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69annebowlin69 · 6 years ago

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25/1/19 Watching True Detective Episode Three

8.29

Woke from dream about repeating harris wittel joke to best friend in bar where i work, only best friend left halfway through me telling it, my audience turned in to this really hateful guy who works there as well and i fluffed the punchline. Called the dr for an appointment, got 10.50 w dr cummings. Text Emmy. Set alarm for 10.

10.12

Woke, feel shitty about what i ate last night. Apple core floating in one third of a glass of water. Gross. Searched Harris Wittels on podcast app, skipped first fifteen of last CBB appearence, straight to introducing himself as pontiac. Chelsea Peretti was my fav comedian in 2013, like everyone else.

10.47

Running late. Emmy text ‘what practice r u?’ I said ‘C’ she said ‘for [my name]’

10.55

Old guy at desk told me i could check in next time via the touch screens next to the door, like i’m a returning customer. Emmy whispered ‘so proud of you for coming.’ Said i love you maybe six times in half a minute.

11.02

Dr Cummings asked why i came today if it’s been so long, i mentioned Emmy, he took it and ran with it ‘it’s always when the women get involved. well, nothing new there.’

Didn’t want to go on the scale, couldnt make out the numbers and he didn’t tell me the number, just asked my height and told me my bmi was low but not alarming. Wore tracksuit bottoms because although i wanted to look serious for the drs, i didn’t want to add weight with jeans and heavy materials if it came to a weigh in. If it came to it i’d have shown him the gaunt phots from ‘thirteen. I might show them to Emmy.

Have to see a psychologist

11.17

Emmy crossed the floor with her arms out when i exited the dr’s office. Christopher’s intervention where Sil says ‘disgusting’.

5.17

Trying to remember anything from media studies to apply to the title sequence and all i can think is that uh the camera is skewed inverting the horizon transposed over Mahershala’s silhouette, denoting…that this shit is fucked up.

5.20

This title sequence is way too long. I could literally blend some kale/spinach/ginger, throw up, read that carver story where the whole family are trying to work out who the baby looks like, , ,

5.21

True Ass Detective

5.25

What i’m wasting mum’s inheritance on this week

-Adderall

-123 pounds on bed sheets in ikea how did it come to 123? Ate 1 1/2mg xanax before we went and stopped looking at the prices of the bedsheets to save time which in hindsight was not a Good Idea. Actually a Bad Idea because now i need two buses to go back and return two duvet covers that cost 30pounds apiece.

-A subscription service called Stingray Quello? I did the free trial to watch the Classic Albums on Graceland because Simon’s supposedly very problematic in it which is equally fascinating and expected, and funny? I fell asleep ten minutes in and i’ll watch the whole thing tonight but i bet i forget to cancel the subscription. I should set a reminder. I need to set a reminder to text back dad and not to eat after nine. Some people need to remind themselves to eat which is the absolute opposite of the problem I have. I would love to have to remind myself to eat. Just texts coming up telling me to have dinner because i’ve forgotten again and haven’t been calculating stupid ass numbers all day hoping they add up to less 1800.

-For 44.99 i can return to raccoon city and contract the D-virus. Yes, please!

-cancel Netlfix, keep adobe, maybe cancel WordPress, wait for dad to work out that his phone bill comes out of my direct debit and offer to pay it himself

5.26

everyone’s always got diseases. Mil has completed the Guarm section of the Cowboy Game and just discovered the cowboy has TB. He said Arthur Morgan is one of the most important characters in modern culture; I have to agree, although Mil’s version hasn’t got the long hair or the moustache-stubble or even the bear hat.

5.30

In the parking lot of a Walgreen’s in Big Bear i had the second worst instance of fear ever. We asked the motel receptionist for the nearest pharmacy and missed the exit twice. There are videos of us waking up and her talking in Spanish. There are videos of us in Joshua Tree drinking warm Tecate and saying i love you out of rote. She said you couldn’t get pregnant on your period but i was in the headspace where you question/google everything instead of trusting yourself/anyone. She remembered it was Sunday, went to fetch a bible from the car, which i didn’t know she had, and recited old testament; i read the first one and a half google results and dressed myself from the open boot of her car. Some woman asked ‘where you goin?’, like flirting.

