I want to be annihilated completely, I want reciprocal forgetting, I want the angels not to recognize me.


when you’re doing everything wrong, you begin to forget what’s right

I’m messing up again, no not in the heroin-arms-call-me-baby kinda way, but in another if not more significant way. I’m messing up with the love of my life.

Mostly, I feel out of it, oblivious to his pain, knee deep in my own night sweats, my own anxieties. I know he needs me more than I need him right now. But I keep pulling him into my rib cage, he holds onto th bone bars and cries out, again, I feel nothing. Too medicated to realize I’m the one killing my only hope.

I need to get a job, but nigling doubts hold me back. I’m scared I’ll fail. He’s riding his hopes on this. He needs me to make the moolah because we’re stuck, he’s being sued, we might lose ththe car, wait wait I can’t crack, I need that job, I’m too weak, I’m sick, wait no I’m screaming inside screaming at the top of my lungs, my bones are cracking, I’m in doubt, were gonnna lose the car, were going to die without my job. We’re not going to make it this time.

I’ve built a wall around my mind, so not a single person may find me. I can’t read him. He can’t read me. We need to break the walls, bring out the trumpets, marry his kingdoms ruler to my queen, build trust. It’s so simple ain’t it? Ain’t it? 

I can’t hold the details together, I can’t sew them into my seams. You said what? When was that? I forget. I don’t know. I’m going to hide now.

There must be a way to return to normality. To a time when he kisses me, touches me again, instead of me forcing my desperate lips onto his reluctant, miserable ones. When we can look with laughing eyes at each other, instead of tearful ones. 

how do I go back? Or is it forward?

Pale Angel

The pale angel, whispering and angular, is at the center of a fragmented dream world. His vocal poetry is haunting and lithe – winding light around his stairstep-spine. Call him “Beautiful One.” Call him “Best Friend.” Call him “You-Take-My-Breath-Away.” The only instrument he requires is freedom, the type that moves with dissonant waves – all lyricism and vigor, like a breakdown made for dreamers. But, I don’t think he saw me. I don’t think he noticed my desperation for something real, for someone to touch my ribcage-elbows-collarbone and affirm my existence. Can I help but to want to be danced upside down, to spin around like youthful romance, to jump and be okay? I look into my bathroom mirror, striped down bare and ready to take my shower. It’s 3:00am but I have nowhere to be tomorrow, or the next day or the next. 


boys dont just hurt with their words – they hurt with their silences


i though it was me, still do in those harsh moments between crying and not, midnight and tomorrow. I feel hollow. I never knew recovery would be just as hollow as addiction/

but it is – pleasantly hollow.

there is nothing to do now but starve. i feel gross and fat. my medicine leaves me lethargic and fat. this house where i eat leaves me unsatisfied and fat. my boyfriend wont touch me thus leaving me sexless and fat. fat. fat. fat.

where there is a will there is a way. He hurts me more everyday – until reding takes precedent over talking and familiarity takes the place of love.

is there love anymore? theres certainly no passion. no lust. nothing sacredly primal. but is there still a sacredness left? When the bodies of two lie facing each other? holding on tight for the sheer force of the world might rip them apart. Have the angels come unstuck from heaven?

I like it, I’m not gonna crack
I miss you, I’m not gonna crack
I love you, I’m not gonna crack
I killed you, I’m not gonna crack

I like it, I’m not gonna crack
I miss you, I’m not gonna crack
I love you, I’m not gonna crack
I killed you, I’m not gonna crack

we shall never know.

Medicinal M&ms

A lot of times I don’t take my medicine seriously. I frequently skip doses. I don’t think it’s a good thing, but I do feel more myself when I don’t take them. I also have more shamanic visions which I really like. Maybe I’m just crazy though?

on the other side. I pop the anti anxiety drugs like candy. 2,4,6…12. Who knows. I stopped counting now.

I don’t want to feel tonight

i’ll follow you forever

the snow won’t go away, my nose runs down my face
no one sees me here, it doesn’t even matter
and every step i take, i stay in the same place
i can’t begin to start again why can’t i just be perfect?

i will never recover from this
i will never believe in this again
i can never go back to the way i used to be before this started

– “ides of march” by Silverstein 

You are my world, dearest babydoll. You haven’t seen me, the crazy, the depraved sick things of my life that stick to my ribs like mother’s lies.

Crazy. Something I’ve been told all my life. Maybe I have been all my life. Old life, told all life, as long as I can remember I’ve been “different” a charade of normalcy. It never felt right to me. Friends? So hard to keep. It’s the spirits that haunt me, that listen, that respond. I love it. I love my treefriends. They make me happy and feel normal. But deep down, I fear I’m not. Fear I’ll never be accepted. That one day I’m Just going to break and end up in a ward for the rest of my Life. It’s been prophecized, a demon the scourge of my mind. Myself. My own sick thoughts that have lulled me into vivid nightmares for so long now. I’ve lived in fear most of my life. But not with you, finally, oh baby not with you. You make my life a dreamland, like everything can suddenly be special again. The dark holds me but you, oh sweetness… you must be the light.

It’s thanksgiving today. I feel thankful. Mom said I’ve been making progress…which means ugh now I have to ruin thanksgiving again. I have to regress so she doesn’t treat me differently. So she doesn’t one day think I’m magically “better” and then poof I’m an adult. I don’t want to be an adult because I KNOW what that means: responsibility, mundaneness, endless work, meaninglessness, routine tasks, no magic, no innocence, no fun, no happiness….boring. Stupid. Horrid.

I don’t want any of it.

Sometimes I think it mght be ok…but those thoughts scare me. It’s like my mind is turning against me, my body has already turned against me. I remember when I hit puberty, plucking out pubic hairs with a tweezer and when they got too much, ripping them out in clumps by hand. Wearing tight sports bras to band my chest. Never wanting to change my clothing style till it became ridiculous to the point of ridicule. I still don’t like jeans.


“Peter Pan Syndrome”

We love the taste of cereal and would have breakfast at every meal if we could – cheerios and chocolate milkshakes over a pile of comic books, dreaming.

Let’s never read directions, but twist our way through streets – destination anywhere – winding our way to sunset. And it seems so careless, but I just want to let my soul drift with yours in an eternal state of wanderlust.

If you’re curious, my favorite color is violet. I sing in the shower sometimes and I read books in the corner next to the vent. I wish I could smell like strawberry candy, and sidewalk chalk was my first paint brush. I have trouble using a desk at home and I will always harbor an affinity for oatmeal raisin cookies. I have nothing to hide

Tell me your dreams over the phone and take me with you to that sun-drenched island – home base – with your library of matrices, wastelands, lost cities, and demons. In the eclipse of my sun, when my imaginary friends disappear in the darkness, please remain.

You say what you feel, and mean what you say, and say what you see, and you see love. I do too.

Let’s run away to never-never land and never, never come back.


Hold grudges. 

It’s poison to the soul.


Letter To My Lover

Dear Forever,

I have pushed through bodies to get to you, pushed through late nights crying over the wrong people, through meaningless, thoughtless sex, and through hopes that have always led to despair. I was mechanical. I was mostly drunk. I was dead.

I though it was normal to cry every night, to let things happen to your body – unwanted touches, and painful caresses ending in loss of myself, moment by moment, piece by piece. It does not get better than this, I told myself endlessly. I made this bed. I deserve this bedding.

mom’s the only one who cares about me, and sometimes she doesn’t understand, know or feel my pain, my loss of control, my self disdain

You showed up at the brutal parting, my forced removal from The All Knowing One, a painful distancing. I cut my arms so deep while I was on the phone with him after he said – it’s done, don’t contact me anymore, you’re poison. I cut them so hard, so emotionally. Blood dripped down my arms, blood pooled on the carpet, my mother screamed and screamed until I couldn’t hear her anymore. The world blurred as my fragile network of lies and truths, or lies that became truths, burned in my heart. Dad got the gauze. My younger brother fell silent. He’s been silent a long time now.

And in the wake of the waves of pain, deep from the ashes of my life, as I tried and struggled with purpose and loneliness. I found you. I fucking found you online. I /saw/ you. I knew.

I don’t want to say you fixed me, because I had a hand in that too. I don’t want to say you destroyed me, because I loved heroin just as much. We have had our share of tough times, just like a plethora of good. I didn’t want to believe we couldn’t be together without drugs, so I mostly didn’t… and we got sober, we got closer, we got healed and we now have each other to thank for it, to save ourselves from the misery of returning to the families we wronged, our lives we ruined, and the pain of our emotions returning to us.

I love your humor, I love your scent, I love the way you are so honest with me, never leading me on or leading me astray. You love me for me, for who I am not who I want to be or worse, who I think I am. You don’t care if my hair is knotted, I just woke up or I am throwing a tantrum because I’m sleepy and can’t find my phone and think I’m going crazy because I checked there, no, I /checked over there/ do. not. Oh ok it was over there? Thanks.

We are not the same, I learned that from you. We don’t have to be the exact same person, that’s ok. We don’t have to be in the same room, which is code for: I feel secure you won’t leave me. I can sleep without you immediately dropping everything and going to sleep too. I had to learn that also. You’ve been a great teacher. You’ve been a better best friend.

I can honestly say I /know/ you, which is almost as good as loving you. I understand, so do you. So when there’s a day we don’t kiss or sit next each other all day or I go for a walk without you, I don’t feel any less loved, any less special, in love or cared about. It’s quite the gift you gave me.

You didn’t steal my heart, you mended it and let me hang on to it for a while. The fact that you have it now? It’s because I decided you were worthy. It was mine to give. It’s mine to take back if I so choose.

Nevertheless, it’s yours now, and I love you so much.

Thank you, with all the love of my being,

To you, my Beautiful One

–Catie bug.

Maybe I’m just too hard to love?

Why do you think it’s ok to say things like that. I am that worthless? Am I that DISGUSTING that it’s ok for you in your mind to say things like “I’m going to hit you” meaning it seriously if I don’t SHUT UP about something. If I don’t remain Voiceless and say whatever it is you want to hear. Is it not ok for something to slip out, something not about you or mean or rude, but a desperate plea from a worried girl? Something so not ok that it’s alright to threaten me and say that you’ll never care where or how I get cigarettes again if I don’t shut up right now. Shut up… after two or three sentences?

I just wrote you a beautiful love letter too. I told you about it…you didn’t ask to read it. Is that another thing you don’t care about like how you obviously care about me. 

Remember how you were in the car? When we were on heroin? Remember how abusive you were then? Remember how you BIT ME in a fight for a few bags? Remember how you would make me feel like shit everyday, make me feel less than a human being? You’ll NEVER have to feel that way because you, oh you, are a WHITE MAN and I am NOT a MONSTER.

I fucking hate everything? I wonder why.

If ou think it’s ok to threaten me. It’s not. If you think it’s working? It probably is because right now I am terrified. You’re frustrated? I’m SCARED. Fuck you. You think I was crying because I didn’t get my way. Are you insane? Maybe it’s because you made me feel worthless like some piece of shit you can just kick and not worry about. I worry about you. I love you and yes, I still do yes. 

I don’t want it to be this way. I said something stupid. I admit that, but really? 

Not cool dude.


[edit] just got told to go to hell, to fuckng kill myself and that I’m worth less than his cell phone. I screamed and screamed. I don’t get it… maybe I will kill myself or cut at least… I need to pour out this sadness and rage through some good ole bloodletting.Thanks for nothing. Also this is all because I asked him to ask his dad for five dollars. All I want is for him to put this in perspective.

Oh and I interrupted his “writing” too much. Get a life. Good writers can deal with families and LIFE in general. That’s fucking HOW people write.

So I left the car and walked to a graveyard. He followed. “Is this where you think I belong? I belong here don’t I?” 

“You shouldn’t take my words so seriously. You know I didn’t mean that. Why are you taking it to the end that degree?”

“Hm isn’t that exactly what you did to me?”

Silence, stillness, thoughts

And all I wanted to say was I love you, I forgive you, I understand, I don’t know.


Trading Bondage for Vagabondage

Well, after about two hard years of lying, stealing, cheating, fucking the banks and the credit card companies, all for the love, no, the burning desire, unstoppable force of heroin, we are clean and have been for about two weeks. It’s nice, er, it would be nice if we didn’t have to live this miserable homeless existence in the car or out on the street panhandling. At least we’re not getting sick, right?

