Look At Me

Blame, Failure, Family, fathers, forgotten, home, Journal, Personal, Relationships, school

There are more people who dislike me in the world than like me. I’m not even sure my own friends like me- who even are my friends? The people at the high school aren’t that close to me and the kids I did the musical with are like disinterested in me and the people at erclc don’t even care about me anymore.

Even the people who live with me don’t talk to me- it’s been two weeks since my mom’s boyfriend has even acknowledged my existence. He has been ignoring me when I’m in the same room as him and hasn’t look at me or said a single word to me since May 10th.

I feel like I have no one.

People don’t respond to my snapchats, they don’t respond to my texts, and last night Sam sent me a video of his friends saying i should fuck myself.

Perhaps I’m just a terrible person who does terrible things and it’s easy to hate me.

I came so close to killing myself last night. It feels like only three people in the world really care that I live and breath.

I’m temperamental, narcissistic, over dramatic, insecure, controlling – I’m a million terrible things combined into one shit storm of a person.

I’ve burned bridges with people because of my personality, I’ve hurt myself and others simply by being me. Why am I like this? I honestly believe that I am the worst person I know.

I’m a disappointment to my mom, I’m such a burden to her.

I was a burden to my grandparents as well.

And to my aunt and uncle.

Look at me, a fucked up human who people hate. A academically failing piece of shit who will never fulfill their dreams. Look at me. I’m awful. I’m just a plain bitch. I can’t even fucking do the dishes like my mom asks.

I haven’t changed. I’m still shitty. I hate myself.

I want loving parents who care about me. I want to be kissed on the forehead and for someone to make me tea before bed and I want someone to care that I’m suicidal. I want someone to tell me not to, to say that I have so much to live for and that they believe I can do it.

Instead, I have a mom who comes home and complains about work everyday.

I haven’t had a normal conversation with my dad since I was 13.

I’ve broken friendships and people are uncomfortable around me.

Look at me. Who have I become?

Wake Up, Get Ready, Go

Family, fuck you, home, Journal, Personal, school, Small Things

As I write this, the harsh reality sets in that I have to wake up early and go to school tomorrow. The alarm will go off at 6:40, I’ll begrudgingly hit “off” as I hold back a moan of anger and depression. I’ll sit up, roll off the bed, and pull of the t-shirt I wore to bed. Standing for a second longer than considered normal, turn the lamp that sits on my dresser on –  I’ll stare at the clothes I set out and consider what it might be like to not go to college and graduate with a low GPA because I skipped too many classes. I put the clothes on anyway because my mom would never go for it. Glancing at my jewelry, I consider wearing some, but just grab the watch my ex boyfriend gave me. Every time I see it, it reminds me of him, but I don’t know what I’d do without it. I remind myself that I picked it out, put it on my amazon wish list, and that anyone could have known to buy it for me. But it still reminds me of him and I wish I had another, despite how much I love the way it looks.

Grabbing my backpack, I head to the upstairs bathroom to brush my teeth. The light annoys my eyes, everything is a little blurry, and no one else is up yet. I kind of want to cry, but I don’t want a red face for school and my nose is already stuffy, and it would just agitate my cough, so I decide against it. I head down the stairs and really hope I don’t slip because man that would hurt and I would definitely have a bad day after that. But it doesn’t really stop me from taking quick, loose steps. Because at this point, I could care less about whether or not I have a good day.

Sometimes I’ll head to the kitchen to grab a quick lunch, sometimes I’ll head to the downstairs bathroom to do my makeup – it just depends on how much I care about eating lunch that day.

I grab my box and bag of makeup. As I sit down, I adjust my makeup mirror and turn on the light, I look at my face for the real first time today. I’m never smiling. Why would I smile right now? I’m about to embark on a day at school, with people who I despise, and teachers who expect either too much or too little, and a series of expectations that I don’t care to fill – I’m about to see my ex boyfriend and guys who think too highly of themselves. I’m about to see librarians who are far too enthusiastic for their jobs so one assumes they’re compensating for having such a depressing job as a high school librarian. I’m about to see the girls for whom I wear makeup to intimidate, the same ones who snicker and gossip and annoy the living fuck out of me. Why would I smile when I know what my day holds? But I look in the mirror anyway, at my dead eyes, my unmade face, and I stare. I do my makeup, every stroke calibrated, every dab deliberate, and I make my face perfect so there is one less thing to say about me. One less flaw to poke at. One less hateful word said. I’ll check the time about every ten minutes, until it’s time to leave. I’ll realize at about this moment that my mom and sister are still getting ready, and I’ll be incredibly annoyed at how inconsiderate they are of when I need to be to school. But I’ll ask my mom for the keys so I can start the car, and I’ll head outside to wait for them, accepting that I might be late. But why would I even care if I was late at this point? Who fucking cares if I even show up because it’s just another day in the mandatory hell they pass as education.

