I'm KIND of okay with being a semi-celebrity in Tulsa. By semi, I mean that all the DJays and all the artists...and all the party people know me. I am okay with that.

HOWEVER, fuck this place. I am tired of being here. Everyday I get hammered at a shitty bar is another intellectual year lost. No kidding. Everyday that I drink or do blow or WHATEVER, I feel more retarded than I did the day before. Plus, no one knows how I live. I have no REAL friends that live here.

Yes, I am being obnoxious and just talking on my blog AGAIN. I know everyone subscribed gets irritated with this, but since all my friends that I talk to daily are A.) MARCUS or B.) MARRIED with CHILDREN aka JAMIE...then I am kind of fucked as far as outlets go, aren't I?

Anyways. I don't really care what people in Tulsa think of me. I know who I am. I know what I do. Lately, that has been work, but previously, it was drinking.

I did get to hang out with my "bro" tonight. I actually do enjoy his company. It's like hanging out with my biological brother...Okay...Exactly like hanging out with Bio Bro. There's not much of a difference.

I had a blast. Spent too much money as usual.

I WANT OUT.
I hate it here. HATE HATE HATE.
I love my family, but here? NO. Save me.

I'll probably reopen this post shortly.

Yuck, yuck, yuck. Yellow Tail is NOT a decent cheap wine...By any means.

I am not blogging tonight...Just like I never use this as an actual blog. I just pretend it's mydiary.com from 1995 and roll with it.

She's bothering me. She's not talking to me because I told her to fuck off, but she's still bothering me.

I want Marcus back as badly as she does, but I am not delusional. I've figured him out.

Ugh. Cheap riesling, expensive headache. bye

He's engaged to Laura. He's cheating on Laura with Ambre. I wish this whole building would collapse and kill Marcellus and I.

I may ACCIDENTALLY drive my car off a bridge on the way to work.

Should my car lose it's brakes, thanks to all of you that have put up with me since '07.

It's pathetic really. I know why I am in this mood, but I can't get out of it for at least three days. Meh. Who gives a fuck?

I've got $10 to my name. Even when I get paid in five days, I'll still have nothing to my name. I owe Clay, Grandpa, Jess, Paula, Mandy, Freddie Mac, Sallie Mae, PSO, Peter, and Paul every dime that I'll earn for the next 60 years.

The only things I own mean nothing to anyone else. No one wants a tailless dog and a shoebox apartment in the hood...Hell, even the apartment doesn't technically belong to me. That's, of course, in his name...

Basically, all I've got is roaches. I don't want those either, but I've got them.

It's pathetic. Even the roaches are less lonely than myself. At least they have friends...Fucking millions of friends.

Blame isn't something I can place on another. The whole ordeal is my fault. My depression deepens with each hour. There was a time I could drown it, but the monster can swim now. I've learned nothing and I've only succeeded in being exactly where I was pre-him.

Blame is all mine...Yet, I blame him. I blame my sister. I blame everyone else, but myself even though it is apparent that doing so is illogical.

I'm not fooling anyone. I can't write worth a fuck. I want to be Chris Rose or Anthony Bourdain. As much as I loathe Stephenie Meyer*, at lease that bitch has duped millions of Americans into buying her shitty novels.

I can't think anymore. I am so embarrassed about where I am working that I won't even tell anyone. I am in such a hole. I doubt every step I take. I worry about what HE would think if he could see the apartment...if he could see the weight I've gained....If he could see that the Christina he once loved died when he left.

It won't ever be over. Cutting it off would be like New Orleans without Second Line, Mardi Gras, and Gumbo...I would surely die.

It doesn't matter. I pick up the keyboard in hopes of creating some grand masterpiece, but only this comes out.

I can't sleep. I need a drink, but I am not doing that right now. Self-control is something I am going to learn the hard way.

Blahs. Fuck this. I am going to lie (lay? See? I suck.) back down and hope that I don't cry....Hope that, for once, I can sleep without him and without alcohol.
*Who fucking spells their name like that anyways? The bitch can't even spell her name and she's better off than I.

I want to write.
Just like the majority of my internet and real life friends, I want to write.
I want to be published.

I want more out of my life than cheap alcohol and smoky Oklahoma hip hop clubs.
While the liquor is one thing that keeps me somewhat balanced in this mediocre state, it is also what holds me back. Liquor and fear are the two things stopping me from packing the dog and moving far away.

Oklahoma isn't a place where people are happy. Sure, you'll find those that claim they love it here. They say they love the slower pace and the down home charm. They may even go as far as saying that the MidWest is the new coast.

They're only fooling themselves.

How can one be happy in a place like this? Doesn't anyone in this desolate, culture-less farmland have ambition? Isn't there something inside of them from the problems everyone has, I have no problems. When I leave this place, I won't be running away from anything. Instead, I'll be running to something.

Brooke left two weeks ago in search of golden happiness and cerulean seas. She's found them in California. She'll never be back and I don't blame her.

Other friends of mine have city and country hopped their ways right back to their respective hometowns...Right back to the mundane existence that they call a life. They're not happy...

Saying that moving is going to bring instant happiness would be stupid. I know that it will be a struggle. I'll miss my family. I'll miss some of the my friends here...Others I will just be glad to get away from.

I'm done for now.

WHAT IN THE SAM HELL AM I GOING TO DO WITHOUT FACEBOOK?

Yeah, I was raped. Do I want to talk about it? No, but maybe at this point, it's time.

I've been raped before. Several times. It isn't that. The others didn't affect me the way this has.

I trusted him. I called him "brother." His mother treats me like her own child. I'm invited to family dinners and holidays. This hurts.

The reason I stopped sleeping with/dating white men is because of the first rape. I couldn't stand to see another man that looked like him on top of me. I couldn't bear to see the matching flesh because my mind automatically went back to THAT. The pressure, the fight to push, the fight to save myself from THAT. He took my innocence. He took everything that made me a woman in under two minutes. I bled...My God...I bled. It hurt and I cried.

My mom asked. The woman that gave me birth asked why my brand new jeans, my school clothes, were ruined. She wanted to know where all the blood came from. I cried and poured my heart out to this person...this person that was supposed to protect me from evil...And she ignored me. She thought I was lying.

So I stopped. I kept myself away from men that looked like him. I didn't tell anyone else and I thought I had saved myself from harm. I thought that by avoiding THEM, I was in the clear....

I wasn't. It happened again. My fault, surely. It had to be my fault. I wasn't careful enough. I didn't state my boundaries clearly enough. I didn't tell him I wasn't interested. I lead him on...Surely, it was my fault.

I can't justify Chris. I cannot. justify. this. I trusted him. I didn't lead him on. I didn't try to hit on him. He hit on me and I told him I wasn't interested.

I don't know what to do. I told Clay. I told Jamie. I told MARCUS, for fuckssake. I don't feel better. I don't feel better at all.

But tonight, when I told Jason why I wasn't comfortable sleeping with him. When I explained to him why I wasn't turned on, he blamed me. He said it was a cop out.













FUCK. I know some people may still read this, but how else am I to get this out of my head? How else do I work out all of these fucked up things? Marcus is not my therapist and if tonight proves anything, it proves that I need to seek actual help. I can only see so much. I can only handle so much. I think I have reached my breaking point.