was thinking about the recent fertilization plant explosion in Texas.  I was thinking about if it happened near where my boyfriend lived.  I imagined hearing about it on the news and rushing to take the hour-and-a-half commute to his place.  I imagined having to identify his condo's rough location in a block's worth of rubble and toppled buildings.  I imagined digging him out of the rubble.  I imagined both digging him out alive and digging him out and finding him dead.

These kinds of thoughts let me know that it's time to go to bed, because it's that time of night for these thoughts to happen, but tonight...I unfortunately have papers to write before I can retreat.
Where I am: my dorm room
What I feel: hungryhungry
What I hear: Silence and "Wrong Number (Performance ver.)" by 東方神起 playing in my head.
O. Ouellette
19 September 2013 @ 11:34 pm
I love you.
What I feel: melancholymelancholy
O. Ouellette
19 September 2013 @ 11:33 pm
As usual, with these new entries, I didn't get to say anything that I wanted to say, and they just look like a mess.  I never even got to the point, so the titles just look accusatory.  :P  I am sorry; that was not my intention at all.  I made them the titles because it was such an interesting statement.............

Hopefully I will be able to continue more articulately tomorrow.  In the mean least I feel better....
What I feel: annoyedannoyed
O. Ouellette

I really hate it when people say that relationships are only hard because people make them that way.  Oh no.  They are hard.  They are hard no matter what the circumstances.  If is seems easy to you, maybe you are looking at it the wrong way.

One of the most uncomfortable things about relationships or "love" is the fact that it does not make pain go away.  It does not and never will, and perhaps the belief that it will just creates vain hopes that lead to cycles of disappointment.

It is absolutely true when people say that it's the people that you love or that love you that have the power to hurt you most.  I know this from my sister, both from knowing the ways I have hurt her and knowing the ways that she has hurt me.  This potential for loved ones to hurt you much deeper than strangers comes together in a very nasty way with the fact that love doesn't actually take pain away.  I am not saying that love is not a solution to problems and does not make life better; I am just saying that it's not like a pill you can take to fix your life, which is why so many people, I think, stumble in relationships only to find themselves worse off then when they were single and come out of it with the idea that it is better to be single.

Hurt is very difficult to deal with.  Instead of going on with more generalized—and possibly passive-aggressive—rants, I will speak specifically about myself in context, the thing that made me think these thoughts.

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I was just talking to my sister about "Another."  So effing creepy.
What I feel: sleepysleepy
O. Ouellette
I'm writing this because I have to, or I'll go crazy.

Seriously...I almost felt suicidal yesterday. most, my emotions can only serve a relative likeness to other people's.  I only felt relatively suicidal...meaning that I have tried as of late, I guess as part of my embracing the Buddhist path, to slowly reach an indifference with the prospect of death.  But yesterday for the first time I found myself thinking, "maybe dying would be easier than this," or "maybe dying wouldn't feel as bad as this," in a setting in which I didn't immediately afterwards denounce those thoughts.  So, I guess what I'm saying is that over the past few days, I haven't been even close to suicidal...but I have had short moments of sort of maybe just wanting to be dead—a want that I don't think I have ever felt before, because I like lift.  The scary part is that I don't really know why.

Well, I know why, but I don't know why why.

The why is that there are a few things that are extremely painful.

The First Thing: having someone you love question and probe into your beliefs, then throw your beliefs onto the ground and step on them and grind them into the dirt and spit on them and shit on them but (unconsciously) lie and try to tell you that they value your beliefs (because they do genuinely love you) until you are so confused about what to do or how to react that you just end up trapped in a psychological hell carousel of confusion.

The Second Thing: having someone tell you that you hurt them very badly, so badly that they, as a natural matter of course, end up disregarding to some degree that maybe they were/are hurting you and, at the same time, putting you in the position of choosing whether your hurt or their hurt is more important.  (If you are a good person or a person who can't deal with the idea of hurting other people, then there's a good chance you will, by default, choose to value their hurt over yours, or at least want to try to disregard your own hurt, putting yourself in another psychological hell of confusion.)

The Third Thing: having someone denounce your very reasoning ability as crippled so that you feel like you're just some freak who is psychologically incapable of thinking properly and therefore destined to be a pariah, therefore placing you in another psychological hell carousel of confusion in which you can't be sure that anything you think is right or even sane no matter what you do.
(related to my last entry)

The Fourth Thing: having someone say that your critiquing their logic is just the product of your crippled reasoning...but that their critique of your logic is true logic.

The Fifth Thing: having someone respond to your distress with the phrase, "don't misjudge me," or any variation of that phrase you can think of, implying that your distress is not reasonable or logical but instead the product of a misjudgment or misunderstanding on your part, that you "got it all wrong," once again implying that your logic is bad and that you wouldn't be upset if you were just better at logical thinking.

