GIRL SPEAKS: my demons turned to angels (now theyre flirting with each other)

the loudest thoughts come out to play at night, demons crawling on all fours out of the shadows, the thoughts buzzing through my brain at rapid pace. beside me, my boyfriend breathes softly, his exhales tickling the thin hairs on my arm as i lie awake, tossing and turning with only the ceiling fan maintaining the steady, ambient noise.

silence is so fucking loud.

the ceiling fan is keeping me company tonight, quelling my inner monologue and i appreciate it for that. i wonder how many rotations the ceiling fan does in a minute. maybe counting the rotations will help me fall asleep.

i fill my life up with podcasts, music, anything to run away from my own thoughts. sometimes i wonder if the magic in the world will ever return or if its gone for good.

sometimes i wonder if the music, the shows, the art that i like even matter if no one else in my circle gives a shit about my wants and opinions. in a small posse of intense, judgmental personalities and varying interests, i wonder if anyone will listen – all i want is to be heard.

im learning to stand up for myself – i mean, ive always known how to fight back, but when it comes to my friend group, i feel like im always compromising.

im so FUCKING god damn tired of compromising.

im not that generous, and maybe were all selfish and unaware of our behavior, how some of us steamroll others more than desired (and it is never desired), how some of us are tonedeaf to those were supposed to genuinely give shits about, how some of us seem to believe their interests are more important.

i love my friends, but i question whether they love me.

maybe one day, ill fight through the pain of life, learn to be less sensitive to ignorant comments and negativity, be able to accept that people give a shit. maybe one day, ill find my way back to sanity.

maybe im just a small fish in a small pond, and thats all ill ever be.

“guess hell on earth needs company.”

hell on earth, for sure. at least the demons will always be there (for company, you know).

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: elmers glue is just a temporary fix

by default, having something automatically equates to the possibility of you losing that something.

sometimes i wonder if itd be easier to have nothing at all. i think about the clean slate, new identity all too often lately.

i wanted escape – clearly that didnt work out. sometimes i think im the cause of conflict, the catalyst or whatever. sometimes its hard not to think im the problem.

overly emotional, as my parents put it.

and as my boyfriend puts it, you snap at people all the time so (by default), you should be okay when people snap back at you.

i dont know why im like this, why i cant stop bitching, grand gestures and resentment over misunderstandings. im trying to drill into my thick skull that were all human, and we all snap when we reach our breaking point (at least thats how my therapist puts it; we all have emotions, and my emotions should be valid).

maybe my breaking point is more fragile, built differently, as if im constantly shattering for tiny happenings, and in the end, im just porcelain pieces precariously pasted back together with washable elmers glue (yes, the shit thats fun to smear on your hand and peel off in one whole layer).

sometimes i cant tell if i feel trapped; by my life as its entirety, the influences, the proximity. uncertainty – lost, empty with nowhere to escape to.

and maybe i just dont know how to love fully, without the charged emotions or toxicity involved.

i dont know how to just flip the off switch on my brain, and im working on it (i promise). its just empty promises anyway if no one believes you.

and thats something even elmers glue cant fix – rampant, explosive emotions, being on defense because the worlds always fucking raining on me, the problem and the agent or chaos and hostility.

its always raining on me – and the elmers glue is just going to wash away until all that remains is a pile of porcelain shards.

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: better off mute (or dead, according to hammurabi)

if i cant be snippy, i may as well be a mute.

i wonder why people tolerate me, why they let me get away with shit they wouldnt let anyone else do – is it because they pity me for simply not knowing, naive (and intoxicated, for the most part), stumbling around aimlessly and blindly? is it because im cute?

i can think so highly of myself sometimes.

i put myself on a pedestal, holding true to my heart that i have priority on rights – and i deserve to have what i want. maybe its my only child syndrome outshining itself, making me feel like i always need to be the center of attention.

if we were still following the code of hammurabi, i probably would have been put to death a long time ago (or at least, my tongue cut out – i clearly welcome myself speaking out of turn, and ive been told i write letters that ruin egos and break hearts).

take what you can from this – to each their own.

maybe a bitch will always be a bitch. maybe im just a spoiled, self-serving narcissist that reeks of privilege.

