ina's blog

So I cut. Twice in...

Oct 19, 2009
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So I cut. Twice in the last week. Before i left New York while being with Jay right after we had sex and today after he cut in the morning. I took the hottest bath and cut my leg open with a razor. Three little triplet cuts everywhere, bleeders, too. I am trying to make him feel responsible, i helped him out this morning and then slipped into cuttage myself this afternoon. I sat on the phone lulling him to sleep and the other way around "he can't have this conversation right now". I'm being submissive where i should yell at him that I DO need this conversation RIGHT NOW.
This is the moment where independant, self-sufficient women would dump the fag. This moment should have happend a while ago when I realized he's a pot smoking fuck up with no future ( which isnt true, hes too lucky not to have a future and his family adores him too much to let him not have one...hell always have something. )
I want to yell and shout firstly at him and how much i love him and second at my incompetence to differenciate my emotional layers. Am i hating him cause im pushing him away? Am i angry cause i cut? Am i angry cause i let him be part of this? Am i angry cause i want him to take care of all my brain defects? Am i upset cause its another round of "I take care of you but you wont take care of me?"?
I know instantly and always what other people need. My mothers example has programmed me to do this with males, females, friends, parents of friends, bosses and kids. I just know. It gets frustrating whenever its not return but i am in dire need of the same understanding.

How many more?

Aug 27, 2009
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I feel like shit, essentially. At all times. He drives me nuts, makes me want to kill him. He won't listen when i speak even if he asks and the way he looks at me has changed from adoration and admiration to pure boredom. I could do splits on an elephant with pumpkin pie on my nipples he wouldn't give a flying shit. I feel trapped like a million tigers would feel if someone put them in a can. A tiny can without light and air. He's everywhere and with him are his millions of feelings and they're all surpressed. Theyre' down there and i can't reach them. They're fluid and solid at the same time. Crammed in a timeframe i can't step into and he can't step out of so we fuck in the middle and then bounce back into our gummy little reality bubbles. How much hurt can a person take? How much of his pain can i take onto me - as a friend, as a person. Not really as the one i want him to fall in love with. He's not in love with me. We create love out of what we have to give to the other one - compassion, lust, anger, hatred, kindness. I don't know what we created this love out of but it's none of those. You can't go back to long-lost-love the way we used to know it once you've lost it. It's tainted and the top of it always smells like burnt milk on the stove. That's why we go back to what we used to love. The sheer thought of never having it again drives one insane, makes me mad, makes you a lost boy. He wishes he could and he tells me he does but nothing could ever come close enough to what he has with her - had with her , will always have with her.The pureness of the dirt they have together makes them so perfect for each other you can't help but stare at it. The hatred she harvests inside herself towards everyone and anyone who doesn't love her unconditionally at all times and forever is unspeakable - even towards herself. She can't grasp how beautiful and perfect she is so she hates everythimg about herself instead.Devours it with a hunger only known to hawks and crows. She devours everything else with it, too. She won't pick the mouse off the field, she'll drain the whole field in her lungs while she's at it and then cry about the lost grains for too many moons.
She's so perfect for him they would slit each other open with their boney hips and just drown in the blood.

I don't know nothing anymore, i am pathless, without ambition and guts to do anything. I used to never think, always act, pure evil on a playground yelling for more apple pie. I'd run wild with the daisies and never look back, leave boys and girls dead on the sidewalk while wind and monsoons would carry me up, up and beyond with their claws tucked tightly into my skin until my ravid shakes of annoyance would make them drop me. Millions and thousands of feet down, down and beyond. Crash, die, burn - just feel somethig deep down where nobody lives. I wasn't even able to distinguish heart, brain and soul for the most part.All one big bruise. Everything would hurt at all times reminsicing the pain he burnt into my body by his gloved, tarnished leather hands. But it would make run and run without exhaustion or misery or hunger. I'd be needless for so long and now all i can do is need,need and need more.

Now it's all my head. At all times. It plays me and tricks me into thinking normalcy could work. That i wasn't the girl that has to get away. How many lost boys are there to save?

I am , perhaps, the only...

Jul 31, 2009
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I am , perhaps, the only girl who has ever felt like this but i just realized something while doing the dishes ( yes, my housewife self took over and i actually got shit done). Anyway, I used to feel entirely reponsible for any kind of sexual errection i would cause to the male somethings around me.

Not in a "oooh, look he got a boner" but more in a "fuck! i just caused him a boner! let me help him out it's all my fault!"

