The Aftermath

Eight hours after my unnecessarily large consumption of caffeine, I've calmed down but am still wide awake.  In the true tradition of myself, it is almost four o'clock in the morning and I'm am confused.  It is once again time to face my demons.  Oh yay.

I was watching Sex and the City earlier and it was the episode where Natasha falls down the stairs after she catches Carrie in the house after sleeping with Big.  This is, I believe, the third or fourth affair episode I've seen and I feel positively awful.  It isn't fair.  I'm not Carrie and I didn't write the script, but I still feel like it's my fault.

If you know the story, you'll know this next part is actually somewhat related.  First, there's of course my most recent betrayl.  No, I'm not the one responsible this time.  For once, I'm the victum and it feels awful.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, what goes around comes around, but this is not the way I expected it to bite me in the ass.  That was not the person I expected to stab me in the back.

Secondly (you knew it was coming), I am once again missing the one thing that continues to ruin my life.  Okay, so maybe that's a bit dramatic.  The point is, it's bad for me.  It's really really bad for me, but I can't stop thinking about it.  Not so much it as him.  It's really not fair.  There's a new movie coming out for the X-Files.  Yeah, I thought it was all re-runs too, but whatever.  Every time I see the preview, I catch myself reaching for my cell phone to tell him about the movie.  I don't actually do anything, but it's hard not to.  I'm not sure what I hope to accomplish if I ever do get past my natural defences.  I don't want it to go back because the bottom line is that I wasn't happy.  After a couple years and a few pretty significant firsts, I was expecting a grand gesture and I was let down over and over and over again.

Now that chapter of my life is closed though, what am I doing?  Where, I beg of you, is my life leading?  What the hell am I supposed to do?  How do I take the next step without destroying everything I've accomplished so far?  How do I "make the most of it" without killing myself and breaking my own heart?  How do I know what's real and what I've convinced myself to be true?  Why can't everyone just say exactly how they feel all the time?  Why do we play all these games?  How do you tell the difference between confidently forward and desperately clingy?  I know it sounds obvious, but every day it becomes a little more difficult.  Every touch confuses me a little bit more.  Why can't you put forth the effort for once?  I promise I'll follow suit.  I just can't throw myself out there anymore because I'm running out of pieces to break.

As a completely non-topical additional ponder, who the hell is reading my blog?  How do I have four views from today when it's only 4 am?  How are there 9 views from this week when I haven't posted a damn thing?  Who, besides my dear Michaun, gives a damn about my late night ramblings?  Are you spying on me from my irrational posts?

1:38 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Say What You Need to Say

There are some night that my mind runs rampant with all of my unresolved issues.  Writing has always been one of the best outlets for me.  Sometimes it is second to talking, sometimes it is better.  I always prefer to talk because when I'm talking to someone, I get the satisfaction of communicating my thoughts without actually having to face them.  I can talk about birds or floods or the movie I just watched, but when I write, there's no feedback so my discussions are, sadly enough, one-liners.  When I write, the only thing there is to talk about is the matter that's been haunting me for the past few days, weeks, or even months.

I sit here and watch my fingers hover over the keys thinking of what to write next.  A great author, Laurell K. Hamilton, once said in an interview with Writer's Digest, if you want to be a writer, you have to write every day even if you're simply writing about not being able to write.  Sometimes you have to spend two pages bitching about every reason that you can't write before you can actually get back to the story.  Since I'm writing a blog and not a novel, I tried to keep it within the confines of a paragraph.  I wish I were more poetic about my problems, but some are born with talent and some of us. . . just aren't.

I know that being a teenage girl requires drama reguarding the opposite sex.  I'm fully aware of that, but it always seems like mine is a little more extreme than the rest of my friends.  I could have extremely simplistic friends, I could be melo-dramatic, or maybe my life really is that much more complicated.  I don't really know, but I do know that it's unfulfilling.

So far, ever relationship, all relations that I've had, have been basically meaningless.  Don't get me wrong, I've liked to boys of my past, but nothing has ever been serious.  At least not serious with a title.  The most serious thing I've had spanned two years and got interrupted quite a few times, but even through the interruptions, we were still close.  I spent two years talking to him every night.  There were other relationship-like qualities, but to be perfectly honest, it's not important.  What's important is what went wrong.

I'm not sure why we dwell on the bad instead of basking in the good.  I have a few theories.  Perhaps we're trying to learn from our mistakes so that we improve upon our tactics.  Maybe we're all secretly masochistic and enjoy tormenting ourselves with every horrendous experience we've ever had.  Either way, we do it.

After my two year investment, I was looking for a gesture.  A grand gesture.  I wanted to hear he cared, and then I wanted him to prove it.  I got the first half, but I couldn't get the second no matter how hard I tried.  On the one hand, I'm a fool.  He spent two years talking to me every night until I fell asleep.  How spoiled did that make me?  Let's put it this way, I sleep like shit.  On the other hand, he completely dropped me.  I don't understand how he could've cared so much one day and been completely done two days later, unless, of course, he never cared.  That's very possible.