The wolf hat we bought the night before from a liquor store that had a fun hats section. Like a stuffed wolf toy, but only it’s head and stuck to a skip cap, fur pouring over the sides, enveloping the whole head - fun! the scanner wire wouldn’t stretch to her head, she bent so the cashier could ring it up along with 12 more Tecate.

The toilet we met in, in which we met, was like two cubicles at a time and mine had Bernie stickers all over it. we were being sick at the same time, she hd acid reflux and i said that’s what i had as well. She couldn’t eat meals we never finished a meal together no siree not one, in the space of fifteen meals we either didn’t order or moved stuff around on the plate til it looked like less than it did before. She couldn’t keep anything down and disappeared to the bathroom for minutes at a time and then i would, too.

At Walgreens i’d decided that actually she was hoaxing me, that her saying i love you and wanting to come out here in the first place, us leaving in the dead of night, wanting to get married and crying when i didn’t must have been like a series of jokes to her. She said ‘you want it so you ask’ at the counter and the woman couldn’t understand so she took over, the bear hat bobbing with her rhythms. We left once with the plastic case that you need scissors to cut and i went back in for the scissors. She swallowed with warm water from her trunk, made a face. Her reflux was bubbling. She was in the Walgreens toilet for a long time and then, like Mahershala, we went back to the motel to fuck, and got drunk again and i decided it wasn’t just a joke again, until we got so drunk that she crashed the car driving back in on the 105. Wedging all the empty cans underneath our seats before the highway patrol got to our window was number one worst fear i ever had.

5.33

Hi i’m stephen dorff and this is Interrogation

*jackass theme*

5.34

Ok things i know from the first two and a half eps:

The nerds were into dungeons and dragons

1980, 1990, 2015

My dad turned me against shows where police are the audience surrogate when we watched Zodiac or something else earnest w Mark Ruffalo. My dad: not into police. One time he got very angry when i questioned how anarchistic he was when he implemented a hard bed-time of 10pm. Like maybe the most i managed to intentionally rile him. I was trying to watch Die Hard 2 in bed and invoked the 10pm curfew and questioned why i wanted to watch a film about a copy anyway. But yeah, it’s tough to get behind any of these characters. They’re portrayed as flawed, but lovingly, like you can tell we’re supposed to appreciate their flawed masculinity or whtever.

Pizzolato is AT LEAST a moderate republican, maybe not a Trump guy on a good day, but probably into Paul Ryan.

Dorff’s wig is off-putting

The fellas will return to the house above Devil’s Den

The first two episodes were the best shot. Some of the scenes in the mist at twilight as the police searched the fields were eerie and unsettling. Since then it’s been kinda rote stuff, no flashes. Maybe that helps in establishing the story, but the pace has been slow as hell and could use something fancy to support it.

I do not care about these kids nor who killed/abducted them.

Dorff gets shot at some point. He calls Hays ‘killer’ soo….

5.51

Brown sedan, white suit, some guy with a scar. Dorff demanding two fingers of soco and talking about his dick is funny but not in the way intended.

5.55

Annoyed at whatever the song on Rhythm of the Saints is where he says ‘i was drinking herbal brew’ grow the fuck up

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wewillthrive · 8 years ago

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Ziploc Bags

There’s this moment of bewilderment and disillusion that happens when your lover has your hair in their clinched fists and is repeatedly bashing your head into a door. At the time, I was so emotionally begotten, that I actually believed that I somehow deserved every thrust of my skull against the oak and glass. I never fought back. All I could do was try and force my head towards the wood so that my face didn’t go through the cracked window panel. When she was done, I simply stood up with my back against the crazed look in her eyes and walked out the door.