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: bitch is being a bitch

sometimes i wonder if i actively choose to make my life complicated or if im just complicated and i cant help it – its a part of me.

it seems like i cant stop aggravating people lately; whether intentional or not, i cant stop snipping at people, pulling away from the physical touch and acts of affection. maybe im too stubborn to admit that im not always right.

i guess you can call me a hypocrite – someone who constantly bitches, goes off for no reason in particular but cant handle being spoken to in a harsher tone of voice or yelled at (i retaliate or i crumble – fight or flight taking action).

i crumbled today.

my boyfriend takes the short end of the stick with my parents as a close second when it comes to my emotional outburts, my constant lashing out and fussiness, unwillingness to forgive and forget because i feel wronged (remember, im always the victim, at least in my eyes).

everyone keeps saying im too emotional.

what does it even mean to control your emotions?

i truly believe that im incapable of controlling my emotions (physically or emotionally) even with therapy, with benzos, with support and love.

sometimes i think my parents have started to love me less in the past few years because im a pain in the ass. even my boyfriend tells me that im wearing on him, with my constant chaos, explosive anger and uncompromising temperament. sometimes i feel like theyre obligated to love me, as if i were some chore on the list that needs to be dealt with.

my parents say their love is unconditional – but is it? theyll leave me one day and im terrified for that day.

and im scared my boyfriends going to get fed up and leave me, once he realizes im not worth the trouble – and i cant handle being alone. is it time to find other options in case he leaves me?

i dont think he can love me forever (people always leave).

when im mad, im fucking livid. and i want justice – for all the things wronged, things taken.

im toxic and i know it. i just cant help it.

i dont want to lose my relationship with my parents, but being scolded for having a voice, yelled at to “listen,” i cant handle it. i just left my parents home, still reeling, still angry despite all the shit theyre going through with my evil, deluded aunts (we can call them “thing 1” and “thing 2”; for what was supposed to be a relaxing staycation and an escape from my life as it is (i need to gain some clarity), it was a fucking disaster.

and im sorry to my parents, that i cant learn to shut the fuck up and i feel the need to interrupt because im tired of always listening, that theyre under a lot of stress unrelated to me but im selfish enough to just walk out anyway to prove that they can lose me if this trend continues.

and im sorry to my boyfriend, who i put down more than i want and i wear the passive aggression and use it against him. and when he snapped last weekend after bitch (me) was being a bitch, all i wanted was to escape to my parents home, a retreat to all thats familiar. i was so excited for this weekend.

but look how well that worked out? jokes on me.

and i wonder whether love can ever actually be unconditional, as i grind peoples gears and continually poke the bear to get some form of reaction.

i dont think anyone can love me unconditionally at this point. damaged goods and too many emotions and breakdowns – who wants trash?

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: national clase azul day

im starting to get the hang of this whole blogging thing again (i think). i guess you could say its like riding a bike and old habits die hard (flashback to my early 2010s tumblr era).

welcome to my stream-of-consciousness (its dark in here, im aware). maybe its good for me to put my thoughts out there, release them into the world and see what happens instead of locking my feelings in a bottle. i guess this is my way of cleansing myself of the things i could never say out loud.

whos even 100% honest these days?

when people ask how you are doing, you plaster on a fake smile and you reply, “im fine.” anything less leads to prying eyes and unwarranted questions.

im fine, im always fine. just fine.

i dont remember a lot of my last year or so, but i do know where i was a year ago from today. i was at silverlake reservoir, celebrating a friends birthday over zankou chicken and drinks. he had wanted clase azul, insisted (and disinvited a friend over the friend not getting him fancy, fancy tequila, a pettiness i know and appreciate).

he would have been 30 today.

i knew of him since my freshman year – scattered encounters here and there, as he was a few years older. he was always the person who had the drug connections – pick your poison, and hed probably know one or two people in your city who sell. the guy who took a line of molly (thinking it was adderall) when we were all coming down from it during my absurd month of rolling every single weekend; the guy id ask for a coke connect in houston; the guy who tried to get me to hook up with his friend (who was so desperately awkward then, but i consider him my friend now too).