The last two weeks I spent with J. J who is entirely adorable but has some minor flaws which make him entirely likeable ( funny how that goes ) , he's pretty much the description of this entry. Which in itself should give me pleasure to no end but it's the combination of weed and rough sex that makes me giddy in my knees. Now we all know that girls who fuck attract more fuck. It's simple mathematics.

Seing as i've been getting loads of it ( i blame Shark Week for this, men seem to cluster together around me as soon as my eggs pop and burst South ) i attract loads of it.

Here's the catch: Men are filthy, digusting pigs with a one track mind. Which basically describes myself, which is cool and things. I don't even mind. There's not even a "but".

I went over to this guys appartment today to help him move. We've hit it off once but never followed through and he's a giant piece of shit full of shit. But. His dog is adorable and i love her and he offered me cash if i would come help him move.

Yes, i am a whore.

So i go over, it's super hot, no air conditioning in the shithole he lives in ( the new appartment apparently does have air conditioning but i'm pretty sure i'll never see the new fancy pad because like I said, he's a piece of shit. ) and i wear a black tank and jeans, nothing fancy but oh well. I start doing shit, wrap stuff up ( he's so fucking cheap he went to the fucking post office to get free boxes instead of buying fucking moving boxes. I had to wrap glass in tissues cause he's too cheap to buy bubble wrap. ) ...I'm getting off track here...Feminism! Sexual Revolution! Porn!...or something.

I wrap shit, put it away, cause i'm a pro at organizing everybody elses life but mine and we're halfway down we end up on his bed somehow ( don't ask me i was cuddling the dog, i swear. ) and it becomes a kind of grinding thing.

Now, we remember this guy is a piece of shit.

Here's the thing: 2 years ago i would have felt so responsible for his huge boner i would have sucked his cock without him even having to ask for it. Skip to now all i could say was "you know you're not getting any, right? Cause you're so not. This whole grinding your cock on my ass thing is cute and all but that's really about it." , he even got me all tangled up in my fav posish ( clothes on, you pervs ) with his boner on my ass once again ( yeah i don't know either, i'm very open to discussing favourite sex positions while being fully clothed apparentlt ) and all i could say was "yeah that's how Tom fuckedm e once, was awesome. He's got this brick wall behind his bed. Kinky...ah it's 5.30, gots to go matey!"

I know this sounds ridiculous but it happend pretty much like that. Tomorrow i'll go back there and he'll be an ass and treat me like shit. I'll still be the one in charge though, which makes him even more angry and we'll fall out again like we always do. Which is okay,he'll keep doing this until the end of day. Until he's convinced i'm the biggest bitch on earth. Right now he's hitting me up on facebook. Men are jokes.

oh

Jul 15, 2009
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"I'm a million different people

all wrapped into one

i've got a glitch to switch

a mission to solve

and i'm afraid the wrapping will break

i'll spill on the floor

all seven of me

al my eighteen bodies

and my twenty thousand brains

my heart is gonna spill

and so will my million sins

i'll be on the floor

all seven of me"

Could somebody mop me up?Cause i'm seriously falling apart here. I've developped this weird sense of calmness inside me. It's not the good kind of "ooh transcendent hapyness and foreverlasting light" kind of calmness. It's more like "I'll be dead soon anyhow". It feels like i've realized that if i really hit rock bottom and screw this up i'll be able to pick myself up, take a lot of drugs and booze and just end it.

I know that sounds scary.

But it doesn't feel like that. It doesn't feel like the calm before the storm because i don't feel like there's a storm waiting anymore. What can be worse than this? Being entirely without purpose and direction? Which i am. Even worse: I know my direction but i can't do anything about it.

There's always options my mum says but i don't have energy for options naymore. I don't have energy for anything anymore. I'm vegan for the most part because i can't stop not looking after myself and by eatig Vegan i am forced to do that. I just have to look after myself otherwise i'll starve.

I am aware that I...

Jun 28, 2009
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I am aware that I am a horrible bitch most of the times. But I've spent hours of my life being nice to the wrong people and it's not paying off. Clearly not. Which results in my bitchiness most of the times.

I'm a very nice person. I don't pride myself with it, neither do i pretend i'm not. I am very nice. I am forgetfull and shameless and rude but overall i am just simply, nice.

I am a nice gal from a small town near a big city and I am fucking annoyed with people. In particular, i am fucking annoyed with waiting for people. i wait all day long. For all kinds of people. Whereas i'm the person who's always there. Who's always on time. I wish i wasn't but years of abusive behaviour because i walked into the door 10 minutes after curfew have made me this way. And just like they say "Well Hitler was bad and all - he did built the Autobahn." i do believe some traits worthy of acknowledging have surfaced inside me by surviving what i survived.

