Monday, October 26, 2015

my friends ex bf just dropped her computer off at my house and im sad for her now , most definitely. Probably because I experienced something similar, except i wasn't broken up with. I actually lost my virginity to someone who didn't love me, but i guess that's better than having them fall out of love with you after having sex. all in all, it still hurts. Actually one of the last things he said to me was that he was thinking about asking me out, even though we'd been on dates before. He moved on within a week, and then eventually to his current girlfriend, whom i see almost every day, and i wonder if she knows anything about me. 

I start my first day of training for work tomorrow evening. right now, i'm flooded with work. I met with a teacher to discuss some homework i wasn't understanding and ended up getting home around 4;30 and waiting an hour for my friends ex boyfriend to drop off her belongings. Today was difficult also because I had to deal with child services and talk to them about the "sexual assault" i experienced. 

The entire time I wanted to cry. The world is unfair to me in the stupidest ways. I'd talked to my therapist, and several friends on the subject because it had gotten blown out of proportion, and people eventually found out. I never told the person who called the police on it for me about it though. The subject never came up, I think because she felt she had done enough, and ultimately damaged my mom and her's dynamic in the process. 

They sat me down next to my guidance counselor and a couple social workers, one who specialized in the homicides and assaults of younger people, the other just was your typical social worker who was checking in to see if you were unsafe, or whatever. I wanted out very desperately. Once they asked about the specifics, I couldn't believe that I felt myself tearing up. I'm assuming it was the feelings of frustration I had about my own personal experience being blown up enough for my guidance counselor to know. I guess it made sense because when the cop was standing in my room, I laid on my bed and I told them to leave me the fuck alone because I "just wanted to die". Everyone in unison told me not to say that kind of thing, that's how you got stuck in their records. Now that they knew you were troubled, you were going to be subjected to even more questioning. By everyone, I meant my cult of friends that had ended up sitting around on my bed and,,, basically coddling me. 

Thinking back to that makes my heart kind of sink. My friends had seen me at my worse then. All but a couple of course. I'm glad those few didn't because it had come to a point where my life was just one tragic event after another. Life continues to be just that. It's always something. This week I feel like I'm losing one friend, doubting another, and being insecure about the rest. Halloween is approaching, I'm so excited, but also truly sad. I want it to be good only because holidays are one of the few things I have to look forward to. I also am only alive because of my loved ones, but right now everything I live for is shaky, and I'm on the verge of crying almost always. 

Sunday, October 25, 2015

October 25th 2015 9:26 pm

When I think of my ex best friend, I imagine the smell of her house. It had a weird and comforting aroma of her own smell and breath mixed with her moms cigarette smoke. The house was large, yet mostly empty. There was a sort of setup but not much beyond the average kitchen table and chairs. Picture frames and lawn decorations rested up against the wall, still in packaging. For months at a time did they usually stay put there, I only knew because I rarely visited her home but when I did, things never had changed much. 

Her room was fairly simple but kempt and comfortable. Yet also strangely empty/missing something. On one shelf of a bookcase she had an extensive arrangements of perfumes and lotions from the mall. Each were bought in favor to mask the scent of chain smoke, and I'm going to assume for her own pleasure as well. Not everything was in sake of her insecurities, it would be inconsiderate to think so. 

Among her beauty supplies (which ranged far beyond just lotions and perfumes), were books. I knew she was smart. I read her writing once, maybe twice in my life. It was full of potential. I was envious. I pictured her becoming someone a lot bigger than me. I imagined people idolizing her like they did Sylvia Plath. My only strength was art, still is. She even had some of my pieces on her wall and does to this day. Most were unmoving, an attempt to tap into an art style I had yet to develop. I've come a long way since then but I question every time it's mentioned, why does she still have art of mine hanging up if it doesn't represent who I really am anymore?

During my days of angst, and less mental illness, I never understood her. Once I moved, I found it especially hard to digest why she never wanted to visit me when I was only 15 minutes away. I missed her, I wanted to laugh and create memories over a platform other than skype. I of course, also had no other solid friends at the time and would spend many days by myself.

Living in the same town was much easier. She'd usually come over every other weekend. We never left my room. Every memory made was created in the small nestle of an unfinished basement that was my room. The floor was cold and dirty. The ceiling was patched up with spider webs and dust. It was still my safespace. I usually found a great amount of solidarity in it, so did she. 

One night we laid down on my bed, coats still on, red pigment flushing our cheeks. I put on an ambient record from 2012. (We may or may have not smoked previous to) The entire experience impacted my middle school life greatly. The world was lifted and set back down carefully onto me. We described back and forth our feelings with each levitating track. It was happy, it was dark. I knew I loved her like I did my own mother. I don't listen to the Pixies without picturing her and her (now ex) boyfriend walking down a path in the backwoods of our town, and her glancing back at me, telling me about how Mr. Grieves was still stuck in her head. 