It was June 2010, and after I finally got out of the physically abusive relationship with the manic-depressive cocaine addict, I quickly set my eyes on finding another lover to erase everything I had been through. Shortly after the break up, I met a woman named Kat at the local queer bar. At first I wasn’t that interested. Maybe it was because she was trying too hard to pursue me or that I was still emotionally broken from having my head bashed into a door. My first assumption to every romantic interest is that they must want something from me or there’s something inevitably wrong with their perceptions of reality and of their idea of me. It’s as natural of a thought as the need for food and water. A programmed mode of thinking coded by my narcissistic mother. But alas, I fell in love anyways. Perhaps it was the hope that maybe, just maybe, this person will be the one who can withstand my insecurities and fear of guilt and all the other burnt-out circuit boards I call “feelings”. Or maybe it’s because I just needed someone to tell me they love me without cocaine dripping from their nostrils.

In the beginning, I had no idea that Kat was nudging her way inside my soul and secretly starting to devour the rotting carcass that was my barren heart. But after 3 months, her demons started to show.

In relationships, I have more hope than I rationally should, so I had a tendency to blindly jump in head first. I hated being alone, and with Kat, I wanted to ignore the horns slowly appearing from the crest of her head because I didn’t want to face my life or my problems. More months went by and I slowly felt more and more inferior to her. She had the controls, she had the power….and she steered me right into the fucking desert.

Santa Fe, NM is a city that will steal your breath and your soul all in one blink of the eye. It strips you barren of all life, and makes you just as void and empty as the desert itself. It is stunning, addictive, and will make you face yourself in the cracked mirror that it holds to your gaze. New Mexico is a place of transformation. It is nicknamed The Land Of Enchantment, but is coined The Land Of Entrapment by the locals. A land of gruesome history and strong spirits.

It was May of 2012 and Kat left 3 weeks before me to secure a home. It was a beautiful adobe home with wood floors and a kiva firplace. Wooden beams stretched across the ceilings and the bright moonlight of the desert danced through the rusty windows and across the gorgeous Terra cotta tile in the kitchen. In the time that she was gone, she seemed to love me more than ever. Her voice was kind and her longing felt warm and desperate. As soon as I arrived from my 1,200 mile journey and stepped out of the car, Kat’s smile turned from joy to a darkening wound slit south across her face. In a single moment, for whatever reason, she had decided that she no longer wanted me.

For two weeks she wouldn’t look at me or touch me. I had no job and all the money I had was given to her to rent the house. She deprived me of sex and was only cold and demeaning. Harsh and arrogant. I was forced to move out, which left me homeless without a single friend or a place to go.

She recommended a friend’s apartment. His name was “Rod”. Rod was a very tall and muscular Black man who worked as a doctor at the local psychiatric unit amongst other jobs that he never divulged. He went by different names, one being Simon. Now, I typically would never agree to living with a strange man, but he was a doctor and you’re supposed to be able to trust doctors.

I could’ve called home and asked for gas money to go back, but I refused. I refused to fail. To give up. To not prove my strength. I wanted to challenge myself, prove to myself that I could power through anything. Though I didn’t realize how much I was harming myself in the process. Rod was a brilliant man. He was handsome, forever charming, and extremely manipulative. His demeanor, energy, and power could only be matched by a cult leader or a mob villain in a Hollywood movie. He was unique and bold and used his powers of manipulation to completely overthrow my innocence.

It all sort of started out with cocaine. He had this way of talking me into it. I wasn’t sure why at the time, but I felt fearful of disobeying him. Eventually I ended up in his bed, both of us completely naked. His massive black dick pressing against my pastey and saggy buttocks. His muscular black arms wrapped around me in the numbing 6am light coming through the adobe windows. I was afraid. I was afraid to move, to breathe, to upset him. We didn’t have sex, but his cunning niceties were just a ploy for him to control me even more. By week three he was sneaking into my room at night. He’d gently sit on the bed and watch me while I pretended I was asleep. Sometimes he’d touch my hair or adjust my blankets. Eventually I would just wander the streets late at night because I was afraid to go home. I’d end up at bars til close, desperately trying to make friends with a neurotic sense of urgency that would frighten even the drunkest of locals. I eventually made a few bar friends, but I never divulged the story of the doctor back home. I befriended an alcoholic middle-aged Navajo named George, a straggly hipster from Nashville named Tyler, and a weird pudgy man who gave me his favorite hat but could never remember his name. The bar I frequented was called Matador. It was a dark underground hole filled with Johnny Cash posters, graffiti on the walls, and the heartbroken.

