the health clinic that I have been withdrawn from to further inquire as to why I have been discharged, and all I have to say, in response to the woman who I spoke to on the phone, is that I am inclined to light the bitch on fire. she was condescending, she refused to speak to me, she was blatantly rude and offending, and she practically reduced me to tears; which may be my own fault for being so sensitive. she made me feel like a small, powerless child. Nobody has made me feel that way since my stepfather and my 8th-grade math teacher. I have never been treated so horribly by a service representative in my entire life, especially not at a health clinic. she told me that I am free to consult legal advice if I do not trust that they have the legal right to discharge at leisure, and when I told her that they run one of the top (I said "best", I probably sounded silly) clinics in the area, she said "you know what? I'm not going to have this conversation with you! seek legal advice if that's what you feel you need to do, but this conversation is OVER!" and then she transferred me to somebody else. I'm not typically a mean-spirited individual, but I hope she is plagued by numerous (tiny, non-life-threatening) paper-cuts throughout the entirety of her career. End-of-conversation.

October 2007-

What does it mean to me to be reborn? To me it means just getting a second chance, however many times it takes me to get it right. Sometimes I would love to just get up in the morning, and feel NEW and complete and ready for my day. I wake up some mornings, and it's like, I can already feel myself losing grip on time and my surroundings, myself even before I even get a fair chance at living out my day positively. The nights are hard as well. Not that the day its self is often easy. The nights though, they are what I fear the most. The isolation of the dark, the lonely feeling of being in my room, door locked, nobody awake around me. Not even my dog or cat, who are probably lounging around in the living room somewhere, cozy. Not me. I find no such peace.

I find myself struggling often. Trying again and again to get it right. I get SO frustrated with my surroundings. So lost and confused and sometimes even hopeless feeling. My day's have patterns now. Good days and Bad days, never an in between. And they're always the same no matter what category they fit into. Mornings, spent rushing and literally BATTLING with my hair, usually to the death, which is actually a metaphor for hair damage, so I guess that neither of us truly win. I remember when I was a lot younger. 6th grade, 7th grade, part of 8th. When hair wasn't even an ISSUE back then. "Who Cares!," I thought. "It's only hair. I look good ALL the time." No doubt did I think that I was one of the most attractive people alive. Then came a shocking realization about style. The long, parted in the middle style wasn't cutting it anymore. Everybody had told me so for years, but I finally bought into it. So, I changed my hair. Incorporated a hair straightener into my daily routine, (actually a 250$ hair straightener, mind you...) and countless products from damage manage, to sleek and smooth. And that, is how my now legendary hair OBSESSION began. My insecurities cause hectic mornings. To say the least.

Then comes my day. Words can't even describe how tiring it can be sometimes. Whether it's caused by my night time insomnia, or my growing dissatisfaction with the world around me, I sometimes have to drag myself through every SINGLE moment. For a while I wouldn't even attempt to get out of bed in the morning and push myself towards life, but eventually that wasn't washing over too well with my mom and co-workers, so a change was indeed needed. I now force myself out of bed in the morning, all despite the countless thoughts rushing through my head warning me of what I am soon to be facing. Plan A: Let's put on a BIG FAKE smile every day and pretend that I'm not miserable to make people happy! PEOPLE THAT I DON'T EVEN LIKE! What am I doing?! Plan B: Let's be a big socially insecure melting, sad and defenseless human being who everybody will see as weak and flawed and insignificant. Plan C: Let's throw myself out a window and pray that I don't see the ground below. Alright Then. Plan A it is. :D

Home life isn't exactly a particularly glorious or comfortable atmosphere. More like an environment restricted by walls, possibly containing an array of insects ranging from pincher bugs to big black, and long legged spiders. I always feel so awful when I murder them. I really do. Part of me wonders whether or not Karma will take place, and I will be haunted by spiders and pincher bugs for the rest of my life, or possibly even one day be stepped on myself! You can imagine how I felt once when there was a HUGE black spider on the wall, who I was too afraid to get close enough to smash, so instead took 3 agonizingly apologetic minutes or so to spray it down with a poisonous toxin titled "Bug Repellent." I lay my conscience to rest in the fact that the bottle promised to be "Fast Acting."

