Repost: Wholesum Family Fun (July 2nd, 2008)

I should be babysitting right now. I should be sitting on the couch with nothing on my mind. I should be happy knowing that I haven't made my mom cry. But I'm not. I'm here, luckily. I'm here at this desk typing. Typing, without stopping to think about what I did. To myself. But most of all to those around me. I can't forget the people in the park with their kids. It was right after we drank. We were falling. And stopped at the side of the trail. I remember the people. The last thing I remember actually. They were happy. Really happy. Genuinely. They didn't need alcohol. Fucking goofy smiles.
Two days later.
I haven't been able to complete this post. Wait... Let me rephrase. I just didn't want to think about it really. I'm ashamed. The hospital gave me more than I deserved. I deserve to feel like shit, puking up my guts. I want to remember it all, so I can hate myself. They drained me. They took the poison from my vanes. I'm finding it hard to spell. My head is pounding. I just wanted to confront it. I've been punched in the chest. They told me my heart was beating irregularly. I want to look at all that happened and see the damage. I need it written down. In plain sight. I can see a little better now. I couldn't see my parents faces. I knew they were there, sitting beside my bed. They are hurt. I hurt them. I can't see their faces. I don't want to see them. To see pain. They will always remember the pain. I can't. I was unconscious. Is it any better? To be oblivious to the hurt? This isn't going to blow over fast. They will look at me. I made a mistake. they will talk. It was stupid. They will judge. I deserve it all. They will see me. It's more than I could ever do. Take a good look. I'm finding it so hard to see. I can't breathe, I can't spell and I can't stand it anymore. I'm so fucking stupid. I pride myself on being so fucking smart. I'm not. Not really. At least everyone will see it now. I'm not who they thought I was. I've been hiding from this. But now it's out in the open. Written down. I can't delete it now. I can see everything. I made a mistake. It's nobodies fault but mine. I could have been dead. But I'm not. I'm here, luckily.

The Fine Art of Finding Yourself

I love the fact I get goose bumps when I hear a certain song. Even kisses give me the bumps. My lips are ticklish and my heart is weak. Today I learned that we are all trapped by our inability to be socially imaginative. I wish I could see the greater implication of myself in this big picture.

Everyday I push my boundaries, silence the screams of my inner super shy girl, and take daring steps in an untraveled land. I meet new people constantly, each eager to find someone to replace a certain best friend they left at home.

I never thought I could be this happy without my family around me. But the thing is, if ever I'm sad or aching for human contact, I have a floor full of friends to talk to. I never thought I would be reading so much in so little time. I enjoy keeping bust though. I can't imagine myself anywhere else at this point. A social environment was what I always needed.

Everyone here is going a little bit crazy. To an outside observer we are all crazy teens drinking too much and making noise in a quiet world. That outsider was me for the most part of my life. I was miserable and hateful of those people. I even told myself it was because they were just "crazy teens". Now that I'm in the center of it all, I can rightfully say that we are exactly what people fucking say. I'm crazy, I've always been crazy. The fact that I write that sentence with a grin on my face makes me crazier.

So, in my mind what's the point of living if you never test your limits? In this life there is but death. Why not intoxicate myself with new experiences based on love, drugs, feelings, people and knowledge? I'm experimenting with this new world I'm in and it sure as hell ain't quiet.

Before Boys and Broken Hearts

It's been a month today since I last wrote on this lovely blog and I think it's about time I reflect on who I am. Things haven't been very clear to me for awhile. I've been crying much more than normally and had two panic attacks last month. I stress way too much about things I can't control, but I think the major factor is that I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect all the time, which is obviously impossible. If I understood myself and my limits I would be able to get through scratch free. But lately I've come to realize the power one person's opinion can have on your well-being. Two people I love are telling me two different things about who I am and how I present myself to them. It's sad that I have to rely on other people to understand myself, but that's why there's people who are paid to do so. Anyways, I'm feeling much like the awful person that I've been told to be right now. I wish I could see who I am and understand why my actions might hurt, but I'm not sure where to start. Well, I'll guess I'll begin by reflecting on my life before boys and broken hearts.

