About


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† b o n s l y †
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she/her · chaotic · functional · a disaster in a person-shaped shell
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A B O U T
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you found this page. congrats. enjoy the mess.

i am... a lot of things. stable. okay. fine.
none of those. i am none of those things.

i cry at grocery stores sometimes and i have a playlist called "songs for when the ceiling feels too close" that has 847 songs on it and i have listened to all of them. multiple times.

i once stood in a parking lot at 2am listening to the used on repeat for three hours because...
you know. you know.

but we don't talk about that here.

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C U R R E N T L Y L I S T E N I N G T O
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♪ my chemical romance — welcome to the black parade
♪ panic! at the disco — i write sins not tragedies
♪ fall out boy — sugar we're goin down
♪ the used — all that i've got
♪ brand new — sic transit gloria... glory fades
♪ dashboard confessional — vindicated
♪ taking back sunday — cute without the 'e'
♪ hawthorne heights — ohio is for lovers
♪ afi — girl's not grey
♪ senses fail — buried a lie
♪ underoath — it's dangerous business walking out your front door
♪ from first to last — note to self
♪ escape the fate — the webs we weave
♪ pierce the veil — king for a day
♪ sleeping with sirens — if you can't hang
♪ bring me the horizon — chelsea smile
♪ thursday — understanding in a car crash
♪ silverstein — smile in your sleep
♪ finch — what it is to burn

(if you don't recognize at least twelve of these we have nothing to talk about. those are the rules. i don't make them. i just enforce them.)

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T H E V O I D W I T H I N M E
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every morning i wake up and the first thing i feel is the weight of existence pressing down on me like a wet blanket made of regret and every unread notification from a person i've been "meaning to reply to" for six to twelve weeks.

i've been told i'm "a lot." i've been told i'm "too intense." i've been told i should "seek professional help" and "stop writing paragraphs of inner monologue in my gaia profile."

and yet. here we are.

the emo playlist never stops. the dark circles under my eyes are load-bearing. i communicate primarily in hawthorne heights lyrics and passive-aggressive brand new references. my personality type is "currently going through it" and my love language is sending someone a finch lyric at 3am with zero context.

i have seventeen half-finished journals and zero completed ones.
i have been "going through something" since approximately 2007.
i do not see that changing.

nothing lasts. nothing stays. everything crumbles.
the emo bands keep me alive company.
but even they can only do so much.

...

but then.

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⚡ T H E H O L Y S A C R A M E N T ⚡
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† this section is sacred. treat it accordingly. †
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THEN THERE IS THE MEATBALL PARMESAN.

THE. MEATBALL. PARMESAN.

let me tell you something. let me tell you everything.

i have walked through the valley of the shadow of emotional dysregulation. i have cried in three different chain restaurants. i have texted "ohio is for lovers" to someone who did not deserve that kind of vulnerability. i have been okay fine managing surviving.

and on the other side of all of that — bathed in the golden light of marinara sauce — was my reason for continuing.

the meatball parmesan is not food. DO NOT CALL IT FOOD TO MY FACE. it is a spiritual experience. it is a covenant between me and something greater than myself. it is the answer to a question i didn't know i was asking.


User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.
† gaze upon it. GAZE UPON IT. †


i'm talking mozzarella so perfectly melted it weeps. i'm talking marinara that has been simmering since before i was born, since before my trauma, since before everything. i'm talking meatballs — dense, sacred, perfect spheres of seasoned ground meat — nestled in that bread like they were placed there by the hand of something holy.

something holy was involved. i am certain of it.

while my chemical romance saved my life on a conceptual level, the meatball parmesan saved it on a cellular level. gerard way did not dye his hair that iconic black to give me this. no. the meatball parm sacrificed itself in an oven. for me. personally. specifically. for me.

every single time i take that first bite — that sacred, irreversible first bite — the world goes quiet.

the intrusive thoughts stop.
the 3am crying playlist pauses.
the seventeen unfinished journals close themselves.
the void retreats.
the weight lifts.

for exactly as long as it takes to eat a meatball parm submarine sandwich, i am at peace with my continued existence on this earth.

this is the only therapy that has worked. this is the only thing that works.


User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.
a second witness. for the court. for god.


the meatball parm does not ghost me.
the meatball parm does not leave me on read for eleven days.
the meatball parm does not say "we should hang out soon" and then simply not do that ever.
the meatball parm does not tell me i'm "too much."

the meatball parm is THERE. warm, constant, reliable, golden-brown, present.
always there. always ready. always exactly what it said it would be.

panic! at the disco asked if it was god who gave you style and gave you grace.
yes. yes it did. and it put that style and that grace into a meatball parmesan submarine sandwich on a toasted hoagie roll and i have been devoted ever since.


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⚡ T H E C R E E D ⚡
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i believe in the meatball, the sauce, and the holy mozzarella.
i believe in the bread, toasted and worthy.
i believe in the parmesan, the sharpness that cuts through the dark.
i believe that all things pass —
the sadness, the spiraling, the 3am playlists —
but the meatball parm is eternal.
the meatball parm was here before me.
the meatball parm will be here after.
it has no beginning. it has no end.
only bread. only sauce. only love.

BLESSED BE THE SUB.
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M I S C
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☆ mood: destroyed existing. barely. but existing.
☆ currently: probably crying. definitely thinking about meatball parms.
☆ last meal: a meatball parmesan. it was transcendent. i nearly ascended.
☆ spirit animal: a raccoon listening to brand new in the dark
☆ love language: meatball parms and finch lyrics sent at 3am with zero context
☆ nemesis: anyone who uses the wrong sauce ratio on a meatball sub. you know who you are. i'm watching.
☆ life philosophy: everything is temporary except the meatball parmesan which is forever

comments are open but please don't be weird about it. or do. i'm not a cop. i have outsourced my emotional regulation to a sandwich and it's going better than anything else i've tried.


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profile by bonsly · powered by grief, marinara, and the holy mozzarella
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Friends

Viewing 12 of 13 friends

Comments

Viewing 10 of 10 comments.

Ury

Report | 06/06/2009 1:51 pm

Ury

Im bored
Sweep the Leg

Report | 05/31/2009 7:49 pm

Sweep the Leg

LOL "the circle of life"

Thanks for the comment and rating.

Nice profile too.
kim_ber_leeee

Report | 12/23/2008 4:03 am

kim_ber_leeee

Thanks for buying
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 11:24 am

Paine the Monkey

That's rad.
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 11:15 am

Paine the Monkey

HUZZAH!
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 11:11 am

Paine the Monkey

I'm sure you'll get it fairly soon

;D
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 11:06 am

Paine the Monkey

LAWL.



Thats funny.
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 11:02 am

Paine the Monkey

Alrighty.
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 10:59 am

Paine the Monkey

Post in the forums. . .
Paine the Monkey

Report | 12/22/2008 10:51 am

Paine the Monkey

Well!

x|



Yush it does. And so does your celestial wrap.



Very spiffeh, indeed.

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bonsly
— S I M P L E & C L E A N —
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when you walk away
you don't hear me say
please, oh baby, don't go
hikaru utada · kingdom hearts
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