And Then. And Then comes the night. I can't run at night. Can't hide from myself any longer. I'm forced to think about my life, about my father, about my friends and small family and grades and homework and my body and my acting ability and above all of those astonishingly devastating subjects, how there's not a single living person around me who I can just hold onto, who can make all of the pain go away. I can't hide from these thoughts at night. It's like when a set of all-seeing eyes adjust to the dark after the lights are all turned off, and slowly but surely figures begin to emerge from within the darkness. Tormenting and horrific images, when no light can be shed on them. There's a quote about darkness. One of my favorites actually.

"In a world filled with darkness, we all need some kind of light. Whether it's a great flame that shows us how to win back what we've lost, or a powerful beacon intended to scare away potential monsters, or a few glowing bulbs that reveal to us the hidden truth of our past. We all need something to help us get through the night. Even if it's just the tiniest glimmer of hope."

Hope. It's very much the only thing that keeps me awake at night. When everything in my life feels so dark, when I miss the people who I have fallen in love with, but no longer are at my side... when I think about the secrets that I am withholding from everybody, that further distance me from the life outside of myself... when I begin to wish that I was talking to Dad again, When I begin to wish that I even had a dad, when I think about my past, my present, and my future... when I think about the fact that there's not a single person who can help me in this moment, when I think of the mound of homework that's stashed away in my backpack, all of the things that I want desperately but cannot seem to grab a hold of, and the one dream which I have MOST, the dream of becoming an actor, and all of my emotional blockages and current talent ranges and lack of creative support that force me to test my love for the artistic endeavor, and how early I'll be having to wake up within the next 5 hours, only to face all of the same things all over again... and how desperate I am for a new, brighter life... all that I truly have left is HOPE. Hope for a better future. Hope for an acceptance of my past. Hope for the creative burst of energy which I LONG for, and hope of above all, one day not being alone... It's all I have, Hope. It's what keeps me awake into the wee hours of the night. The hope that I'll be rescued, or feel happy before I go to sleep, or have my gaping inner pit of emptiness finally be filled. It can be so hard to go to sleep with that kind of weight. Even harder, waking up without the feeling of longing for a better life being fulfilled.

So what does it mean to be reborn? Maybe you will find yourself asking this question someday. I know that I do. The dictionary defines "Being Reborn," as "Born Again." But, I like to think, actually, I like to hope... that maybe I can even have a chance at happiness and a better future, without being born all over again. If only by learning from my mistakes in the past, creating my future, and learning about and accepting who I am along the way. And on every so occasion, letting loose of some of my baggage that I still cling to, despite the fact that I now realize that hope of recapturing the events that I long to return to, is the only true thing that is hopeless... and I know that I shouldn't let it hold me back. I like to think that I have the opportunity to be "Reborn," every single day. I blame this on hope.

-Thank You.

 I couldn't eat healthy or in moderation if my life depended on it, and I hate exercising. I quit. Luckily I don't have the WORST body. And 50 lunges/squats a day, which seems reasonable, will hopefully be an improvement of some sort despite my insane eating habits. Fuck you, too, non-Jessica-Alba thighs!!!

I cannot be alone. Not for a single second of any given day. I cannot be in my own company. Given 25 minutes of consciously being alone, it is likely that I will be deeply saddened and suicidal. I cannot be a part of the rest of the world. I do not 'fit'. I am not able to adapt to or understand or accept or embrace cultural/societal/interpersonal likenesses. I cannot accept that other people have lives and pasts. If a person's life and past does not revolve around me, if a person's life and past revolves around anything other than me, I feel worthless and disgusting and inferior; vulnerable to abandonment. I cannot accept that other people have sex. When I think of anybody having sex- be they Kimber, be they one of the guys from Sex and the City, be they my gay ex-boyfriends who's lives I have no interest in whatsoever, be they random people from the streets and other public locations- I want to vomit and die. I cannot understand the "male species", or accept that I cannot understand them for that matter. I cannot understand an interest in ranking your manliness (muscle, sexual impulsiveness, body hair, sweat, blood, comfortability with sex and masturbation, void of attachment, physical vigor all come to mind) on a basis of success in athletic and sexual pursuits. I cannot understand feeling like you belong with, idolize, or envy anybody who is included in that frame of mind, but yet I feel the need to belong with, I idolize, I envy, and am sexually-excited/stimulated by those who do. Manliness and 'maleness' and athleticism and sexuality stereotypes (often true), amongst males, make me also want to vomit and die. I want to be seen, I want to be wanted, I want to be needed, I want to be the subject of male/sexually-oriented boasting, I want to be lusted after, I want to be envied, I want to be so valuable that I am the human equivalent of 'a million bucks'. I am not under the delusion that my life is of grandeur, or that I will at any point possess any or all of the above. I know perfectly well where I stand, and therefore I do not belong in this world. I do not belong on my own or with people. I am not a real person. I am not OK.