They finally come out to the car, Kendra kicks and screams, complaining every second that she spends buckling into her carseat. My mom isn’t far behind her, complaining just as much about how she dreads the day ahead. I silently sit, staring dead in front of me, my eyes blind, head full of miserable thoughts. I just want to be in bed. I want to really learn. I want to live, not this dead, dull routine. This isn’t living.

Driving to school we pass the children walking to their middle school, the crossing guards, the parents dropping off their kids. We pass this man, who I presume is waiting for his ride. He always has his cloth lunch bag, and on rainy days he wears a clear slicker. He’s a short man. He isn’t smiling either, as he leans against the cinderblock wall. He’s staring dead in front of him, with what I assume are blind eyes. We come to a halt at the four way stop, school bus passing in front of us, we wait. Pulling up in front of the administration building, I get out of the car, closing the door as I say I love you to my mom. Hoisting my backpack on my shoulder, I climb the hill to my classes.. I stumble upon the first group of people I see, and I’m smiling now. Despite the fact that I feel the same way as I did when I first looked in the mirror.

Family Stress

Family, Future, home, Journal, Personal, Relationships, school

My mom. If I were going to describe her in a few words, I would say she was brave and independent.

I have looked up to her for a few years now, but honestly there’s a lot that my mom has never offered me.

For one, emotional support.

She has the tendency to downplay my emotions so she doesn’t have to deal with my problems. Using phrases like “mind over matter” to push her agenda that we can overcome emotions simply by making yourself feel another way. Whereas, I believe in completely feeling the way I do before moving on to another thing, I don’t want to mask my emotions or hide from them – believing that such behavior simply delays the time I could spend feeling happier.

I don’t want to just shit on my mom, because while I do believe she has been a more than sufficient provider, she lacks the loving touch, open ears, and shoulder to cry on that I have always desired in a mother.

Those are things neither of my parents have been able to provide me, and I believe this has led to my intense desire to have a partner who I can hug and be close to.

She is rough, however also loving in her own way, but her rough nature makes it incredibly difficult to show her love. The things she wants done, and the ways I show her love are two entirely different things.

She complains a lot about how hard her work is, which I can definitely see – she is the manager of two pains in the ass, and is constantly having to fix their fuck ups. She is required to stay in that boring building, not allowed to use the internet for her own personal entertainment, and they don’t even have music playing.

But.. who doesn’t have problems like those that they have to deal with? Isn’t it just part of being a functioning person to separate your work/school struggles from home life?

Her attitude about life is depressing me. Often, I find myself wondering if I will be the same way. If I will find myself sitting on stairwells at 10pm when I am 40 years old, crying about where my life is going, the decisions I have made.

It was when I started looking at my mom this way, I realized how much I didn’t want to be like her.

I still admire her for everything she has done, accomplished, overcome… but I do not want to be her.

She is exhausting, never happy or content, she doesn’t even know what can make her happy. I’ve suggested she find a new job, but she doesn’t know how to get out of sales work because she has no college degree.


When I moved to the coast, I envisioned a healthy, happy family who lived together in harmony.

Instead, I have been met with more turmoil, anger, and chaos.

Is that just life? Can people live together without fighting, arguing, or bickering? Without petty remarks?

My mom’s boyfriend is another source of stress and discomfort for me. He is always angry – once he broke a container filled with rice when everyone else was gone. He kicked my dog, Ribbon, because she barked at him. He has grabbed me by the wrists before. He likes to intimidate and yell at people..

I’ve never been sexually abused, but I am really uncomfortable around him because I feel like he might do something. The bathroom door doesn’t close all the way in the winter because it’s swollen with water, and every time I go to shower and the door isn’t completely shut, the thought is there.


My sister Riley is mostly a source or relaxation, and honestly if she ever read this, I just want her to know that I just needed to get this out – but, she will inadvertently guilt me much of the time about things like my eating habits, the way I do my make up, or how I will cheat on my math homework occasionally.

