Life.Of.Sin

So, this person comments to my Blog:

hey druscilla whoever u r;i’ve read ur one or 2 posts u look pretty disturbed;
i would be more than happy to help ya if u want;by the way enjoy ur life;coz
u’ve got only 1 chance aint gonna get another;adioz

Ummm…yeah.  I’m disturbed.  I agree with you one hundred percent.  That’s part of why I keep this blog and why I’m going to see a therapist and head shrinking doctor.  I’m not going to ‘bitch-slap’ you or anything, I just wanted to post this.

And I plan on enjoying my life.  I’m Bipolar II, so I have my ups and downs.

I am interested in why exactly you came to the conclusion I was ‘disturbed’.  Especially since your comment came from the ‘Gorgeous Mall Guy’ post.

Thanks for caring, through. 

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe, aka Dru

More avatars for you.  I think we’re about halfway done with the Billie Joe ones.  Then I’ve got Group, Tre, Mike, 2 out of 3, and Text.

Okay, so I’m going to get more avatars because now I’m bored and have nothing better to do.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe, aka Dru

Okay, so my mom picks me up at the library today.  She didn’t let me take the car to school.  Apparently she thought I was meeting someone for the following reasons:

a) I was dressed rather provactively.
b) I got a phone call, hung up, and needed to go.

So, what does she do?  She reads my blog, which I told her not to read.  Hello, I’m eighteen?  Apparently she didn’t hear that part.

And it’s not so much that she read my blog, as much as WHAT’S IN MY FUCKING BLOG.  You guys know, you read it.  This is me, this is what I think, these are my dark confessions that I tell to people who don’t really know me.

So, she talks to me about the following things after reading this blog:

a) eating disorders
b) Obsessive Behavior (apparently I’m obsessed with the Goth boys or something)
c) Driving around and using her gas
d) I forgot, but we covered it.

So then she wants to talk about the phone sex thing and I’m getting a little freaked out.  Sorry, Mom, I know we went shopping for sex toys together, but it’s not like we sit down and share masturbation tips.  As I said before, phone sex to me is like masturbating. 

So, she promises not to read my blog again.  It doesn’t really matter.  I feel kind of violated.  I almost cried and I’m almost crying again just thinking about it.  I didn’t really want my FUCKING MOTHER to read this blog.

So, anyway, yeah.  I mean I put down that I had thought about mutilation, bullemia, running away, getting pregnant, and that I was still confused about my sexuality.

Hello?  Overstepping the bounds a bit, aren’t we?

So, I’m going to stop with this rant and move on to my next post: Avatar Heaven Pt. 2.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe/Gerard Way, aka Dru

I found a quiz that I made up in January of this year.  I’m going to remix it.

Name: Druscilla Ryan

I started a new story.  It’s been floating around in my head for the last few weeks, so I decided to create it.  I knew if I didn’t I would completely forget about ‘2 Singers, A Songwriter . . .’

So far I’m up to Chapter Five.  It’s Mike/Billie Joe slash.  I finally got to the good stuff, which isn’t sex for once.

Chapter One: It Starts–1987.  Billie Joe and Mike experiment in the basement.

Chapter Two: Why I Hate Mickey Mouse–1987.  Billie Joe goes through a hell or two while MIke’s in Disneyland.  Lots of drugs and Non-Con.

Chapter Three: The Fifth 14th–1993.  Every August 14th Billie freaks out.  This is no exception.

Chapter Four: Field Sobriety Test–1996.  The truth comes out.

Chapter Five: How Many Mailboxes Did You Hit On Your Way Over?–The romance starts.

Chapter Six: (Currently in the works)–Mike and Billie’s life together.  Features kids (in a nonsexual way, fuckheads.).  Yay!

http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/story.php?no=544199740

That’s the link.  View it if you like.  Comment if you do.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe, aka Dru

I’m going to post a shitload of avatars, including ones I’ve already used.  Take them, it’s not like I own them. 

I’ll put up more later.  Right now I have to go play pool.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe/Gerard Way, aka Dru

I am sitting in front of the computer eating Lucky Charms instead of cleaning the house like my mother hinted at.  Why?  Because I don’t want to clean the house.  I can’t play my music because my sister is sleeping, so I figure I might as well update my blog and eat Lucky Charms.  At least I’m eating, right?

In about an hour I’m going to call my dad.  Oh, and I called the doctor’s office and made an appointment for Friday and 9:20 in the a.m.  My sister has volleyball practice, so we’ll already be in Auburn at nine to pick her up. 

Did I ever mention that getting a new doctor makes me really nervous?  Especially when I’m going to this doctor to get a referal to a counselor because I have a fear of commitment and men?!  ‘Hello, I have a fear of intimacy with men, will you refer me?’

They’re going to want my history.  It’s just weird because I’ve changed so much.  Five months ago I had blonde hair and my biggest fixation was my next cigarette and Harry Potter.  Three months ago I was desperately trying to distance myself from Dad and DiAnn by getting tattoos, smoking, and listening to ‘Helena’ really loud.

