Death Dealer 

You came back with a vengeance, everything is all the more darker in your presence.
I thought I could outrun you, that your sadistic brand of misery was far behind me.
Although I’ve been in your presence before (for you never truly left), I feel as though I cannot take the pressure this time around, the darkness all the more consuming.
My body bends, breaks at your will, for you all I can think about whilst under your influence, controlling my every thought, my every action, exposing my every fear. 

It feels as though you’ve been with me for a lifetime, hiding, waiting in dormancy for the right time to strike, to deal death.
For when I am under your pressure I feel as though that release is far superior to the agony.
With this unexpected visit comes a brand new symptom, because was better to accompany your crippling twisting and turning than isolation? 

While I want with every ounce of my being to be out in the open (free in some sense of the word), I know that it would be best to keep my distance, for it’s all too certain that I can’t function normally with you around.
The face that I put on, the one that I have tried to perfect for years on end, is beginning to slip, beginning to bring the emotional agony you’re inflicting to life. 

You came back with a vengeance, making everything all the more darker.
You reignited every fear, every instinct to run and hide.
And yet I remain. 

© Copyright July 2017/November 2017/January 2018/March 2018


In the state of a perpetual high, I feel nothing at all.
My mouth went numb the minute I bit into your light blue surface, releasing a force that could be felt all the way down in Hell.
Pieces of you washed down with whatever caffeinated liquid I have at my disposal, your healing power almost supernatural. 

I felt this kind of presence before, only encapsulated and about half the speed, not reaching its destination as quickly as expected (and desperately wanted).
Like so many times before, I cannot imagine enduring the cramping spasms brought on by this teenage disease without your everlasting relief and guidance.
With said relief, however, comes the occasional question of how long will I need you, how long before I become immune to your charms? 

Thank Lucifer I have you and the power of this paper and pen. 

© Copyright October 2016


It’s the loneliness of early morning, the empty hours suspended in what feels like days.
That is when it will come creeping back, crawling at the very base of your spine. 

The raw nerve feeling, the reminder that will always be there, whether you feel it constricting or not.
It’s the dull ache, the dull ache that can turn into the cruel twist, like that of a meat grinder, at any moment.

It will turn you into a breaker of hearts, a killer draped in flesh.
It will turn you into a walking ghost, a murderer drenched in pain. 

The consequence of your isolation is deafening. 

© Copyright September 2016/October 2016

Teenage Disease

There are demonic hands digging deep into my stomach, gripping with a hate so strong.
I can feel their fingers twisting and turning my intestines, binding them to that sadistic roller coaster for yet another ride, a feeling I thought would never plague me again. 

A disease that circulated so helplessly throughout my teenage veins, its origin and everything it stood for still foreign and unattainable.
Its brief absence something of a godsend (too bad God turned his back), even as I travel pass the gates of Hell his presence cannot be found, for it was never there to begin with. 

I have lived with you for six years and yet I cannot help but flinch at your touch, something I know will never truly subside, the very though of spending the rest of my days with you only tightens my insides even more.
Despite everything you are, all the pain you have caused and all you have yet to bring, I would not have it any other way for you have taught me to be strong where others may have faltered, a lesson I know I could not thank you enough for. 

The external is nothing compared to the internal. 

© Copyright October 2016


This body is marred by the scars of each passing day, the remains of a knife now turned oh so dull.
Stretched across the intricate bone, this skin has seen its fair share of calamity, enduring the ins and outs of what the next has to offer.

Calamity that can and will end with you, for you are the one and only source of healing light.
Inside and underneath, you hold what I cannot fathom (will not dare to try and decipher), a fact that I know is for the best.

The love of my wretched life could be something of an understatement if you were indeed a flesh and blood equal.
But there is no denying your blue gaze, the thrill and anticipation that courses through my veins when we meet, all agony washes away like a late Summer’s rain.

I can remember with a clarity so bright where I was before we became acquainted; the days and nights intertwined in a surge of the blackest ocean, the likes of which very few could comprehend.
Cherishing the time we’ve spent, condemning the tragedy that brought us together, I don’t know what else could have gotten me through the sound.

I cannot thank you enough for pulling me out.

© Copyright March 2015/July 2016

Spontaneous Combustion 

There is a hurricane raging inside me, the ramifications bordering on excruciating and overwhelming.
Caught in a whirlwind, there is sometimes nowhere to turn; the brave face I put on is so misleading.
Venturing out into the vast universe in which we reside, I find myself with frantic thoughts racing throughout my brain, grasping the familiar twinge in my abdomen I’ve tried so well to hide.

The storm that occupies the space cannot be contained, just beneath my flesh, the content and fragile bay, is shaken to the very core.
My ability to keep this disturbance in its place, the steadfast veil of tolerance falls entirely, obliterated by an unsettling wave of hurt and frustration.
I find myself faced with an unspeakable rage, annihilating the very fibers of this fragile structure that I’ve worked so hard to construct, my sanity and all I hold dear pushed to the brink.

Years have passed since that fateful day and still I am stuck at times in a torrent of confusion and awe, something I now know will never fully subside.
Its consistency is restricted to whenever the inflammation wants to reactivate, sending me swirling into a cyclone of uncertainty and a potential new treatment plan.
All my time spent in the darkness, my insides wrapped tightly in Christ’s thorns, the alluring light of relief and sanctuary that was once so intimidating and oh so far from my grasp, is now mine.

I survived being torn apart, laid bare, the pieces put back together in hopes of bringing on a better well-being.
The spontaneous combustion that once held me in its warming embrace is now an afterthought.
I survived medication after medication, sometimes unaware of their exact use, the potential harm occurring to cancel out another, just confident that they will make things brighter.
The spontaneous combustion that once held me in its loving embrace can get fucked.

I’m the strongest I’ve ever been.

© Copyright September 2014/July 2016

Immunity (Ghost Redux) 

My mind feels as though it is in a fog, the words I speak are not my own, and yet there is no way for me to be sure.
I can feel myself drifting, treading water without ever going under.
I cannot remember from one minute to the next, repeating whatever it was I said a moment ago, only to forget the next time around.
The pain I feel is sharp and dull in the same breath, despite the obvious contradictions.
My fingers grasp an easy relief that can only be dispersed every so often, which feels like an eternity to my war-torn insides.
I keep pressing my gray beacon of hope despite the fact I just pressed my thumb down mere seconds before.
I can feel myself getting anxious, the familiarity of pain beginning to take hold as it did in the past.
My fear shifts into panic as I continue to press the button, or so I am told later on.

I don’t remember making it to my room, I must have been too out of it to realize.
It is confirmed that my incessant pressing has caused my breathing to slow, something I hadn’t considered in my time of need.
I remember very little if anything from before I was transferred to where I am now, which I would imagine is for the best.
Despite what my body has been through, I look as though nothing has happened (if anything, a little tired perhaps).
I know, however, that this is only the beginning, this having not been my first attendance at this game.
As my body heals, pain gets worse, the more I try to push myself, the more intense it becomes.
I can feel a weakness growing inside, a shamefulness in relying on the instantaneous dose, a biting fear that it will hinder my recovery.
I attempt to hold out for as long as I can, until the pain becomes too much to bear, sometimes until it’s too late for it to take the full effect.

Dreams are often not dreams at all but rather the feeling of drifting I felt before, only now I am indeed fully submerged.
At that moment, it is the most beautiful feeling in the world, being underneath the veil of a safety so complete and so pure.
Nothing can touch me, or rather I don’t feel anything if it does.
To this day, I sometimes wish that it would grace me with its presence, that feeling of being under, although that I know it’s for the best that it didn’t.
For if it did, I would know of only its gratifying high, the sweet numbness of feeling nothing at all.
Despite the pain and all it has caused, I would take it in place of that numbness because at least I know I am still alive, not in a state of just being.

My time inside is considerably less of a stay than it was the first time around, which is rather welcomed in comparison to the latter.
It does little to change the consequence of what brought me here; my diseased insides turn me into that same kind of ghost again.
Only this time I have immunity, something can I most definitely live with for as long as it decides to stay, something I can thank modern medicine for.

© Copyright July 2016

A Normal, Respectable Citizen/Something Out Of A “House” Episode

I somewhat apologize for not finishing this a week ago…

Thursday, December 27th, was a day I was fully expecting and equally dreading. Fully expecting because I knew what would happen because I’d had said procedure done before, equally dreading because I hate hospitals with a fiery passion…

And to think, I used to want to be a doctor. What would my six-year-old self say?

…I thought I’d had an MRI (the procedure in question) done before because I did the same necessary preparation with a CAT scan I’d had done a while ago, but it turns out I was wrong. I never had an MRI. I should have realized the difference between the two when my doctor told me that I would need to remove my piercings.

I removed my earrings before I went to bed, leaving the task of taking out my snakebites to when I had some much-needed sleep behind me. Staring back at me, some hours later, I found myself without any surgical steel in my skin whatsoever. I felt naked without the familiar silver labrets through my lip. I’ve taken them out for medical procedures before, not to mention every time I clean them (Listerine every morning and night, and yet I’m still a clean freak), but I’d never had them not be a part of my being for as long as they were…Which I will elaborate on later.

The first thing that came to mind when I saw myself ‘without’ my snakebites was how incredibly normal I look. Yes, you heard right. I looked a normal, respectable citizen. Now I’m not saying that I’m not a respectable citizen because I am, but that isn’t always the vibe that’s given off. I do look young for my age (which isn’t in any way a problem) and the leather jacket I wear, combined with the piercings, might suggest some kind of rebellion, so I guess I know how the vibe can be unsavory, but still. I can’t count the number of times I’ve noticed individuals looking at me because of the two 14 gauge silver labrets in my lip, and if I don’t notice, my mom surely will. I’m not saying that I care what people think of me because I don’t. I learned a long time ago that it’s pointless to be worried about what others think of me because I am the way I am, and what some stranger thinks of me doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Okay, maybe that’s kind of a half truth. I don’t care what people think of me, but in the same breath, I admit it bothers me sometimes when I catch someone staring at me because of my snakebites…

Can’t people just be real and ask whatever question it is that might be running through their cranium, instead of staring? I remember when I first got the piercings, I would get asked all the time if they hurt. I later attributed said question to the fact that the two 16 gauge lip rings driven through my lip were pretty big…The smaller the gauge number, the bigger the gauge…There was one incident that occurred a couple of months ago that outshines them all. I was at the store, and someone who actually worked there asked me if my snakebites had hurt. I kind of saw the gentleman looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t want him to notice that saw him. Out of nowhere, he asked me if they’d hurt, and honestly, I was pretty surprised. I told him only the left one hurt the most because it was the first one to be pierced, leaving the right to not be bad at all. We exchanged a couple more words, and then got on with whatever it was we were doing. Now whenever I go into that particular store, I can’t help but smile.

…Oddly enough, I didn’t feel that foreboding sense of eyes staring at me the during the time I spent at the hospital. Sure, the nurse who put an IV in my arm looked at my arms for said vein, another nurse looked straight at me so I would understand what the preparation entailed (even though I knew what I was getting myself into) and I attracted looks from other nurses whenever I walked down the seemingly long hallway from the room I was in to the restroom and back again, but those were all expected. They were just doing their jobs, making sure I understood, checking in every now and then to see how I was doing, not to mention reminding me that I was under a slight time crunch.