Just the other day she said something that has really affected me – that she would kill herself if I got her sick.

I have been so paranoid about making sure I don’t get her sick, and honestly I would feel so guilty if I did (she is sick right now, but she doesn’t have the same symptoms as me)

but the thought is there and so is the guilt.


Which brings me to Kendra – writing this feels unfair because she is a kid, but her influence on my life is so great. She is loud, dirty, and honestly making my life so hectic/insane.

I look forward to when she is at my dad’s every other weekend, simply for the peace and quiet, and being able to keep my room tidy for longer than 20 hours.

She’s so poorly behaved, I don’t know how she makes it through school — she screams, kicks, throws the most bizarre tantrums over things like banana’s, and there’s close to nothing that I can plausibly do about it.

She just doesn’t like me some days. She’ll blatantly say she hates me, that I’m the worst sister. It hurts, I just want to be that person in her life who she can be around without stress and anger surrounding her family.  but honestly I can’t be that person for her. I have a very poor temper myself.


God, today was rough. Besides being sick, Talon was there today – apparently he’s finally changing schools. I have mixed feelings about it..

I keep forgetting that I made out with Sam when he was here.  I also keep thinking about Cadence, in the weirdest moments. I actually asked my mom for a Hundred Grand bar — something that I had only eaten with Cadence at his house. Which is reminding me of mini M&M’s, watching Archer, and drinking homemade iced tea on rainy days.. Staying at his house late at night, driving home on foggy Lovers Lane in Visalia..

I wore a tshirt he gave me the other day – but I keep remembering that he and Abiel are dating.. It still urks me.


School sucks. My teachers suck. The system sucks. The people who go to my school suck.  Waking up early sucks. Being sick sucks. Forgetting coffee sucks.

Why is being happy, content, and calm so difficult?

The Gender Template

beautiful, bisexual, equality, feminism, fuck you, Humanist, Journal, school, science

The following is a blog post I wrote from my AP Lang class project on gender:

Gender. The word itself brings back memories of baby showers decorated in all blue, sitting through long sermons about how ladies should conduct themselves, and the rigorous dress codes ladies had to follow for recitals (damn you, toe seams).annoyed ugh eye roll eyeroll

Typically, I’m the kind who defines a concept through a logical explanation (thanks, scientific method), but gender cannot be explained biologically. (or can it..?)

Yes, yes, I know. Females have an extra chromosome, we have different hormones – there are biological differences between the sexes. But gender and sex are quite different, despite being so closely correlated.

So, what is gender if it cannot be explained through hard science?
How can we define it if there is no definitive aspects of what makes someone a guy or a girl?

I’ve come to the conclusion that we don’t have the tools necessary to understand gender – yet. As a firm believer in science, I believe that given the proper tools, the scientific method, and the right mindset, someone can make sense out of the world’s “phenomenon”.

Cue X-Files theme:

the truth is out there

But this is no X-File, gender can be X-Plained one way or another.

Gender roles are culturally instilled in humans all over the world; in the American culture men are expected to conform to the masculine stigma, which is: angry, emotionally out of touch, and intimidating.

We saw this from the gendered razor commercials, to the way John acts in The Yellow Wallpaper, by Charlotte Perkins Stetson – cold, stern, and logical.

Women on the other hand are expected to submit to a man’s anger–even if it is a complete stranger–it is assumed that every woman is emotionally in touch with herself, and that she possesses this “motherly instinct”.

But I honestly don’t. I don’t feel like I have a maternal instinct – I never have. In fact, I don’t plan on having my own children because I simply don’t want them.

We are, as women, expected to play dumb. To allow men to explain things to us that our teeny little brains just can’t comprehend. (Culturally, not specifically your uncle Eric who lives in Oklahoma – but maybe him too).

Party Over Here comedy haha hilarious nicole byer

Because women do everything for them dudes

While I can see how gender roles have shaped our society, they have created this imbalance between the relationship men and women have. Gender is just this illusion humans have used to describe anatomy – much like how women doctors were considered witches in the renaissance.

We can’t explain it, so it must be sinful, dark, and wrong.

I would like to argue that women are domestic because we are conditioned to be that way. Just as men have been conditioned to like mechanics, agriculture, and football – or whatever it is that the masculine archetype enjoys.

I mean, think about it.

Girls are handed dolls to play with at a young age, I probably got my first doll before I was two years old. Whereas, guys are given toy trucks and Legos.

The way I see it, those physical differences in our worlds between guys and girls at such a critical point in our development have to make some sort of impact.

If we give guys dolls at a young age, then they might become even more “domestic” or lean toward care giving.
If we give girls Legos at a young age, then they might become more logical. 

We are shaped into the people we become, and this is pretty evident once we find out the gender of an unborn child because we start painting their room pink or blue, we buy ribbons or blue onesies based off of a sonogram telling us that kids’ sex. Think about that for a second. We systematically pick from two different colors for our unborn children based off their suspected gender.

I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with this little cultural oddity, but.. We shouldn’t allow for it to define who we are, and if we’re gonna keep it around, maybe add a few more colors.

Though, as we saw in the TedTalk by Alice Dreger, scientists suspect that there are more than just two sexes, so wouldn’t that also mean our idea of having two genders is outdated as well? Maybe we should select a few more colors off our palette for the genders we’ve ignored?

Of course, that’s not the end of the story (when is it?).

(if you don’t think Jason Segel is cute, then we can’t be friends)

Who else has had AP Psych with Hogan? If you have, then you’ve probably heard about the John/Joan case in the 1950’s – if you haven’t here’s a link to an article on the case study. 

If you’re like me, you didn’t click the link – so I’ll expand on what it’s about. Basically, a baby boy went through a tragic accident in which he lost his genitalia, his parents decided to raise him as a girl and never tell him he was born a dude. So, they raise Bruce as Brenda and he never feels like he is in his own skin (poor guy) – and he goes through some emotional turmoil and his mom finally tells him he isn’t actually a Brenda but a Bruceplot twiiiist.

This particular story is unique because we can see what happens when someone grows up thinking they’re one gender when they are biologically another – you might be like “hey, Allysa, that’s supporting the other side and is excluding the transgender community” which is why it’s important to say that we can also see stories of transgender people who have had sex changes, and they are fully satisfied with that.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that this is more about how we perceive our biological sex. Like, you can embrace it if you desire or you can reject it and whatever you choose is cool.

Little Bruce Reimer had no idea that he was born a biological boy, but he knew that being a girl was not for him. Many trans people know their biological sex, and yet they feel like someone else entirely.

People tend to figure out who they are, whether or not they identify with their born sex as their gender. Even Alice Dreger can admit that biology plays a role in our behavior and gender,

“there might be something, on average, different about female brains from male brains that makes us more attentive to deeply complex social relationships, and more attentive to taking care of the vulnerable.”

And I can step back, look at where she is coming from, look at her evidence, and say ‘I can see how that could be the case’.

The only way that we will come to any conclusive idea on gender is if we listen to each other, see where the other side is coming from, and consider all the evidence.

Obviously, no one is the same way.

Girls can be feminine.
Guys can be feminine.
Girls can be masculine.
Guys can be masculine.

Gender is a mixture of nature and nurture, it’s conditioning and biology – why limit our answer to “it’s only this” or “it’s only that”, which not only puts a stopper on our way of thinking, but it also puts a halt on advancements in our culture.

We can have our cake and eat it too, just so long as we are respectful of each other.

So, be respectful. Don’t be rude. And like, if you have a problem with someone else’s gender, ask yourself why you care so much about something that has very little to do with you.

Regrets

Journal, Memories, Personal, Poetry, school

I tell people not to regret, yet I do.

All of the fucking time, I regret everything.

I regret liking the people that I have, I regret telling people things, I regret moving to the coast, I regret leaving behind my friends.

I regret opening up about things to people who don’t deserve to hear it,
I regret not standing up for those who deserve it.
I regret oversharing.
I regret confessing my feelings to any and every person I have.
I regret leaving my dad, sometimes.
I regret cheating on my homework.
I regret calling out Kayleigh and Cadence for shit.
I regret having flings with guys who don’t matter.
I regret not loving myself more,
I regret being self-confident.
I regret bringing my sheet music up for show and tell in second grade,
I regret blaming Ciera for stealing my sea shells,
I regret being so fucking awkward.

Why can’t I just be normal? Just once.
Why can’t I fit in, just once?
I want to be loved, even just once.
I want to be cared about.
To be hugged, and feel wanted.

I don’t want to doubt.
Or second guess even once.

Is it so much to ask to be loved?

I just want to stand in the big grass field at ERCLC and watch Eric with his RC Airplane class, crashing their planes. I want to listen to the little kids make up ridiculous but genius stories. I want to see the moms who have their lives together, who buy stuff from the bakesales.

