GIRL SPEAKS: 7 years later

i remember when i had first spoken to you – september 18, 2010; a date thats been engrained in my memory, the password to my iphone for all thats worth.

i was 19 when you died (it still feels so strange saying that you had died – even more bizarre that its been over 7 years since then and the words still sting). when i first learned that you had passed away, it was like a sucker punch to the gut.

you were one of the strongest people i knew, and i envied you for your confidence, boldness throughout our friendship.

when did the world dull that inner radiance you wore so well?

im sorry i never tried harder to keep in touch. im still shitty at keeping in touch (too many thoughts for my little brain to process).

i still think about you. a few days ago when i was back in my parents house, back in my childhood bedroom, i went through my sophomore yearbook.

your message was the first one i saw – i mean, it was inevitable since you wrote on the cover, your note scribbled in purple sharpie, mostly written in german with a hint to use google translate. i never translated your message and maybe that was a good thing. maybe knowing what you had actually said would make it lose its magic, the mystery of it all.

in english, you had written that you love and will miss me (you were going to boarding school the following year).

im sorry i never told you how much you mean to me. its always been second nature to pretend i care less than i genuinely did (i guess i still do this – a defense mechanism and all?).

im sorry, for not telling you that i give a shit about you, that you matter. the “i love yous” mean nothing if youre not in this orbit anymore.

if i say it now, could you hear me?

and i wonder what youd think of me today, if youre currently looking down on me from wherever you are in the afterlife.

are you disappointed, are you proud?

this is my first time writing about (to) you in years. to be fair, i had a writing hiatus as i found more comfort in drugs, intoxication and recklessness to drown out the sorrows, the guilt and the regret.

i wonder if you know about all the external chaos in my life (and the internal chaos that i hold privately).

i never wanted to be, the person you see,

but thank you.

thank you for giving me the voice i needed to find so badly when i met you at 15, the boldness i held because of you (up until my 2019 breakdown). im trying to find it again.

can you help me?

i still think about you, even seven years later.

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 WITH BLOG: my intention was never for this to be depressing

is the glass half empty or half full?

glass half empty (10000%).

maybe i expect the worst of everything. i mean, the worlds a fucking shitshow. im a mess and i cant clean myself up. i cannot accept reality yet im angry at this world, the higher powers or whatever karmic universe that controls us like puppets from the beyond.

and this was never my intention: a repeat of my tumblr days, my continued qualms with life itself. this was supposed to be fun – about the memories i want to keep.

“i wanna paint down my memories, so i dont forget.”

and ive forgotten so much – scatterbrained, empty-minded and stumbling my way through. memories are all thats left and im ashamed and terrified of all that ive forgotten, moments that meant something but i was too black-out to recall.

“the darkness doesnt have any answers.”

and thats what it call comes down to – the vulnerability, the pain, the heaviness. looking for answers in the wrong places, my darkness.

the feeling that the world owes me for what its taken, whats lost. anger, geared at anyone who dares step into my war path. i hate. and i keep hating people, circumstances, the way life plays out. i hate the higher powers who clearly havent given a flying fuck, watching us scramble, tittering to each other as we suffer.

“what happened to us?”

in my world, its so fucking black and white. tiptoeing that fine line between love and hate, walking on thin ice thats crackling with every step. instability? clarity? who the fuck knows.

im taking my anger out on all the wrong people – but theres just so much to be livid about. and if there was a blinking red *SOS* button in my brain to turn it all off – the “stop using others as a human punching bag”, the guilt of brainfog and lack of memory, tragedy.

and in this world, are we just infatuated by the idea of love or is it remotely possible to be in love (if we dare admit it)? is it real love? or love due to convenience?

why is it so hard for me to admit love or show that i care?

i dont know. i guess im still trying to find the answers to that one.

and lastly, “people always leave.”

and it was never my intention to hurt those i love the most.

but its easier to be the one leaving. its easier to give someone reasons to leave you, self-sabotage to barricade the lonely heart, the one who plays the mindgames and tests the other as vulnerability lingers above me – the enemy, like a black cloud.

it was never my intention, my 2013 angsty tumblr days (take two).

and im not really sure what to do anymore. maybe were all broken, and we just learn to deal – to function – as if we were shattered pieces of a porcelain doll, precariously pasted back together with an elmers gluestick. maybe were all hot fucking messes who cover it up with fake smalltalk, cheap facades to hide who we really are underneath the mask, the things weve mourned, the shit life has put us through, the truths and realities we want to bury.

my intention for this blog was so i could remember – the good and the bad, cherished moments and moments where i need a safe space to empty out my thoughts.

im just trying to find the healing in all of this – in writing, in music, in art. to have faith in people, and not thinking the worst in everybody right off the bat.

im just trying.

and thats probably all i can ask for right now.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH REFLECTIONS: a confession

if i thought 2021 was disturbing, i dont even know what to call 2022. a nightmare from hell? a shitshow? a wakeup call that were all supposed to be fucking miserable in this lifetime and all we can do is to learn to live with this heaviness?

i dont even FUCKING know at this point.

in retrospect, maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had made it out to be – a depressing exaggeration of one-sided fights (in my head) with my boyfriend; hiding in my closet (literally), my refuge and safe haven from this unkind world; a belief that happiness is fleeting, an unattainable goal that we blindly chase with a false sense that we would ever achieve said “happiness.”

maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had thought (maybe i would have posted more if “fun” was absolutely nonexistent in my life or maybe its the benzos that have literally obliterated my short-term memory, which recognizes sadness and anger more than the positive emotions). for someone whos cherished memories and feeling for all my life (heart on my sleeve or whatever BS), its ironic how much ive induced my own amnesia (is this my heaven or hell?).

in times of loneliness and trauma, my first instinct had always been to write in order to release those toxic, bottled up emotions that live rent free in my little low IQ mind. maybe i have nothing left to say anymore, or i realize that my words dont matter.

i let my thoughts rot, letting them devour my braincells as i weep to myself in a corner – and it doesnt fucking matter.

so today i take relief in klonopin, to make myself more of a smooth brain, to feel less so i could be “normal” and mildly functional.

i crave floating on clouds with quiet, nonintrusive thoughts: nothing matters, nothing exists. not you, not me, just complete silence.

and lately, numbness is my only retreat – to feel absolute nothing (the cleanest feeling in the world imo), to continue existing in my dreamworld where people we have lost are just “traveling to a foreign land” and not gone (forever), fantasy fueled by pills and time-traveling for days at a time because life is fucking miserable.

so heres my question for whatever this shitty ass universe has to offer, only to collect our miseries and suffering: am i supposed to expect that each year gets worse and worse or am i a spoiled little bitch that always needs to have her way? or do i just lack appreciation or awareness for the moments as they unwind in real time, only to reflect later: “it wasnt so bad.”

its the high highs and low lows with no sense of middle ground or stability, rollercoaster of emotions torpedoing over my life.

but the high highs – those moments make life bearable. “tiny dots on an endless timeline.”

just tiny dots, endless timeline – moments worth remembering, moments well pine the rest of our lives for knowing well never get them back, moments wed rather obliterate, concealed in the shadows of our minds.

looking back, 2021 wasnt awful at all – breakdowns (yes, of fucking course) but also cherished memories with those who are still here and those we will reunite with on the other side.

im not okay. im absolutely not fucking okay, but ill plaster on a fake dollfaced smile, and when people ask me how im doing, the autoresponse so theyd not interrogate further: “im fine.”

im fine. just fine. nothing is wrong, and nothing exists.

GFY, fleur (on klonopin)