Trash Only. No Recycling.


There is a realization for myself that I have been avoiding, yet expressed for years all at the same time.

Music is vital for my sanity. It is well known that I never, ever, go anywhere without my high quality headphones. Music fuels my emotions, and brings perspective to my surroundings. It translates my pain, my hopes, and my dreams into something that does require a shared language.

And precisely because of that… communicating my language is so hard. You feel isolated. I try sharing my music.

This means something to me.

ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  “But,ย I cannot understand what they are saying.”

ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  “I can’t really sing along to this.”

When I share music – I am sharing myself. Offering a deep emotion that I feel I cannot express in words otherwise. It has been a running joke for quite some time on,”Lara Language”. Since, communication is such a trial for me. My vocabulary is vast, and I have to constantly adjust in the moment, so others can understand the terminology and context I use. I learned to communicate in a short hand due to this. Either via gesticulations, music, or images in hopes that by removing the challenge of my words – one can understand my meanings universally.

Yet, this never seems to happen.

One of the worst feelings in the world is the thatย of oppressed silence. An empty room where the vibrations bounce off the walls to echo for an audience of none.

Listen to me.

I have something to say.

Will you please listen?

ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  ย  My composition professor today, after class, sympathized saying it must be difficult being the smartest person in the class. ย It is, and it is not limited to the classroom. With which an astounding intellect that seems to be inversely proportional to the rich social interactions that are possible. Add in a (very misunderstood and difficult) personality disorder… It is difficult. You spend a lot of your time feeling lonely, and yet there is a dichotomy of preferring the solitude over the lackluster interactions you would have to face otherwise.

I am a very articulate and intelligent person. So, why is it that I am so often misunderstood?

Or is it no one wants to understand.

Check, please.


What Pisses Me Off


Or, more accurately: what makes me feel robbed.

Robbed of a childhood filled with actual affection, and praise. It is only now, when I am in college of my own doing, with high grades and no longer in the steep depression that were years before.

Ever worse – they are using my niece to base off whether or not I am “boastable”. My niece is fifteen. They just found out she has been hiding a currently 18 year old boyfriend for the past two years. She is failing every one of her classes. Getting detentions, referrals and skipping school.

Now, my brother-in-law says I am not a mooch in comparison to his daughter. When I would have probably been the same way if it was not for my personality disorder, since this is all entirely due to my sister’s raising of her. My niece needs guidance, and care – not shipping her off to military school. Which they cannot even afford. Admit that you are shit parents, and let me talk to her.

My mother has come to love this show that Steve Harvey hosts called, “Little Big Shot”. Children of various ages achieve grand feats of musical talent, intellect, or skill. And she coos, and boasts about them as if they were her own. However, when I was a child, and even to this day, nothing I did merited praise. Straight a’s? Eh. Learning college algebra at age four? Eh. “I was a mathematician, no big deal.” A painting of mine is featured in the school’s select art show? Who cares.


Nothing I did was ever good enough, and still is not good enough five minutes ago.

Maybe, this is why I crave assurance and praise so much, since I was robbed of it as a child.

Guess Who Figured This Out?


“This” being how to finally get a Korean IME installed on my computer without having to resort to using a Chrome extension. It only just now occurred to me to try the language settings in my computer. Why? Why? I should have thought of this ages ago!

Well, actually, I did. But I gave up way too soon, obviously.

I mean, look at this. ์•ˆ์˜!! ๋Œ€๋ฐ•์ด๋‹ค!! It really is awesome. I am slowly working towards not hen pecking. It is becoming slightly more natural to remember that the all of the consonants are on the left side, while all the vowels are to the right. Also, by installing the proper IME, I do not have to switch between visual and HTML input on WordPress to enter in the Korean characters. Yay for another point to laziness.

And no, I have not been to bed yet. I was up all night waiting for a reply that never came from the IT Team about MyMathLab. Then at like 7 or so this morning, BigHit released that BTS will be doing a concert in May. And releasing another album. Then, Got7 also released their newest music video for, “Fly.” Which was fantastic. It had a couple odd scenes here and there, but I really loved the ones on the flight deck.

I did have the idea to go to Epcot possibly, but with this continued lack of sleep, and need to save every penny for either the concert DVD, or if they announce a world tour (which one do you think I want more?) – I chose to stay home instead. I do want to go out and get some more photography in that is not related to Disney. The continuous theme of the mouse everywhere, and in everything I show drives me a bit bonkers. I would like a bit of creative identity away from all that, you know?

I was reading all my old posts from this time last year. I am almost someone different now. It was almost as if I was reading something written by someone else. Not even me. But I know it was me, and I recognize myself in the writing. But… the despair, and pain… it hurts to remember that that was in fact me. Though I do not mention it lately, I am Bipolar. Apparently Bipolar 1 with psychotic features. That intense depression, while hallucinating on a near constant basis – it was a living nightmare. I have little blips here and there, but otherwise, I am too focused on my goals to allow what normally can drag me under the muck get a grasp on my ankles. Once again, that strangely intense will power of mine. Subconscious will power. Imagine what all I could accomplish if I had full control of those faculties.

It looks like I will be emailing my math professor about having to extend my quiz due date since I still cannot get onto the dang website.

Here is to hoping everyone is well, and having a good day.



When it echoes


96% of the time, it is just me in my room with my rabbit Lola.

Conversations that occur are just between Lola and myself. Well. Just myself speaking to her.

Otherwise, my voice just echoes in the empty room.

It echoes across the walls and returns with empty whispers.

The feeling is almost akin solitary confinement. I have no one. Not a “support group” or listening ear that I feel can return with an echo of their own that can help.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Oh, you’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know how to help you.”

Trust me. I get it. Meager message received. I shall retreat now.




LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ
๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ Iโ€™M A
์†”์งํžˆ ์„ธ์ƒ๊ณผ ๋‚œ ์–ด์šธ๋ฆฐ ์  ์—†์–ด
ํ™€๋กœ์˜€๋˜ ๋‚ด๊ฒ ์‚ฌ๋ž‘ ๋”ฐ์œˆ ๋ฒŒ์จ
์žŠํ˜€ ์ง„์ง€ ์˜ค๋ž˜ ์ € ์‹œ๊ฐ„ ์†์—
๋” ์ด์ƒ์€ ๋ชป ๋“ฃ๊ฒ ์–ด
ํฌ๋ง์ฐฌ ์‚ฌ๋ž‘ ๋…ธ๋ž˜
๋„ˆ๋‚˜ ๋‚˜๋‚˜ ๊ทธ์ € ๊ธธ๋“ค์—ฌ์ง„ ๋Œ€๋กœ
๊ฐ๋ณธ ์†์— ๋†€์•„๋‚˜๋Š” ์Šฌํ”ˆ ์‚์—๋กœ
๋‚œ ๋ฉ€๋ฆฌ ์™€๋ฒ„๋ ธ์–ด
์ด์ œ ๋‹ค์‹œ ๋Œ์•„๊ฐˆ๋ž˜
์–ด๋ฆด ์  ์ œ์ž๋ฆฌ๋กœ
์–ธ์ œ๋ถ€ํ„ด๊ฐ€ ๋‚œ Yeah
ํ•˜๋Š˜ ๋ณด๋‹ค ๋•…์„ ๋” ๋ฐ”๋ผ๋ณด๊ฒŒ ๋ผ
์ˆจ์‰ฌ๊ธฐ์กฐ์ฐจ ํž˜๊ฒจ์›Œ
์†์„ ๋ป—์ง€๋งŒ ๊ทธ ๋ˆ„๊ตฌ๋„
๋‚  ์žก์•„ ์ฃผ์งˆ ์•Š๋„ค Iโ€™M A
LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ
๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ Iโ€™M A
๋ฐ˜๋ณต๋˜๋Š” ์—ฌ์ž๋“ค๊ณผ์˜ ๋‚ด ์‹ค์ˆ˜
ํ•˜๋ฃป๋ฐค์„ ์‚ฌ๋ž‘ํ•˜๊ณ  ํ•ด ๋œจ๋ฉด ์‹ซ์ฆ
์ฑ…์ž„์ง€์ง€ ๋ชป ํ• 
๋‚˜์˜ ์ด๊ธฐ์ ์ธ ๊ธฐ์จ
ํ•˜๋‚˜ ๋•œ์— ๋ชจ๋“  ๊ฒƒ์ด
๋ง๊ฐ€์ ธ๋ฒ„๋ฆฐ ์ง€๊ธˆ
๋ฉˆ์ถœ ์ค„ ๋ชจ๋ฅด๋˜ ๋‚˜์˜ ์œ„ํ—˜ํ•œ ์งˆ์ฃผ
์ด์   ์•„๋ฌด๋Ÿฐ ๊ฐํฅ๋„
์žฌ๋ฏธ๋„ ์—†๋Š” ๊ธฐ๋ถ„
๋‚˜ ๋ฒผ๋ž‘ ๋์— ํ˜ผ์ž ์žˆ๋„ค
๋‚˜ ๋‹ค์‹œ ๋Œ์•„๊ฐˆ๋ž˜
์˜ˆ์ „์˜ ์ œ์ž๋ฆฌ๋กœ
์–ธ์ œ๋ถ€ํ„ด๊ฐ€ ๋‚œ Yeah
์‚ฌ๋žŒ๋“ค์˜ ์‹œ์„ ์„ ๋‘๋ ค์›Œ๋งŒ ํ•ด
์šฐ๋Š” ๊ฒƒ์กฐ์ฐจ ์ง€๊ฒจ์›Œ
์›ƒ์–ด๋ณด์ง€๋งŒ ๊ทธ ์•„๋ฌด๋„
๋‚  ์•Œ์•„์ฃผ์งˆ ์•Š๋„ค Iโ€™M A
LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ
ํŒŒ๋ž€ ์ € ํ•˜๋Š˜์„ ์›๋งํ•˜์ง€ ๋‚œ
๊ฐ€๋” ๋‚ด๋ ค๋†“๊ณ  ์‹ถ์–ด์ ธ
์ด ๊ธธ์˜ ๋์— ๋ฐฉํ™ฉ์ด ๋๋‚˜๋ฉด
๋ถ€๋”” ํ›„ํšŒ ์—†๋Š” ์ฑ„๋กœ
๋‘ ๋ˆˆ ๊ฐ์„ ์ˆ˜ ์žˆ๊ธธ
LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์„ผ ์ฒ™ํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒ์Ÿ์ด
๋ชป๋œ ์–‘์•„์น˜ ๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋„Œ
JUST A LOSER ์™ธํ†จ์ด
์ƒ์ฒ˜๋ฟ์ธ ๋จธ์ €๋ฆฌ
๋”๋Ÿฌ์šด ์“ฐ๋ ˆ๊ธฐ
๊ฑฐ์šธ ์†์— ๋‚œ Iโ€™M A

Why bother


Mood swings today.

Okay to depressed to angry to depressed again and now extreme anxiety simply from my headphones failing. Looked up price on Amazon and just short to buy another pair with my savings. But they are my savings. But I need headphones. The decent ones that will last Florida heat and sweat and block out the crowds at Disney with proper surround sound quality. And they are 152 after taxes. Hopefully they stay on sale.

But shaking. And heart racing. And trying to figure out how the hell I will get the twenty dollar difference between what I have and what I need that I was planning on using for the new lens or backpack.

What to do?

Plus, I thought the sensory sensitivity was fading but now everything is making twitching and mad. Then it spreads to things that aren’t even touching me. If I had the mystical ability I would be floating not having to touch anything or even a breeze touch me.