I want to organize events like I used to, be in productions with Peggy and Makena and Leslie and Fiona and even Cadence and Abiel. I miss everyone so much.

I miss being able express myself without sounding like some sort of freak – being able to wear my quirky knee-high socks and bright yellow shirts. I miss taking Archery with Eric and getting into Quarrels with Bobbi over stupid Neon Dance drama. I miss game nights, and going out that one time with the schools telescope to watch stars with the Astronomy club. I miss walking into Eric’s office and seeing a picture of me in there from Eli’s mental health photo shoot.

I miss the masquerade dance.

I miss Heather’s Journal class.

I miss despising Abiel for always bragging about her Travels.

I miss Theirry’s exuberant acting

And Katie as Mrs.Dowdle.

I miss the days when I would longingly gaze at Dustyn while he was in PE with Brian.

When I would wait until monday nights when I could go to Youth Group and see him.

I would always chew gum.

I would wear low cut shirts before I had boobs.

I miss sitting in the library with Riley and Lacey because we didn’t have a class that period, when Orion went to school with us.

Choir.

Orion’s broken perfume bottle.

Tiger. Debates in 1930’s.

Trying on dresses for the play in Peggy’s office, or Brian’s, or Eric’s, or Bobbi’s, or Yasoda’s.

I miss ERCLC. It’s my home.

I miss the bright yellow sunflowers that would bloom this time of year, and the pumpkins that would grow outside the library windows – the way Anonda would always smile at me, how I could climb the tree in front of Sage.

I miss going to Halloween parties in Three Rivers, eating Peggy’s chilli and watching the little kids sort and trade their sweets.

I miss house sitting for the Entz, how I slept in Zacks room.

I miss the valley.

I miss Elderwood.

I even miss living with Nana and Gramps.

It’s okay to regret, I guess. It’s okay to miss people, things, and the past.
I definitely do..

 

Recalling Memories

Church, fuck you, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, New, no trust, Partner, Personal, Religion, school

You were the first boyfriend that I was both physically and emotionally attracted to.

This is probably my least favorite part of breaking up because my dumb fucking brain only wants to remind me of all the cute things you did that made me like you..

How you got that app with the little kitten that would roam around on your phone. How your hair would flip when it was long.. how we would hold hands during psychology. How your face would brighten up when you would see me waiting for you at lunch or before 4th period. Holding hands when you drove – that long car ride we took to Taft.. When you came over that one time and we watched that really annoying and shitty movie Nate recommended, we got taco bell, and cuddled on the sofa…. When I came over to your house and took that picture of you with a Snapchat filter of a cat.. When we went to starbucks together and you hated me for getting you to like the passion tea lemonade. Taking me to the melodrama, getting that pretentious macaroni and cheese in SLO with your mom..

But then, there were the times when I just couldn’t help wondering why we were ever together.. When we would argue about anything political. When you told me you were thinking about going into the military. When you just the other day told me that you couldn’t date someone who was fat – or when you out right said that you would specifically look for things that solidified your existing beliefs. The racist songs you played in the car that one time…

I only broke up with you because you obviously didn’t want to be with me anymore, and I’m not sure why you hesitated to do it yourself.

I love you, but now I resent that more than I ever appreciated it. It’s burdening me, I don’t want to love you.

Breaking up

Hope, Journal, Love, Memories, Partner, Personal, school, Small Things

I hadn’t noticed, but you stopped saying you loved me four days ago.
I wasn’t paying attention, but you didn’t come to the door when you picked me up today.
It didn’t mean anything earlier, but you didn’t talk to me on the way to your house.

When you dropped me off, you told me not to message you.

You don’t love me anymore, do you?
I guess it’s time to unfriend your mom.

Time to get rid of the gifts you gave me.
Time to prepare for the awkwardness when we see each other in class.
Time to change your name from “Babe” to “That ex” in my contacts.
Time to walk alone at night from school when no one else can drive me.

Time for the fuck boys, the dating accounts, the being a bad ass bitch.
Time for the flirting with guys and ending my nights with binge eating and tears.

Today, we broke up. I started writing this post three days ago, and decided not to post it because I thought we could make things work.

But tonight, as I sat in your car and asked questions about why you had stayed with me and why you wanted to break up with me before, how you felt together.. And I couldn’t convince myself that it would work anymore.