drives me as far out of my mind as finding ONE detail in any given email that I have already sent that could have been worthy of a Pulitzer Prize in my heart, but that I regrettably had not acknowledged while writing.
and, fuck Tom from MySpace. he's literally (literally like, by definition; as in, in a literal sense), impossible to contact. I'd love to take this up with him...

"Tom, if I could request ANY improvement to be made on myspace, (as you would be re-industrializing all forms of mail-oriented communication), it would be for you to allow sent messages to be REVOKED before the recipient has the opportunity to read them.
In case you're wondering, I've not encountered any major personal crisis, (although the possibility of ending up in a situation that could be deemed deserving of catastrophic connotations, -in a fit of heated, passionate emotion- could easily materialize), and instead I merely continue, despite proof-reading, to find minor details that I forgot to mention, or I'll be a crippler with my wording, and it absolutely drives me up the wall.
Tom, for you to make this universally appreciated alteration, would be indescribably kind, if not HEROIC of you.
I'm counting on you, Tom. Furthermore, it's all I want for Christmas.
-Margot Marie"

I'm constantly pole vaulting between loving and appreciating my mom and hating her guts.
For a moment, again, school seemed like my best bet to having a decent life. I had grand illusions of grandeur and success at Simon's Rock and then Oxford or Harvard, etc. I'm now beginning not to care if I wind up in a State College.
I would say that receiving the brother that I am interested in adopting is FOR SURE the cure-all-end-all, and it really quite feels like it would be, but given my track record it's difficult and senseless to place any final bets.
On the plus side, somewhat in thanks to Mariah and Whitney's "When You Believe", the likelihood of getting the brother that I want does seem rather hopeful. I hope.
I had sex with Michael Phelps today. Like, SEX, sex. That's a first. He was really good.
If Michael Phelps thinks I have a gorgeous body, I must be doing something right.
Well, we'll see where life takes me. By the first of next month I am determined to either have finished my homestudy and be in the works towards having a new brother, or to be engaging in some educational permanency and doing well. Preferably both.
I think that having a new brother, my age, who likes fashion and psychology and shopping and cooking Mexican Food and strives for independence while proving that he can be reasonably responsible, (who's basically the perfect Hispanic/Latino specimen) really is the answer for me. So-long-as we are not attracted to each other all should be good.
I want a boyfriend, but I want a brother more. Brothers are forever. At least the kind that I want. I want a friend. I REALLY FUCKING WANT A FRIEND. And a brother, so it works out well.
Note to self: No more hot sex with random athletes. Yes, I know how attractive they are. Yes, I know it was sweaty. Fine... he had THEE perfect stomach and chest and face and, well, everything else. And, well, OK, they seem really good with their hands...
You want Karma on your side. Regardless of whether or not an exchange of bodily fluids and moans truly dictates the possibility of 'good' Karma. This is a highly inopportune time to be gambling with luck and fate.
Also, be more nice to your mother. You can't bring a 15 year old in from Foster Care and have constant wars raging within his new home. It is also of the utmost importance that she stays ON-BOARD with this whole adoption thing.
Alright Margot, go to sleep. Or proceed to listen to Mariah and Whitney. Whatever you do, just make sure to practice strong dental hygiene and common courtesy come morning.
Just make better choices. You're making yourself sick.
Ahem. So, for that matter, is your "amazing" cock.