A Nightingale In A Golden Cage

Nothing feels normal anymore.

I don't understand why.

I'm tired, and have no energy, and I'm lackluster.

I don't even feel like going into detail.

I should know better by now.

Really, I should.

When my brain says "Hmm, maybe reading Rated-M Doctor Who fiction isn't such a bad idea," I should know better. You'd think I would.

Geez, as if those dreams weren't bad enough.

Maybe some Nightwish will....calm me down.

*Yawn*

So....apparently I passed out for about three hours? They had to come and wake me up. How did they wake me up? Put Cora on top of me and watched what she did. That's definitely a new one.

And when I finally wandered out, Dan was like, "Yeah, Cora went to college while you were out."

And I was like, "How long was I out?"

"Like 24 hours. It's not Thanksgiving anymore."

"WHAT?! Really??"

"No, you were only out for a few hours."

Geez. I'm so gullible. And now I feel like so much time has passed since I was awake. And I still haven't gotten very far on my English paper. Ugh.

Anywho, so last night I slept in the Blue Room and went to bed at around 1-ish in the morning....but woke up at 4-something in the morning feeling like I had slept for 8 hours already. It was the dreams I had, I swear.

I dreamt I was the 10th Doctor's companion. And the world was, as usual, coming to an avoidable end. And the Doctor told me to stay somewhere and was more insistent upon it than usual. In fact, I remember him saying, "Please, Christina. Promise me that you won't move from this spot." And so I promised him. And before he left, he kissed me on the forehead and told me he had something to tell me when he got back.

So I waited. And then suddenly, there was this crazy lady. And she was shouting and she had a huge, heavy mallet that she kept swinging around. Of course, I was running from her....and then the Doctor came back and shouted something and I stopped and looked up. And then his eyes got really big and he yells "No!" and then I dreamt that this crazy lady hit my in the side of the head with her mallet.

After that, it was like an out of body experience within the dream. I watched as the Doctor, angry as he was, vowed to destroy the crazy lady. And I can't remember how he did it, exactly, because I mostly dreamt that I was just laying there on the ground. And then he was back and kneeling beside me. I kept thinking he was going to say, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" like he usually does in the show, but he didn't. Instead, he just knelt there and seemed to be speechless. So I opened my eyes in the dream, and looked at him, and he was crying. In my dream. And I felt so bad. So I said, "Doctor?"

And he seemed to snap out of it when I said that and he looked at me, and there was something in his eyes... relief, joy - so many things mixed in at the same time that it literally made me gasp. And then he said something that I can't recall and the next thing I knew, he'd scooped me up and was heading back to the Tardis.

And then he said it: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." But he didn't stop there. "I didn't think...She wasn't supposed to....You were supposed to be safe." And I didn't say anything. But I remember my eyes were getting heavy. I was getting sleepy in a dream....which doesn't seem to make much sense to me, but apparently it happens. And all I heard was "Keep your eyes open. Don't you dare close them, Christina." But I closed them anyway because I was just. so. tired. And then I switched points of view in the dream. I became like....the silent invisible observer. And I was staring down at myself, unconscious, in the Tardis and the Doctor's using some sort of Time Lord equipment to heal me or something. I can't remember. I remember being more focused on the fact that he was quite unhinged by the fact that I was unconscious and it seemed like I wasn't going to wake soon.

I think he cursed in Gallifreyan at some point. And banged on a counter in frustration. And then he seemed to calm down a bit and just started begging. Which is, of course, rare for the Doctor.

"Please...."

And I felt bad. Because he seemed so sad and desperate.

"You're healed, you're fine! Just wake. Up!"

Or something like that. I can't remember what exactly was said, because I went back into myself and then I felt his hand in mine and I squeezed. I'm sure when he felt me squeeze his hand, he must have felt a little better. And I opened my eyes. Yeah, they were still heavy and I just wanted to sleep still, but I had to show him that he didn't have to worry or be sad.

And then he was staring down at me with such relief and care that I felt like I couldn't breathe. For a long time, no one said anything. He just stared at me and I just stared back. And then he touched my cheek for a moment and said "You're so cold." Then it was back to the staring. And then he said something that makes me warm even thinking about it right now. He looks at me, still squeezing my hand, and he says, "I love you. That's what I was going to tell you later. I love you."