For the longest time I was never comfortable with the girl in the mirror or the girl in pictures, many teenage girls/boys likely go through the same thing. Luckily I am blessed with amazing friends who are unique and fun. Unknowingly they helped me through rough times by simply being there and in that way managed to shape me into who I am today. Because of their presence and influence, soon I began to view the good intentioned (sometimes major fuck-up) yet stubborn vegetarian looking back at me in the mirror as a good thing. The girl behind the glasses was changing for the better (in my opinion). I started working out, eventually I became confident enough to wear nicer/tighter clothes (that I never wore because I was ashamed) thus attracting compliments from family and friends. I lost weight, but I also lost the bulk of clothes designed for people to hide in. I began to push myself hard in school because for one I love learning and two I thrive off receiving praise for my hard work. - I was finally getting the much needed ego boost that I had denied myself for the longest time, which had left me miserable and lonely. I am so lucky to have such a great family, environment and group of friends to support me and make me feel loved.

Now let's get to the boys and broken hearts part. Don't get me wrong, I did attract the attention of boys before my boyfriend, but I never understood why they would want to date me. I know eh? Pity party for me! But, seriously, it never occurred to me that they might find me pretty or that maybe I had a personally that appealed to them or something. I'd turn them down thinking I was doing THEM a favor. Jesus. My "oh pity me" ways not only hurt myself, but also those boys that probably genuinely liked me as a person. In the words of my father: "you're a heart breaker, that's not a good thing." When I would turn them down, I saw myself getting more and more miserable, burying myself in giant sweaters from value and hating people for some retarded reason. My actions made me hate myself and I was spiraling into some metaphysical pit of permanent isolation. Then the craziest thing happened, one boy managed to get through my defenses. For some crazy reason he found the giant sweater wearing awkward girl to his liking. At this point I was already beginning to change myself (working out, becoming more friendly, etc.).

So now back to these conflicting attitudes. This brave boy, who saw me at my weakest point, doesn't like the person I've become. Lately I've been celebrating my confidence by wearing girly clothes, by painting my nails neon pink and loving the way my bikini looks on me. Some might call me fake or something, hypocritical etc etc. But I'm finally doing what makes me happy and sadly I haven't been happy for a long time. Too bad that it doesn't make the people who count happy. Well, I don't think my personality has changed much, I'm still a goof ball, jokester, obnoxious, sifi nerd, non-gossip, loner and often shy girl. I am proud to say that I'm not afraid to speak my mind anymore. My teachers helped a lot in that department, but also the eye surgery that I received helped with my fear of eye contact. I never really mentioned that. But that also made me avoid boys because who would want to date the crazy-cock-eyed girl who was afraid to take off her glasses. All in all, I had believed these changes were for the better but, I think I'm as vulnerable now as when I started. I hear that I'm a good person from my mom, as to be expected. But on the other hand I'm told I'm a bitch and a slut, with no one in mind except herself. I take it all to heart even if they are jokes because I'm stupid and weak and I'm left with old miserable self once more and I not sure what to think about the confident girl in the mirror anymore. I think I'll miss her when she's gone, even if she wasn't a great person. I know that I never intend to do awful things, I believe that I have good intentions. But did I have to pay a price to get to this point? I think I have, for I feel so unloved right now despite being surrounded by my family.

I'm going to Kingston in September. I'll hopefully be making new friends and will be beginning to stand on my own. My worst fear is that I'll lose the girl in the mirror. I think I like her - despite some negative reviews.

I've grown so much since I first started this blog. I'm proud of who I have become. The scary thing is, I'm not sure how long I can keep telling myself that if I don't really believe it.

Gettin' Ova It

Here I am again! Am I happy? Sure. I'm fucking elated.