Now, I’m a punk.  A punk who likes rock music, needs new fishnets, no longer smokes, has considered pot, has been drunk once, wants to get laid and can’t, has phone sex, and masturbates constantly.  (Actually, I’ve been masturbating constantly since I was fifteen, so . . .)

I was supposed to put in job applications today, but I thought about it.  Who’s going to hire someone that looks like me?  Apparently I can’t work at our sadass grocery store or the bars.  All that’s left is this little resteraunt and Casey’s.  At least in walking distance.

This blog is so therapeutic for me.  I can bitch and bitch and bitch.

It’s also great to know people actually read this now.  I get comments and I’m all smiles through my lipliner.  So, I need to say thanks to everyone who commented, even that bitch Katie (she inspired two posts, after all).

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe/Gerard Way, aka Dru

Another one.  Don’t steal.

Sometimes

you scare me sometimes
when you kiss me sometimes
and we make love sometimes
and you hold me and whisper

sometimes

you love me sometimes
when you kiss me sometimes
and you buy me roses sometimes
and we curl up next to each other

sometimes

you hate me sometimes
when you hit me sometimes
and when you thrust into me sometimes
and you call me a bitch and a cunt and a whore

sometimes

sometimes

God, today is just so random . . . but productive.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe, aka Dru

Random things I wanted to say about myself or whatever:

I think cocaine is the most romantic drug.  I have a quote running around somewhere, actually the last four lines of a poem: however may an angel/not end her life/with slit wrists/and a cocaine high

I still think vodka is the most romantic alcohol, although I reconsidered after I tasted that shit.  Nasty.  However, I still find it romantic.

“It’s easier to get your tit in the door than to get your foot in it.” 

I love Care Bears, My Little Ponies, Rainbow Brite, Sesame Street, Fraggle Rock, and Eureka’s Castle.

I still argue with myself about my sexuality.

I talk to myself.

I usually lipsync to songs unless I’m alone in the car.  I have a terrible singing voice.  I did sing at pool yesterday, though.

I’m terrified of bugs.

I don’t like to blow dry my hair.  I say it’s damaging, but the truth is:
a) I can’t do it right, so it gets all frizzy.
b) I’m too lazy!

I’m Bipolar II.

I’m addicted to sugar.

I’m worried I may one day become addicted to alcohol.

I’m terrified of getting old.

I’ve recently reconsidered self-mutilation and bullemia as a form of release . . . again.

I scare myself on a regular basis.

I’m afraid no one thinks I’m pretty.

When I’m bored, I pretend (in my head) what other people will say about me when I’m famous.

I once wrote an interview transcript for when I get famous.

I used to eat dill pickles and chocolate pudding . . . mixed together.

I once signed my best friend’s ass with permanent marker.

I practice kissing on my pillow and on the couch.

I have given a vibrator head.

I used to refuse to give head.  I’ve never given it, but I’ve reconsidered and decided if he washes it and I don’t swallow, it’s okay.

My eyes hurt when I cry.

I like to watch boys kiss, but I’ve never actually seen gay porn.  (Most unfortunate.)

I trick myself into believing I need no one’s approval.  I don’t need everyone’s approval, but I need some approval.

I cry when I think about how much mine and Chris’ relationship has changed.

2 totes, 5 cardboard boxes, my email account, and several notebooks hold all my stories (finished and nonfinished) from fifth grade to present.  That’s seven and a half years.

I used to write Sailor Moon fanfiction.

I’ve considered just running out and getting pregnant.

Today I considered taking my car, as soon as I get one, and driving straight to NYC.

Sometimes I wonder if I was molested as a child.

I’d say that at least 25% of the time I hate myself.

I don’t eat enough.

I love it when people stare at me, but sometimes I feel like a freak.

I cry when homophobes email or say things to me.

I started bawling in my Sociology class when Kerry conceded the election.

I didn’t stop for an hour.

I once dressed my best male friend up in drag and then cried when he was called a fag.  (Three times in one day.)

I used to be a vegetarian.

I’ve masturbated twice today, both within the last hour.

Sometimes when I masturbate, I pretend I’m a guy and there’s another guy.

How’s that for random?

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Billie Joe/Gerard Way, aka Dru

Wrote another poem.  Two minutes.  I don’t know.  Don’t steal.

Choking On Screams

do you ever sometimes feel
that it’s never good enough
and even when you work your ass of
there’s nothing left to do
and then you crawl in a corner
and block out the world
and you draw your curtains
so the sunlight can’t find you?

and you swallow pills
and smoke too much
and empty glass bottles fill your room
and you just wish you couldn’t wake up
and there’s dried blood on the floor again
and a razor blade clatters

and they whisper that they saved you
and all you can think is
’saved me from what?
your guilt?
because i would have been happy
to just lay there and die’
saved me from heaven to leave me in hell
thanks a lot

you can’t move
they’re afraid you’ll cut again
so you’re strapped to a bed
and they feed you through a tube
because you don’t want to eat their food
and you choke on your own tears
and your own screams
and wonder
what the fuck is it all for?

Yeah, don’t ask.  I don’t know where it came from.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Bille Joe, aka Dru