my biting wit is wasted on the wasted.

I went downstairs to Ozzy's today while i was at work. Sitting at the bar were the Sunday regulars...they asked who else was working upstairs.
"The skinny one or the pitbull"?
i was taken aback. They have assigned nicknames to the other two girls upstairs...The "skinny one" is Stacey, she's beautiful and thin and charmingly demure. The "pitbull" is sadly very comparative to a brute dog, thick and rather homely looking.
"It's Stacey with me today...so what clever nickname do I have, guys?? Am i the thin one or the fat one"?
They heartily chuckled and in unison they all (all 6 of them) replied, "You're Perfect"!

What. The. FUCK.

Cerina (the bartender) said, "You're Yuri! You're too good for a nickname, gurrrrrl"!

One of the regulars, already half cut said, "You're an angel with a smile like sugar".


"More like Sugar Twin", i replied and strutted back upstairs.

It's true. The smile i wear at work is artificially sweet and bad for the health of anyone who dares challenge me or my capabilities of being a red-blooded human, complete with a brain and thoughts that are far deeper than the bottom of any bottle. The bigger my smile when in the presence of some of these people, the bigger the chances are that I'm completely patronizing the poor bastard who is on the receiving end of it.

I've been getting compliments and accolades galore on my recent weight loss. It's all fucking garbage...the act of disappearing slowly is a rather visible act, and the sad part is that the goal is inevitably to become completely invisible. I count ribs and smash my sad lonely hip bones with clenched fists when the thought of eating anything more than a sandwich crust or stalk of celery with salt or hot sauce crosses my mind. I've trained my body to become a resilient piece of machinery, a vehicle in which to cart my being across this little corner of the planet, not needing fuel. I've learned to let my resent and anger become my driving force; hate is somehow stronger than love these days. I let it give me strength. It glows like a hot ember, somewhere in between my bottom rib and diaphragm, burning brighter with each passing memory of my one-time happiness that now seems so far away.
I remember the days of being entangled in another's limbs, a caring arm placed underneath and holding me close, the other arm caressing my hair, my face, my shoulders. Legs intertwined and locked up tight. I've never felt so safe in my life.
I see perfect photo ops in every moment, i see an inside joke, an unspoken truth in every situation that arises in my day-to-day life that i share with no one, the only friends i have these days are the skeletons in my closet. I have been destructive, i've brought down myself and those around me. I watch aghast, completely horrified as i realize the extent that the repercussions of my actions ripple far past my own sorry self and affect the innocents.
I mock the self pitying drunks and junkies all around me, but i realize now that i'm no better. Why am i posting this in public forum? What am i looking for exactly?
I've taken the first steps by acknowledging the fact that yes, i need help. The sick part is that all my efforts seem to have been returned to me in metaphorical envelope emblazoned with a BIG.RED. 'RETURN TO SENDER'.

I'd like to know what lucky son of a bitch has the cushy title of "Mental Health/Eating Disorder/Nutritional Specialist" because i'm sure that their bank accounts are well padded, despite the utter lack of real work that they do. They have the glory and validation of a few initials prefacing their names to show that they've earned their degree by jotting down notes in some musty, poorly lit lecture hall...because they're oh-so-obviously just being paid to sit around and facebook or return personal emails. They do this while the sad lost souls desperately seeking their help are leaving message after message, then resigning themselves to the fact that each attempt is failed and that their shouts and cries for help are all in vain. It's like screaming in a soundproof room. It's completely fruitless. After a certain number of cries for help are left unanswered, the obvious next step is to just give up and seek inner strength. When there's so much negativity to dwell on though, the inner strength is more of an accumulation of several weaknesses all piled up in a shatter-proof wall that creates the illusion of power to rely on.
Maybe i just need to let it be known to anyone who reads this that i am a
Sugar Twin, the evil sister of a girl who is actually sweet.
I lost my $738.08 iPhone 4. I lost my wallet stuffed with a recently cashed check. I lost the love of my life. I lost my grip on reality.

I lost my way.

I need to find a way out of this hell.

sweet like sugar. more like sugar twin-artificially sweet.

remember when we would lie side by side, arms and legs entangled so we didn't know whose limbs belonged to who

repress, suppress, digress, undo success.

where do i go from here?

my blogs are apparently too dark...
my innermost thoughts are so tainted and dark that they're hard to take.

want some truth?

i'm drunk as fuck and want y'all to leave.


good night.

seppuku

There's a steady low hum that's barely audible while I go about my day to day life. When my day is uneventful, I can barely hear it. Sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, my head is almost silent. It's when I enter the outside world that the hum increases to a dull steady bassline, walking down the darkened snowy streets, the low frequency starts to mimic the beat of my heart. A pulsing, throbbing note so low it almost blends in with the sounds of traffic. Orange streetlamps reflect the snow back up to my eyes. My shadow retaliates by eating up every sparkle in my path with each step. Head down, hands in pocket. The beat starts pulsing in my diaphragm just below my lungs, in between my last rib and moves further up. I try to swallow it, it doesn't like that. It wants to take over. My heart starts beating in 6/8, I steady my pace and steady myself against the rush that is threatening to melt my spine. I feel the uncontrollable urge to sing at the top of my lungs, throaty and low. I can't help but walk faster as I start seeing floating gray circles in my peripheral vision, they're fighting for a place in the darkness that's closing in. Head still down I look up as a bus roars by, inches from my face; illuminated from within by fluorescent tubes and passengers aghast. The bassline creeps into the back of my throat and almost chokes me. It drowned out every outside noise. It almost drowned me.