I've begun to realize that one mood cannot define your life. You are a mixture of all your ups and downs. The downs suck. Obviously, as one could tell from my last "depressoid" post. I love reading over what I wrote in the past because at the time it felt so good to just write what I felt. I wrote stuff on the internet that I could not tell a human being face to face. Then again, that was at a time where I thought that I didn't have anyone that was willing to listen to my troubles. But, now I've learned that my friends are troubled too and love to talk about the shit that happens.

So far this year I've learned 10 epic things about my life and the people in it:

1) My mom is totally cool when it comes to dating and she wont make me come home at 10 pm on a Saturday night.

2) My dad knows that I hate him. He wants to change? Naa he likes being an asshole.

3) My parents are not all-knowing beings, it took me 16 years to discover this? Yes.

4) My friends are cool when it comes to venting for hours and staying up all night.

5) Never babysit a kid with a foot-fetish.

6) Being a nerd and a total loser doesn't mean that guys wont talk to you ;)

7) If I'm not making people happy, I feel like crap. Therefore, I know why I want to be a therapist.

8) I don't think I want to write professionally anymore.

9) I can't imagine doing anything in the future that requires effort.

10) I'm incredibly annoying.

Willfully Blind

I stare at nothing. It has become second nature, a habit that I am unwilling to break. See, it gives me comfort knowing that the thing I stare at has no judgement towards me, no expectations. If I am depressed, I stare at a simple object. My concentration is completely directed at it. My mind is nowhere else. And when I feel so overwhelmed by my surroundings, I just close my eyes and block out all sounds.

I thought this whole depression phase was over. It is supposed to end. It happens to every teenager. I know this. I repeat this. It has a reason to occur in childhood, for the changes in the child's mind creates spaces that are soon filled with confusion and thus depression. So why is it happening again? I don't want to be like this. It would be simple to change, but I'm tired.

I sleep all the time. I get home from school and go to bed. My mom says that it's iron deficiency. I say that I'm tired. Of what? Well that would be the reason for this whole thing.

Yesterday night my father drank enough liquid courage to ask me why I hate him. I didn't know what to say because I never admitted to myself that I hated my father. He kept telling me that he was a good parent because he always gave me enough room. He told me that I only hated him because I was looking for someone to hate. He said his only fault was spending more of his time caring about my brother than me. He told me I have anger problems and that I just had to accept the fact that he was an asshole. I told him that he didn't have to be an asshole, it's not something to be proud of, something to blame your parenting problems on. But, everything I said did not register. I told him that I could never talk to him because he was only open to conversation when he is drunk. I told him that we could talk in the morning when he was sober. He took it as an insult and said something like "that was an awful thing to say", walking away and telling me that I was a spoiled brat. He cried during all this. I cannot tell if he remembers now. Everything was back to normal in the morning. I probably would have thought that I dreamt the whole thing if I hadn't of woken up to the sounds of my dad puking his guts out in the hotel toilet. I'm not sure if I want to talk about it in front of anyone in my family, I might cry or something stupid. I hate that I have a reason now to hate him. Before it was just small things, building up one by one. I guess those small things just got sick of being ignored.

The sad thing is that I probably hate my father more now. And you have no idea how much that hurt me to write.

I'm sad, and I don't want to be.  

Laughing at Yourself Doesn't Accomplish Anything

I've done many stupid things in my life. I've been ashamed, hated, pitied and saved. But, of all the stupid things that I've done that Canada Day is in first place. My father thinks that it is funny to tell everyone and anyone that will listen. Does he think it's funny that his daughter made a mistake? His other perfect daughter would never do anything that would make him upset -- then happy that he has a freaking story to tell to the neighbours. For me it's in the past. For him, it should be brought up at any mention of alcohol and I should laugh. Then why the fuck do I feel like crying? There was nothing funny about it. My heart was beating irregularly. What if it had stopped? Please stop laughing at something that I'm ashamed of, a part of myself that I've gotten over and it has become a part of who I am. Please stop picking at scars. Please stop reminding everyone. Please stop laughing at me.