Like i am on time. Like i am trustworthy. Like i do what i'm supposed to do. Like I wait for fucking ever for you to show up. For anyone to show up.

There are several online message boards, concert go-ers and house-parties happening in the Westchester area on Saturday nights where a monstrous amount of both male and female attendees/participants will tell you or anyone willing to listen/read that i'm a total utter cunt. And i am. To you. Because you make me wait. Because you don't call. Because you pretend it's okay to go off and say those things about me because you simply can. Because i've let you in at one point and what I presented you didn't like. So you turned away again or I pushed you away again.

But I can't change what you saw, what you dested so badly to do silly things like take me off your facebook or stop talking to me or not to invite me to BBQ's and tell your "friends" ( who won't take you in when you're piss drunk on a thursday night and have no keys to your house and those same people who will drop you the second you show them a glimpse of how ugly you really are - how you're not invincible ) that i'm nothing but a slut.

I am a nice person. Just because I am not nice to you doesn't make me a person who is not nice. I know you would love it to work that way but it doesn't. Your own discrepancy, your own lack of whatever doesn't make me less or more of something.

It's like when you said you hated the way I make you uncomfortable when you talk about not going into the city this weekend ( no really!this time you'll come! ) . You don't feel bad because I call you out on never wanting to hang out with us on the weekend but because you know it's true. You hate that you spend every single fucking weekend of your life with your boyfriend instead of us. You hate that i'm right.

That's what you really hate. But it feels good to yell at me for it because it reminds you that i'm full of shit, too. That it makes me feel better to call other people out in front of their friends evens out the fact that your a co-dependent dip shit that can't be without a boyfriend.

It comes down to me being sick of waiting for other people. Really. But i need them. Not having my family around made me ( made you too ) try out all these people. All these people you wouldn't have looked at were you going to school together. You'd have instantely known that those people are so fucking different from who you are at the bottom of your heart you wouldn't bother talking to them in the first place.

But as we grow older we don't have those safe sound surroundings anymore. We stumble from night and day shifts to classes and back and we drink and date and jump when a cute boy smiles. Safety is gone, here's comes the real world. Or something like that.

Which brings us back to Saturday night Imagine a lake and hungarian goulash and the smell of cake and weed and wonderous stories to be told. Ounces and ounces of people, piled up, chitter chatter and seriously though! Look there was a Chinchilla, too!

I think there was one guy there who hasn't been scarred by me yet. One. Out of a dozen random guys. Guy one i called out for trying to fuck me while dating one of my best friends. The other is pissed cause i told him I was a lesbian after making out with me to see if he would spread the rumor ( ...he did.) . There is door number three where we have the guy who scarred me. There is also the guy with the guitar who wants to fuck my current best friend and talks to me about it even though he knows ( and has met ) her boyfriend-of-a-year ( there is also a chubby blonde right next to him for the past hour which he has been ignoring because we've been singing songs to me and Valorie seem to be the only girls who know the lyrics to. She's pathetic and he knows it and she knows it but he ignores it and she is drunk.As the night proceeds i'll have her brush past me yell "well that was a fucking call-off!" ..i couldn't help but snicker.) . There's also the third kid with a guitar who seems to be clinging to every word i said tonight. And he looks so sad when i leave and just pat him on the shoulder. What i'm trying to say is that all of these guys hate and want to fuck me for the same exact reason : I don't take their shit.

It is so common for women and girls these days to be afraid of being a bitch, a cunt. Because we're afraid we'll be unfuckable, unmarriable at the end of the day. But if i had to point one girl out at that party that all the boys circled, never touched and if they did, buzzed onto and regretted trying in the first place ( but left thinking how they'll do a better job next time ) it must have been me. Fuckable, asshole me. You hate that you hate me but you'd hate to miss out on it.

I can't explain it any better.

here it comesit's so...

Jun 26, 2009
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here it comes

it's so hard to write down how i feel. Right now i should take my ESL test in white plains, buy High Def make up at Sephora and get my Social Security number. I should pay my two parking tickets. Deposit my check. I should try and find my drivers license. Because i won't be able to drive the new car without it.

I should do so many things. All i can manage is to sit here and listen to Laura Marling. I should be doing so many things. And i've been doing so many things

.... and talking to holly makes it all better.

So, seing Valorie made me...