I did try rationalizing it all by telling myself that it was the sexual abuse of my past that was forcing me to fear Rod. At one point I tried to open up to him, like a patient would. I told him my stories of men preying on me and how I was afraid to say no. I guess I thought maybe he’d take pity on me and back away. I still had no friends or job and his peculiar ways started swallowing me into a major depression.

One day he sat me down on the couch and revealed several ziploc bags with hair in them. Each bag had a woman’s name written on them. One had Kat’s name and one had mine. He began to explain how hair carries demonic properties and that these pieces of hair were our “demons”. I’m not quite sure how he collected them, but I remember looking at my chunks of hair and being completely overwhelmed with horror. By this point, I was without a single shred of emotional or mental strength. I was officially living with the devil.

I continued to walk the streets at night, but now I carried a knife in my hand. Men had a tendency to pull over and try to talk to me, as if I’m going to get in a car with a bunch of Mexican men with tattoos on their necks. As the weeks went on, I became severely depressed and suicidal. One night I called the suicide help line. What a weird notion: calling a stranger to keep you from feeling alone enough to want to die. A stranger was all I had. An empty voice with a script memorized in their heads. They told me to go to the rape crisis center the next day, and so I did. After I finally had an interview with one of the therapists, which consisted of me hysterically sobbing, she said “your case is more than we can handle. You need more intense and serious help”. I got turned away from a fucking crisis center. At that point…… I was completely shattered.

I refused to tell people at home what was happening because I felt ashamed. I told myself that I would rather die alone than fail. I had done nothing in my life but fuck one thing up after another. I even tried moving once before to Miami. I only made it a week. I was so embarrassed.

So one night, on a smokey evening caused by a local wildfire, I decided it was time. It was time to let go of the trembling, the fear, the loneliness. Time to release my soul back to where it belonged. Where I could be safe…..where I could no longer disappoint anyone. I kept texting Kat and tried explaining what Rod was doing, but she didn’t believe me. So I gathered up all the bottles of pills that I could find: Seroquel, Lithium, Tylenol… I took a cheap bottle of vodka and slowly opened it as tears strewn down my trembling lips. It was 3:30 am and I was dissisociating, mad with guilt, and filled to the brim with overwhelming sadness. I opened the bottle of Lithium first, assuming it’d be the major catalyst for a quicker death. And as I put the bottle to my lips….the front door opens.

Rob is home.

“Oh. Shit.”

I hear his footsteps walk straight to my door. Thud, swish, thud, swish. He always wore his pants too long. The glass knob to my door had a slight imperfection and it would squeal at first touch and then sink down 1/8 of an inch. He turns it and opens the door to find me on my knees, soaked in sweat and tears, and trying to stuff an obvious bottle of pills into my pocket. The drastic rattling of Lithium, the red wet exterior of my face, and the gigantic bottle of cheap Vodka couldn’t have been more pathetic and obvious.

He was still in his scrubs and had this weird smile on his face. He walked over and told me to stand up and come with him. So, I followed him to the couch. Maybe you’re wondering why I went with him. He was was a 6'5" tall bodybuilding man who had a black belt in martial arts and I was a 5'8’ scrawny woman who maybe owned a tacky studded black belt in high school. I wasn’t going to disobey. Even if I wanted to fight back, I had no hope left in me. I only wanted those god damn pills. I only wanted to die.

He laid down on the couch and pulled me down on top of him with my back to his chest. With his left arm, he gently enclosed me and pushed me into him. I was shaking and felt paralyzed from head to toe. With his right hand, he slowly worked his way from my chest to my pants. He slipped his warm hand over my vagina. And that, is where everything goes blank.

Thr next day I remember confronting him and asking him why he did what he did. He replied: “I was just testing you to see if you’d say “no”.

Sometimes in life you hit bottem, your body and soul flattened opon the earth and writhing in pain. And sometimes, the universe takes the ground beneath you and opens up a corridor to Hell and tosses you into it. Some say that God won’t give you more pain than you can handle. I say that’s bullshit.

#submitted #submission

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