i got to know him last summer, when he came to los angeles for my roommates birthday and didnt leave los angeles for the next six months. he stayed with us for the greater part of that summer (on and off), and id admit, it felt like he became our sixth roommate. and through it all he became my friend, over shopping on la brea, smearing on chunky clay face masks with me and my boyfriend, bonding over flum vapes (the group chat you started with us on instagram hasnt been active without you).

while we were no way as close to him as our roommates were, im so grateful we got to know a personal side to him this summer – endless pit of energy, networker, a bit egotistical (arent we all a bit of narcissists here?) but also entertaining, kind. he was a leo, and i feel like ive always gotten along with leos.

and there are these memories that i hold, bottled up, knowing he wont be here to make those moments happen, the action of bringing people together. ill never be invited to the 100 thieves mansion in venice again, to a party with a guest list that my name was actually on, watching “insecure” stoned out of my mind with him and my roommate on halloween night as lines of coke were being passed around. and ill never see that picture he had taken of us, the college reunion and the summer of revival after the long covid season.

he was the reason i gave people a chance, the people i automatically assumed id hate in college suddenly making their way into my life. so thank you – i never got to say thank you, for any of those memories.

and there are the things we were supposed to do – the double date we were going to go on with my boyfriend and my friend who you were attracted to, the weed swap meet with the entry fee.

he was just always around.

maybe thats the most unsettling thing about an unexpected, early death. you never know its your last time seeing them until theyre gone.

its the anxiety of not knowing – that this accident was going to happen, if theres an afterlife and if youre happy. i dont believe in a god (i guess id consider myself agnostic but lately i lost all belief in a higher power lately), but if theres a heaven, let me know by giving me a sign?

do you believe in signs?

im on the fence, but id like to. we all need some hope, id think.

a month ago when i was in las vegas (just a few days before my roommates birthday), i had found a ticket in my purse. it was for the rose bowl flee market (i think theyre every sunday, but my memorys not the most accurate), and i remember taking numerous photos of our three flum pens, laid out in a row on top of my purse, my legs in the backdrop as he drove me and my boyfriend to pasadena.

vapes and shopping and drugs – as it always will be (its the small things i choose to remember). clase azul and the text war that ensued.

whats the difference between a sign and just another stupid coincidence?

i cant be sure.

so happy 30th, and heres to a petition to make july 20th national clase azul day in your honor and name.

your presence is felt and we miss you.

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: whats behind the loewe sunglasses?

one day, i hope to look back at my present self and laugh – for all the moments that could have been dealt with more grace, the moments that seemed like the world was gonna shatter because of one wrong word, an insensitive action inflicted upon me (the melodramatic victim, always).

i relish in my self pity, feeling miserable over nothing in particular. theres a part of me that is truly convinced that i love feeling sorry for myself and no one else can sympathize as much as i do (for myself). old habits die hard, especially on a past built on self-hatred, negative energies, always wanting more.

selfish, no?

i balance between thinking im the badass queenpin that controls this world (and this is where my narcissism peaks through), to feeling im a nobody, no voice, no worth (and this is the side of me dictated by my withering mental health).

when i talk to my therapist about my identity crisis, she says that maybe im already on the side of the greener grass, that ive grown so accustomed to my world where the vibrancy and brilliance, the novelty of it all, have dulled out into muted earth tones with shades of blue splotched in between.

maybe im so used to wearing my loewe sunglasses with blue tinted lens, the color is getting lost in translation. im not taking them off though – i refuse to take them off.

maybe i just cant stop being hard on myself and putting myself down for all of the things i dont know instead of celebrating the things i do know (pity parties for one are much easier than me recognizing my strengths).

maybe im not as lost as i feel – maybe i take things for granted.

maybe i need to lose what i have in order to appreciate it.

but for now, i take comfort in hiding behind my loewe sunglasses and i make peace with the blues, just so i can throw my own pity party.