Try This On For Size

The pigheadedness of people is astounding. It's curious how the fangs appear, as if from thin air, once the person is backed into a corner. The corner closes in and the only way out is through the person blocking you in. Either you can go through them, blast them down or wait until the waves of insults/arguments are passed. Just try to ignore their smug sense of satisfaction as you gather your bloodied parts, wipe their spit from your face and slink by them. The other ways involve confidence, a suicide wish and a few more brain cells. See, if you spend all your life getting beaten up by the "facts", you lose brain cells needed to find the facts. That is their point. To stop you from finding your own way and your own facts. I'm giving up on convincing others to believe what I believe. There is no point, because I could be wrong and I'm only preventing them from finding their own way, plus I've been beaten up by the "facts" way too many times. Just like raising children to be a certain religion or even vegetarian. You have to wait until they can see the facts that you feed them. You tell them the story and let them choose, they'll thank you for it later and they'll understand why they are the way they are. They'll see that they are the product of their own choice and belief. Ex. I've been baptised. It means nothing to me, because I found my own way. I sometime start to wonder what would have happened if my mother took me too church every Sunday. I'd probably not hangout with the people I do, I wouldn't swear, I wouldn't be a vegetarian, I would be scared of gay people, I would read the bible-- not Cosmopolitan, I would be a happy person, I would confess to some "bad things I do", I wouldn't think about suicide (don't worry, haven't in a year since I began writing), I wouldn't have ended up in the hospital, I wouldn't have gone to Centennial and learned about sex and evolution, I would have joined a production course to realize that all the swears have been blacked out (that fucking sucks ass), my blog would be more boring and everything will be very opposite. That scares me to death. It's not those facts, it's the possibility that my mom determined my whole future with that one decision. Power is not always as obvious as a blazing gun. If the whole world was full of god-loving, animal murdering crazies then there would be no nature-loving, plant eating crazies to balance out the whole equation. It's simple science. It's that my mom made the decision to deal with a animal loving crazy when she let me choose. I grew up and I will continue to grow up until I find my way. I'm getting old enough to see the infinite things that could make or break me. I've got a lifetime to figure out if this crazy is right for me, there is always another crazy waiting to be tried on.

Please Baby Don't Cry

All of our lives we are told to be strong and not cry. But really it's these people telling us not to feel, who don't want to see the pain in you. They could care less if you held it in until you exploded, hurting yourself and maybe everyone around you. All that they can see is the present dilemma, the water leaking from your eyes, ignoring the pain leaking through your body. Invisible pain is so much easier for others' to live with. Will it always be this way? Will your loved ones let you cry until you are numb or will this "suffocation of emotions" continue until it's too late? I believe that their intentions are good, but they don't want to venture into the reason for the tears or see the pain on your face and know that they might be the reason behind it. And anyways, why should crying make you weak? Doesn't suppressing it make you weaker in the long run? Hiding from things that make you uncomfortable makes you weak. Actual strong people cry out their tears and get on with their life. Or they stand up at a funeral and tell their story, their memories and never ask the question "What if I had done..." because they did and there are no regrets. They face everyday with a new attitude, no matter how bad yesterday was. Yesterday was a day for crying, today is a day for finding things to smile about. I don't care what the text book definition of a strong person is, but too me, and I hope many others as well, it's all a bunch of bull crap.

A few days ago, I told my friend that she was the strongest person I knew. She embraces her emotions, one of the things that makes her such an amazing writer, and follows her own unique path. My life has been filled with many strong women who have taught me absolutely everything that I base myself on and I plan to admire them for the rest of my life. Screw the textbooks.

Among the Ranks of Other Famous Fat Heads

I was published once again in the newspaper. I got that poem called "What If?" in the August addition. I was very very pissed that the lady who put it in the paper didn't correct the mistake that I pointed out to her in an e-mail. It went something like this:

Before:
While the strong were forced to made a deal with the devil.

After w/ correction:
While the strong were forced to make a deal with the devil.

Then I received an e-mail back that said:

Done. Thanks.

