Monthly Archives: January 2012

Don’t Touch Me, I’ll Break

Nothing ever really has to go wrong in my life anymore for me to cry and feel empty. Things are wrong at the source, things are wrong with me, they always have been. I may not have a discernible mental illness, but the illness is there. Maybe it was there when I first opened my eyes, when I took my first step. I got crap on both sides of the family. Depression, wackiness.

It’s really hard to be more of an adult than your parents, to be more stable than your parents. And I’m not all that stable, so that’s really sad. I just burst into tears because of something that isn’t really much of anything, it was just frustrating.

I don’t know, I’m just rambling. It’s hard to look at myself and figure out what’s normal for me and what’s just plain wrong. Not all people are the same. I couldn’t even tell you my sexual orientation anymore, to be honest. Maybe that’s part of my suddenly fragile state. Just a few days ago I was provided an insight I hadn’t considered: perhaps my aversion to physical things is normal for me. Maybe, just maybe, I get nervous around guys who like me because I don’t want to be with a guy, physically or otherwise.

Honestly, actually thinking about it and attempting it has so far only served to scare the crap out of me.

I also realized, I don’t think I’m actually sexually attracted to anyone. Though thinking of certain people doing the dirty, and also certain kinks, those do turn me on. So I’m not completely asexual, I guess, but maybe I’m partly?

There just doesn’t seem to be much difference between me being obsessed with hot male and female celebrities anymore.

Rory is confused and tired of everything. Also, she needs a punching bag.


A Post About Stuff…

Every so often, I’ll have a strange day where nothing’s really wrong, but I’ll be overwhelmed with the urge to cry. And I always give in to the urge, because why not?

I can think of a million reasons for me to cry on any given day, but I don’t. I push it all away and it’ll stay locked up for a while. But sometimes I don’t need to feel anything for me to cry. Those days, I don’t cry from anger, sadness, hopelessness, loneliness…I cry and then feelings come. Feelings I don’t have a name for.

I wonder if anyone will ever understand me. Or ever could. Because I don’t even understand myself.


Leap Year

There are so many different leaps people take. Leaps of joy, leaps of faith, death-defying leaps. I’ve never taken any sort of leap in my life, but I think I will someday. I will take a leap of hope. Perhaps this year, a year of leaps, I will take my first. And maybe things will get better.


A Rose Without a Doctor

I tend to keep my mind busy with books and movies and TV shows and stories so I don’t think of things. Things like how lonely it is in my head, where endings leave vast empty spaces and nothing really means anything because we’re all here and then we’re not. Life is short and filled with useless thoughts and actions.

I can’t quite decide if I’m Rose or the Doctor. I’m not content with my normal life, and Rose seemed fine before her work got blown up. And I feel like the only person in the universe who feels things the way I do and sees the world the way I do. Maybe I should be a Time Lord because I’ve got so much in my head that I sometimes lose my mind a bit. I shut down. Can’t feel anything for a while, like I need a reboot. But I’m really just some normal girl with mad ideas like Rose. Waiting for my Doctor to make me feel less alone, less hopeless and worthless and useless.

I suppose I must be Rose. It seems arrogant to compare myself to the last of the Time Lords.

But alas. What is to become of me? A companion without her Doctor? I suppose I’ll stay this way forever. Maybe I’ll never really be complete or happy. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be.


The Other Me, Part 1 (An Alternate Universe in Which Rory Has a Twin Brother)

Boy/girl twins have fascinated Rory (which is me, just so we’re clear, yes, my name is Rory in every universe) since she…well, I, was a wee lass of 14 or thereabouts, when SyFy (then SciFi) aired a new miniseries called Children of Dune. Much of it went over my head, but what struck me and made me keep watching was the relationship between Ghanima and Leto (though James McAvoy’s loveliness didn’t hurt).

So. TOM of Universe Dune has a twin brother. If my older brother still exists, then my twin’s name would most likely be Dean. Cue the laughter of my fellow Gilmore Girls fans.

We would be ridiculously close. I was a big tomboy back then. And the hours I spent playing alone would instead be spent inventing our own secret code and trying to read each other’s minds. I would almost never be alone, which would result in a very different Rory. Dean would draw or paint like our maternal grandmother. I got writing from Mom and our big brother got music from Dad and our paternal grandmother. We would be able to sit in comfortable silence whenever we wanted to. We wouldn’t have many friends aside from each other. Wouldn’t be close to any of them, not truly close.

And things would be better. Just. Overall. Better.


I’ve Been Considering Magic and Mayhem

My first attempt at NaNoWriMo in November was a complete disaster. I only met my goal the first two days and wound up with a measly 5,000 words. I’ve been trying to build on that starting point and have been failing.

It’s more than a bit ridiculous. I’ve been working on the skeleton of this story for over a year now and have yet to make any decent headway in actually getting the damn thing written.

It’s the lulls between the exciting stuff that I seem to have trouble with, which makes sense. I just wish I could write like I used to in school. It seemed so much easier back then because I had class and things I really didn’t want to do, and writing and reading were these amazing escapes for me. They’re still an escape, but…I don’t know. Everything about me is different now.

But I need to finish this story. And I need to write the two sequels. Because I’ve never stuck with an original story this long and because my life will never be what I want it to be and writing is all I have. And it matters to me. And the characters matter.

Le sigh. There are entire universes inside my head and I can’t even begin to write them all down.