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: when the grass is greener on the other side

one of my most cherished (and brilliant) friends and i have endless conversation about what it means to be happy, how happiness or the feeling of “content” is even achieved in the first place, in a polarized world void of the colors that lie in between. we wonder if enough is ever really “enough,” chained in the prison of our own minds. the grass is always greener on the other side and we yearn to “do better” (whatever the fuck that means).

we jump from feeling “happy-go-lucky”, that lightness we want so badly to maintain, to feeling empty, sad because the worlds a disaster (and our lives feel like it too).

we chase the highs, mourn our lows, silence dispersed in between for all the times weve struggled too much to speak.

sometimes i think ive run out of things to say to the world. other times, i hold deep in my heart the things i wish to say, but then i remember that the things i want to say dont matter.

its all so pointless sometimes, isnt it? moments that are supposed to matter forgotten, while that offputting comment made at you – mocking – it live rentfree.

does everyone else view happiness as walking on eggshells? one wrong song, one unwarranted statement – everything id treated as fact, shattered by such minor happenings.

“dont let me drown.”

who am i supposed to be? where am i supposed to be?

is this my life? what the fuck am i supposed to do with it?

am i on the side of greener grass already?

maybe the green, green grass is suffocating me. maybe i cant read my hearts desire, handicapped by the coulda’s, woulda’s, shoulda’s.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH IDENTITY CRISIS: the uncertainty questions commitment and were all a fucking mess

beginning, rise, peak – rise, peak, fall

for a girl with an ongoing identity crisis, i know of two things: i have a boyfriend who loves me and i have a close group of friends (a privilege as it seems, as most people at our age/older seem to label superficial acquaintances as their “friends” because they have none).

id like to think that i am one of the lucky ones – to have people to cry with, people to talk to, people to rely on, people to go on endless shit rants about those we despise and judge. i have people who truly give a shit, and maybe thats the reason i dont feel the need to impress or reach out, the reason people need to come to me instead of vice versa. id like to think that in a way, my friends shaped me into who i am today and im afraid of what i could lose.

having close friends comes with a price (or not a “price”, but a commitment maybe) – as cliche as this sounds, friendships like a plant. i picture my venus fly trap plant child, try to remember to keep the ceramic red pot filled with distilled water, let it soak so its well and nurtured and taken care of. friendships deserve attention (unless the friendship was meant to die, and that happens).

i cant tell if i pay too little attention to the point of ignorance, or if i pay too much, overthinking and analyzing every little moment.

we live with two of our friends – and my boyfriend and i cant see eye-to-eye on when to move out. while hed be more than happy to pack up our shit and move out in october at the absolute latest, im not opposed to staying for a bit longer. maybe underneath the hesitance, theres an underlying reason. maybe it all comes down to timing, lack of time and claustrophobia of time.

is it too soon?

i need time. more time.

its hard for me to admit why its so difficult for me to move, why im hesitant and im questioning everything lately. i dont know how to tell my boyfriend that im afraid ill feel lonely once we move out together, that im sometimes not as sure about us as he seems to be, or even as certain about us as i was when we started dating.

my minds a mess, and im not quite sure what to make of it.

is this loneliness supposed to last forever? when do you know that the rise and the peak are over, and all that remains is the inevitable, doomed fall?

sometimes i wonder if were all just lying to ourselves when we hold onto the belief that we as a couple will last forever. maybe we hold on for the comfort, the last beacon of hope in a sad, empty world.

maybe its when my boyfriend confessed that he thinks he loves me more than i love him and the pessimist in me wonders if there is an ounce of truth in that statement, only for him to take it back later when i press him on why he feels this way.

and sometimes, i wonder if we stay – stagnant – because starting all over sounds too intimidating and taxing, and we choose to settle from our shared laziness when each day we feel further and further apart. its in the small moments, and i cant help overthinking.

and i wonder if its easier to cut ties with everyone in my universe (friends, boyfriend and all), because sometimes we all need to press to reset button; new city, new identity, new posse and all in a very walter white “breaking bad” fashion.