I heard you say you were unhappy.
I heard you say we weren’t compatible.
I heard you say these and I couldn’t say a word.

So I broke up with you.
I got out of your car, and I walked home.
I walked past the place we had our first kiss – where I leaned on your shoulder and felt safe for the first time in months.
I got on the street where I live, and took off my shoes and ran – sobbing.
I saw where you would always park.

When I walked inside my house, my mom asked me what happened..

I texted my friends

I gathered all the stuff you gave me.

I archived our messages, but couldn’t convince myself to delete all the pictures of us on my phone. I’m not ready for that.

I showered.

And now here I am, sitting alone in my house sobbing because I realized how shitty our last kiss was. How I didn’t even say bye to your mom the last time I saw her. How I would have hugged your dogs one last time – but I didn’t think that it was the end, so how would I have known to?

I don’t know what to do. I feel really alone and I miss you, but I know that in a few days, or even weeks, I might stop realizing the things I mentioned. And slowly, I’ll stop thinking about you altogether. I’ll forget about our shitty last kiss, and about the fact that you couldn’t get me to orgasm the last time you tried – I’ll forget about all the things I did for you that I hated (blow jobs, namely).

But I am glad that we ended things before it got too serious. I couldn’t have been a military/army wife. I didn’t want to have kids. The fact that you went to church with your dad annoyed me, and honestly – we just had a lot of things we disagreed on.

It wasn’t until I realized that you couldn’t or were unwilling to make the same sacrifices as I was, that I knew we weren’t going to work. I thought you were okay with how liberal/needy I am, but I guess not.

I’ll miss getting lunch with you. I’ll miss meeting you in between classes. But we are over now, and I’ll just have to get over that.

They, Themselves, and I

Failure, forgotten, fuck you, Future, Her, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, school, Small Things

Yesterday was an insane and emotional day – it’s funny how one can mask their identity so easily while out in the public eye, it’s so convincing that they even believe it, and then the moment they get in the car, the mask melts away. They cry. They scream. The perfect mask they had acquired throughout the day, is meaningless.

The things that still hold meaning are what made them cry in physics, the things that are too deep for even their family to help with.

It’s when they’re last on the gym court during dodge ball and everyone is yelling at them to score and get everyone back in the game – yet they fail to. Losing the game.

It’s when their PE coach comments about how their tshirt is getting “looser” and that they are “getting better” at the mile — even though they still only got 9:30 on it. They know it’s not the best time in the world, and would rather not have her comment on it.

It’s when they’re in the car on their way home, and their mom asks how their day went, how school was, and they can’t even respond without a flood of tears ensuing.

It’s when they are laying in bed at 1:47pm and the next week they have finals and all they can think about is how calming death sounds. How easy it would be for them to just jump.

It’s when they’re sitting in the dressing room during rehearsal and they can’t allow themselves to think about themselves or how they’re going no where in life already, because the director instructed that everyone “check their baggage at the door” – they can’t let anyone know that their costume makes them feel ugly because every other princess in the show got a hoop skirt but them self.

It’s when they can’t allow their stories to become person, so they resort to talking about them self in the third person.

Complaining

Athiesm, Athiest, beautiful, Beauty, Blame, Failure, fuck you, Future, god, Her, Hope, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, New, no trust, Personal, Religion, school, science

This last week has been hard.

I fell down a hill and ended up hitting my house. My whole body is sore.

I lost 10 points in PE because I couldn’t run the mile – my leg was too beat up, I hardly made it through the day walking between classes.

Also during PE: I ended up on a team with the two athletic girls (one of whom is in AP Lang with me —  let’s just say I embarrassed myself. My hair band broke, and my hair is at this really ugly length, it’s not quite above the shoulder, but it’s not really below it.. So, I was messing with my hair instead of trying to play badminton. I’m pretty sure they don’t like me now. Pretty sure I lost the game for us.

After PE, I had a physics test. Completely forgot how to solve one of the equations, even though I had studied an extra hour of unrequired materials in preparation two nights before. Of COURSE I forgot. The teacher gave me this look of disappointment, mixed with something related to anger and simply said “you knew this was going to be on the test.” and he was right. but I had also studied. I was understanding it. But then the test came and I was already having a bad day and the next thing I knew, I was out of his class and trying my absolute best to not cry at school. I can’t be the girl who cries at school again…

I’ve made a point to not talk about my family issues at school, or about anything negative that would set me apart. I don’t want anyone at school to know my past or present grievances.