I'm beginning to think that the bitch was laughing at me. If you say that sentence with sarcasm it explains everything. Writing is quiet ironic. You write a sentence or many and they could be taken anyway that the reader wants to take it. Maybe she intended to say, "What's the big deal. You are sixteen and you wrote a poem that sucks. I have better things to do than correct a mistake you should have noticed before you sent it, so ya! Thanks for the tip. I'm gonna go an get a coffee so I can stay awake long enough to kill myself."

It put a damper on a great day, I have to admit. Whatever, it was partly my fault. Geeezzus even when I sent in a picture of my bunny ABIE she spelt her name wrong in the paper. Jessica Shelley's bunny Albie. Albie? As in the racist dragon?

Shrug it off. Shrug it off. Is it possible? My dad read my story in the paper. The one about THAT day. He didn't say anything. I cried in my room. The same as time and time before when my dad lets me down. I shouldn't cry I know, not over him. I'm sick of wondering what it means, but after I told him that I was published again he told me that he could see me famous. Can I see me famous? Naa. I may be a fat head sometimes but I could never do it full time. I told my mom something when she said that I have talent. I said, "It comes and goes." The scary thing about writing is that after you finish a story you always wonder if that's the last one or if there is another, will it be as good? The world is full of the broken glass of broken goals. You know in school when they try to get you to have goals? Well it's all some sort of conspiracy designed to get you to do great things. I'm too lazy. Way too lazy. I could never get a job working with people. For one thing I don't like them and the other, I'd let them down. One thing that people forget about famous people is that they are still people and when they fall or stumble we love it because it reminds us that even golden plated people get scratched by broken glass. I guess deep down some people hide it, but it shows now and then. Stop hiding silly, come out and play. Embrace your jumbled thoughts, if you can gather enough energy to hold them. I know that I'm too lazy to care. How about you?

Old Habits Die Hard

Or as I like to call it: OHDH. My dog is fine now. He had a tumor, but it wasn't cancer. Well, for the longest time no one yelled at Rocky, no one got mad at him in anyway. Since, he was likely to die. He's alive and you know what? It's back to the beginning. Why can't we cherish the days with our dog, not wait for the next time we have a scare? So now it's OK to kick the dog right? He's not dying so you won't feel guilty. I'd like to know that you do though. But, I know it's the same as it was before. No more guilt. Well, I never felt guilty about it cause I never did it. No one has a right to kick a dog, even if it growls at you because it thought you were going to take its toy. You wouldn't dare do that to a child. You'd end up in jail. A dog doesn't mean as much as a child to you though. Ya, sure you'd cry if it might have cancer, but the thought of causing it harm doesn't faze you one bit. I'm protecting him from now on. You crazy religious freaks believe animals are lower than you. I guess you are just making up for that fact that you can't kill and eat him, you have to express your dominance somehow right? Animals have prices on their heads. Not because it's been there since the beginning of time, no, it's because we put them there. And let's just pull our heads from our asses for a few seconds to see that animals have every right to be here. No harm is done by them. They are creatures based on instinct, now we... we might be right about one thing. We are smart. Maybe we are too smart to always run on instinct and too blind to realize when our instincts are wrong. Sure, its kept us alive for a few years. But, do you feel good about it? O wait. Feelings are for sissies. And who needs to feel good anyways... people with souls? O well OHDH

What Would You Say If We Lived On TV?