am i one of those destined to feel lonely in a room surrounded by people, their banter between themselves becoming white noise and im always on the periphery, trying to make sense on why im always the last to be in the know, why i feel like i need to put thrice the amount of effort for little return?

i wonder why i even matter, what the point of this existence is when it seems like i dont have a voice and ive never understood the feeling of “content” or how to reach it. highs and lows – always.

i dont know what the point of this word vomit even means, whether im actually lucky by having people to call friends, acting out satisfaction when im not and im over all this, or i just tell myself that to get by.

one day, ill move to a different city, cut all ties with my past and present, change my name and rewrite my identity as a whole so i can be someone else, anyone else.

one day, ill stop lying to myself, pretending that im significant when im just one more number on the census, how many souls exist on this universe, as if my existence even really mattered in the first place.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH COVID: quarantini

so i currently have covid. apparently, its the gift that keeps on giving, as ive graciously given covid to all my roommates (theyll thank me for the following months of immunity after this all passes).

covid – miserable? yes.

quarantine – lonely? yes.

reason why i got covid – worth it? yes.

ive (tried) to be the type of person who “doesnt shit where they eat,” my mind automatically painting neutral situations as either black or white, categorizing people as good or bad – defined boundaries, a fine line between two polar opposites (minding my own fucking business in hopes of you minding yours too).

but the happenings tell a different story.

“dont shit where you eat,” they say.

yet im the girl who hooked up with her roommate and best friend, all wrapped into one.

he said he wouldnt date me – and i said “ok.” he said to hook up with other guys, as if i should prove that im non-committal to him – and i said “ok.” vulnerability refuses to unravel, and feelings are left unspoken. and all i can say is, “ok” – for the fear of knowing, the fear of fear itself.

at some point, the walls come caving in, crumpling like paper mache; the line is blurred, and theres no escape from the undeniable reality – the chemistry being the most obvious, rejection a coping mechanism for the both of us. he said he wouldnt date me – well today, hes still my roommate but hes also officially been my boyfriend since then.

i guess with risk there comes reward (or vice versa?). i won the lottery with who i chose to be with. no awkward introductions, or act of approval from the friends whos opinions i value so much – they already know you and i do too (the perks of dating someone in your close-knit friend group).

so how my relationship started – i shat where i ate, and in return, i received a boyfriend, one whos reserved in his emotions at times, but shows his love in actions, checking on me to make sure im okay (because we all know i love attention).

and sometimes i wonder how we got to this place – a place of comfort, safety, and trust. i wonder where time has gone, as we continue to live in this streamline modern historic home with our two roommates (another couple), this place weve called home for almost two years. i wonder where time is going, what to expect as naturally, i always picture the worst case scenario.

and then i wonder if ive changed, if im still that self-sabotaging, manipulative bitch that the ghosts of my past claim i am (was?). i wonder if i just continue hurting person after person (why does everyone like playing the victim?), half-assed promises thrown out the window and words piercing like glass shards. i wonder whether the calm in you can balance the anger in me. i wonder if you deserve a category of “be better” that i cant offer.

and i wonder what life would be like if i were with someone who didnt let me blast “sincerely, kentrell” on drives together, the songs we skip when listening to the album by ourselves the same as one another, as if our brains communicate telepathically (“sad boy never happy again,” our little inside joke). i wonder what life would be like if i werent with someone as patient as ive needed, someone who makes me coffee each morning, someone who force feeds me gatorade as im slurring, plastered and shitfaced, to soothe my morning hangover (or hold my hair as i puke and holding my cup of ice cubes for me, if all else fails).

am i worthy? thats yet to be determined.