However there is a few problems.

1. The void in my heart/brain/soul that heroin numbed and filled is back again. I’ve been trying to fill it with my pagan faith, positive affirmations, meditation and magick. But alas, it still pains me. I think one of these days, I’m going to o step in from of a speeding 18-wheeler and nobody will be able to stop me.

2. Kevin doesn’t want to kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I thought that would help with the void. He’s been so mean to me – ordering me out of the car, throwing Charlie (my lovable oversized stuffed brown bear that I feel is my protector and good good friend), yelling at me, driving risky, and all around terrifying me. He says he’s sorry eventually sometimes – but this last time…. was so bad…. I’m finding it harder and harder to forgive him. I don’t want it to be this way, but I’m not th one that started this.

3. My parents are moving from the house that I grew up in to a home in Florida. That means I lose the house I love, the woods and trees that grow on that property that I love, my parents won’t be here to give me food, clothing or money, I won’t have access to my magick box, clothing, blankets, jewelry or anything. When I miss my mom or dad they are supposed to be there – accessible for hugs and snuggles and taking care of me when I’m sick or sad or in need of their parental love and presence. My world is literally turning inside out with the thought that they’ll be leaving MY HOME. MY FOREVER HOME, MY HEART HOME, MY GREATEST SANCTUARY AND SHELTER. Annnnd me and Kev are on methadone, which you have to go to the clinic everyday so it’s not like we can just stop that and leave. Kev can’t even leave the state right now cuz he’s on probation. And I’m not sure if dad, who hates my bf with a passion, will help both of us get set up in Florida.

I literally hate everyone right now – except maybe my mother (which is extremely odd)




i want a boy with lips like morphine…

Knock me out every time they touch me
I wanna feel a kiss just crush me
And break me down

I haven’t written about Kevin yet. Steve and I broke up in December and it was really really tough. I cut my arms terribly and now have long, pink, puffy scars. It was the literal worst. I thought I was going to die so many times. I fantasized about it constantly. Then something incredible happened. My life was saved. I met Kevin online – I noticed him immediately on the site and messaged him. It was like magic – we connected instantly. Now we have been dating (in person) for about 2 months.

I’m scared of how hard I fell for him. I constantly question my feelings – are they real? is this really happening? I don’t know anymore. He cares about me like no one else – I don’t think I have ever been cared for so much. Sometimes I still think about Steve but it’s becoming harder and harder to remember him. It’s like Kevin is erasing that whole disaster. I remember bits and pieces. Foreheads touching, toads, flashes of memories that make me smile sadly.

I feel kindof sad today. I haven’t really been seeing things but I have been doing a lot of heroin. I don’t think I’m an addict yet though. I love it so much and I love that Kevin and I can get high together. It’s the absolute best to be able to be totally honest with someone. I’ve never had that in my whole life. really. I lie to everyone constantly. Even when I don’t have to, I lie.  I don’t even feel bad about it.

I also haven’t been eating or sleeping. The eating isn’t really an issue though. I can live without eating much. I actually hate eating. It’s a waste of time, money and calories. I like sleeping though and not being able to sleep is really fucking me up. I stay awake in limbo for hours. Shock waves in my chest keep me from nodding off. The heroin helps immensely though. It’s the perfect drug. I don’t feel like I have an eating disorder but sometimes I really think I do. The amount of thinspo on my dash is proof enough.

Back to Kevin. I can honestly say I love him. Which is weird because I never thought I would be able to love anyone but Steve. Kevin literally swept me off my feet. He became everything so soon. I don’t quite trust it yet – but I want to oh I want to. We also have the best sex. Which helps alot. We haven’t really been doing anything because of all the dope and work and such but when we do it’s amazing.

I feel like I’m chasing something – like an idea or a ghost. I feel crazy a lot. I haven’t felt myself all week. I feel broken and bent and disordered. I feel like this is the consequence of some brain chemicals gone haywire. I feel especially moody. I feel like I should be writing poetry all day but I have homework to do that I have been putting off.