And I'm still laying there of course thinking "....whoa......" And he's staring at me still and I realize that he's waiting for me to say something. And I'm like....what do you say to that? I mean, yeah, in the dream, I felt the same way, but I just didn't know how to reply.

He seemed to get that, though. Because then he kissed me (and trust me, he's really good at it) and said "I love you, understand?"

So I nod, unable to say much else and that's where I woke up. Well....certain things might have ensued before I woke up. But let's not go there... Let's just say I woke up. At 4-something in the morning. And for a long time after, I just lay there replaying that dream over and over in my head...

.....

And then I fell asleep again and had this dream:

I was back with the Doctor, and I know that this dream takes place after the first one. Except, every time I looked at him, his face would switch back and forth between David Tennant's face......and my English professor's. Which was weird. I sort of just ignored it. It's probably because they kind of resemble each other? ajiglkajlkfjas Who knows.

Anywho, so somehow Twilight (ew) of all things slipped into my dream. I decided to go cliff diving. I guess my mind has been a little preoccupied with the fact that my own mother (who's more of a feminist than I am) called me singing the praises of Twilight and New Moon. The movies. I about gagged when she told me. But that's a tangent. Anywho.

So, cliff diving. And the Doctor was standing next to me, hands in his pockets casually. But it was like he wasn't really there. It was like he was a figment of my imagination. And then there was this girl dressed goth-style. And she looked so angry with me, like she hated me. And she said "Jump off the cliff." And, in the dream, I found I couldn't not do what she said. So I jumped the cliff. And of course when I landed (because it was so very high) I was in pain and other things that I can't recall.....And then the Doctor was there performing CPR on me until I coughed and choked and caught my breath. And then he helped me change into warmer clothes (which included one of his shirts). I think we spent some time snuggling under a blanket after that....amongst other things....

Anyway. I woke wishing that I could just stay in my dreams forever. Because if only that could happen....well, obviously not the getting hit in the head with a mallet part. Or jumping off a cliff. I'm sooo afraid of heights that it's not even funny. I get panicky going down the stairs sometimes. But seriously? Having the Doctor tell me that he feels that way? Or even just getting it on with the Doctor. That would be fun.

In hindsight, writing this probably wasn't a good idea. Now I'm in one of those moods......

ANYWHO. NEW TOPIC. I had to go and wake up. Anyways, so I left my coccoon of warmth and coziness.....and had breakfast with Ellen and Cora. Took Cora to the park and she shared! There was this other little boy there named Kieran (unsure of spelling) with his two fathers. And he wanted to play with Cora's sand toys but his parents told him to give the rake back and when he did, Cora just handed it right back to him. And I was so proud of her! I got to talk to Kieran's parents a little. They thought she was mine, which both pleases and amuses me.

On the one hand, it means that I can pull off the mother thing. On the other hand, it's amusing because I'm definitely not old enough to be Cora's mom. Well, I suppose I am, but she's way too asian to be mine. I'm only a halfie. Anywho. I thought that was cool.

My mind's in a place right now. Can't write anymore for now.

Cheers.

Last night's sleep was not good at all. I woke up periodically all night. First, I couldn't fall asleep til like 1:30pm. Though, that was probably the coffee.

But then I woke at 4:26. Then again at 4:30. Then again at 5:30. And finally I decided that if I woke up again, I wouldn't go back to sleep. Of course the next time I woke, it was with my alarm.

But the dreams! Mmmm.

Dreamt that the world was ending (at least it seemed like it) and I was - of all things - shopping in a big city. I remember being in a group. My english professor was there with a very tall, very slim, dark-haired young woman. They were very clearly enamored with one another. The girl reminded me of Anna from V. Or, as some might know her, as Inara from Firefly. There was someone else with me. I remember that. But their face is blurry to my memory. We were walking down a sidewalk. The sun was either just beginning to rise or just beginning to set. I'm thinking the latter, because no one shops that early unless they're a ridiculously famous celebrity. And I'm certain that was not the case in my dream. So then we went into an antique store and of course no one else was there because - duh! - the world was ending. Slowly, but steadily it was ending. Isn't that how it is anyway?

Anywho, I just had to write this down before I forgot because today is going to be busy.

