This is a rant
7/10
The things that were in my bag that was stolen from me in Vancouver:
My favourite olive green hoodie, which was the only warm thing I brought with me. The journal Jazz gave me in Portland and this journal which I had just bought only days before and hadn't even gotten to write in yet. My notebook I took all of my notes in while studying in Australia and all my botany sheets. The chococat alarm clock my best friend gave me in high school so I wouldn't oversleep away from home. 2 books- Witches Abroad, given to me by Sel and which I hadn't read yet, and The Fountainhead which I was borrowing from my friend Samantha. My sunglasses. Teatree facewash. Toothpaste and my Batman toothbrush I got with Candice in Michigan. Frosting shampoo I got for christmas. Baby powder. My deodorant. Hairbrush. All my makeup, so I'll have to look ugly for the rest of my trip and not cover my acne. House keys. Car keys. Battery charger. A collection of bus transfers I'd saved from Halifax. Presents I bought for my parents in Australia. Chocolate heart my room mate Tiff had given to Kite that I was going to bring back to him. A flexible camera tripod I bought with the last of my Australian money, as it was expensive, and the glass oil lamp I got which was one of the only things I'd actually bought myself as a souvenir from my trip. I bet it's broken by now, and I took so much care transporting it so far. A small book that I used to write down new words and their definitions that I liked that I'd been keeping since 8th grade. My planner with all my locker codes from PA in it. My adorable konpeito notebook I got from Baltimore in which Kite wrote a long and detailed pokedex. All my food and water I got in Victoria that I needed while traveling. My Wacom tablet that I got for my birthday from my dad. All but one of my USB drives, which had so much of my art and school files on them. My pretty baby blue Nintendo DS which I modded myself, with my 200+ hour Pokemon Pearl game in it, and all the rest of my DS games in the case. And my laptop, the only computer I've ever had. All my music, all my photos, all my files. All my photos I've never uploaded, my memories from the times I lived in Halifax because I loved someone there. Photodocumentation of my own transition that I kept personal. Pictures of my old friends, my dead dog, my grandparents, conversations I'd saved, all my art, photos of me with people I've loved that I'm never going to see again because they're fucking dead. Memories from my life and a good time capsule of 2006 until now. Also, my bus pass, which Greyhound won't print a new one of for me and won't let me continue to travel without.
Thanks, whoever you are. Thanks for breaking into my locker and stealing my things. I hope you enjoy my life as much as I did. No biggie, I don't mind being stranded on the opposite side of the continent from where I live. I'm sure you'll know how important those old photos of me and my lover were to me, and the significance of the folder labeled 'Keeshond' too. Also, my awesome level 60 Leafeon and his sweet moveset. I got him from my friend Saul, you know. How much time did I put into my quest again? How much of my heart is in a lot of those documents? Oh right, that doesn't matter and you're never going to look anyway. I'm not a person, I'm a price. There's no face or story behind any of those possessions. They've long since been exchanged for some crack probably, which has also since been extirpated, hasn't it? Just like that I'm dehumanized and condensed into a quick fix. Now that that's done and over with, who's going to get fucked over next?
I hate you. I hate drugs. I hate the dregs of humanity. I hate the thoughtlessness. I have absolutely no compassion or sympathy for drug users anymore. I hate them all. I hope you fucking die using whatever shit you bought on the street with what you sapped from me.
Ugh. So. I've since been able to calm down since Saturday on the bus. I figured I'd still type up what I wrote, even though I'll never come back and read this. I've since been helped out by random people I don't even know along the way, given a pep talk and a sweatshirt by an older guy whom had something similar happen to him, and exchanged ipods and shared fruit snacks with a cute boy in the rocky mountains for a few hours before we parted.
I'm in Calgaryyyy. Which in fact was extremely difficult to get to. Even though I had my pass and showed the ticket people when I got to Vancouver, they got pissy with me for not having it when it was time for me to get on the bus 5 hours later (even though they know it was stolen and there's like a fucking video of it happening and stuff...) So I don't know completely what's going to happen now. I was depressed and thinking maybe I'd just go straight home after this. But another part of me wants to accomplish what I set out to do and make it across a whole country. I'd feel like I was giving up otherwise.
I'm staying with lolitsgabe who has been way more nice and helpful to me than I could ever really ask for, and I don't really know if I can appropriately express my gratitude in words. So I think all things considered, things are going alright right now.
I know what happened to me was really awful and it really shouldn't happen to anyone. I have a right to be angry, but at the same time I'm so sick of feeling angry and resentful all the time and if not feeling it directly, shoving it back behind the closet doors of my mind. It's become one of my primary emotions, and this depresses me. I'd like to say I'm not an angry person but I think I am, it just happened gradually without my noticing until I was almost always fueled by hatred of something. I still want this trip to be able healing, I don't want to be too set back by this. It's really hard, and I often feel like I'm somehow not supposed to be happy and the continual things that happen to me are the things that are supposed to prove it somehow. It's like I should never say that I'm really happy because something will clue in and inevitably kick me down way harder. I want to take all the bad things that happen to me with stride and continue on productively rather than just adding to the fuel that makes me feel like a vengeful spirit of a person that died some years ago haunting the earth. Fixating on the same old things that bring me misery over and over and over and never being able to move beyond them. If I believed there was a god, I'd probably pray for help in making me a whole person again. If I get a good shovel, I'm under here, below all the resentment.