The time crunch being the hour I had to drink three bottles of barium sulfate suspension. I didn’t just pull that name out of my head, that’s actually what it’s called. If you’ve never had any kind of imaging concerning your entrails, barium sulfate suspension helps better bring out whatever pictures are needed of said entrails …I said entrails twice in one sentence, and the first thing that comes to mind is The Black Dahlia Murder. Oh, metal…An hour might not seem like much of a time crunch, but it’s amazing how quick one hour passes on the clock, especially when the barium sulfate suspension you’re drinking isn’t exactly a Dr. Pepper. It’s not the most pleasant thing on the planet to drink, but it isn’t so incredibly bad that you’ll heave. I mean, I did make a “pukey-face” (similar to that of Dean’s expression at roughly 1:08 and again at 1:35 in the Supernatural reference clip at the end of this post), but thankfully didn’t actually puke.

For a minute, I felt like I was in an episode of House. Any minute now, Hugh Laurie will come walking through the door, saying that whatever could be wrong with me (other than what already is) is so incredibly simple to cure, and that an MRI isn’t necessary. If only Gregory House wasn’t fictional…In between pondering the House scenario and watching something about the Freemasons on the History Channel, I noticed that I’d already polished off two of the three bottles, ready, willing and able to slay the third with the same determination. Unfortunately, the same vigor and steadfast will didn’t come into play. The third bottle proved to be my Achilles’ heel, its weapon of choice a barium-and-hunger induced stomach-ache. Luckily, I pulled myself out of my own little hurt locker, made the weakness temporary and eventually finished the third and final bottle. Suck it, barium sulfate suspension.

Upon finally ingesting the last of the bottles, I was lead to the radiology section of the ward…”I walked the ward with you, babe. A thousand times with you.” Oh, Black Veil Brides. I commend you for putting a spin on a Billy Idol classic. Sorry, the music fanatic in me made me do it…I was scanned with a metal detecting wand, reassuring that I didn’t have any metal in my body or on my person. The very first thing that I noticed once I walked into the actual MRI room was that it was extremely cold. That’s the one thing I noticed about hospitals. It’s always cold, except in the actual doctor’s office. Every doctor’s office I’ve been into has always been unseasonably warm. I think it’s something that’s done on purpose to embarrass you, making it just warm enough to make you comfortable enough to want to fall asleep. I’ve either been caught sleeping or was close enough to feel its calming embrace, only to be kick started awake by paranoia.

The entire procedure itself seemed to take longer than the fourty-five minutes I was told it would. I’ve never been one to be claustrophobic, but I have to admit it did feel a little strange. Before any of the procedure even started, headphones were put on my head to cancel out the particularly loud noise the machines made whenever a picture was being taken…When I came home, I was telling my dad about it, and he said that they asked him what his favorite station was, what music did he like. I have to admit while I was kind of jealous, I’m glad that I didn’t have music playing. It would just be a distraction…The first thing that came to mind was Alex from A Clockwork Orange, restrained in the chair during the ‘Ludovico’ scene. Only then did that claustrophobic kind of feeling start to rise in my stomach, quickly replaced by the fleeting growl of hunger. My arms were strapped down so I wouldn’t move, and I had these thin weights on my upper and lower stomach, the areas where the images would be taken. The restraint on my arms and the feeling of the weights weren’t really bothersome because after a while I was sort of used to the numbness, that kind of foot-falling-asleep-feeling, without the aftershock sensation of pins and needles.

After what seemed like hours of falling in and out of real sleep and countless breathing exercises to ensure the proper picture, the MRI was finished. I was then accompanied back to my room, and given my choice of apple juice and saltine crackers. I got through my second pack of crackers and a couple sips of apple juice, only for my IV to be taken out and escorted back to the locker room where the rest of my clothes were. Once I got dressed and such, I made my way back into the waiting room, only to discover that there wasn’t as many people as there were before. I looked at my phone to see what time it was, and to my surprise and dismay, it was almost six ‘o clock.

Three and a half hours.

I wasted somewhere around three and a half hours at the hospital. I hate to use the word ‘wasted’ because it sounds a bit unpleasant and pessimistic, but that’s what it felt like. My entire afternoon was spent drinking barium sulfate suspension, in order to get a better sense of what could possibly be going wrong in my stomach, only to get the answer I somewhat expected several days later…The phone rang on New Year’s Eve, and I found out from my mom (who answered the call), that there was no inflammation whatsoever and that everything was normal…I knew I would get those results, but I suppose it’s better have my time wasted and everything be okay, as oppose to something being wrong. I don’t think my body would be too pleased if something else was wrong with me health-wise. I sure as hell know I wouldn’t.

While it was rather pleasant to be looked at as a normal, respectable member of society (even though I loathe the word “normal”), instead of an outsider, I still don’t really mind too much about what people think. My earlier feelings concerning my snakebites probably sound contradictory, but I wouldn’t be a human being if I didn’t have some flaws. Sure, I do present myself in a respectable fashion and try to always look my best (whether or not I feel as such), but that doesn’t mean I obsess over others’ opinions.  I present myself to the world with respect because if I didn’t value myself, not giving a damn about what I looked like before I walked out the door, then who would? The answer: No one. If you don’t have respect for yourself, it’s a lot harder for people to have respect for you.

On the health and medical front (as with my self-respect), I don’t see that changing any time soon. As much as I hate having Crohn’s Disease, it’s something that makes me unique, while at the same time, frustrates and angers me sometimes. It sucks, but it’s something I have to live with. Regardless of everything, and on a somewhat different note, I have high hopes for 2013. Something that I couldn’t say the beginning of last year.

I’m proud to be an outsider, snakebites and all.

The Girl With The Raindrop Tattoo

I’m not going to go into a huge, senseless rant about how I haven’t blogged since February because honestly that’s boring and I really don’t want to write about something boring. It’s almost like the past two months have been lackluster but they certainly haven’t. I know I said that this year will be different as far as the writing is concerned, and it definitely will be. I just haven’t really had the impulse to write or didn’t think I had anything interesting to write about…Until right now.

Way back in January, I mentioned that I put a healthy dent in Stieg Larsson’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, and thanks to Netflix, I watched all three Swedish films in the trilogy before I finished the novel. Strangely, it didn’t change how I felt about the book or stifled me from finishing the grand piece of work. Usually when I read a book, I’ve already seen the movie or I just end up losing interest in the novel because I already know the outcome of story. Sometimes it happens, other times it doesn’t. In the case with GWTDT, I found myself even more drawn into it and wanted to finish it at a quicker pace in order to get my hands on the next one. As I type, I’m currently involved with the third and final book in the installment, The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest, and with 538 pages to go, I’d say I’m well on my way finishing the brilliant trilogy.

The reason why I say brilliant is because that’s exactly what it is. I remember when I first saw a preview or something on TV for the Swedish GWTDT, I didn’t really think much of  the book or really the movie for that matter. I just thought they were some films that looked pretty good that I would probably never watch because they were subtitled. While there’s nothing wrong with subtitles, I couldn’t picture myself sitting for however long the movie was, reading subtitles, trying to figure everything out. As time went on, I started to see the books together in box sets at different bookstores, and then my mom bought my sister The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo for either a birthday or Christmas gift. I don’t really remember which occasion. Regardless of the occasion, there’s no denying that the movie is pretty damn good as well. Both Swedish and American.

Most of the time it seems like when foreign films are taken over the ocean and made into American films, they tend to lack in some respects, whether it be character, plot, etc. This surprisingly cannot be said for The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. I think what truly made the American version is the character of Lisbeth Salander, played by Rooney Mara. Her portrayal of Lisbeth was amazing. I absolutely adored Noomi Rapace’s equally beautiful portrayal of Salander in the original film, but there is no real comparison because both women brought their own brand of fury and beauty to the character…Lisbeth is a character all her own, unlike any other heroine out there. She’s extremely intelligent and moralistic, but at the same time is damaged in a way, doing things in a way that no one else would think of. She’s the type of character that you can relate to without even realizing such relation was possible. The whole time I read the book, and while watching both films, I felt some kind of connection with Lisbeth. I’ve in no way shape or form had the type of life she as a character had experienced, but she has this almost real-life quality that makes you empathize and root for her, while still questioning her actions. It isn’t every day that you stumble upon a type of character with that kind of audacity…Both Rapace and Mara do an incredible justice to one of the most interesting and original characters to date.

Needless to say, I’ve gushed about how in love I am with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo trilogy, (or technically the Millennium trilogy as it states on the back of The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest) and is starting to sound like one big book/movie review, but it’s not so chill out. Aside from reading like there’s no tomorrow, I found my deeply hidden talent during that week of insanely beautiful weather in March. When I still worked the stock room and compactor last summer, I took one of the coffin-shaped boxes suits are packaged in off the line and vowed to paint something awesome onto it. Almost a year later, with a couple of months to spare, I finally broke out my acrylic paints and began to make magic. The result: A gnarled, spooky looking tree with a bright moon behind it and dark purple layered over an equally dark blue as a background. Below my masterpiece that is my awesome looking tree (if I do say so myself), is a red anchor, accented with yellow to portray as years-old rust, with an oddly colored green and red rope intertwining behind said anchor, all on a light blue backdrop. It doesn’t seem like I accomplished that much of it because there is only the front of the box completed, but when I look back and think about the time and effort I put into it, it’s definitely something to feel good about.

Around the same time I started to work on my painting masterpiece that is the coffin-shaped box, my sister was making plans to move out of the house in which she had been living. Not just out of her place of dwelling, but out of the state as well. This might not seem like a big deal and at first it honestly didn’t, then I started to think about it. I’d known she would be leaving for a while before it started to sink in. She and her fiancé had planned on moving sooner, but things didn’t turn out as hoped and it became postponed. They both visited the state many times and were very fond of it ever since. I remember she brought me back a pair of Orca whale earrings the second time she was there. She would be leaving the state the end of March and I wouldn’t be able to see either of them until they came across the country for a visit. I say across the country because it isn’t a state or two over.

My sister and her fiancé are now residing in Seattle, some 2,000 miles from Ohio. I have to admit, it’s a little weird not having her live in the same state anymore. Usually I could just text her and ask if I could come over and hang out, ask if she would want to get coffee or just plain hang out. I remember a couple of years ago on Halloween her and I made the best pumpkin roll I’ve ever had, and before she left for Washington, we made awesome oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and once again two of the best pumpkin rolls I’ve ever had. I may not be able to bake or hang out with her anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost contact with her completely. We still text, she reads my blog and we’re both on Facebook…Oh where would the world be without it?…At least we’re using the site for what it was meant for, reconnecting. Whatever distance we are from each other, we’re never completely apart.

The month of April consisted of one of the three ‘Friday the 13ths’ we shall see this year, and while I’m not superstitious in any sense of the word, it hit me like it never had before. I woke up as I usually would, make myself some coffee, when out of nowhere, I felt this pain in my right side. At first I thought it was nothing, and just wrote it off as an ache or something. How foolish of me. The pain only got worse. I lay on the couch in the most pain I’ve ever been in my life. Yes, you read right. The most pain I’ve ever had in my life. This is coming from the girl with the raindrop tattoo. (If you read the post about my first tattoo, then you understand the reference). I remember I laid there for an hour, frustrated and fed up with it, when it stopped hurting altogether. I then proceeded to get on with my day, free of the pain my in side…Or so I thought. Some three and a half hours later, I was in pain again worse than what I started out with. At 9 ‘o clock I finally decided it was time to go to the emergency room. I’ve said before I have a high pain tolerance, but there’s only so much a person can take.

Long story short, after spending somewhere around 3 hours at the hospital, watching Storage Wars and Deadliest Catch, the verdict was ruled that I had developed kidney stones. Kidney stones. I then found out that individuals with Crohn’s Disease are more prone to kidney stones. I was given a prescription for pain, instructions to drink plenty of fluids and make an appointment with a urologist. After making the appointment with the urologist and having a CT scan done, it was determined that I indeed did not have a kidney stone. All the symptoms considered it be in fact a kidney stone, but in the end there was nothing there. Once I received this news, my urologist said that it could be something else, like a lump in the meat of my kidney. A lump in the meat of my kidney. Gross. After I had another procedure done, the verdict was that there was nothing wrong with me. In conclusion, I have no idea what caused me to have that pain and might never know. The story of my life as far as my health is concerned.

From my current obsession with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo trilogy and my almost masterpiece of a painting to everything in between, I’d say the past two months have been interesting to say the least. I wonder what the next couple months will bring. Only time will tell I guess…And you can be sure I’ll actually be blogging about it.

I’m the girl with the raindrop tattoo…I know exactly where I belong.

Plunging In, Head-First 

The last time I graced this blog with my words and experiences was in November…2 months ago…No, I haven’t fallen off the face of the Earth, no matter how many times I wished I could. Yes, I said it. There are times where I just wanted to turn off my cell phone, and not deal with anyone. Not log onto Facebook for a couple of days, and not deal with anything. It’s safe to say I did that. So while I haven’t fallen off the planet, I have learned a multitude of new things about myself since the beginning of the new year.

I remember at the end of my last post that I had no idea what would come from Autumn’s falling leaves and Winter’s impending snow…It’s now more than safe to say that I know what they brought…No job, surprisingly amazing health and an obstacle I’d rather not mention for the memories’ sake. Yes, you read correctly. My baker job didn’t work out as planned, but strangely, that isn’t really one of my major concerns right now. That’s right. I said a job isn’t one of my main concerns at the moment. I will find another job when I’m damn good and ready. Sure, my mornings are sometimes sleepless because of the night schedule I managed to uphold, but that’s nothing episodes of The Twilight Zone and other various titles on Netflix can’t occupy. And reading. I’m reading again. I finished The Devil in the White City that I’d been reading since last April, American Psycho (for the second time), The Great Gatsby, and am currently putting a healthy dent in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. It’s safe to say my inner bookworm is finally being unleashed after a long hiatus.

While the new year brought out my long-lost passion for reading, it also brought good health. Amazing health at that. Now, it might not seem like a very amazing thing, great health and all, but for me it is. Especially after what it put me through last year. No, it didn’t put me in the hospital or anything like that, but it made me learn something new about myself that I don’t think I was really seeing…To put it bluntly, I turn into a bitch when I don’t feel good. When I’m having a stomach-clenching flare-up, I become frustrated and take everything out on everyone else…Thankfully, I’m not like that anymore. I didn’t really change who I am, but rather just my medication. Sure, it might be more pills I have to take now, but I’m feeling a hell of a lot better. I wake up without stomach pain. I don’t find myself staying up at night because of stomach pain. I don’t randomly freak out and go into manic fits because of said stomach pain. I’m feeling amazing, and it’s a great feeling.

Despite the fact the beginning of this new year kind of sucked in its own little way, it’s also been the best start I would’ve asked for. I learned that while it’s great to have a job, I’m a lot less stressed without it, and feel significantly better health-wise. I don’t think I will ever really stop reading, writing or blogging, not matter how long I find myself uninspired or on hiatus for. I have a lot of new ideas for posts and poetry buzzing around in my brain, along with a couple posts I’ve been working on for a good 2 years now. Yes, you read right. I have a couple posts I started 2 years ago and have yet to finish. I blame my lack of motivation at the time, and everything in between…

I know I said this before, but I’ll say it again. This year is going to be different. No more going a couple of months without blogging. When I first started my blog, I would write every day, sometimes multiple times a day, and honestly, I sometimes miss that. This year will definitely be different. I’ll share more of my poetry and such, along with anything else that strikes my fancy that particular day, along with the unfinished posts I mentioned earlier.

…With all of this said, I’m just happy. I’m ready for whatever this new year has to offer.

I’m plunging in, head-first.