But I still had a panic attack at school and hid in the bathroom stall, trying to control my breathing — those bathrooms seriously need loud fans or music because you can hear EVERYTHING that is going on in the next stall over. Seriously.

To top it off, we had vocal auditions that afternoon. Imagine singing, after having been so worked up, you had to stop yourself from crying.

The group did vocal warm ups together, and I’m perfectly comfortable singing in a group, but solos and I do not mix (at least not yet). And so when they asked me to do a solo part in the warm up, I nearly puked. I felt something lurch up from in my stomach, and lost my breath. Anxiety is great.

Then, that night was when I found out I had lice.

It was a wonderful day.

My sister is leaving for europe in four days.. She’ll be gone for a month. I’ve never been apart from her for that long. But she’s kinda pissed at me right now, and I hope things get better between her and I before she gets back..

She’s going to be gone for my birthday.. I’m turning seventeen in a month and two days.

Everything has me feeling so defeated. I don’t feel like I can cry anymore. I don’t feel like I can express my emotions without being judged. It hasn’t stopped me, but it makes me hesitant.

I want to feel pretty again. I haven’t felt pretty since I cut my hair. not really.. I’ll have moments of feeling attractive, but I don’t look in the mirror and think I’m beautiful. I would like to think that I’m pretty without my long hair, but I don’t think I believe that.

I feel so sick. Between waiting for the cast list to go up and my physics grade to go on Aeries, I really am not sure how I’m going to cope with all this stress.

Oh, and I decided to post this on facebook:

I wish I could have read this post early on, after my parents divorce.

I wish that people hadn’t excused what happened in our house as “God’s will” or even said that it was “for the better” — no. Definitely not.

Being mentally abused was not good, it hasn’t made me a better person in ways that I couldn’t have grown without it. I loath when I am told that it was a good learning experience or even that I am a better person because of it.

No. Abuse didn’t make me a better person, it’s stifled me in many ways emotionally and socially – and I would never tell another person that it was a positive thing if I learned that it had happened to them.

PTSD hasn’t made me a better person – I’ve become more understanding, yes, but that isn’t to say that it wouldn’t have happened without it. I have been told that it will allow me to walk a path of individuality because of I have it — while that may be true, the panic attacks that come with PTSD do not make me a better person. They hurt me. They stop me from performing as a healthy human being in social situations – that happened just today at school.

It’s okay for bad things to happen to us, and the “band-aid” idea that the bad things happen for a reason does more damage than good to a person who is in pain. Allow us to grieve, allow for our pain to show in ways that may be socially looked down on – crying, not smiling in public, or even just not looking happy 100% of the time – those things are okay. Being unhappy isn’t bad – it’s healthy if you’ve experienced something traumatic.

A lady who I used to know from church decided to comment on it. Mind you, I’m not friends with her on facebook. But this is what she said:

“I doubt God wants people to suffer. However, he can help you recover and use your experiences for good if you allow him to.”

My response: ” It wasn’t my intention to communicate that God was purposefully allowing people to be in pain – I was simply trying to say that when people pass off horrific events (such as car accidents and domestic violence) as “gods purpose” it can be a destructive mindset for those who are in pain. What we need is to be loved and accepted for where we are in life, and if where we are isn’t a happy place – then show compassion, acceptance and love us through our pain. If there is a god, I don’t believe he would be mean-spirited or “out to get people” – want to make sure I’m clear on that”

Her retort: “You KNOW there is a god. I understand where you’re coming from and I appreciate you shedding some light on how to best love those who are in pain.”

Oh wait. Sorry Mrs. Russell.. Sorry that I didn’t know what I believed and that I had to ask you.

But I didn’t ask.

And for the record, I don’t “KNOW” there is a god, so cool your tits. No one knows if there are any deities, or if there aren’t. So. Just. Chill.

My Life

Blame, Failure, forgotten, fuck you, Future, Hope, Journal, Personal, Poetry, school

My life has become a list of to-do’s.
My life has become projects.
My life has become due dates and grades.

My life revolves around point-recovery.
My life revolves around getting through the lap.
My life revolves around getting out of bed when the alarm goes off.

My life is circling around rhetoric.
My life is circling around the bell.
My life is circling around anxiety and stress.

My life goes by with little notice.
My life goes by with a slice of mediocrity.
My life goes by and with each day it becomes less mine.