I don't know what's going on now.  I don't know how to function really.  I don't know how to start over, I just know I miss him.  I've been told that this is the best thing that's happened to me, but why am I still so miserable?  I don't care what he's done to me.  That's a lie.  I care.  I'm mad.  I'm hurt.  But I'd do it all over again just to be able to call him right now.  Most normal people like to sleep at night.  I cannot.  Remember, I'm spoiled.  The only people I know that are up right now are playing video games or else they're too much work to hold up a conversation with.  Instead, I'm having a conversation with myself on Myspace wondering whether I should post this publicly or privately, or just delete it altogether.  What does it say about me if I post it publicly?  Does it admit my desperation regarding my need for attention and the lack thereof I've suffered lately, or does it prove that I'm truely trying to move on with my life by being honest with the world?  I think mainly I'm just wondering if anybody will read it and what they will post as an after-thought, if they post anything at all.

How far down will anyone get on my post before they give up and start skimming?  Are you still reading this now?  Will you post your advice or reassurance that "everything will be fine" and I'll "find my happy ending" or even "the perfect guy."  Newsflash, the perfect guy doesn't exist, everything will not be fine, and there is no happy ending.  There's a bumper sticker on facebook that says "Everything will work out in the end.  If it doesn't then it isn't the end."  What they forget to tell you, or even what they don't have room to say, is that they only mean that for movies.  At the end of life, everybody dies.  Sometimes they're burned to ashes, sometimes they're eaten by maggots, and those who are particularily generous donate their bodies to be mutilated and molested by 20-something kids aspiring to drive corvettes and live in mansions.  None of it sounds peaceful.  It's not a happy ending.  It's perhaps the most depressing thing that one may ever have to face. . . "How would you like to rot?"

I'm not afraid.  I might be pissed off, but I don't actually think that's what I feel.  I'm mostly mystifyed by the whole thing.  I could tell you why, but I'm not sure how much of it I actually believe.  I'm not sure how much of what I say is true, and how much I just say because I think it sounds mysterious.  I'm not sure how much of me is trying to manipulate the world for just a few more seconds of attention.  Afterall, haven't I kept you long enough from your busy life?

As a final note, I could go back and re-read this and try to correct some of the errors I made while typing.  I could try to fix some of the words that I just plain can't spell, but I'm not going to.  I don't want to, and the reason why not is irrelevant.  Perhaps you'll find that is a good enough reason in itself.

Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out already, I decided to make it public.  You decide the reason why.

11:57 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Oxymoron

It's funny how sometimes two things that are completely true are also totally contradictory.  For example, my two biggest struggles are committing to an idea and moving on from something/someone.  It could be argued that although it seems these two are counter-opposite at first glance, they are in fact very similiar because they both stem from my complete inability to make decisions.

It's funny how some nights, I can sit there and psyco-analyze myself and come up with some great conclusion. . . but it's hard not to wonder how much of that is true and how much of it do I invent and in turn convince myself it's real?  Why would I make something like this up?  Well, there's the typical, fit-all answer of I want attention.  Honestly, who doesn't?  The other obvious answer would, of course, be that I'm trying to find something concrete in this mixed up world full of despair and unfulfilled aspirations.

Granted, there are probably other viable explanations, but that is not the point.  In essence, the problem is that when something good prances across in front of my face, I'm too afraid to go for it.  Instead I hem and haw and never force myself to persue it because I can never tell if it's what I want, but is that even true?  Is it really ignorance or is it laziness or fear?  I'm terrified, I think.  The future, to the best of my knowledge, scares the hell out of me. . . but does it really?  You see millions of people who go about their daily lives perfectly fine, so wouldn't it stand to reason that I'll be okay too?

But no, I have to pick a college, pick a career.  What for?  So that I can continue this madness we call life?  Why do we put ourselves through the madness?  Why do we convince we're content with our careers when we're secretly just lonely?  Why do we count our blessing that we have a family who loves us (if there really is such a thing) and in turn allow our jobs to eternally disappoint us?  Is anyone actually ever happy, or do we just pretend we are?

If it weren't for the bad moments in life, we wouldn't appreciate the good.  If that's true, what makes our perception of "good" actually so magnificant?  Is it actually a matter of achieving a great quality of life, or is it simply greater?  In other words, are we simply calling "less shitty" "good"?  How do we measure "good"?  The number of times we laugh in a night, the number of times we smile, or the moments when we don't break down into tears or resort to screaming at the ones we love?

Furthermore, what is love?  Is it an actual mystical feeling towards someone or simply a chemical imbalance?  What if love was nothing more than a dependency on another human being?  The movies talk about this form of "love" where you can't eat, you can't sleep, you can't think of anything but this other person.  Like an addiction that you can't break.  An addiction that can tear you apart from the inside out.  Why not?  I guess the majority of humanity is, to some degree, masochistic because we continue to subject ourselves to this constant pain and humiliation.