I try everything g to calm down but I cannot. They are like panic attacks but just filled with anger and frustration and obsessive thoughts on just *fuck everything and anything that exists near me*

And now rage. Pure rage. Screaming. Not yelling screaming. Just unintelligible screaming.

I found the rubbing when I came into my room some how on top of my nightstand, eating my cords. Somehow the little bastard didn’t get electrocuted and die.

But my $150 heads phones that just barely worked since her last atrack, chewed through. My new charging cord (not even three days old) I had just gotten after her last bullshit. Chewed through.

If I had the capability, I would throw her in the backyard and be done with it. I did not ask for this damn rabbit. I took it in. Gave it a chance when it was randomly bought by Mom in her impulse shopping.

For it to destroy my things and constantly aggressively attack me.

It has been a full hour and a half since the discovery. I am still nauseated and I am still shaking so hard I cannot hold  anything in my grasp without it falling.

Add in my sensory issues. Then the panic what ever the hell attack where it got the point the desperation for breath was darkening the edges of my vision.

Just one. Just one. Teensy. Tiny. Break.

Show me that I don’t have to get my hopes up then for it all to laugh in my face that everything is out to destroy me. Knock me down.

Call me dramatic but I am sick and tired of this.

In the grand scheme of things – my life is never going to get better.

I am never going to be stable.

No matter how hard I try, I am shoved back down in the dirt.

Why bother trying any more?

I have tiny moments of hope. Tiny moments that glimmer and so I start building with little match sticks because that is what I have.

Then they burn.

And I rebuild what little is left of my sanity again, and again.

I am just so tired.

So very tired.

My parents mumble under their breath, “why them.” To be cursed with a child who can barely leave the house. Costs so much money for zero result.

Lately I have been reading constantly again. The only reason I “like” reading so much is because I would give anything to be anyone but me. Anything to have a modicum of happiness and hope.

To not hallucinate endlessly monsters out of the corners of my eye. Everyone tells me they are hallucinations anyways.

I give up. I give up. I lie down.

As He said…


“Babe, you’ve been doing so good lately.”

He never calls me babe, but that isn’t what is important.

I had another breakdown today.

There was a tiny glimmer at the end of the tunnel. The guidelines for what I had to do were being laid down. I was given hope that one day soon I would be able to try to work again, move out and be stable.

I had forgotten that as long as I am in this house – I will never be stable. Never be healthy.

Because I can never make my mother stable or healthy.

I had begun to become so excited that Sassy will be here Friday. Three weeks away from this hell and in a happy place with my best friend. Where I would be able to pretend I am normal and healthy. That I am not psychotic or suicidal 80% of them time. Where I am not giving myself a time line that ends in me giving up.

Where my thoughts aren’t constantly attacking myself. Reminding me I am a waste, fat, or useless. Damaging everyone around me and just never stop at making things worse.

Day in and out, I feel like a parasite. Slowly draining the bodies I rely on for food, emotion and money. Parasites should be killed. I offer nothing to those I suck the life force from.

Robbie’s last words to me before he died were screamed, “you are just an ungrateful little bitch. Grow the hell up.”

Because Mom was in another mood and I am always the one to set them off.

I am always dizzy, and in pain. I am always shaking and falling over. But no one ever believes me. They say it is in my head.

I will be driving and not remember where I was or how I got there. I don’t vary from my route but I won’t remember parts of it.

I am terrified of being locked up. Put away.

Once you are in – you don’t come out in my family. And even if you did, that secret would eat me alive. The Stigma destroys you all on its own.

So will the stigma destroy the parasite or will something else?

I keep telling myself to keep it in or on the paper.

I try so hard to stop constantly going to Mike or Sassy about this. Talking to them doesn’t help because there is no way to help. So, they just become understandably frustrated and hurt when it doesn’t work.

People don’t like sad people. They drag them down. People leave sad people.

I guess that is why everyone leaves.

This post was drafted and published using the WordPress App for Android on my Galaxy S4. There are more than likely spelling or grammatical errors I may have missed before posting. Please forgive them, this is just a personal blog.