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Confessions

I’m pissed off.

I’m pissed off that I work five days a week and have negative two dollars in my bank account. I’m pissed off that I get yelled at for getting home past curfew because I was crying in a parking lot to my boyfriend, while my brother can have his girlfriend spend the night at our house and have her up in his room with the door closed (did I mention that my room is next door and the walls are thin? Yeah. And meanwhile, my boyfriend can’t set one foot in my room without me getting screamed at). I’m pissed off that it’s been a week of working at my crappy job and the one day where all I want to do is be alone and relax while playing this computer game “Civilization” (my boyfriend got me addicted to it to the point where I want to play it everyday for hours), I don’t have enough money to buy it (or gas, for that matter. Or the spending tickets I’ve acquired. Or the lawyer for the speeding tickets). I’m pissed off that all I ever do is screw up and get yelled at for it. I’m pissed off that I have less than a month left before I leave this place and my boyfriend. I’m pissed off that I have to start taking meds again when all I want is to be normal and stay there. I’m pissed off that this stupid blog is FOR NOTHING, that my friends don’t bother reading it, or anyone else for that matter. Am I helping anyone, or being helped myself? NO. IT’S ALL FOR NOTHING. I hate it. I hate my life right now. I hate that no one in my family wants to spend time with me without criticizing me.  I hate that all my friends are busy. I hate that college is starting. I hate it all. I hate that my boyfriend has had a lot more relationships than I have had, and has slept with more people than I have had, and they’ve all been good and fine and all of my past relationships remind me why I suck and deserved to be treated that way. I hate that I’m thinking all of this and writing all of this, when no one wants to hear it–people want to hear about how being positive is easy and life isn’t scary and that once you have found love it all works out and that confidence will never fail you and your friends from high school will stick by you and won’t end up doing heroin.

And I can’t write about any of that, because I know none of it.

Sometimes, when people look at my scars where I’ve cut myself they joke around and ask things like, “So why’d you carve a giant swastika into your arm?” (which it isn’t, and is offensive), I think, “You’ve never hated yourself like I have, have you? And you’ll never know how sad you can feel inside when you look at your scars and not regret it. Because deep down somewhere I know I took it easy on myself, and if I truly were honest when I had that knife in my hand I wouldn’t be here right now. So go ahead, look concerned or laugh. If you knew what this was like you wouldn’t say a word.” That’s how I feel writing in this blog sometimes. I feel like I’ve put my scars out there in these posts, and in response all people want to do is judge rather than understand.

I don’t need advice and I don’t need sympathy. I need support, I need to know you people are actually there.

(If you even are.)

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Real Talk On Drugs

A few nights ago, I drove my friend up to the hospital while she was high because her boyfriend had just overdosed on heroin.

As a teenager in this modern age, I’ve seen my fair share of drugs. Not that I’m a junkie myself, or spend much time around junkies in general, but I’ve gone to high school. You hear things, you see things, you meet people. Drugs crop up on your radar no matter what kind of person you are, where you spend your Friday nights, and what kind of school you go to. And while my experiences with drugs were HARDLY the description D.A.R.E. officers or health teachers would scare us as kids with, they have been enough to ensure that I’m just not interested in that sort of lifestyle.

Now, let’s take a moment to talk about friendship. Friendship, real, true-blue friendship, means that you are willing to spend time with someone on a general basis, no matter what. Even if you are just hanging out at Walmart, or they are crying because they were just dumped, or you’re having a blast at the water park. The good, the bad, and the ugly. That’s what real friendship is about–sticking it out with someone and staying by their side no matter what life brings them.

Now let’s put the two together. As a teenager, you do a lot of your growing up with your friends and your friendship experiences all the nasty twists and turns and phases that people go through when they are stuck in high school. And because we are all human beings and have the wonderful ability to be absolutely stupid, we can make some funny decisions. Now, going through high school you have to really pick the right friends. Your friends determine how a good portion of your high school experience will be, and can land you anywhere from going to an Ivy League college to Hollywood to a pro athlete to jail, because every group of friends does different things when they are together. But, because people can change so drastically during this time, it’s hard to tell where your friends will lead you…

So I had a great group of friends in high school–just a fantastic group of people–but there was one, I’ll call her Ruth, that bounced between smoking and drinking every once-in-a-while. It was never anything constant, and I knew a lot of people experimented a bit in high school, so I didn’t judge her. After all, she was a great friend, and a good listener who helped me a lot whenever I’d get depressed. We always had a lot of fun, and I knew she was a good person. Then my junior year I decided to experiment myself. I had never drank before, apart from sips of beer or wine my parents would let me have from time to time, and so I decided to go for it. So sometimes during sleepovers we would bring along something we snuck from the liquor cabinet, and drink and giggle and spill our secrets until the wee hours of the morning. But then the summer came, and we wanted to party. Which we did, a bit, and met other people who liked to “have a good time” too. We were both going through some rough things that summer, and having fun like that was our escape from the loneliness and pain we felt by ourselves. Well, for a while it was all fun and games, but eventually you get bored again. So we took up smoking pot sometimes. Yes, it was a drug, but it wasn’t addictive or dangerous–you couldn’t overdose on pot. Well, the more time went on, the more frequent we smoked. But then Ruth took up a new habit of going through the medicine cabinet and snorting painkillers–primarily Oxycontin. I drew the line there. Nothing was going up my nose; I was already concerned about my own use of pot. I told her I didn’t think it was wise to go to anything beyond a little pot, but she liked it and continued to do it in secret. Well, you know how the story goes. You run out of your own supply, you need more, you meet shady people, cops show up, Mom finds out, and next thing you know you’re sitting in rehab. So while I began my senior year, Ruth began treatment.

It was then that I stopped smoking. The summer was over, and things needed to be serious again. Eventually Ruth returned going to school full time, and I was there for her during the evenings she wasn’t at treatment. Well, during treatment she met this guy, an older guy. Ruth had been doing really good, and while I was happy she was happy while they hung out, I was concerned about his own habits. He was a recovering heroin addict, and that fact was enough to try to convince her to date someone else. But she didn’t, and they became a couple. Eventually I met him, and found that he was a pretty nice guy. She would talk about him with stars in her eyes, telling me different he was from the other guys she’d been with, how much they had in common, and how happy he made her. Since they had been together for weeks and they both were clean, I finally gave it my blessing.

Well, nothing is forever. She loved him, and after she completed treatment he quit. Eventually he returned to his habits, and like I originally suspected, she picked them up right with him. So began the phone calls from a crying Ruth, so began the attempts to separate should he keep wanting to use. And then the other night I get one of the crying phone calls, only this time it was because he had overdosed and Ruth had called 911. So there I was, past midnight in the ER, watching Ruth’s boyfriend puke his guts out. There I sat, while he suggested leaving without the doctor’s approval because a) maybe they were waiting to arrest him and b) he was fine anyway. His eyes were barely open and his words were slurred as he said this. The worst part? Ruth, who had tears continuously streaming from her glassy eyes was actually considering what he was saying.

Eventually he was released though, and I drove them home. I ended up getting home past 1am, crying myself from anger at the situation and the speeding ticket I was just issued, completely dreading my 8am to 4pm shift at McDonald’s later that morning.

And why did I do it? Friendship. Do I ever want to do that again? No. Hell no. Will they break up? I don’t know. Will he stay clean this time around (implying that he tries to)? Probably not, but I hope so anyway. Do I hate heroin? Yes. Am I mad at Ruth? No. But I’m sad for her. She’s so much smarter than this and needs to be kinder to herself. Did I ever think this would happen?

Did I ever think this would happen? No. Absolutely not. But for all of you readers out there, let me tell you: you never do.

The End of A Story…

Forgiving yourself is one of the hardest things a person can do. But when you do, God, do you feel free….

Holding in hurt does nothing to resolve it. If you want someone to know how they made you felt, tell them. Maybe they won’t even care, but the fact that they know means everything. Maybe it will teach them something. Maybe they will fight to never make that same mistake again. Maybe they will ignore it, but no matter their response you will have learned something: The pain we feel in our hearts makes us love, makes us appreciate life, and give all we can to those around us. The people who are happiest in life are not those without pain, but those who have turned their pain into reasons why they will further embrace the opportunities to dream and fulfill who they want to become.

I just needed you to know.

Caring About Mistakes/Mistakes About Caring

“It is never a mistake to care for someone.”