I'd love to make this post beautifully tragic, but I guess I'm not in the state of mind to do so. My dog might die of cancer. I was petting him for awhile, and it might have just been the situation, but my dog didn't move as much and breathed harder than normally. I think it might have been my imagination. Everyone wants to talk it out, this horrible, painful "event". That's all they ever want to do. When I want to scream. I wish I could just run outside, stand on the deck and scream until my lungs exploded. But, instead I'm here, with my dog a few meters behind me sleeping ,while whole family sits and stuffs their heads with television bullshit, anythings better than thinking about it. On TV everyone is fake, fake emotions, fake faces. They are watching "fakeness" with red puffy eyes? Look around you, we are hiding. How is this strong? Covering up this pain when we should be holding our dog and crying openly... screaming openly. "He can't die he's only seven", they should say. Is thinking it somehow better? Does it help at all? I'm sick of television. If a dog on television got sick. It wouldn't even have a chance of dying. There would be tears and then the credits would roll. I'm sick of movies. Love always saves in movies. No matter how much I love my dog, it doesn't cure him, it wont stop him from getting weaker. I want to be strong. I'm weak cause I'm not screaming now. Never let anyone tell you than crying makes you weak. Holding it in until you break makes you weak. At times like these I wish I could pray to some sort of God who could perform a miracle and save my puppy. All I have is a less than 50/50 chance that my dog has a cancerous tumor or not. Nothing can change his chances. The only thing we have is hope. And even that isn't much. Sometimes I wish that I lived on TV and always had the perfect things to say. So ya I wish I could write some amazing post that would touch the reader and make them feel like I do. But the thing is, I don't want you to feel like I do. Even if I don't know you, you don't deserve to feel like this. Until next time, probably when I hear the news, all I ask is that if you care just hope for the best.

When Did "Vegetarian" Become a Bad Thing???

I'm proud of my choice and I wish I had done it sooner. Yet, whenever I say that I'm a vegetarian, some wise-ass asks if I eat chicken or fish, no one informed me that some animals are OK to eat... That's bullshit. How can you call yourself a vegetarian if you eat animals. Either you do or you don't. It's not rocket science. It's like grade two math.

Any Meat + Eat = Meat eater All Meat + Eat - All Meat = Vegetarian

Recently, Peta was brought up in a conversation with my family. The word extremist was used and I was extremely uncomfortable. I was ashamed to be associated with them and why? They have changed so many peoples' views, but sadly, it turns out that they have been changed negatively, or in these words "Peta gives vegetarians a bad name." Now that I see it written down, it's actually funny. Look at it this way, Peta fights for animal rights. Vegetarians don't eat animals, therefore pretty much fighting for animal rights. Suddenly, vegetarian means "crazy hippie who protests and persuades people to join their club sometimes using violence". Peta isn't giving vegetarians a bad name. In truth, I wouldn't have been a vegetarian if it wasn't for Peta. Maybe I've been feed lies about factory farming or that it's really not that bad for the animals. But, it opened my eyes to what I was eating. It gave me something to set my sights on and also gave me an identity. Haven't you ever wondered why your parents feed you beef, not cow, and that the juicier, the bloodier, the better. I love animals, they have every right to be here as we do. Why should their lives end in order to feed our fat asses, when there is an alternative? Right, the bible says that animals were put on this earth to feed man. Just let me say this... The bible is a FUCKING BOOK. A book designed for mass control. What easier way to ensure that moral values are passed on than through threat? Heaven or Hell YOU DECIDE! All that BS. But, like most things, we are scared to try something different and we stick with what were are used to. Seriously, what could it hurt? I shouldn't have to keep telling myself that I'm doing a great thing. I should know that what I'm doing is great. But, as long as there are those people who are jumping to conclusions about vegetarians, then vegetarians will have a bad name. And anyways... when did fighting for what you believe in and being different become a bad thing?

Getting Used to Failure and Doggy Heaven

It may have something to do with growing up but I've found that disappointing people and failing doesn't bug me that much anymore. I have learned that my family is telling me lies. Mostly about my writing. Now, that are realizing that I have turned myself in a direction that with probably leave me homeless and husbandless. "Don't you like Science or Math?" Nope, too many numbers. I just finished the story I published a few seconds ago and I got my mom to read it. It's about the equality of animals and my mom didn't buy it. She probably just thinks that it's the ramblings from a vegetarian, crazy teen aged girl. Just a phase. Well if this is a phase, then who's to say that being a religious fanatic isn't a phase? I get angry at religion. When really it's the people that I am angry at. Religion just let's me hate something that easy to hate. My mom, that is something that i can't hate. I am determined to write, even if it means homelessness. O, and there is a doggy heaven, but all dogs are allowed. There's none of that heaven or hell bullshit. Just heaven.