Meeting at Mrak at 2-5pm. Supposed to wear black, so I chose my Lip Service black pants from Hot Topic and the black Switchfoot shirt I bought at their free Del Mar concert. Paired it with a morbidly tie-dyed long-sleeved shirt to ensure that my left arm is covered at all times. Black Converse-styled flats with red stars. That's how I'm rockin' it today. And, of course, Nightwish's "Escapist" on repeat to get me into a rockin' mood.

On this day in history: November 24, 1859, Charles Darwin published his Origin of Species, a groundbreaking scientific work that made natural selection the popular theory. It also indirectly began the practice of Social Darwinism, which is one of the many banes of my existence. But that's another tale for another day. :)

Cheers, all.

Tip for today: Get a good song in your head and rock it all day long.

It's late.

I'm hungry.

I want to sleep.

I wish I could do both at the same time.

......

>_>

<_<

>_>

Hot Pockets sound particularly good. Possibly because Ivette had one a half hour ago and it smells like Hot Pockets.

I should be sleeping, because I have an early meeting with a prof. tomorrow morning. And I feel bad about it because I'm making him rush through traffic to get there that early, I think. So...uhh....definitely feel bad about that. I'm definitely not worth rushing through traffic.

Anywho. So....Walmart es no bueno. The assistant manager of the Poway Walmart totally humiliated my madre in front of tons of people and all she wanted to do was return a frakking camera. Stupid skinhead. He literally was like baiting her and she made a mistake and took the bait. And when the other assistant manager came over, she described the skin head assitant manager's attitude as "asshole"-esque. And the skinhead's like "If you're going to use that kind of language, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

REALLY? Dude, you probably drop the f-bomb every five seconds when you're not at work. People drop the f-bomb all the time in Walmart. Heck, I drop the f-bomb in Walmart. Not once have I ever been approached by a Walmart employee and told that I might have to leave if I decide to continue using foul language. I betcha Target would welcome the foul-mouthed customers that Walmart denies. Not that my mom is foul-mouthed. She was embarrassed about saying asshole. I wouldn't have just let that slide, though. I would've been on that guy's ass. Verbally speaking, of course. I would've been like "really? you're asking me to leave for saying the word "asshole"? How 'bout you kick out all the people that drop the f-bomb first? Why don't you go on and do that - I'll just wait here while you kick them out first. Because asshole is nowhere near as bad as the f-bomb. Oh, and by the way? Screw you. You're a d-bag and you have no customer service skills whatsoever. Go back to kindergarten and learn how to play nicely with other children."

That's my schpiel. No one disses my momma and gets away with it. Not even me. Believe me. I would know. I've tried. Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. We just don't always get along. I'm a more tactful version of her that has stronger opinions.

Anywho.

Yeah. Went to the UC Protest Organization Meeting on campus tonight. It was awesome. The past few weeks were totally lame and depressing, but after the meeting, I was just like....on a new high. It's like I found something to channel my problems and stress and anger into. Not that I'm going to be violent or anything. I'm only violent when I'm really mad and I'm only really mad when I'm arguing with my mom or dad or brother. Other times, I'm completely under control.

So....I'm still tired. And hungry. Ew, I have to wake up early tomorrow. Today. In seven hours. Ew.

Cassandra? I did that thing again. Same way I did it last time. And now I feel stupid about doing it. Anywho.

And little bro? You're the one I'm thinking about when I'm at the protest meetings.

That's all for now. Cheers.

So I have this mask. It's called "Happy Christina." I wear it everyday (mostly) except the days that I forget it. Or the days that I just can't fit it over everything else.

And I'm tired of wearing it.

I don't like my mask. And, yet, I'm so afraid of casting it aside forever.

It hurts to wear my mask.

When someone says "I'm sure you've heard this before, but you look gorgeous in your profile picture," I laugh it off and thank them. But inside, I don't believe them for a moment. Why? Because my mask was in place when the picture was taken.

Today I looked down from the third floor. I stared down at the courtyard before me and imagined stepping off the edge. I imagined what it might be like to fall down three stories. As many of my close friends know, I'm a very visual person. I can imagine nearly anything and almost feel it. I've decided that three stories is too tall. The second story? Maybe.

It'd be so easy, too. There's no one around me most of the time. It'd be so easy to just climb over the railing and....step off. Sure, my mind entertains the notions of a certain someone reading this blog and then valiantly intercepting my attempt. But let's face reality. That's not going to happen. Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to actually do this. I've just been thinking about it today. For those of you who can't tell the difference between thinking and acting.