So go ahead.  Work your ass off to be told, "Sorry, you aren't good enough."  Through yourself at someone to hear, "I just don't love you like that. . ."  Fight for what you believe in even though nobody actually gives a shit.  Keep smiling when everytime you look in the mirror, all you can see looking back at you is everything you've done wrong, every regret you have, and every imperfection your body has.  After all, we've spent our entire lives compairing ourselves to an airbrushed image.  Maybe if we spend half of our lives working our, putting on make-up, dressing up, and getting plastic surgery, we too can be just like them.  Artificial, super-fiscial, and without a purpose.

Does anyone have a purpose?  Why are we here?  Are we even here?  Will we ever know for sure?  Why are you still reading this?

7:35 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Still We Run

Skeletons in our closets

Demons in our past

Dark secrets that we hide

Racing by so fast

Still we run like hell

The struggle to survive

Searching for perfection

Never satisfied

Keeping up an image

Projecting one big lie

Making our eyes smile

When they only want to cry

Still we run like hell

The struggle to survive

Searching for perfection

Never satisfied

Live life with few regrets

Love with all your heart

Keep the vengeful tear inside

And try not to fall apart

The game is over now

Though it's hardly just begun

The future holds potential

But still . . . still we run

3:11 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Are you?

Almost 1 in 5 teens have seriously considered attempting suicide.

One in five kids ages 10-17 will be sexually solicited online, and one in 33 will be aggressively solicited by someone who tries to arrange a meeting.

Slightly less than one in four (22 percent) of eight grade students report drinking in the past month.  Four in ten 10th grade students (41 persent) report drinking in the past month.  Half of all high school seniors (50 percent) report drinking in the past month.

According to a 2002 study, about one out of five 12- to 17-year-old youths has tried marijuana.

According to a 2002 national study, less than 1 percent report ever having tried Heroine.

According to a 1998 study, less than 1 percent of teens are regular cocaine users. Two percent of teens have tried cocaine.

According to a 2002 study, 6 percent of teens have tried hallucinogens.

According to a 2002 study, 1.2 percent of teens are regular inhalant users and over 10 percent of teens have tried inhalants.

In 2003, 3.2 percent of 12th graders reported having used methamphetamine.

Among teenage males, who are most likely to use steroids, 1.8 percent of 8th graders, 2.3 percent of 10th graders, and 3.2 percent of 12th graders reported steroid use in the past year.

2 in 10 girls and 3 in 10 boys are sexually experienced at age 15.

About 4 in 5 young people have intercourse while they are a teenager.

More than half of 17-year-olds have had intercourse.

Students from low-income families have a dropout rate of 10 percent students from middle income families have a dropout rate of 5.2 percent and 1.6 percent of students from high-income families dropout.

Five out of every 100 young adults enrolled in high school in October 1999 left school before October 2000 without successfully completing a high school program.

In 2000, young adults living in families with incomes in the lowest 20 percent of all family incomes were six times as likely as their peers from families in the top 20 percent of the income distribution to drop out of high school.

About 31 percent of American teenage girls and 28 percent of boys are somewhat overweight.

12 percent of the high school girls surveyed said they vomited to control their weight.

About one out of every one hundred young women between ten and twenty are starving themselves, sometimes to death.

About 50 perfect of people who have been anorexic develop bulimia or bulimic patterns.

I'm a statistic.

Are you?

1:10 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Bye Bye Barbie

The hardest part of growing up is that last final step out of childhood.  That moment when you're dumping you last box of Barbies or baseball cards into the trash can and then sitting by the window and staring.  Biting your nails as he dumps your most precious treasures into the hurrendous jaws of that big green and white monster.  You see him press a button and its teeth grind up your whole world.  You want to run outside and start yelling at him to stop.  You just want to scream "What kind of person destroys a kid's toys?!" but you don't.  Before you can, you realize you're not a child anymore.

It's funny how you spend your whole life looking forward to being an adult.  You're always fighting with your parents about how you're old enough to handle yourself, only, at this moment, you'd give anything to go run and sit on their lap and burry your head in their chest.  But you can't do that either.

Once you hit a certain age, it's like your not allowed to cry anymore.  You can't run to your mommy when you stub your toe or have her kiss it to make it feel better anymore.  All you can do is cuss and scream and yell.  After you reach a certain stage in your life, sadness is replaced with anger.  It's not allowed to be sad anymore because you could be considered "emo" or "depressed" or "weird".

Therefore, I've come to a conclusion.  Don't think this was taken lightly and don't think it's a joke.  I put a lot of consideration into this.  I'm not going to grow up.  I'm not going to quit crying.  I'm going back in time.  I want to stay outside playing day and night.  I want my parents to have to drag me inside and secretly dump my lightning bugs out in the night.  I'm just not going to grow up.  Who's with me?

7:07 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment