Rye Boheme

When I cut.

I have watched her cut. And cry. And drink. And starve. And puke. And I’ve watched her get smaller and smaller, and wither, and break.

And she is going to die. Not today, but maybe… tomorrow? A year from now I may not be able to text her or call her or see her lovely face. A year from now, I could be all alone, and lost, and tragic, and cold. A year from now Lauren could be dead. And there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it. 

I can’t ask her to get better, I have, and she says she will, but she won’t. She can’t, I know she can’t. The same way I can’t. The same way I won’t. Only difference is she’s a few years ahead of me, and I’m a few years behind her. 

It isn’t going to be on purpose, I’m sure. I promised to hang on if she would, and Lauren is good at promises. But the way she’s going about it all… She’s prone to accidents. She can not eat. Starve for days, and not even notice, much less care. Sometimes she just pukes on impulse, just by walking into a bathroom and automatically purging. Something has to break. And it’s going to be her. I don’t think she wants to die. Not at all. But she’s addicted to killing herself. It’s like heroin to her.

And in the end, when something does break. When she’s lying in another hospital bed, hooked up to another machine.She isn’t going to make it. She isn’t going to hold on for me. No matter how much I love her and she loves me. In the end that won’t matter. And Lauren will do what Lauren damn well pleases. Because it’s a disease. And she can’t help it. She really can’t help it.

Gah.

This photo was taken at my mother’s wedding almost a month ago. Just before she banned us from ever seeing each other again. I love you Lauren so so much. Never forget that. Even if you are a bunch of miles away, I will always be your best friend and nothing mommy-dearest can do will ever change that. 

I can’t sleep. I take a pill, another pill… I can’t sleep. Why? My body is exhausted to the point of numbness. But my stupid brain wont stop beating it’s-self against the inside of my skull. Crying to escape it’s cell like an innocent man locked in prison without knowing why. No-one will answer him. He is all alone. And so am I. Now… here. At night. I am alone. I don’t want to be alone now. Which is Ironic because thats all I ever dream of during the daytime. Being alone. Having the quiet encase me like a block of solid ice. To feel the simple peace of being by myself. And now that I’m frozen, All I feel is the cold and the empty.

1. Drink Sleepy Time Herbal Tea

Even the Sleeping bear on the box soothes me. :)

2. Listen to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata

Makes me feel cultured and happy. Although I never can figure out the correlation with moonlight….

3. Google “Ways to fall asleep quickly”

Masturbate…. no thank you.

4. Try Not to look at my computer screen. (Because thats what google said to do     right after masturbation.

FAIL

5. Attempt actually counting sheep.

WTF all the sheep I can visualize are cartoony and loud. Not soothing whatsoever. Actually begins to freak me out a bit. “What if the sheep feel exploited and attack me?” “What the hell was that?” “Did something just ‘bahhhhhh’?”

6. Say to my self at least 40 times “ok. if you fall asleep now you’ll still get 5 and a half hours of sleep.”

Just makes me close my eyes real tight like I’m six and trying to trick the tooth fairy into thinking I’m asleep.

7. Think angry thoughts towards my family members sleeping soundly without interruption.

“Yeah? Fuck you guys. All sleepin and shit? You don’t have real problems. No-one understands me. Damn it, and tomorrow I’m gonna half to deal with yo chipper asses all fresh from your eight hours of sleep. Screw You.”

8. Wonder why I talk like a gangster rapper in my head.

whatt?

9. Silently apologize to my family for blowing up at them.

It’s not your fault I can’t sleep. Really I’m just frustrated at myself. You all did nothing wrong. I hope none of my anger seeped into your dreams…. I love you guys…

10. Think about how annoying Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata gets after 3 hours.

Screw it. I’m switching to Vivaldi. 

I do not have an eating disorder.

I do not starve myself.

I do not have a “corrupt body image”

I do not see myself as fat.

I do not think I am ugly.

I do not not eat because I want to loose weight.

I do not throw up on purpose. 

I do not want attention.

I do not want to write down what I eat in a notebook for your review.

I do not adapt to being a vegetarian because I want to cut proteins.

I do not have an eating disorder.

Love, Rye

they are pretty

Hey guys, I just figured out how to use skype! (Thanks to prolonged coaching from my baby sister and best friend) so uh… add me or um skype me i guess…. 

username : ryeplante

Haikus are Stupid

Haikus are really stupid

Haikus are stupid.

—————————

Dear Stupid Haiku.

You are not a real poem.

Don’t be recognized as such.

————————-

A haiku is just

an underachiever’s attempt

at profound thinking.

————————-

It’s not a poem

If syllables are focused

on more than the words.

————————-

Is this a hate crime?

Let’s answer that, shall we now?

I’m pretty sure, NO.

Let’s talk rhythm.

Let’s talk rhyme.

Let’s talk poetry.

Let’s talk time.

Let’s discuss philosophy.

Let us study life.

Let us ponder husbands,

Let us question wife.

Let’s do it over coffee.

Let’s do it over brunch.

Let’s do it in a quiet place.

Let’s share each other’s hunch.

Let’s take it to the media,

Let’s take it to the boss.

Let’s show the world we have a voice,

Let’s add some  spice into the sauce.

-Rye