I want him to ask me again so badly. I want him to be the person I can email or talk to. But he's not going to be. I know this. Don't ask me how, but I just know. And I've been right about these things before. I usually am. It'd be great if I was surprised and wrong. But that's not going to happen either.

"Who's there knocking at my window?
The owl and the Dead Boy
This night whispers my name
All the dying children

Virgin snow beneath my feet
Painting the world in white
I tread the way
and lose myself into a tale

Come hell or high water
My search will go on
Clayborn Voyage without an end

A nightingale in a golden cage
That's me locked inside reality's maze
Come someone make my heavy heart light
Come undone
Bring me back to life

A nightingale in a golden cage
That's me locked inside reality's maze
Come someone make my heavy heart light
It all starts with a lullaby

Journey homeward bound
The sound of a dolphin calling
Tearing off the mask of man
The tower-my sole guide
This is who I am
Escapist
Paradise Seeker
Farewell, time to fly
Out of sight
Out of time
Away from all lies

A nightingale in a golden cage
That's me locked inside reality's maze."

That's an excerpt from Nightwish's "Escapist." I don't know how I've never stumbled upon this song before, but now that I have, it's been on repeat for awhile.

I think I'll go to the ARC. Last time I went, I nearly blacked out because I worked myself so hard. I'll try that again. And I'll still come back the same as I am now. That's what happened last time.
 
I've accepted the fact that I can't control my depression. And I'm screaming inside to tell someone. But, as in the past, I'm picky about who I tell these things to. For some reason, they have to be older and male. I don't know. Maybe it's because I look for father figures? Who knows.
 
I've wanted to return to my usual method of dealing with things so badly, but all I have are a few pairs of blunt scissors and that just won't cut it. No pun intended. I've been thinking about what I use back at home and I'm wishing I hadn't left them behind.
 
I grow bored with words.

November 12, 2009.

high tide today.
happy happy
caffeine happy
high.
does he see
what my shirt says?
how do you mess up
Easy Mac?
giggle
giggle giggle!

November 12, 2009: Later.

low tide
nothing is funny.
not even English.

November 12, 2009: Even later.

Tears burn
inside and out
a pressure building
up
      and
              up
                    and
                            up
and finally
I
    can't
              b
                 r
                    e
                       a
          t
          h
          e

H    M
E    E
L
P
.

Attempt #3. This one took longer because I was distracted with a very corny movie called Bedtime Stories that my roommates were playing. I should've just stuck my headphones on and blasted some music. That usually helps.

I dreamed last night that I was walking a bridge - you know, one of those rickety wooden rope ones that hangs low over a huge never-ending abyss? Yeah. I dreamed I was walking over one of those and I took a step and the wood fell out from beneath me and I could do was hang there in the middle of the bridge. There was no one around to help pull me back up and I certainly didn't have the strength to get back on the bridge myself.

Anywho. That dream is easily interpreted.

Attempt #3. Probably shittier than the rest. If "shittier" is even a word.

----------------------------------------------------

And nightstand beverages stand still
And twisted sheets grow tighter
And in the air you feel a chill

And yearn to climb familiar hills
But you'll go - you're not a fighter.
And nightstand beverages stand still

Faster and faster - all downhill -
It's dangling over a lighter
And in the air you feel a chill

You'll stay with me if it's His will -
No time for one all-nighter
And nightstand beverages stand still

You hear soft rains outside the sill
You say It's getting brighter
And in the air you feel a chill

You feel it failing now (your Will)
The beating now grows slighter
And nightstand beverages stand still
My Shadow and I still feel the chill.

Here's attempt #2. I wish this came easier. Merlin, seriously? FML. Why does all my stuff have to be so frakking morbid? Geez, I already know my poetry sucks. Why don't you just rub it in? It's not like I don't already feel like shit today. It's harder than it looks to pretend you're happy and cheery and feeling well. Because, really, I'm none of those. I feel like I could vomit at any moment. I'm in one of my low periods.

And I don't have a "Fitz" or a "Leslie" to talk to. The one person I'd consider? Not available to talk to about that sort of stuff. I went to his office hours yesterday and at one point he said, "Talk to me." And I said what I usually say to Fitz when that statement comes up: "What do you want me to say?" And he said, "You seem so sad."