The things that were in my bag that was stolen from me in Vancouver:
My favourite olive green hoodie, which was the only warm thing I brought with me. The journal Jazz gave me in Portland and this journal which I had just bought only days before and hadn't even gotten to write in yet. My notebook I took all of my notes in while studying in Australia and all my botany sheets. The chococat alarm clock my best friend gave me in high school so I wouldn't oversleep away from home. 2 books- Witches Abroad, given to me by Sel and which I hadn't read yet, and The Fountainhead which I was borrowing from my friend Samantha. My sunglasses. Teatree facewash. Toothpaste and my Batman toothbrush I got with Candice in Michigan. Frosting shampoo I got for christmas. Baby powder. My deodorant. Hairbrush. All my makeup, so I'll have to look ugly for the rest of my trip and not cover my acne. House keys. Car keys. Battery charger. A collection of bus transfers I'd saved from Halifax. Presents I bought for my parents in Australia. Chocolate heart my room mate Tiff had given to Kite that I was going to bring back to him. A flexible camera tripod I bought with the last of my Australian money, as it was expensive, and the glass oil lamp I got which was one of the only things I'd actually bought myself as a souvenir from my trip. I bet it's broken by now, and I took so much care transporting it so far. A small book that I used to write down new words and their definitions that I liked that I'd been keeping since 8th grade. My planner with all my locker codes from PA in it. My adorable konpeito notebook I got from Baltimore in which Kite wrote a long and detailed pokedex. All my food and water I got in Victoria that I needed while traveling. My Wacom tablet that I got for my birthday from my dad. All but one of my USB drives, which had so much of my art and school files on them. My pretty baby blue Nintendo DS which I modded myself, with my 200+ hour Pokemon Pearl game in it, and all the rest of my DS games in the case. And my laptop, the only computer I've ever had. All my music, all my photos, all my files. All my photos I've never uploaded, my memories from the times I lived in Halifax because I loved someone there. Photodocumentation of my own transition that I kept personal. Pictures of my old friends, my dead dog, my grandparents, conversations I'd saved, all my art, photos of me with people I've loved that I'm never going to see again because they're fucking dead. Memories from my life and a good time capsule of 2006 until now. Also, my bus pass, which Greyhound won't print a new one of for me and won't let me continue to travel without.
Thanks, whoever you are. Thanks for breaking into my locker and stealing my things. I hope you enjoy my life as much as I did. No biggie, I don't mind being stranded on the opposite side of the continent from where I live. I'm sure you'll know how important those old photos of me and my lover were to me, and the significance of the folder labeled 'Keeshond' too. Also, my awesome level 60 Leafeon and his sweet moveset. I got him from my friend Saul, you know. How much time did I put into my quest again? How much of my heart is in a lot of those documents? Oh right, that doesn't matter and you're never going to look anyway. I'm not a person, I'm a price. There's no face or story behind any of those possessions. They've long since been exchanged for some crack probably, which has also since been extirpated, hasn't it? Just like that I'm dehumanized and condensed into a quick fix. Now that that's done and over with, who's going to get fucked over next?
I hate you. I hate drugs. I hate the dregs of humanity. I hate the thoughtlessness. I have absolutely no compassion or sympathy for drug users anymore. I hate them all. I hope you fucking die using whatever shit you bought on the street with what you sapped from me.
Ugh. So. I've since been able to calm down since Saturday on the bus. I figured I'd still type up what I wrote, even though I'll never come back and read this. I've since been helped out by random people I don't even know along the way, given a pep talk and a sweatshirt by an older guy whom had something similar happen to him, and exchanged ipods and shared fruit snacks with a cute boy in the rocky mountains for a few hours before we parted.
I'm in Calgaryyyy. Which in fact was extremely difficult to get to. Even though I had my pass and showed the ticket people when I got to Vancouver, they got pissy with me for not having it when it was time for me to get on the bus 5 hours later (even though they know it was stolen and there's like a fucking video of it happening and stuff...) So I don't know completely what's going to happen now. I was depressed and thinking maybe I'd just go straight home after this. But another part of me wants to accomplish what I set out to do and make it across a whole country. I'd feel like I was giving up otherwise.
I'm staying with lolitsgabe who has been way more nice and helpful to me than I could ever really ask for, and I don't really know if I can appropriately express my gratitude in words. So I think all things considered, things are going alright right now.
I know what happened to me was really awful and it really shouldn't happen to anyone. I have a right to be angry, but at the same time I'm so sick of feeling angry and resentful all the time and if not feeling it directly, shoving it back behind the closet doors of my mind. It's become one of my primary emotions, and this depresses me. I'd like to say I'm not an angry person but I think I am, it just happened gradually without my noticing until I was almost always fueled by hatred of something. I still want this trip to be able healing, I don't want to be too set back by this. It's really hard, and I often feel like I'm somehow not supposed to be happy and the continual things that happen to me are the things that are supposed to prove it somehow. It's like I should never say that I'm really happy because something will clue in and inevitably kick me down way harder. I want to take all the bad things that happen to me with stride and continue on productively rather than just adding to the fuel that makes me feel like a vengeful spirit of a person that died some years ago haunting the earth. Fixating on the same old things that bring me misery over and over and over and never being able to move beyond them. If I believed there was a god, I'd probably pray for help in making me a whole person again. If I get a good shovel, I'm under here, below all the resentment.