That quote right there is from the movie Radio, in case you’ve never seen it. Now, when you look at the people who have betrayed you, say maybe promised you they’d always be there for you, slept with you, and then completely ignored you after the fact, it’s a little hard to not call that a mistake.  Trust can be a fickle thing, and trusting someone with your heart is always a big leap of faith. But this quote takes me back to a time where I was friends with anyone who would share their Barbies with me, to when caring for someone was as easy as agreeing to a second piece of pie. Now, as kids it is not that we never disliked anyone, but when you think about the reasons you never liked them they seems a bit more pure than when you are older. When you are a kid you don’t like people who are violent, cruel, controlling, or upset the people you love. People are black and white, good or bad, and you never feel guilty for judging them in that way. When you’re older, you dislike people for many many reasons: reputation, back-stabbing, their annoyances, etc. And maybe some of those reasons exist when you’re a kid, but…it’s never that black and white. Maybe you also feel sorry for them, maybe you’re also jealous. Maybe you’re just feeling cranky that day. Maybe they are actually your best friend. And so when you care about people, you are wary that someday your feelings towards them might turn sour.

In my last post it’s pretty clear the I was pissed. I was so ready to march right up to Landon and let him have it. Now I have stopped, considered. Last night in this dream I had I confronted Landon. Somehow he tried to convince me he wanted to be with me again, but I felt wrong when he slipped his arm around me. “What about the guy I am with right now?” my dream-self thought, “Landon can’t just waltz back into my life now, especially after I found someone who is actually right for me! My boyfriend treats me like a saint, I’d go through hell and back before giving him up!” By the end of the dream Landon had left me sobbing anyway, sobbing and alone, wondering what the hell I did wrong. So, basically, the dream was one giant recap of what happened between us in real life.

When I woke up I was still stuck on that thought, though: “I have my boyfriend. The last thing I want is a guy who treats me like Landon did! So why the hell do I care what he has to say?” The bottom line is that there is no excuse to treat someone like that.

I know all these posts about Landon and what happened between us are very subjective…he doesn’t treat everyone in his life like he treated me, and over all, he’s a decent person. This is one situation where miscommunication is key, so my side of the problem could be one giant mistake.

Although, I know one thing that is true…I cared about him. And he made the mistake when he took that for granted.

Disappointing Dispositions

I’m falling. I’m falling, and the ground will either hit me hard enough to majorly hurt, or hard enough not to feel anything.

I’m not exactly looking forward to either, as you can imagine.

What I mean by this vague phrase cannot really be said. It’s an action. It is screaming until your throat is raw, piercing your tongue for the absolute hell of it, crying until the rest of your body hurts as much as your heart (on your ex-boyfriend’s shoulder, to top it off), and falling asleep in nearly every class for three days. It is many things, many things that are the effect of a desperate mind.

I don’t think I’m being a very good person anymore. I have allowed my troublesome ex back into my thoughts, smoked away my anxiety, procrastinated with almost every assignment, and slept with someone who dumped me on the same day we had been dating for exactly a month. And let me tell you, it sucks to remember the person you were once and how disappointed they’d be if they could see the person you are now.

I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I passing with a D in Calculus and not caring about it? Why do I consider skipping school every morning when I wake up? Why has nothing felt right after my supposed “rebound” broke it off with me? Is it just that I’m a human being, full of mistakes and indecision, or is it that I’m turning into someone truly passing up everything in life that isn’t easy?

It’d be so much easier to think about this if I didn’t have everyone’s judgements stuck in my head. In the dinky town I live in, tattoos are considered by old people trashy, sex makes you a slut (but I guess that’s just high school, too), smoking pot makes you a druggie, and your IQ drops if you take part in any of these mentioned things. Yeah, I shouldn’t give a damn about anyone else’s opinion, I know. But God, the guilt can eat me up. Not to the point where it doesn’t feel good to do those things though. It’s this game of tug-a-war in my head: if I’m not having fun by being bad then I’m trying to swallow the guilt of not being a “good” kid.

I’m a fucking good kid/adult/person, okay? For the most part, at least. No one’s a saint and so I don’t pretend to be. I’m willing to accept the less pretty reality that people aren’t all sugar and spice; now why won’t everyone else do me the same justice?

I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that I’ll start to/keep mixing  people’s skewed judgement of myself into my own. Then next thing you know, “Hello, depression!”

So, falling. Watching all these things that could catch you and knowing they won’t. Some people in my life will never say, “It’s okay, I still have the same opinion of you as before.” Some will never again hold me in their arms, safe from any other feeling besides happiness. Some will never remember me, walk up and make an effort to get to know each other properly. And there is nothing I can do but watch them pass as I fall.

And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Yet I still have to ask the world (and myself), must I always shatter after such a fall?

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