The Sixth Thing: your personal understanding that you are probably guilty of committing Painful Things 1-5 shown above against the very person that committed them against you, paired with the understanding that such a mutual wrong-doing does not make your hurt any less justified or even any less in intensity than the other person's.  In short, you know that you probably did the very same things to the other person that they did to you, hurting them as they hurt you, but since two wrongs don't make a right, your hurting and their hurting doesn't make all the hurt equal out and disappear.  The hurt is still there, and it still hurts, whether you started it or they started it, and your hurting them doesn't make them hurting you okay, or vice versa, and you know this too...placing you in a psychological hell carousel of confusion in which you feel like it would be selfish to say, "You hurt me," but slow psychological suicide and unhealthy internalizing of pain to just say nothing.

The Seventh (AND MOST PAINFUL) Thing: Confusion.  Confusion is possibly the most terrifying and debilitating feeling there is.  With it, you can't be sure of anything, because you can't be sure of anything, because you can't be sure of anything, because you can't be sure of anything, because you can't be sure of anything, because you can't be sure of anything, because you don't know where to start, because you don't know where the confusion is coming from, because you are confused, because you've lost faith in even your ability to think, because you're confused.  And confusion, if left confused, leads to more confusion.  Confusion is its own best friend, and so confusion is your worst enemy.  There is no one way to just make the confusion stop.
What I feel: worriedworried
O. Ouellette
I don't really feel capable of write genuinely anymore.  I feel as if everything I write is contrived.  Maybe it's because I realized, some time ago, that I write as a form of stress relief, and so everything I write has an ugly tinge of selfishness, bias and melodrama.

I don't really feel right writing about my "boyfriend"an inadequate term, but a term for which I can think of no proper replacement, as "lover" and "relationship partner" and "sweetheart" and other terms seem even more stupidwhen I can't even describe him as a person.  I'm sure any attempt would not be right, and in the end, if I did describe him well, I would only describe one or two aspects of him well and would end up sounding like your typical sexist idea of the love-struck female...or something just as misleading.  Since I cannot describe him well, I do not try...but since I don't try, I don't feel at liberty to describe his actions.  It would make him seem to be a very enigmatic subject, making him a candidate for any kind of reckless interpretation or judgement that a reader could possibly come up with.  As in writing a story, when the author does not present a character's actions before setting the groundwork of his/her character's demeanor...I don't really want to skip steps in my accounts...but...I don't think it can be helped.

He said something really interesting and unexpected to me yesterday: "I love you more than you think I do."  One of the reason why the term "boyfriend" suits him so badly is that this isn't a casual or frivolous relationship.  We are not "dating."  It's not an experiment.  I guess the only modern phrase that I can think of as a further explanation is, "It's serious."  So love is very important here, in stark contrast with the I-love-you's that might pass between a couple in which the two parties do not think themselves to be in a long-term, potentially life-long commitment.

"I love you more than you think I do."  It came at an interesting and almost a bitterly well-timed, appropriate moment.  I have been concerned—more than concerned—lately...and perhaps from the start...about this exact subject.  No, not about whether or not I am genuinely loved but about a much subtler and more elusive thing: the matter of whether my feelings are really valued.  The moment of hearing it, "I love you more than you think I do," was followed by many reactions.  Him saying it was unexpected—I can't explain how extremely unexpected it was—and my internal reactions were likewise unexpected to me.  In the experience of life, in which we ourselves, as individuals, are strangers to our very selves—albeit strangers that we know a little bit better than strangers outside our mind and body—to accept our own not-knowing and strangerhood of ourselves is to open the window to very poignant surprises: moments in which you find yourself thinking things that you don't have an immediate explanation for; the unpacking and analysis of your thoughts often leads to deeper thoughts within yourself of which you were not aware, and that in turn often leads to facets of yourself of which you were not aware.

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DISCLAIMER: This entry is NOT written out of anger against my boyfriend or anger in response to his statement of which the first half of the entry title consists; the above rant regards a much broader subject of frustration for me to which my boyfriend and our recent interactions are, at most, only moderately related.

DISCLAIMER #2: I love my boyfriend.  (Wait...that's not a disclaimer, is it?)
What I feel: worriedworried
O. Ouellette
10 September 2013 @ 08:20 am
Happy birthday, Mom. I love you. ^_^
O. Ouellette
deadman - this day. this rain. (2)  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ BROOK ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Where I am: work
What I feel: hungryhungry
O. Ouellette
So...where to start...

There are many things I'd like to just come out and say.  Over the past months, I feel I've both become more open and more receded into a life of privacy, to the point that I am, as I always was to some degree, reluctant to speak about myself and my life honestly.  But so much has changed that I'm overwhelmed and uncertain where to start.

I guess a good place would be the subject of pansexuality.  I've battled for a long time with the idea of my sexual orientation.  It was a gentle battle, not one of immense shame or confusion or fear...but one of careful contemplation, self-patience and discovery of deeply-hidden insecurities.  I often get shot down for it and receive no end of criticism, but I don't really believe that the black-and-white distinction between homosexuality and heterosexuality really exists.  I sometimes even say that I don't believe that anyone is truly 100% heterosexual but that there are people who are open-minded enough to admit their own hints of "gayness," I guess--for lack of a better term--and those who are too set in their ways or too cowardly to do so.  I think that societies have too long been obsessed with maintaining archaic social norms, like the predominance of heterosexuality.  I think that it's sad that we're in the 21st century and "civilized" and "intelligent" humans are too focused on reproduction and mating to embrace homosexuality for what it is--perfectly normal.  We cling to heterosexuality because we maintain ties to the primitive obsession with procreating and ideas of normalcy that have developed from that obsession...and the fact that we are having so much trouble growing up as nations and moving past this saddens and frustrates me a great deal.

So I'll make this a sort of official declaration.  I am attracted to a lot of different types of people, including but not limited to androgynous men, androgynous women and even gay and trans men and lesbian and trans woman.  I'm just not that interested in 100% straight men and women.  To me they represent an ongoing, pointless perpetuation of sexism and social norms: the idea that a man must act "like a man" and that a woman must act "like a woman"...the idea that it is bad for a man to act womanly in any way, stemming ultimately from the fact that, in our society, womanly behavior is still seen as inferior to macho behavior.  We wouldn't have any problem with men acting like women if we didn't have such a unfortunately low regard and respect for women and womanly behavior.  I wish that more people would see this too.  So when I look at men who are "macho" or who conform to the "normal" criteria of what a straight man should's a huge turn-off for me in many, many ways.  Where is the individuality in that?  In conformity--either willing conformity or ignorant conformity?  Where is the maturity?  The awareness?  We should be beyond this kind of simplistic crap.

I am pansexual, meaning that I like, could love and would hypothetically have sex with someone of any sex or gender identity, because ultimately, gender and sex don't make a person attractive to me.  It's a lot more complex to me--and in true reality--than "man" or "woman" or "straight" or "gay"...and I'm really proud, not ashamed to be this way and not ashamed to say that I am this way.

This is all good, and relevant to my recent life, because I've finally had the guts to "come out" to the most important people in my life: my sister, my older brother and his significant other...and my "boyfriend"...who all received this new information calmly and without any negative reaction.  I am very lucky.

Thus I segue into the newest chapter and biggest change of my life: a relationship.

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Where I am: work
What I feel: sleepysleepy
O. Ouellette
24 April 2013 @ 09:21 pm
I think, maybe, I can finally let go now.
What I feel: tense
What I hear: "ONLY YOU" by BUCK-TICK
O. Ouellette
04 April 2013 @ 11:23 pm
And, as always...getting what I want comes with hurting another.

It's just the way things are.  When you eat, you are stealing food from the mouths of children, causing them to starve.  Now...I got what I wanted, and I'm happy, but I have hurt a friend badly in the process, without even meaning to, and I guess I'll just have to live with that and hope for the best....
What I feel: anxiousanxious
O. Ouellette
26 March 2013 @ 05:26 pm
What I feel: restlessrestless
O. Ouellette
06 March 2013 @ 12:34 pm
            OVERALL                                                 LAST YEAR

           LAST 6 MONTHS                                      LAST MONTH
What I hear: "Fated" by DBSK
O. Ouellette
01 March 2013 @ 11:48 pm
Giving up on that most interesting guy.  Why have I so recently become obsessed with men anyway?

I had a lovely talk with a friend who is a guy--a guy who actually is a friend, rather--and we talked...mostly about death and dying.  I'm not used to being around people who have seen someone die in as gruesome/scary a way as I have.  He was talking, though, not only about watching an ill person in their last moments, as I have seen, but about a young couple being run down and crushed by an eighteen-wheeler/freight truck and seeing the face/actions of the girl in her last moment while she was being hit.  I'm not afraid of death the way I used to be, but I think this friend of mine is, and I don't blame him.  He's seen things that I can't imagine.  That's an odd feeling.

I'm kind of in awe of him, as I just told by sister.

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I know I'm crazy now, because I realize that every time someone who doesn't know me asks me where my mother or how she's doing, I always do something like laugh and reply as dismissively/casually/lightly as possible, "Oh, she died."  Literally wave it off with a mindless smile on my face.  And my thoughts are usually blank when I do that; I can't help it.  Always that same reaction.  Always laughing; high-pitched, upbeat voice...and no control over it.  I actually apologized for it today.  "I'm sorry...that sounded really weird.  I always feel weird when people ask me that."
O. Ouellette
01 March 2013 @ 07:34 am
Seeing that many things that I think are beautiful are just illusions.
What I feel: tiredno energy
O. Ouellette
24 February 2013 @ 06:52 pm
Can't really focus with the music playing so loud in my ears, but for some reason I just don't want to turn it off.  When I go out walking, the music opens my mind.  Am I becoming more open-minded?  I don't know.  I think probably not, but I feel a feeling of extreme openness...and I think I already talked about this, so I'll stop.

Again comes the feeling that I am very silly with no self-control.  This is an exaggeration, I know, because I have some self-control, probably a lot when it comes to certain things...and just less when it comes to other things.

Keep this one away from people, because she will start to cling.
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What I feel: sadsad
What I hear: "合の楔" by 山田晃士&流浪の朝謡, "tight rope", "My baby Japanese -typeII-" and "月世界" by BUCK-TICK, "Awake" by Anthem, "破壊しよう! " by Morrie, "tears~op theme #2" by Kajiu...
O. Ouellette
21 February 2013 @ 12:48 am
Feeling like a rebel.  My school work's not getting done...and I don't really care...but I do.  I'm "tired" for no reason, filled with changes and things, and I'm not sure if they're distractions or just things as they should be.

I bet Sakurai-san would be beautiful with no hair....

Am I being patient with myself, or am I making excuses?

The school work is easy now.  I'll still excel even if I don't try very hard...but if I do end up transferring to a more difficult college, will I end up foundering?

Going to sleep now.  It's almost 1:00.  I'll get up at 5:00 to do the homework I haven't done yet.  How mature I am.
What I feel: sleepysleepy
What I hear: "ONLY YOU" by BUCK-TICK, "My baby Japanese -type II-" by BUCK-TICK
O. Ouellette
18 February 2013 @ 10:37 am
Got sick of having self-pity as my first entry, so I'm going to update with something else....

Tonight I babysit my boss's daughter.  I really love their family, so it'll be fun.  I love their dog too.

I guess that's good enough.  I don't know what else to say....
What I hear: "Body to Body" by Soft Ballet
O. Ouellette
15 February 2013 @ 11:45 am
Breakfast today was yogurt, orange juice and a Payday.  Perfect.
Went to Japanese class.  Normal.
Got back to my room and cried very hard.
What I hear: "Lucky Animals" by Devin Townsend Project
O. Ouellette
14 February 2013 @ 10:30 pm
I can't.
What I feel: worriedemotional
O. Ouellette
11 February 2013 @ 05:00 am

Smile and the world smiles with you ♥
What I feel: exhaustedexhausted
O. Ouellette
And so at 2:00 a.m....I began reading articles about death, about what happens in the brain as you die and shortly before, about out-of-body experiences. Are they real, or are they a way that our brain helps us to cope with death: hallucinating, fabricating beautiful things.  At first it began as a response to fear and uneasiness; I had begun looking at these things before I had even known why I was.  But then came the interesting stuff.  The beautiful stuff.  Did you know that information, when being taken in and processed, travels through the brain at a mere 1 meter per second?  I had always thought that thoughts and perception were instantaneous, but no; the cognition of our marvelous brain is actually unbelievably slow.  Then the real change in me comes when reading about Thích Quảng Đức, the first Buddhist monk to use self-immolation as a form of protest.  I don't think I could explain this.  As I first looked at the famous photos and then watched the videos taken of this man burning himself to death, I didn't feel horror.  I have, sadly, watched videos or seen pictures of dying or dead people before.  All of them left me with a very, very bitter feeling--you have no idea how bitter.  But not this.  There's this moment, in the video.  Thích Quảng Đức is sitting cross-legged on the road, covered in gasoline or oil of some kind.  Other Buddhist monks and observers are gathered around him at a close distance, and the police are in their link-armed formation, acting as a human fence to keep people back.  There's some pushing; people are trying to push forward to see better, and the police are holding them back, but the moment that the monk sets himself on fire and starts to burn...everyone is still.  Everyone stops pushing, stops moving, and just watches.  The policemen lower their arms, turn around, and watches.  Everyone, seemingly in silence, just stands there and watches.

Horror was the last feeling that came to me then, though I did, while watching, feel an almost overpowering urge to cry.  Instead of horror, thoughts came to mind of how I could never watch this video with anyone else.  They would think me weird, crazy, psychotic.  They would shudder away from watching this.  I felt that no one would understand why it wasn't so horrible thing to watch, that there was both great sadness and great goodness in the image at once.  This event, this action, seems to me to epitomize neutrality: the neutrality of which all life, nature itself, and the universe, is made: the neutrality of God himself in this man and his singular protest that caught the whole world's attention.
Thích Quảng Đức was a Vietnamese Mahayana Buddhist monk who burned himself to death at a busy Saigon road intersection on 11 June 1963. Quang Duc was protesting the persecution of Buddhists by South Vietnam's Roman Catholic government led by Ngo Dinh Diem. Photos of his self-immolation were circulated widely across the world and brought attention to the policies of the Diệm regime.
And I read the comments underneath the YouTube video.  "No man has a right to take a life, not even his own!"  And I felt an inexplicable happiness (for lack of a better term) or mirth in the sudden understanding that (1) such a comment was so amusingly irrelevant and (2) there were so so so so so so many more positive--or even better, NEUTRAL--comments than bad.  I thought about how there are people who don't understand...and yet there are people who do; otherwise this man's actions wouldn't have had such a great impact.  I read another article today about the worst way to die (which mentioned Thích Quảng Đức and initially drew my attention to him) that mentioned thanatology.
Thanatology is the scientific study of death. It investigates the mechanisms and forensic aspects of death, such as bodily changes that accompany death and the post-mortem period, as well as wider social aspects related to death.
The article spoke too, briefly, about how we try to trick ourselves into believing that we will never die, but fear of death and the inner recognition of our mortality lingers always in our minds, causing us trouble and worry.  The article quoted some scholar who talked about how older Western culture in which it was commonplace and traditional to be exposed to dead bodies, to not shy away from the dead but instead be near the recently departed, sleep near them, eat near them, and keep them in the house.  I looked at the famous photos of Thích Quảng Đức's slef-immolation and saw one photo of several Buddhist children in monk's robes praying; no doubt they had also witnessed the event.  Many, many, many people I know would whole-heartedly object to the idea of small children watching a person burn to death, or being exposed to any sort of death in any way that was other than accidental.  Then my mind flashes back to that other article, which spoke about how children who are not exposed to the idea and sight and concept of death are less capable of dealing with the idea of their own.  Children who cannot deal with the idea of death...  Then came the idea in my mind that there is nothing wrong with a child viewing death, even someone burning to death, as long as they have someone to guide them through the experience.

Yeah, I'm still scared of death.  I try not to be, but even writing this right now is making me extremely anxious.  My scalp and neck are tight, tense; I can't seem to unforrow my brow, and yet...I am not unhappy.  I am trying to move forward and accept life--and death--for what they are.

And then after reading that article, posting several of them on my Facebook timeline, I go to the Facebook homepage to try to glean if any of my articles would show up in the news feed--thus the news feeds of my friends--as I think that these ideas and images and stories and facts are ones that every person should try to expose her/himself to and relate to.  The articles I shared were not on the news feed.  But posts from the half-dozen BUCK-TICK-related communities I've joined were.  Pictures.  Of Sakurai-san.  And so another whim took me through those pictures.  I'm always on the look-out for ones that I haven't seen, ones to add to my ridiculously huge collection--not because I am materialistic about them, but because I can't just NOT take a beautiful picture like that if I see one; they're practically sacred to me (they ARE sacred to me).  (Listen to my mushy talk; I'm changing already.)  Some of the captions for these pictures are a little corny...but incredibly appropriate.  I saw a picture of young Sakurai-san, back when his hair was still dyed blond in the 80's, and he's smiling, and the caption reads, "Smile, and the world smiles with you. <3"  I simply can't argue with that.  Another quoted a translation of Sakurai-san's lyrics for the song "Taiji."
Countless millions of deaths, twinkling songs of love
Beautifully rotting into scattering stardust
And nothing could have been more appropriate....  Nothing but the image that struck me the most.  It was actually one of the very first I saw, one of the most recent images that this particular community posted.  Before the "Smile, and the world smiles with you. <3" picture.  It's not from too too long ago.  I can usually tell by Sakurai-san's hair roughly what time the picture was taken.  This one was easy.

Why is this important?  Because I've been falling out of touch with this most important part of my life lately.  I take falling out of touch with BUCK-TICK, with Sakurai-san, as falling out of touch with myself.  And yet, tonight, as I looked back on a weekend that I would have described as depressing and near-miserable, as I looked back on hours of doing nothing, mourning my inactivity, praying for the motivation or inspiration to write, finding that I had no desire to, thinking that I don't look forward to or enjoy eating much anymore, as I looked back on the intense sadness and fear of two hours ago, the haunting of the ticking clock within me, as I looked back at the beauty of all the things I rediscovered about death, about my miraculous body and the beautiful bodies of so many others, of the burning sacrifice this man made of himself and its power to reach across the entire world and speak to people, as I looked back at all these things...I looked forward and saw this picture of this smiling person.  Here is a person who knew some of the many intricacies of death long, long before I have, long before this night and before I was born.  His smile tells this to me, just like it tells me a lot of other things.  And I feel... I feel...  I remember why this person is such a _______ to me (any words pale in comparison to what I really would say if I knew the words).  I remember this person in his entirety--or as much of him as I ever knew, anyway.  It's a feeling like returning home, except more than just home.  Not the superficiality of a sanctuary either.  It's different than that too.  It's something more beautiful than I could ever explain; I see more beauty than I can ever explain.  And  I remember so many songs that I never forgot but whose hearts I forgot.  It's not all came rushing back to me now, a hundred songs, a hundred beautiful meanings.  Instead a door that I had shut at some point, then lost, then sought for not knowing exactly what I was missing, suddenly opened up again.  And I'm sitting here wondering, "God, how could I have forgotten?" as the tears come and as I begin to smile, saying to myself, "Man, you ARE tired, aren't you."  Of course I am.  It's 4:20 in the morning, and I have class at 9:00, but that's okay.  Because I don't know how I possibly could have forgotten, just like when I listened to "Utsusemi" again on another grave and depressing night (thank you, THANK YOU, for sharing it with me), and when he began to sing, something in me stopped.  "God," I though.  There are some times when the only befitting response that comes to mind is, "God..."  I thought, "God, how have I forgotten?"  Forgotten what this sounded like...  And with each passing moment, as I read the lyrics, I said to myself, "I know this song.  I've listened to it a hundred times before.  I know BUCK-TICK.  I know what it will throw at me.  I know his lyrics.  I know what he has in store for me.  You can't catch me off-guard anymore."
Mama ga yondeiru kaerou.
And I was wrong.  And I started crying.  And it's not just the words.  You know it's not just the words written down or read with your eyes like it is right up there.  It's the hearing it.  It's the song.  It's his voice.

In the half-joking seriousness with which we confess the most important, and somethings the most scary, things, I said to my sister just earlier today over Facebook chat, "waaaaa i miss buck-tick but i can't go back to it i can't my soul shies away for unknown reasons and pretends to be too lazy".

I think I'm ready to go back now.

I think I'm ready to go back to everything I've left behind.  I said it before, TWICE in fact, that I was going back, but that was more a simple expression of my with to, not the actually being ready, as I hope and believe I am now.  I know that I am very very sleepy, so my thoughts are clouded.  I know that I would not be speaking so openly, so bluntly, about things that I will be embarrassed to know I wrote later, were I not so tired and confused as I am now.  But there are some things, some truths, that transcend even the fog of exhaustion.  I think that these things are perhaps clearest when we are in a vulnerable state of exhaustion and exhaustion and desperation which will hopefully turn to calm.

These past weeks, I have been boldly preaching to my friends here, to one in particular--I have no friends here, but that is immaterial--about how much I love life and living things, how much I'm learning, how happy I am to be learning  But this need to speak of it so loudly and so boldly is just a testament to my bitterness.  A bitterness that's been growing.  Now, I will go to sleep, and I will hope that, when I wake up, if I wake up--as there is always a chance that we are living in our last moments--I will still have this feeling of "God, how could I have forgotten?" this feeling of direction and understanding.  And now I will finish this entry...and let go.  For you lose only what you cling to.

And I love you.
What I feel: blankblank
O. Ouellette
10 February 2013 @ 10:02 pm
Don't know exactly what's wrong with me. My only guess is that my current emotional state is the product of extreme homesickness or isolation/loneliness.
For the first time in years, I just really want to go home.
I don't know if I can last like this--whatever "this" is....

I have all of these little scabs on the back of my left hand. Well, only three, but it just looks strange because (a) I never cut or scrape the backs of my hands and (b) since the backs of my hands are very smooth, the scabs just really stand out.  They're eyesores. I keep mysteriously hitting/scraping the back of my hand, I think mostly during work when I'm filing papers and such.

I'm too tired to keep talking about my emotional misfortune.

MRI scan of person from cranium to feet
What I feel: indescribableindescribable
What I hear: "Welcome" by Schiller, "Krabat" by ASP
O. Ouellette
10 February 2013 @ 01:35 pm
AAAWWW, Alexx Wesselsky hugs/kisses a teddy at a concert.

Alexx Wesselsky (of my favorite Neue Deutsche Härte band Eisbrecher)
...and a teddy.  <3
What I feel: restlessrestless
O. Ouellette
10 February 2013 @ 12:44 am
The one thing that I like about the city is the way the streetlamps shine down on fresh snow and make it seem to glow orange.

I went walking a few hours ago to go get some light dinner, and the asphalt path I was walking on was shoveled clean, dark black, and the sky was black, but the snow on either side of this path, and blanketing the green, was reflecting the warm, orange luminescence of the streetlamps.  I really love that color.
What I feel: sleepysleepy
What I hear: "太陽の檻" by Klaha
O. Ouellette
08 February 2013 @ 07:46 pm
I've been obsessing over deadman for a few days now.  Few weeks, I mean.  A week?  Whatever.  Anyway...this song made an impact on me right away.  Kind of strange that I feel the lyrics...well...  Not going to mess it up with explanations.

Translated lyrics here.  Translation found here.  There's also a slightly different translation here.
...Now I'm going to turn in early.  Yes, at 7:44.  Good night.
What I feel: okayokay
What I hear: "Last Song Forever" by JIMANG
O. Ouellette
What I feel: okayokay
O. Ouellette
04 February 2013 @ 12:10 am
I will get past this.
What I hear: "体温" by deadman
O. Ouellette
03 February 2013 @ 11:57 pm
It's why I haven't touched the stuff in two years.

It screws me up.

Every post beneath this that has any negativity is, in part, caused by caffeine.  I ended my caffeine abstinence to partake in the health benefits of green tea, but maybe I really, REALLY need to restrict this to mornings-only, or something, because I'm having anxiety symptoms that I haven't felt in two years, and other things; it needs to stop.  (Pushes late-night green tea away) 
What I feel: indescribableindescribable
O. Ouellette
03 February 2013 @ 11:50 pm
I've been crawling my way through the Lotus Sutra, a sort of push to understand...well, everything...better.  It's difficult.  I don't know why doing it fills me with so much stress.  I think I am very, very impatient.  When I sit back and do nothing, I can be absorbed in my blissful inactivity and just drown in a soup of painless unawareness.  When I read this sutra, though, I'm filled with understanding and questions but also so much frustration with myself.  When will I be able to help others?  When will I reach enlightenment?  When will I be able to apply these things I'm learning so I don't hurt people?  When will I know how to share them and help others not to suffer?  Can I help my sister with this?  Can I somehow get her to go down this path with me without her feeling like I'm trying to take charge of her life, force my new religion on her and, once again, just push her in a direction instead of having faith in her ability to find her own peace her own way?

Music is helping me.  I've been trying to stay away from music, because it makes me very very very happy, and part of me feels that intoxicating happiness is an illusion.  Especially Kpop.  xD  DBSK is too youthful and pleasant; somehow I feel like it clouds my perception of the world...somehow....

I was just assigned to read and write a response to this article titled, "To your brain, music is as enjoyable as sex."  It was about how listening to music, when it give you "chills" and when you generally enjoy it, causes your brain to produce large amounts of dopamine, giving a rush that is very similar to sexual pleasure.  I think that music and sex are entirely different, obviously, but if one should avoid seeking sexual pleasure just for the sake of a distraction, escape, ecstasy...then shouldn't I be avoiding music for that same reason?

I'm not sure, because today someone upset me very much by responding to an article in which owls were being slaughtered on a Hindu holiday (not not slaughtered by Hindus, mind you) by saying, "I hate religion."  Don't you mean..."I hate Hinduism"?  If you jump from an article mentioning the association with owl slaughtering to Hinduism to "I hate religion"'s Hinduism you're hating.  Not only Hinduism.  HINDUS.  Because you can't divorce religion from the people who subscribe to it.  There is no religion without people.  There is no religion without belief and society.  To hate to hate people.  This is why hate is never the answer.

The person who said this, "I hate religion," upset me so badly that I thought I was going to lose it.  Every time I tried to get my mind off of it, I ended up playing hypothetical responses to this person's comments over and over and over in my head, many variations, from magnanimous to aggressive.  I just didn't know what to do; all I knew was that obsessively thinking about this thing was not good; I needed to let it go, but I didn't know how.  So I did what I used to do two years ago, after Mom died, when I found myself so overwhelmed and distressed I didn't know how to deal with being in my own skin.  I went for a walk.  A three-hour walk to the next town over, which is a little less urban than this city, has some parks with bare trees and low grass covered in a thin sheet of snow.  My company during this time was my music.  It calmed me.  Walking calmed me.

I debated for a while over whether I wanted to listen to music while I was walking.  Multi-tasking isn't as good as people think it is.  Some time ago I posted about "washing dishes to wash dishes."  Again, the idea is that if you can't stop to enjoy a thing while you're doing it, then what makes you think you'll enjoy the things you really want to do once you get to them?  I think the idea of making unpleasant or boring things more pleasurable by infusing them with other things you enjoy, like music, detracts from what's really going on.  It's not recommended, for example, that you listen to music while meditating, because the music just drowns out your thoughts instead of your learning to focus as you do in silence.  It's a distraction.  To have music while walking drowns out the world.

But a few months ago I discovered that when you listen to music, in headphones, in a time when you're stepping out of your normal environment (like your room) and into a strange, new place, the music endows the moment with a certain clarity; it opens up your mind like a box; it gives a certain context to the outside world, as the outside world simultaneously gives new context to music you've possibly heard before.  It's an indescribably wonderful feeling, though not necessarily pleasant....

Finally, I chose to let go and just listen to the music, because music is how I connect to people.  It's how I learn from people.  In this place, right now, I don't have a single friend near me.  This isn't me feeling sorry for myself; it's truth.  There is no one I connect to here.  In an environment where 80%-90% of the students commute, and 5% of the remaining student body lives close enough to go home for the weekends, I feel more isolated than I've felt since...since mom died, and those three weeks where I had to stay in that house without her, with only the two upstairs housemates that I rarely every saw and the periodic visits from that one dear friend of mine.  Maybe it's too close to New York, and maybe the New York mentality of keeping to oneself is too much for me, as adaptable as I wanted to believe I was.  In the end, I feel myself going a little crazy, as I said before.  Maybe an isolated lifestyle works fine for some people, but it doesn't work for me.  I realized, over Christmas break, that I sort out my thoughts through talking to other people IN PERSON.  Interacting face-to-face.  I discover my self-identity through others.  I make sense of it through others.  I make sense of my spirituality and my philosophies through others.  Without others, without face-to-face conversation, all my thoughts loop endlessly in my head, without direction, without end, without purpose, growing more intense and feverish from non-resolution.  I'm afraid I will snap this way.  It's why I stay far far far away from alcohol.  Because my conscious mind walls off my body very well; I would never hurt anyone, or say something hurtful to anyone, intentionally.  But if for one moment I were incapacitated, by any substance or by extreme emotion, I'm so scared I would lash out and hurt someone, like I did in that dream.

