I think that my entire life has been spent trying to be, or impress someone else. Whether this is shown through my naturally submissive demeanor for which I have the Tokyo gene to blame, or the fact that we are all born inherently nice and wanting to live moderately conflict free; i've felt somewhat empty. Like when I laugh at a joke that isn't funny for the benefit of someone else..or when I agree to do something that I don't want to because it's easier than saying no. And if saying no is the only option, then sugarcoating the reason for my answer so as not to offend. It would be easier, straight up to say no and not apologize for myself, but it makes me feel awkward to do so.
And then you find yourself resenting...yourself.
I've always secretly at heart wanted to be one of those strong, self sufficient and grounded women who seem to be largely at peace with themselves, but i've always just wished that it would happen on it's own. You know what happens when you wish for something?

Nothing.

It's turning wishes into actions that gets you places. So, from now on i'm going to think a second before I volunteer time that I may not have to someone else, if it means sacrificing a piece of my sanity and self. I'll always be a nice girl, but sometimes I just want to say no and with conviction. Without apologies or fabricated excuses. I've realized through these 22.999 years that I look up to, and respect people who stand their ground and say what they mean. You know that their word holds strong and true (in most cases) and that is a respectable quality to have. Being a yes-girl, however, is not. This I know because I don't respect those who try too hard to impress and usually end up missing the mark by a long shot. Catch-22, isn't it? Try to be nice so people like you, and then end up being the doormat that people wipe their shit stained shoes on. Hmm. I'd rather stand up for myself, thanks.
Time to pick up that metaphorical leaf and turn that bitch over.

I need to get better and it's not happening when my life is spent making everyone else happy. But I sure as hell wishi could "have my cake and eat it too..."

Ha. Sick joke.
I'm amazing.

I no longer care. Apathy has become my friend and destructive enemy. I know deep down that there are pieces missing and may never be found, and their voids have been filled with things that only eat away at the gaping holes even more.
I want a friend, a confidante who will watch movies with me without ulterior motives. I want to drink tea or redbull or wine with someone and paint and feed off of each other's positive energy-not sit around and mope about what's broken and not easy to fix.
I want to feel sunshine on my skin and deep inside my soul and shed some light on the darkness that threatens to consume whatever light I have left.

The girl with the gift of death.

A self prescribing pharmacist
A self loathing narcissist
Self esteem in a capsule
False security blanket
Doling out medication
Cheating her way to meditation
Next level thinking
Drowned by too much drinking
On her way to Club 27
Swallowing and sniffing her way to heaven
She ain't no rockstar
She just serves them in bars
With a saccharine smile
And sheep in whore's clothing style.
Pupils like pinholes, glassy and green
With a heart full of hate and a fist full of pills
White, yellow or pink?
Choose your thrill
Fuck it take them all
Dry swallow to kill 
1 for the toothache
2 for the heartbreak 
3 for the back pain
4 for the tear stains
5 for all the tough love
6 cuz love ain't enough
Lucky lucky lucky 7 
She'll drag her body through hell
For a taste of heaven
8 and 9 aren't worth a cent
Because number 10 is the biggest regret.

I stopped self medicating but stumbled upon an old unpublished post that I felt was encapsulating the current mindframe.
The truth is a hard pill to swallow but I'd rather choke down reality than seek salvation in a false pharmaceutical god that doesn't exist.

hollowed out.

"Good luck with your mental disorder/addiction/selfish need for around the clock world wide sympathy and Daddy issues".

a reader sent me this in regard to my blog (in the same breath as "I still love you, but that's irrelevant.)
to clear things up; i do NOT wish to garner sympathy from this page, nor do I spill my guts out with the intent of stirring up any kind of pity in my readers.
I simply write a blog because i feel that some things are relatable to the people who DO read, and because it's my only outlet for any kind of creative verbalization of my thought processes and emotional state.
so, with that being said, if you feel the same as that reader does, then here's an idea:
don't type this address into the bar at the top of your browser.

ok.

so there's that.

i'm currently feeling empty, both literally and figuratively.
i've been mistaken for an escort twice this week. i wonder if it's because i've been wearing more makeup than usual, or if it's the way i dressed that day. Do escorts wear suspenders and tank tops? maybe?
i don't want to write anymore for fear of making whomever is reading this thinking that i'm being clutchy or self-pitying.
i have created my own little hell and in it i will stay until it's finally time to get out of it before i burn to death. The first steps to getting out have been put into motion, and i'm bloody scared. Scared of leaving behind my crutches and walking on my own down this path without having something to fall back on in moments of weakness.
i miss my friends, but i am staying far and removed from everyone until i start the healing process. i stay in bed for hours and hours at a time instead of being social or calling friends because i have started to feel like a burden. One can only talk about their problems for so long before they start to feel redundant and stupid.
I just wish i had a friend to watch a movie with or enjoy some sort of distraction that didn't involve booze or ulterior motives.
FTW i'm off to bed.

I feel so bad for Japan.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/winnipegfreepress

Read this. I will write more later.
My heart is very heavy.