That was my chance. I could've just said it all right there. "Yes, sir. I am sad. Because there are things in my life that I can't deal with. Because the people I put my trust and confidence in are no longer here to help me. Because I have no one to talk to about the crap that happens in my life. Yes, sir, I am very sad."

But, no. What did I do? I let my brain take over, let it lie for me again. And I said, "Well...it's a big paper." Was it a blatant lie? No. Not really. I mean, it is a big paper. It's worth 30% of the grade. But it wasn't the biggest thing that was making me "sad" at that moment. And why did I shield the truth from him? I have a few answers prepared for this question.

1) He teaches english in a college setting. He has tons of students. My problems are the last things he has time for.
2) He probably doesn't want to know.
3) He probably doesn't want to deal.
4) He probably would be weirded out. Like many are.

I can't think of anymore, but I'm sure there are several more out there.

And the number one reason I'm afraid to hand in my poetry? Because I know if he reads it, he'll see what I'm saying and will do one or all of the following:

1) Tell me it's rubbish. Because it probably is.
2) Think I'm just another teen angst writer.
3) Think poorly of me.

I like none of those options. And I'm not just another teen angst writer. Most teen angst writers are going through normal problems that most teenagers go through. I like to consider myself a young adult with abnormal problems. I mean, come on, your average college freshman doesn't have two clinically depressed parents (one with anger management issues and the other with OCD) or a brother who tries to remain detached from life at home. To add to that, I'm clinically depressed myself. Not as bad as my parents, for sure. But I have major swings. I'll be on a high for an amount of time, and then I'll be on a low for an amount of time. I try to control it because if I can't control what happens at home, then I sure as hell try to control myself. But it comes back to that bit of truth that slaps me in the face every time: I can't control it.

Wow. That was a tangent. Anywho. Attempt #2. For the second time. I feel pathetic now. Ew. I don't like this one very much. Hell, I don't like any of them very much. They're too whiny and personal. LGUJKLASJLAKSJdl .()@*%(#

-------------------------------------------------------------

Even though I've left them behind
I will see my secret friends
And they are ever on my mind

And together they're oh-so-kind
With low tide they make amends
For devoured Fruit in time behind

Evidence of their Hate is lined
Rich with rubies from where they rend
But I cannot push them from my mind

When seasons change, then shall I find
Them waiting. And back I'll send
To repair what I've left behind

The offending limbs they have signed
Glinting, shining as they tend
Their poison spreads throughout my mind

My friends would surely have declined
Requests for our friendship to end
Forbidden to leave them behind
They are - forever - on my Mind

So....Professor Clover made an extra credit assignment: write a serious villanelle and you'll get five points. So I wrote three. And I don't know which one I like.

Also, I realize suddenly just how at ease with yourself you have to be when you're a poet. Imagine: Elizabeth Bishop was a lesbian at a time when homosexuality was not very well accepted and wrote a poem after her lover killed herself. She had to be completely at ease with what she was writing because everyone who read her poetry would eventually know. So, knowing this, I feel even more nervous about turning in one of my poems because I don't like my personal writing being judged. And that's what's going to happen. I'll turn it in and someone will decide if my poem is serious or not. And if they understand what I'm talking about (and they probably will, since they're smarter than I am) then they'll know about a part of me that I don't readily and easily reveal to people.

Maybe I should just keep the three I've already written to myself and write something less......"personal."

But that's not the point. I want your opinions. And I know my work is probably complete and utter rubbish compared to the great poets of time, but, hey, no one said I had to be the next T.S. Eliot, now, did they?

Anywho. Here's the first one I wrote. Now, keep in mind, I usually am more visual and creative with words when I'm depressed. I don't know why, but that's just how I write my poetry. I can only seem to write it when I'm low. Well, actually, I don't know. I feel like I write better when I'm depressed. Poetry, that is. Who knows. Maybe I'll try to write when I'm happier and see what the difference is.

-------------------------------------------

But this is a low tide.
I cannot feel the way
For there is nowhere to hide.

When you asked, I lied
Prayed my eyes would convey
That this is a low tide.

"Please ask!" my soul cried
But the waves rolled away
And there is nowhere to hide.

And I wanted to confide
"So talk to me," you say
But this is a low tide.

And if asked again, I'd
Confess 'til end of day
That I've nowhere to hide.

Sans Moon, I cannot abide
The burning, scorching ray
For this is a low tide
And there's nowhere to hide.