I'll probably do a friend entry every once in awhile when I'm feeling nostalgic. Not like anyone reads this blog but me anyways, it's mostly for self documentation, and for the day I go crazy.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

October 24th 2015 8:05

Today has been hard. I'm being ravished in between two feelings. It feels like someone's pulling my hair everytime I take a step forward, but when I step back, they're even meaner, and I'm throttled with a full force down. There's this Feeling of hopelessness at the peak of my hormones. I don't usually like when people use my hormones to dismiss my feelings of ~depression~, because they never seem to realize that I deal with it on a daily basis, my worst thoughts and feelings peak every month. It's nothing to dismiss, it's not normal to doubt my life as much as I do. I've gotten to the point where normal interactions are borderline useless because I'm so self absorbed. When I am most weak, I only see my life in one toppling instance.

What sucks most is starting the week, just wondering how you'll get through. I want to focus on work ethic, and how I can set up my mornings. But everyday, I know my real goal is to just be able to make it to Friday. Friday though, usually doesn't result in complete happiness, more like a harsh and cold pinch to the heart. Here is my life, I'm living it...all by myself. I can do anything I want to right now and it's scary. 

I've gotten bored of typing as of now. Everything I say is annoying and repetitive. 

October 24th 2015 10:01 am

I woke up this morning feeling virtually nothing, Which is frustrating in many ways as I'm surrounded by my own filth. Last night I had a friend come over unexpectedly and I'm pretty sure I bummed her out with my behavior, as inconsistent as it is. She was being extremely self centered I was left having my post stressed and depressed friday after a long week that seemed more than endless. At one point she even mentioned a girl I would rather not want to talk about. I wondered if she did it to hurt me. Afterwards I laid down on my floor in the living room, she asked me if I was okay, as if her sensitive topic had issued me to be even more depressed feeling than before.

Continuing, I invited her to go with me to a Rocky Horror Picture showing down at our local theatre. She didn't even respond when I mentioned it, and by that point, I just wanted to be alone. Any effort wanting to be made was already crushed into dust. My mouth was dry, I was hungry, I was longing. Our attempt at decorating my living room for halloween failed miserably. All she did was look in the mirror... All I wanted was to feel like this month was for me. But even the halloween music couldn't bring my spirits up. I was weighed down. I was a lot of things.

This morning just felt like one big headache. Everything in my life is the same again. There's wondering in whether or not I should even try today. I thought, if I were to be in a relationship now, it would fail. I can't see myself in one. I'm more unlovable than most. Truly, unlovable. Even typing this, I find it to be pointless. There's too much going on in my head. I want to shut my life down and be content. It's really hard to be content.

Friday, October 23, 2015

October 23rd 2015, 8:17 pm

Click for The Song I'm Listening To

Today was gruesome and somewhat endless. The entire time i felt like i was dragging an extra pair of feet behind me. Bits and pieces of my morning influenced my afternoon. If things weren't going my way this morning, how could they get any better. I had ruined my day already and felt the stress under my ribcage. Many times a day I wonder why I do anything I do. I'm always reaching for a feeling. Mostly right now it's comfort. I feel too lonely in my moments of weakness. My dynamics are unrecognizable. Every interaction is bland. I wonder if I'm boring as I flip through every word of a conversation I had in front of someone I'm insecure about. Everything I say lacks depth, I get stuck, and give up. i think to think and then to talk. but only for myself. I've realized. When you are relating to someone back and forth, don't you feel more of the anticipation for your story than you do theirs? I mean that was interesting, but my life seems a lot better, probably because it's relatable, probably because its mine.

Other than my feelings of doubt when pertaining to my life as a hole, do you ever think of how romantic it would be to die? Sometimes I imagine how people would react, and I am seeing everyone living without me. how much it hurts to be me by the time i've died. My life is a one way street. I never get to turn around. I'm subjected to a lot of dismissive behavior for just being me.  

My past is constantly antagonizing me. I think of the moments I never fully absorbed or appreciated and my ribcage gets tighter around my lungs. I wonder why I hang onto those few months. I've never experienced that much learning in just one small time period. Everything was in my hands, berries. Berries staining my hands. I could've eaten them, and I didn't. I watched them rot, and I watched them ripen. Instead of gorging in my opportunities, I clasped down on each one and was left with purple hands. I remember days of no makeup and hours in bed. I remember days of walking into places I wasn't sure I wanted to be at. I remember smiles from people, and affection, affection I had lacked the wanting of, because it hurt too much every time showed concerned. I felt like every inch of the skin of the person I was hugging was covered in needles, breaking through my skin with disappointment. I remember being back at square one. But this time I wasn't a virgin. I was officially a young woman, but I didn't feel like one. I remember turning 17 and having my life weigh even more than it did before. 

And its hard, every day, it's a different kind of hard. It's the same every year. I wonder when I will see my life turn around. Life never changes, if I never change. When I talk too much I feel like words hit every nerve until numb. Every day is hard.