“dont shit where you eat,” i say.

i say that to my boyfriend whos ever-present eagerness to meet new people shines through as he started befriending his coworkers, seeing them on a more personal level i wasnt able to relate to.

i judged him even, for befriending his coworkers, looking down on them from my trash throne. maybe i was angry (jealous even) – to want something you dont have, to have people you can actually be honest with at work instead of pasting on a fake mask. maybe my competitive side always needs to be the center of attention, my ego tended to and nurtured.

work and personal life – two separate matters and two separate worlds, the overlap of the venn diagram blank for all the emotional, private aspects that shouldnt cross over into the professional realm.

it took one week – a business trip in vegas, a few days without the comfort of my roommates, boyfriend, home. one week – a slowly changing perspective, stories told over copious amounts of alcohol, a line thats losing its definition, fading gradually.

it took me almost three years to realize – i dont hate my coworkers. even the ones i thought i disliked, and im still trying to understand – their unspoken traumas, their loneliness in this large world and billions of souls.

it took me three years to realize that the people around me are more similar to me than i would have ever assumed on a surface-level. the self-described “geriatric man whos bedtime is 10 pm sharp” coworker (shes closer to my age by the way) recognizes the anxiety and the darkness too, and were both still learning how to deal with it.

and tales told over a bottle of “demon slayer” sake at the bougie japanese fusion restaurant we were treated out to, secrets unravel – psychic readings that have your future written out in stone, the edibles experience at some live action new york event with vanishing faces, people disappearing as the light strobes, (really trippy i hear), the golf tournament after popping some shrooms chocolate. not work appropriate conversation, id think, but those taboo talks speak deeper than the exterior “professional” shell we put on. its real.

so anyways, i guess that makes me the hypocrite, queen of mixing emotions into every situation, a chaotic worldwind. center of attention, self-declared queen of who belongs and who needs to get the fuck out – its all been needs, not wants, and sometimes were cornered in our mind, forced to pick a side before the whole story is revealed.

if theres any takeaway, i judge too soon. i expect the worst out of people most of all, as not all intentions are as pure as they may seem initially. im trying to not see everyone as evil.

but overall im grateful – to get to know my colleagues and work relationships for what they are, who they are on the other side, without the fake “happy colleague” mask or business casual attire – just some drinks, slots, and clubbing in a funny but fascinating “professional development” stance. worth it, even if i got covid as a result.

it would have been sad not to see that side – who we are underneath the mask.

“dont shit where you eat,” they say.

but sometimes honesty can come as a relief – youre not alone. and people see you for who you truly are, and maybe thats ok.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH THE BANANA BIBLES: seventh grade + infatuations

when i was in seventh grade and the twilight series was at its peak, i truly based my life off the movies and tv shows id watch. even at twelve i wanted to apply some sort of meaning to my life – excitement, romance, meaning. in the end of the day everyone wants to feel special, even if its all a fucking lie coated in desires and daydreams. its all make believe (and maybe thats ok).

i pictured myself as bella (always wanting to be the main character; its my movie in my head after all) with the two guys that liked me, who i had nominated as my “edward” and my “jacob”.

through notes passed in classes, scribbled in glitter gel pen on pastel index cards, and the notebooks shared (we called them the banana bibles) that documented our daily, mundane twelve year-old lives – constant boy chatter, nicknames ranging from the twilight series to types of fruit, ketchup, and canned spaghetti and lists of the abercrombie jeans wed want, the colors of juicy velour sweatsuits wed dream of owning.

i looked back at the notebooks somewhat recently and i realized – we were fucking psychos (although looking back now its comedic even if it was never intended to be), analyzing the shit out of every small occurrence of the day, like the significance of that boy wiping tears off your face in science class after you argued with your friends.

maybe i still analyze the shit out of everything. im trapped in this cage that is my brain (think joe goldbergs cage from you), scrambling, panicking; i need control.

but at the same time, i sympathize. i sympathize with the need to create a drama in your head, to make the air feel alive again. i sympathize so much with our younger selves with wanting to create a story for ourselves, our narrative that was so genuinely and purely ours.

and looking back, its not all bad – instances like “edward” asking you to slide down the stair rail by the bus stop and reassuring you, “ill catch you if you fall,” made it notably one of the most memorable days of being in seventh grade. theres a hope that lives on those pages in glitter gel pen.

as an adult, i dont know if a hope like that exists anymore – a hope thats sweet, innocent. a hope that transforms your world (even if its for a day).

im not even sure i hope for anything at all anymore. at 26, its all the same fucking shit, day after day that i dont even hope anymore, except maybe for winning the lottery and an early retirement.

GFY, fleur