It's the song that I play on my out-of-tune upright and mean every word.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9Zg0UnAYvs&feature=youtube_gdata_player

born this way.

The last funeral that i went to was Martin's. It was unconventional, bottles of Standard were toasted to him mid-service. There were no religious connotations or biblical passages read. It was a celebration of his life.

Today i attended a funeral of someone who wasn't even a blood relative, but more family than 98% of the people who are genetically related to me.

Back story:
Edwin Lagunera was hired by my my father, the ever-so-powerful CEO and worked for him for years. His sister died in a tragic drowning and my cold, callous father told him to take all the time off that he needed to heal and mourn; his job would be waiting for him when he was ready. This was nearly 30 years ago. My father was named the godfather of Edwin's first born son, for my entire life we have exchanged birthday and Christmas gifts, i have always been lavished with gifts and cakes and traditional Filipino foods on my birthday and Christmas, as have my brother, mother and father.
Leyne Lagunera was Edwin's mother. She has been sickly for years, enduring kidney dialysis and transplants and inevitably lying at home hooked up to machines awaiting her end.
February 14th was my brother's 17th birthday-She still made lumpia, his favorite noodle/pork dish and baked him a cake. She died the next day. My mother was supposed to go and visit with them but was so upset from an argument that we had had an hour prior that she didn't feel up to it.
She later blamed me for not getting to see her one last time. It's all i can do to not grab her by the shoulders and tell her to OWN. HER. OWN. SHIT.


The cake is frozen downstairs in the freezer, we know that it will be the last cake ever from her. This is sick and we should eat it in celebration, instead of clinging to the past and saving it..but we can't.

I'm not religious. I'm so far from fucking religious that i almost didn't attend the funeral service..but i decided that it would be disrespectful for me not to.

Edwin, the son made an unconventional Eulogy-i'll admit, i recorded it with my iPhone.



"I don't know what to say right now. The day before she left us she asked me to come over and visit, but i didn't. I just didn't feel like it, i had a long day. Had i known that it would've been the last time i would've seen her I'd give anything to take that back. When I was younger i gave her such a hard time. Everything she asked me to do, i'd do the oppostite of.if i could say sorry for all the times that i didn't do what she asked me to, i would". If i could take back all the times i said that i didn't want to help, i would. Whenever i left after a visit, i would say, 'I love you Mom' out of obligation. I know that i meant it deep down, but i only said it when i left because i felt bad when i didn't say it".

He looked down from his podium. "If i could do anything in this life, i would tell you that i love you, but you can't hear me anymore. You can't hear me".

He stepped down and touched the casket and sobbed.

Her husband Noberto said that she would often be hooked up to her dialysis machines and pray out loud, "Please Lord, Christ please take me now". She was half kidding, half serious. There was only so much pain and suffering she could take and was a very strong Roman Catholic woman. She prayed daily, fingered her rosary beads, gave me my own for my birthday one year. I wore them sacrilegiously with a corset and fishnets.
The stand up/sit down, kneel for prayer, crossing-of-self made me feel uncomfortable especially because i was the only person in the church who didn't do any of it. Whatever, i'm not a member of a cult, and i refuse to take part of rituals in which i don't understand.


This is my life. My mother always told me that she would snub my grandfather (whom i never knew) when he would ask her to make him tea. She would ignore him time after time, and when he died at the young and impressionable age of her being 16, she said that she would have given anything to have poured that last pot of tea.

It's strange, because my mother always told me that her father would ask her to make him tea and she would refuse. In hindsight, she would have given anything-ANYTHING to be able to do it for him, I now almost comprehend the enormity of the complete and utter loss of a parent, despite the fact that mine are both alive. I realize that my mother would tell me this in an attempt to get to treat my father less like a piece of shit and manipulate him into buying me things when i was little. The later early teen years he would treat me like a piece of shit and i would tell him how much i hated him. My mother would remind me that one day he'd be gone and i'll regret the things i said. I told her to get fucked with a knife and i would steal her not-so-cleverly hidden exacto knife and carve every name into my skin that i was too scared to say out loud that i wished that i could call her, call myself.

He looked down at the casket and said,

"I'm Sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry but you can't even hear me".
and with that he stepped down from the podium and collapsed in a pile of tears.




My Father, Mother and i sat next to each other in the pew.
Between my mother and i were our purses, it created a socially acceptable distance between us so that there was no accidental brushing of legs or arms. I kept reaching into my little golden locket of treasures anytime i felt the heat behind my eyes, the warning signs of tears to fall. I made no attempt to hide it from my mother who sat to my left. I also made sure not to look over to her left where i could see my father wiping his eyes. I knew that if i did, i would lose my shit completely at the sight of my super hero dad who has no real blood in his veins and no real tears in his body.
The thing that hurt the most about the service today was knowing that it may just be me standing up there and apologizing to my mother who can't hear me, in her urn. Maybe it'll be my dad lying there and i'll use useless words to try and right all the wrongs that i know can never actually be righted. Knowing that Edwin apologized too late made me try to apologize to my parents as we left the mausoleum.

