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Pixie  21 February at 17:20 · Lots of anxiety. Really concerned over my friend in ICU. Going to force myself to yoga or something. Pixie  22 February at 20:39 · Life is passing by too quick for me to capture it. I feel like a fisherman who has lost his net. I see images and words and stories all floating in the sea but I am too impatient to write this down, to feel this. Apparently one of my biggest things I am working on right now is when a negative thought attaches to a feeling. It’s when my loneliness or fear/anxiety attaches to "I fuck everything up" it stops me from fully processing the feeling and I get stuck there. Also, wherever I am I want to be somewhere else. (complex ptsd) Everything is blurring in an impressionistic canvas cranium. I don’t want to feel this. I feel the tears well up despite the emptiness and wonder at their origin. I am an empty latex fetish suit. Don’t cry you will ruin the makeup. Life is just a cancer ward cabaret after all. P
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Valium: A Love Letter

As I contemplate taking you, your blue form dissolving to dreamy powdered oblivion under my tongue I am lying cross legged on the physics professors bed with a cannabis leaf throw. He just returned to the room but i am not letting anyone disturb my flow. I want you the way i want food or sex or sensation except you are the anti sensation, a yoga class in pill form for those who don't or wont make the time to practice. I kid myself I am chemically dependent on you. It's a fairly decent lie, if I do say so myself. After all a delusion sounds so much more palatable when it is prescribed by a physician.
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Searching for Tara

Hello and welcome to my new Blog, Searching for Tara. The adventures of a single 27 year old New York queer woman living, working and dating with complex PTSD (you can find my previous work at www.pixiedreadful.com) A mix of Prose and Social observations. Entry No. 1 I don’t like you About two woman It was your essence that entranced me. You were a shimmering, glistening incandescent pixie. Your hair was red/gold/blue….the colour of a flame. There was a screening of Rocky Horror at a Halloween pub night and we sat in the worn red velvet chairs gazing at Dr. Frankenfurters lips.   O h Oh Oh Oh At the late night double feature picture show You were with a man, tall dark australian but I didn’t care about him it was all you, laced tightly into your dark velvet corset, cut away so your small hip bones jutted out, white wisp of a tutu skirt.   Do you ever really love people, or do you just feed on love itself that is like the thick flowing  golden nectar of f
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