The International Writers Magazine: Tabytha Towe Diaries 2005
on breaking up dieting and a mainstream of consciousness
newest escapades. Oh boy.
Or at least the latest escapades, for there are simply too many
to tell of, but really, what is ever new in my ever interchangeable,
pattern way of life? Hence my failure to
change my ways.
Does that sound
so negative? Perhaps a little on the cynical side, which I am indeed
at times, yet it is still close to the truth. Prime example: my writing
It has been about nine months since I last delivered a piece to you,
now Ill aimlessly attempt to redeem my incoherent-self from my
Heres a funny thing about this mind you. I believe my efforts
have been fated for me. Maybe I was never supposed to write you again
until this very day. You see, I have actually written three times throughout
these abrasive, absent months, and thats a big, fucking three
time effort by the way!?
No excuses, I dont need to justify when or why I write for Hacks,
only that there may be, in fact, a reason or two explaining why there
has not been a word sent over this nine month period, (thats
a full pregnancy term, imagine how many babies were born while I was
So here I present non-excuse One: I do not own a computer so it makes
matters quite difficult, though there are ways around it yes, I just
chose not to do so.
Two, both my second and third pieces -and I shit you not my friends-
got erased! I could not fathom the accidental purpose of this happening
not only once, but again sometime later after having poured more of
my heart out having been already disparaged. Damned I say! A simple,
light touch of a button and unbeknownst to myself and much to my horrible
dismay, all that was plentiful had vanished. Twice! My God am I that
cursed! Our future is in computer's hands now. We are useless without
it. We wont know what to do with ourselves anymore because computers
will do the thinking for us. Its creeping control dooms us all.
Of course you know that I know that computers arent really new
age technology right? This is coming from a girl who doesnt understand
what an ipod is no less. I still use a discman for Christsakes,
shocking. Im so bloody old fashioned! And yes, I am a complete
hypocrite because am I not using a very evil computer myself this very
The only reason I am attempting to write again today is that I am terribly
ill. Its a beautiful day outside and I am in here, in this with
you. Ill just write what comes through my fingers, I dont
even think Im thinking about what Im going to say, Ill
ride the flu wave of distorted configuration, I feel completely and
utterly surreal in my surroundings right now. Strange how a head cold
can do that!?
If I didnt write, I reckon my heart would just leak out.
Its not the writing part I dissolve in; its my inner
You figure it out, something IN there that no language can describe.
For example, my recent break up with the previously mentioned, handsome,
lovely chap that got me cruising on boards --- time out a second, random
thought. I could jump on a snow/skateboard so enthusiastically, something
I feared before but have come to love, yet I have trouble jumping on
board with anything else so important. Hmmm--- You may or may not see
what the significance was of that, but who gives, shall we continue;
When this handsome, lovely chap and I split, p.s. I wont
go into any detail as to what happened and events leading to or after
the matter, out of respect for him and our (own private affairs) disgruntled
situation, which was flabbergasting enough, I was pretty fucked.
It wasnt pretty at all.
While we were not associating for a while there, I had no
one to really talk to, so I wrote about it a lot, I needed to bleed
you see. And sooner or later, I felt better; otherwise I would be in
AA right now. I got out everything that I felt that I could just as
easily do by screeching or hysterically crying or throwing a hissy fit
or precious ornaments that matter, which I did also, but none of it
seemed to alleviate my disposition or make any sense until after I had
read it. It was as if it were real when I could look at it afterwards,
dissect it for my own amusement. For when its just a passing thought
in your head or even an emotional spectacle, it goes so quickly you
cannot possibly recall what it was in the first place. Too many feelings
to go through us, almost immediately. We are very temperamental beings,
fragile and fleeting.
It helps to vent, thats to give in, but also helps get another
perspective on things, whether it be different, clearer, looking towards,
within, deeper, its all the same scary shit. Then you wish you
looked at things this way or that way at this point or earlier to have
spared the energy, but then who would learn? That is once more the beauty
of irony. I guess.
So I bled, I bled well, and one day I stopped crying and didnt
get angry, didnt let my ego get involved, didnt try to understand
it, just that, well, things happen, it was not pleasant, it was beyond
my control, there was nothing I could have done to formulate it any
better for either of us except to let it happen and eventually accept
it. Or wait till we were eventually over this and mature enough to talk
to each other at all, in a not-so-hostile manner. I hate waiting things
out, its agonizing and Im too anxious and impatient, so
what did I do, I wrote about it, (then waited.) The process of the heart
leakage regarding the long and tedious interlude between I and the break
up receiver/partner was grueling, but the painful aspects had
dissipated quite drastically, then I soon realized that the worst was
to come. The anguish turned out to be the easier part, for the insufferable
tears came freely and naturally with all that overwhelmed you. Its
a very passionate and vulnerable time. The acceptance part is harder,
it takes effort, strength and many steps. No pride allowed either. I
had to accept that I couldnt go back, to him or in time, I couldnt
apologize or expect him to, we are all so sorry, what good does that
do? I couldnt analyze it or question the what ifs,
if I had done this or spoken up about that and so forth, there is no
point in torturing yourself like that. It isnt out of the question
to question, we even have to question our beliefs after all, and it
is human nature to be confused and curious, for there are never right
answers or appropriate actions to take, but we cant cry about
it forever; so move the hell on already! Is that a questionable
During this new found acceptance, I suddenly felt relieved and somewhat
smug, but humbly so, I felt a huge weight off my shoulders. So then
decided to do an over zealous test of onesself: man vs. food. I went
on a body cleanse that I had hoped would clear my mind as well, but
the 5 yoga classes a week had taken care of that anyway. I was doing
so well just a little while ago. I havent been to my ideal, average
dose of yoga much at all lately, what a difference my body feels like,
kind of off balance.
I was supposed to go 10 days without any food, just water and a bitter
sweet, sour remedy of lemon, cayenne pepper and maple syrup mixture.
Tasty once you get used to it, once you cant taste the smell of
delightfully appetizing food anymore. I did my whole ludicrous cleanse
wrong actually, too many lemons, destroyed my teeth enamel and now my
gums are overly sensitive, I suggest you do some internet research if
you want to try this, at least get better results than I did.
The best for last of course, is laxative tea for dinner that keeps you
up all night with a terrible gaseous pain that feels like a knife turning
in your stomach, and then for breakfast you get to chug one litre full
of salt water, so yummy I tell you, makes you want to vomit. Now that
should have been a good way to flush out, right. I was exceptionally
lethargic and drained; I had no energy and was really light headed.
No one told me that you had to RELAX while doing this, *remember research!
I went to work full time, in a restaurant no less!? Long days, especially
as I was addicted to coffee, on a minimum three drinks a night average
and a full time smoker. The very night before I had absurdly decided
to shock my body with the opposite effect, it was one extreme to the
other. I was hurting for the substances that hurt me. But hey, surprisingly
I did it, I prevailed and never cheated. Although I only managed seven
days, still too much man.
Well today, at this point in my life, I am happy to say I am a
healthy, (though presently sick) happy for the most part, (we can all
be happier cant we) single for the longest time, (no re-bound
.non lasting regardless) aspiring young woman in
an Urban, trivial world laid out for passers by to ponder evermore.
Healthy, because I have just quit smoking for the first time in over
a decade, (yes I was THAT young and THAT stupid.) I quit with all thanks
to the cleanse in which was the main objective for doing it in the first
place. I can proclaim that it works, so far, I mean I have no intentions
of going back to those delicious death sticks if I have to drink salt
water again. Unexpectedly I feel like shit and I feel absolutely hideous.
Cigarette diet had alarming results. When I quit three months ago, after
the cleanse especially, I had lost some weight and I was satisfied with
my body for the first time in ages. I was adamant with yoga and determined
to get tighter. That was nearly just 100 days ago, a mere tick of the
I have since gained an astronomical 16 pounds. I substituted tobacco
for muffins, I craved sugar constantly. What on earth was I thinking
trying to quit during Christmas holidays. For fucks sakes the five staff
party dinners I went to were worth about 10 pounds themselves (I was
recently available and therefore a good last minute date for a few friendsand
they were all such lovely feasts.)
It is unconceivable though, I feel like I am not myself. This is the
heaviest I have been in my entire life, I am disgusted. Not that I am
huge, not even fat or chubby, just that I let so much weight be obtained
so quickly. Its absurd! None of my pants fit me anymore, and not
stepping out in the cold amongst other fellow smokers makes me feel
like Im missing out on something, Im an outcast from the
weird group now. Although I do have a nice booty to fill in my non-existent
arse from before, that can stay, all else can go. And let us not forget
slowly my lungs will eviscerate all the intoxicating pollution I have
accumulated over the years that now more hopefully wont kill me
in 15 years (mind you other substances might intervene before that any
how.) And yeah, ok, I gained some weight but it can be lost, I still
have a pretty face. Someone once said
Happy, always, but there is a suppressing dark side that reveals itself,
but Im trying to stab him. I wear a smile well and it is sincere.
I love life, even the darker side, its all connected, and it makes
me happy to be alive.
Happy about writing class, finally going to school. I WILL REPEAT, Tabytha
and school, same sentence you heard correctly. Needless to say it is
not for a degree kind of course, it is in fact non credit, but I most
certainly love it. Its just opening me up to the fact that I love
to write. All I need to do is do it. Practice this and other such arts
more often. I have repressed my creativity considerably ever since I
was introduced to alcohol. Even drugs aspired colorful motive. Booze
discourages you, makes for likely excuse though. Moreover to the point,
it has taught me not to be afraid of a classroom, that I can do this
because I want to be there, and that I am open to every idea and I cannot
reject my desire for it, regardless of being um-professional. Nor can
I reject myself for failure or success for that matter, which is seemingly
a huge issue with me. Is this too personal, good grief Im turning
into my own-word-therapist-writer-bullshitter
I was asked this in class: what makes a writer?
We all are to some degree, I mean if you are writing you are literally
a writer, though not a literal one?
Is it only when we have a piece published that makes us a writer? Or
only when someone else reads your writing?
I think the difference is that everyone feels and thinks and expresses
differently. Writers are the ones that do all that through a pen and
paper, but it definitely comes through them, almost naturally. It can
be a form of art or a form of release. Others think and feel through
music or dancing, or through other means generating a (false sense of
power because they are insecure cowards who never dealt with their feelings
or problems) through hurting other people or animals or through manipulation
of religion or through greedy corporations or through the court or parliament
wont continue to go there dont worry.
Ah, you see, that makes me mad so I wrote about it.
Does that make me a writer? Doesnt make me any more special
and nor does it make me make any more sense.
© Tabytha Towe
The all original Vancouver Girl
You can read all of Tabytha Towe's Diaries on-line here:
six years of gowing up on Hackwriters
moments from Tabytha Towe's diary:
SEVEN and a half-EIGHT-
Africa Diaries) EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN- TWENTY
all rights reserved - all comments are the writers' own responsibiltiy
- no liability accepted by hackwriters.com or affiliates.