Jun 4, 2009
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So, seing Valorie made me realize some thing. Because she's one of these fairy people who make me realize things. Of them being that i can't keep everything in. I need to let out in order to be in peace with myself. So there we go. It hurts me that you just cut me out of your life. I feel betrayed. Because you have done this before. The weeks and weeks we didn't talk last time cause you got pissed about the gay - comment i made. And then you re-entered my life. Without me asking or anything. We bonded or whatever you want to call it over Patricia and i enjoyed talking to you again. You even told me you lub me and i felt all fuzzy and happy because i love my friends most of all. And then i thought "hmmm maybe he's in for the long run this time, who knows" . So i went on ahead and told you that if you want to stick around all i needed from you was to not just cut me out if i was ever gonna fuck up or do something that made you upset again. And you said you got me. I remember that clearly cause it was important to me. People have died because of drugs and stupid things in my life so many times i've lost the ability to have people dropping in and out of my life a long while ago. It hurts me too much. You said you got me. You know, and i took what you said for the truth and now i feel betrayed and hurt cause i trusted you. I apologized for updating my status with that stupid expression of hurt and you never replied. It's a horrible thing to do, Matt.

So that's out, i hope you can do something with this information. And if not that's cool too, i just had to get it out.

Do I have something to...

Jun 3, 2009
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Do I have something to say?

Not really.

I wish there was a black background/typing pad option for all those nights i feel depressed, would make typing a lot more easy.Although i'm not depressed that much anymore. Veganism has given me a reason to stop throwing up. I don't know how or when but my plurging attacks are gone and i'd even say i feel good about eating at times. Carbs have left my diet entirely, so have all kinds of diary. It's been amazing, I cook every day for myself and baked a giant Vegan birthday cake for Shruti and banana bread ( fat free! gasp! ). I feel like a tiny little dingy house wife. It's fun.

Saturday morning i spent in bed with the Cock of choice arguing about the normalcy of my sex drive and the way i view relationships. Any, for that matter. Not just sexual. The conclusion our drunken selves ( or moreso his fucked up self ) had was "It's not normal!!"

And this is exactly why i shouldn't fuck around with 26 year old Surbubian-nites. His close-mindedness didn't occur to me during that second ( or maybe it did, subconsciously, because I got off right and hard that night, wheareas he had to go turn the tap water on in the bathroom for a mere 3 minutes after I told him "naaah i got to sleep now. sorry." oops. ) but thinking about it: What the fuck?!

I've moved on. In an instant. I called him a cunt too and an asshole. And since then he decided to go camping about 10 minutes from where I live and ignore that teensy weensy detail. But hey.

Maybe he's right and my deception of sex and all things related isn't normal. I can't hold steady relationships. They are nightmares for me that i can't understand. I don't have that longing for partnership. Not even remotely. I've grown up with my mother and step-dad and quite frankly, every single relationship absolutely any of my girlfriends ever had was so fucked up to the core I wouldn't trade my bursting ovaries for a fucked up version of "normalcy" even if they sold Vegan banana cupcakes with it.

I'm not bitter, per se. I love men. All of them. I whorship all the rock&roll glory and the sweat. I love beards and 'staches and the way you guys smell the morning after ( which is another thing that freaks said cock out, yeah i don't care if you taste like a bottle of Gin. I like Gin. ) but no, I'm not going on a date with you just because you think that'll seal the deal. If i want to fuck i'll fuck.

Which , apparently, an idea that no american gal understands ( nor do any europeans, except for maybe my dog or cat. ). Not until they hit 30 anyway.

It is entirely impossible for...

May 25, 2009
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It is entirely impossible for me to feel certain when it comes to my own personal life. As opinionated and bitchassness i might sound when it comes to sex, drugs and well, alcohol ( not rock&roll though, I still can't decide wether I like the new Brody Dalle project purely because it's well, Brody fucking Dalle or if I admit that most of it is shit that could be a Queens b-side ) . Point being: I can't make up my fucking mind!

Do i want to stay in the States? If I do, what am I gonna do? Move to Miami and move in with Chaniece, pretend i'm legal and bartend/dog-walk/babysitt the shit out of that drug hole? ( I'm pretty sure I will end up as a homeless drug addict in NYC after about 6 days). If i stay in the States do I seriously continue being underpaid, overworked and being treated like scum by society and in return getting an Associates degree I might or might not be able to do nothing with?

Do i just start crying right now and book a ticket to Denver, CO and marry Ben and be his mum's lost daughter? ( Can I, please? ) Or do i get the fuck out of this country and never become Ina Eschenbach, PhD. ( Psychology ) , graduated from NYU in 2015.