So I listened to music today.  Because in this isolated place, I can still speak to and be spoken to the voices reaching me through this music.  The dead, the distant, the sick and the well, the hurt and the healers, they're all there.  You can connect to all of them.  Glimpses into other worlds, other countries, other times, other emotions: all of these are offered to you.  From this I feel tolerance and joy, the joy of being among people in a place where I'm among no one at all.

So I will listen to music, my greatest teacher.

And hopefully, with that bit of help, keeping me from being truly alone, I'll be able to keep working towards my goal.
What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
02 February 2013 @ 04:17 pm
Back on the Buddhist path.

I don't know how well I'm doing, but I'll keep moving forward.
What I feel: indescribableindescribable
What I hear: 空蝉 -ウツセミ- (Cicada -a man of this world-) by BUCK-TICK
O. Ouellette
31 January 2013 @ 07:04 am
Just woke up from a very unpleasant dream; tried to walk around outside my room, then came back, turned some music on.  Being a coward again.  Instead of trying to deal directly with the fear the dream caused in me, and its cause, sitting in the dark that accentuates it, I open my laptop for light (can't turn on the light; my roommate--like any normal person--is still asleep) and turn on music.  I have this weird little headache in the right side of my head just over and behind my eye.  Has been there for a full day or two.  I must be anxious lately, because I'm starting to get hypochondriac paranoia about that little obstinate headache.  I eat certain foods, drink tea, take ibuprofen, sleep, hoping it will go away, and it doesn't.  I feel maybe it's tension, or hormones (those can give you a headache too, especially if you're a woman).  Ah, see, it just broke out on the left side for a moment--that HURT =P --definitely tension.

In this dream, I was walking into a dark auditorium-like theater; it was school-run, and it had multiple rooms.  I don't remember what movie was playing.  I was looking for a seat.  None in the first room.  Go to the second.  There I see a free seat (they aren't seats like in a real movie theater; they're folding chairs) right in the front row.  There's a girl somewhere off in the empty space beyond that chair.  When I sit down in it, that girl comes up to me and just stands there.

"Sorry, is this your seat?" I ask.

Read more...Collapse )
What I feel: tiredtired
What I hear: 空蝉 -ウツセミ- (Cicada -a man of this world-) by BUCK-TICK
O. Ouellette
30 January 2013 @ 05:27 pm
No, the source of my discontentment has been that I'm too much of a coward to continue my Buddhist practice.
O. Ouellette
29 January 2013 @ 11:12 pm
It's been a long time since I've heard your voice.

I am a very small and empty person.
What I hear: 空蝉 -ウツセミ- (Cicada -a man of this world-) by BUCK-TICK
O. Ouellette
29 January 2013 @ 10:56 pm
No one listens to anyone, I guess.
I guess that is life.
What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
29 January 2013 @ 10:51 pm
No one listens to me.
Maybe that's just life, but no one listens to me.
What I feel: tiredtired
O. Ouellette
There are three supernatural parts of Sevgi's life. The first is that she and the rest of her fellow crew travel through alternate worlds and dimension on a motorized 17th-century merchant vessel. The second is a mystery, kept a secret from her by her curmudgeonly mentor. The that she falls in love with a man from another dimension, and the choices she makes turns not only her crew but the gods against her, placing her life, the lives of her comrades and the life of her new-found love constantly at risk. 
click to read
O. Ouellette
I'm impatient with this idea now; I don't really want to talk about it, but it was almost epiphanically important when I realized it, so I will try to squeeze the explanation out of myself anyway.

I think all my loneliness and discontentment comes from the fact that I am actually very, very happy, but no one wants to partake in my happiness.  That is what it feels like.  I want nothing more than someone to live vicariously through my experience, meaning...I've already learned so many difficult things; I've already seen so much beauty and felt such happiness and understanding.  I want someone to listen to me, to hear about it, to feel it.  Because what good is any beautiful thing if it cannot be shared?  My life is filled with happiness that I've found, sometimes not easily, in both the brightest and darkest of times. All I've ever wanted, I think, all I really want even now, is for someone to come up to me and say, "I can see you've got a lot to share.  Well, tell me about it."  It seems to me that if we, all people, just did that, life would be so much more beautiful.  But the dark side here is that it's not like I'm going to walk up to someone and say that to them, because it would be embarrassing, and because in the end part of me still thinks that my life experience is broader and more grand and deep and meaningful than other people's.

I've done plenty of deriving happiness from my own life.  I want someone else to derive happiness from it.  To a person who relies so heavily on the presence and company of other people, not having that fulfillment is like being told that no one cares that I'm alive.  Silly, I know, but this, I think, is the root of my dissatisfaction with life.  No one to talk to.  No one who cares when I talk.  No one who cares about the myriad of things I've learned about music, the experiences, the wealth of variety in my music library in what it means, the insight into the culture of others.  No one cares about the books I've read, the things I write...

This "no one cares" attitude is very juvenile.  Selfish.  Overly simplistic.  And yet, in this time of my life, I find myself returning to it.  That too, in and of itself, is at the heart of my discontentment, discontentment that last week I would have gone so far as to label, "misery."
What I feel: groggygroggy