"I want to be a good person. I want you to love me. I want your help. I want to be a daughter you're proud of."

My mother looked at me disdainfully and said, "It's a little late to help you now. Don't be a fool. You're 24. Nobody ever helped me at 24, and i turned out fine".

i beg to differ.
I lit an herbal vanilla cigarette just to piss her off and blew the smoke into the chilly air. She looked at me and said, "I thought you quit".
Without breaking eye contact i held my palm out face up and put it out in the very center.
It was a nice service though, despite the company i was forced to keep.

Two nights ago the ex dropped off the rest of my belongings in the house that we shared. My mother freaked out and screamed and cried and yelled like a petulant teenager that she couldn't stand the sight of me in her house for another minute.
"You're FUCKED! How can you be so STUPID!? What did i ever DO to make you like this? Why do you have to come back into this house and ruin all of our lives? What gives you the right to think that we'll just be okay with you suddenly coming back?"

"Because you're my mother and you're supposed to love me"?

"It doesn't matter who i am or what being your mother has to do with anything. You're ruining our lives with your sad pathetic failure of an existence. Your brother is supposed to look up to you, not down on you. At 18 you already knew that we didn't want you..what makes you think things are any different 6 years later? The only difference now is that I can't even eat around you anymore without feeling like i'm going to throw up knowing that that's the only thing you care about anymore."

"I'll tell you what. Here's a list of people that i love. They're the only people i want at the funeral, i can make this happen if that's what would make your lives collectively easier. You clearly don't need me, you have your golden boy and a husband who will pass you a kleenex or some shit should crying come into the equation."

The list had 7 names on it.
There are 2 apology letters written to the ones i nearly left behind.
It would have been so easy, so ridiculously simple and would have solved so many problems. It would have spurred a whole new set of problems for those who care about me on whatever level they think i belong on...but there's nothing left i get passionate about anymore.
i'm a selfish son of a bitch. I'm so sick and tired of hating every fiber of this hideous wretched body that i've been cursed with but paint and punish in an attempt at making it palatable for anyone. What's the point?
I paint vivid pictures with my words of my past, my "STORY", who i was and why i am the way i am now. I embellish the parts that somehow excuse my current afflicitions and behaviours, I overshare so that i can filter out anybody who dares break down the battered walls that have been broken down and rebuilt so many times that they're in a precarious state of being beyond repair should they be broken down even once more. I have a well inside of me that has run dry more times than i care to count over the past years. There have been amazing people who have filled it, but some of those people have also drank it dry. It's hard to fill an inner part of your life, when you're so consumed filling the outer- an outer that much of the time, doesn't serve you, as much as it does everyone else.

It's impossible to cry yourself to death, but i feel that i've probably come damn close some nights. Sometimes that's the worst part; not being able to crumble completely no matter how broken down you feel. When someone offers their shoulder, i feel like a weak asshole to accept their help and feign that smile and say, "I'll be okay". I need to know that it's okay to let people "carry your weight" when you can't- it feels good to let someone show up for you-i just wish it was my mother.
I want my mother.
I want my mommy. There i fucking said it.
I need her. no one else will do.
I have friends who try to help, and they tell me that they appreciate it just as much as i do. in those moments right after you scream so loud you think your windows will shatter, just before i burst veins in my eyes and my raw vocal chords start bleeding; right after i've tried to let go of the years of heavy aching; it's in the pool of silence that hangs in the air afterwards that my spirit lets out a roar too and despite the screaming, despite the pain, I am a motherfucking human and from the depths of my being i will remain a capable, warrior and prove my strength and resilience.
I'm so good at false bravado. It's one of my strengths.

i just sit here vacant and glassy eyed as i ponder what else to write. There is nothing. I have no relevant thoughts at this moment. I needed to vent. I have another 36 archived blogs that i've been too self conscious to publish, so they sit in neat little lists waiting for me to hit "PUBLISH POST".


This video makes me almost the days when life was so careless. No repurcussions, just highs and lows, and the sex, and the drugs, and the complications...I crave the complete and utter abandon sometimes. But not enough to spiral back downward.

not tonight.
maybe i'll eat an orange.
maybe i'll drink some water. maybe i'll just think about it.
maybe i'll listen to morcheeba and skateboard in the basement and hope i fall hard enough to crack something important and get out of work tomorrow.
maybe i'll stalk the man on facebook who is cheating on his naive, young and foolish lover with me (on an intellectual/digital level, asking for my advice regarding their failing relationship...he could ask anyone in the world for advice. Why me?? Ulterior motives? Doubtful.) They somehow always find their way back to me, even when they've "upgraded" to a newer model...what does that mean? That it's easier to be with someone familiar and completely fucked than it is to try to make a relationship work with someone who's prettier, shinier but dumber than a teddybear-shaped bottle of honey?
maybe i'll just look through baby pictures and wonder where it all went wrong.

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-