I just presented the Miami idea to one of my dear friends Ana. god i'm screwed if she says yes.Where did my life go?? I'm opting to die my hair orange-y red just because it's the only "crazy" color I can do without losing my job. What the fuck? I used to do Mohawks and Pink colored hair. My grandma used to yell at me about how she loves my hair because she can't lose me in the crowd even though she can't see on one eye and the other one is down 75% ( i love my grams. she still drives. Stick, too. And flirts with Cruiseship guys. Best grandma in the world )

Can i please just run away? I don't want my Social Security Card or my New York State drivers license or a payment plan for college! I just want a drink and a man and maybe a show or two every now and then. I'll take the additional lesbian antic on that and a roadtrip if i can save some of the beer money. It's all I want.

Those lavish groupie moments I have peing with Agyness Den and yelling at Pirates and dancing on Dj Booth and drinking Scotch for free make me miss me old self so much. I'm still me ( just better, Vegan and more toned and i pretend I get slight tans during the summer ). right? Cause I don't know anymore. I really really don't.

whoredom , my mum shouldn't read this but her english sucks so maybe she won't get it

May 19, 2009
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whoredom , my mum shouldn't read this but her english sucks so maybe she won't get it

Why exactly are there no sex colums/blogs/twittertits/livejournals/whateverthefuck written by men? I mean i'm pretty sure i've read all about sex with toothbrushes and life on bug infected mattresses by slutever. And i'm quite content with the way Cupcate and her Bitchbuzz website makes me feel about being a depressed, non-ambition-having slut who never knows what to write about but calls herself "a writer" and is constantly annoyed by the way people treat her. But in reality she loves it because it's all she can ever write about.

Now. Enough with the bitching. I'm seriously intruded by the thought that there are no, and i mean no, columns about Sex and it's curiosities written by men. I'm pretty sure there must be some whorefest anecdotes in some random gay dudes livejournals. But a real insight? Something that would speak openly about random acts of sluttyness, the insertion of several vibrating kitchen utensil into male anusses ( anus?plural? ) ?

None

Not that i'd know of anyway.

What does that mean? And why is that so?

Well firstly I think it means that women have become the sluts of our generation. whey! sexual revolution!

As i've been watching The Tudors religiously over the past for weeks ( I miss you, first Queen..or actually second. The slutty one. I don't remember your name but you rocked. ) I have come to the conclusion that men used to be the whores.

As The Tudors is currently my only form of self-education ( I've given up on getting books from the library. I never return them in time. And i mean never. Ever. It costs me horrendous amounts of money on late fees from which I could buy the real thing. But i don't work that way. If I had that money I would spend it on Starbucks. Or loose it in the streets. Or just hand it back to the friendly librarians at the Bedford Village library. ) well, where was I? Yes. The Tudors being my only form of education. I've learned several things from that show:

a) Men were whores in those days

b) Men were all secretly gay in those days

c) If a lady was a whore she'd get her head cut off.

Which i think can result in only two things : For the next six hundred years sluttery by women would be distinctly handled with pointing fingers and throwing rocks and also ( the inevitable ) men wouldn't stop whoring around.

Skip that to now. Everything i read that has anything remotely to do with sex on the internet ( apart from youporn.com and even there it seems Liz and Kelly are getting it on much more than Joe. ) is written by (yes! ) women!

How come if men are supposed to stick their dix where they can? I've come up with a simple train of thought so far: In order for all those manwhores to exist there has to be an equal amount of women atleast to participate in the whole stint ( Not that masturbating isn't fun. But it doesn't lead to whoredom ) .Because if the same guy has sex with the same girl all the tie we call that fuckbuddies ( or some refer to the term "relationship" . A concept i don't neccessarily grasp just yet ) ...Unless b) applies of course .

If you ( or me, in that case. What with all the time saving I do by not reading books these days ) think about it you actually need more women to be whores than men in order to keep the circle alive. If you have one manwhore you need atleast 50 women ( seperately or all at the same time. Comes down to the same. ) for that one guy to be considered a whore (that is because Whoredome rises potentially slower for men than for women for some reason. It's a mathematical mystery nobody has yet figured out.I'm on it. ) .

That's fifty women people. Fifty women who sleep with a random guy they can't know for too long or too well because hey, that dude is pretty busy banging all those female walking genitalia.

Fifty women promiscious enough to sleep with atleast one of those notorious Manwhores we all know atleast one of ( Hi John! ).

That's a whole lotta whores if you ask me. And i mean that in the most non-degrading way possible (I'm one of them ) .