I hate death.

i hate the repurcussions and the ramifications it carries for those on the outer circle.
I hate the fact that it makes others reflect upon their own shortcomings and in turn makes them place the blame on another's demise inwardly.
but why?
sometimes it's necessary.
sometimes it's not a question of what's right or wrong for the world, it's a question of what's right or wrong for the person making the decision regarding their action to take life into their own hands.

i have no control.
i have no self control.
i have no control over the worlds' state of affairs.
i have no control over those who tried to control me.

Am i desperate?
why do i always come back to you?

i can't breathe.

that sounds so clutchy and myspace-y and like a total overreaction to life.
but here i am...

choking on tears and pent-up resent regret hatred
why the fuck is this on blogger?
why do i post this shit on the internet?
no one cares.
no one wants to save someone else when they can barely sustain themselves...
that is
except for me


am i an anomaly?

do i hold myself in any higher regard because i'd rather put my friends first?

i don't.

i can't do this anymore. this is not a suicide note. this is not a death wish.
just please, don't ask me to stick around because my absence to you would be unbearable.

if you loved me at all, just let me go. let your selfishness go.

this is what's best for me.

i need to go.

(love)lips.hips.tits.ribs.(hate)

in the beginning.



There was a girl.


She loved food. but it made her sad when it made her bigger.






She lost lots of weight and all the people in the land cheered for her.




She never told anyone how much she hated it when people only cared about what was on the outside.













She tried on many masks in an attempt to find one that fit.



None of them ever did.




She never wanted pity or sympathy or help. She stopped caring about anything beyond the next day of consciousness.
The trapper of souls became the trapped.
Life got tiring. Boring. Repetitivemonotonousdeaddeaddead.
What's the point anymore?


I'm fucking sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I'm sick of lying. I'm sick of crying. The only time i ever feel happy and whole anymore is when i'm saving someone else's soul. Whenever the favor is being returned, i recoil and run away...
HI MY NAME'S YURI AND I'M OKAY AND I DON'T NEED ANYONE (especiallynotyou) TO SAVE ME, I'MNOT BROKEN AND I DON'T NEED TO BE FIXED I'MNOTLOST
and i certainly don't need to be found.
i feel like the end of days is closer than i think and it's not self induced.
I've just reached a point where the desire to repair the damage is so far removed from my list of priorities it seems that i've resigned myself to reaching the end of the road once i've hit this metaphorical brick wall.
I don't want help.
i don't want to cause grief or worry.
i don't want anyone whom i love dearly to read this and think that it's a poorly veiled attempt at a cry for help.
I'm merely voicing the truth;


I

JUST

DON'T

CARE

ANYMORE.

i wanna save the world. i wanna help my friends find their self-fulfillment.
i wanna eat a bowl of wasabi mashed potatoes and not hate myself for it, but if that's not possible, then i'd like to at least know that i saved someone else.

who reads this shit anyway?

i'm out.

-Y-

let's just never wake up. deal? deal.

"I would have given my first and last breaths to have spent the first minutes of the decade with my parents despite our turbulent relationship. I love them more than I really should, given some of the things they've put me through. But then again, i think they love me more than they really should as well, considering the small hells i've put them through time and time again."
-Yuri Kimura, 2010

My first and last breaths of the decade and decade to come are going to be taken with these two humans tonight, and i wish more than anything that they weren't.
what the FUCK does this mean?
I was up all fucking night last year working and self loathing, in a dirty fucking motel room; alone. I was covered in booze and smoke and party and regret. I woke up wishing i could've been with my parents and eating soba noodles...now i wish to fall asleep, magically drift into the sleep of a million years like some fairy tale princess..

God fucking damn this blog is pointless.
I don't even care who reads this shit anymore. I don't care if it's loved or hated, i don't care if people develop opinions on my character soley based on the verbal vomit that i pour out on this page, what the hell. why not?

i've realized that it takes a somewhat selfish and self deprecatory person to write a blog. A blog doesn't make me famous. A blog doesn't recognize the fact that i've been through hell and not nearly close to coming back; it doesn't validate me. A blog doesn't justify even a fraction of the shit that i choose to write about. A blog doesn't earn me the right to be a self righteous, smarmy little girl.
For some it might.
For me, it doesn't.
I wonder if my words will ever be validated. There are amazing people who believe in me enough to want to publish my words. I'm a scared son of a bitch and keep putting off getting around to and submitting a final edit. Self-sabotage?
probably.
i need a key to unlock my wods, a key to take my emotions and turn them into something tangible; words on paper, words in print, words on a screen...
that key is ultimately something that makes me FEEL something strong enough to feel the urge to capture the moment, to make me reach for a pen and paper or jump on my phone or the nearest available computer and turn my speeding thoughts into a written form that someone else might be able to