I'm been listening to great up-beat music lately. Part of me misses those heart throbbing Bon Iver-type songs I used to listen to all the time. But I can't bring myself to listen to them, not now. Not when things are looking up. I told myself that time has made everything better. However, I'm starting to believe that time has nothing to do with it. I've been bandaged up and my bruised ego has healed. Now I just worry the things that patched me up will lose their adhesion and I'll be left as pathetic as I was before. Fuck I was a miserable human being. I embarrassed myself for months. It freaks me out to think that the same thing could happen again. I guess that's why living under a rock has the potential to be comforting.
I could never do that though. There's no fun in living without fear of pain. The problem is that we can never see an end to pain. But, ends do come and happiness happens. So live it up and blindly step into the future.
I'm learning to enjoy the quest to find something better. That's pretty much the only thing keeping me together.
I told myself that I want to be alone. I don't want to become that girl that goes from relationship to relationship because she can't love herself without someone else loving her. I've been alone before, but I didn't love myself. I've been a relationship, but I relied on him to love me. And now I'm alone again, but this time things will be different.
that you might be thinking of me too makes me happy. Maybe you're thinking how much you're happier without me or how much you miss the person I used to be. I think about you every second, even if I'm dancing, smiling, eating or sleeping. I think about all the things I should have said on the phone but didn't. I know I miss you more than ever. I wish you would call, but I know you don't want to and wont.
I think being told that my personality isn't the personality you fell in love with made me calm down and appreciate the people that love me just as much as they did before. (MADDY!) It also made me look at the world around me and question why it is so important to do the things I do. I thank you for that.
I think that I'm trying to find happiness here. This might be a school where people drink excessively, but the key is to find those genuine moments where a stranger holds a door for you, smiles at you as you pass by, makes the awkward elevator ride less awkward, or simply asks you how you are doing. The stars still shine here and at the end of the day everyone goes to bed after working their hardest.
I'm still miserable without you and cry when I'm alone in my bed. I wake up every time my phone vibrates with the hope that it's you.
I still miss my home and the days of sitting in my high school's hallways and eating lunch with you on the hill. I'm confused because in my mind I'm that same girl, just in a different environment. It hurts that you'll never talk to me again because you think I'm different and that I'll never be able to prove you wrong.
On Wednesday I had to make the 20 min walk to West Campus for my 3 hour psychology class. I was alone, but I had my music. I was listening to "Walking on a Dream" by Empire of the Sun. So, I was making the snowy trek to my class. It was so cold outside, but I didn't feel it. It was one of those rare moments when you just realize that all worries about yourself, your head, your heart: are not important. I just watched the snow fall, smiled at people passing by and enjoyed the peace of a peaceful mind. It wasn't that I forgot about all my troubles, my regrets, my sadness caused by all the things I've done to other people, worrying what they think of me - hating me; it was that I was somehow elevated above, looking down on problems and saying: All I need is me. Because in all of this giant universe of ours, no one will really understand us and get us as well as we, ourselves, do. Of course there will be that person who you talk to constantly, perhaps the person will love you forever and die holding your hand, but they can never get inside your head - you will always think first and tell them later. You are the primary objective. Selfishness is key to self love. And ya, breaking up is hard, because you lose the person so close to fully understanding you. But they're never really there if you fight over the same things and they don't support your dreams. After all, what's worse than loving someone - someone so close to you, that sees you as plainly as you see yourself - who doesn't accept you and holds you back. To allow someone to hold you down, you're showing how much you hate yourself.My goal is to meet a person who ignores little common annoyances. What I mean by this is that they will see me as a separate person. Way too often people try to latch on to another and control the outcome of their lives. I'm all for loving someone so completely that your heart jumps at the sight of them and you are an emotional mess, but people need their own lives too.
This is all I ask:
Let me be proud of who I am, let me change myself (I will still love you all the same), then let me grow up in this crazy world (I'll hold your hand if I need to),
let me learn new things everyday, let me stress out and worry about my future, then let me have space to get better,
let me wear the clothes I like, let me tattoo my body if I want to (I'm only hurting myself), then let me confess my mistakes (I have many),
let me be free, let me go and then (please) let me come back when I'm really.
My mom dropped me off in Kingston. She drove for 7 hours to get me here and ended up sleeping over until 6am. She just left. When we were saying good-bye I kept telling myself not to cry because I would miss her and I didn't want to be alone. (and after all, I have been crying for the past month and a bit) But, I saw that there were tears in her eyes, and I couldn't hold mine back. I'm glad that I cried with her and hugged her really tight. I'll take all the love I can get.
Anyways, after I said good-bye, I ran up to my room and cried while I watched her drive away. I don't feel as if I've grown up at all. When I was home I started sleeping with my teddy bear again. I've convinced myself that it is giving me comfort from all the sad dreams I've been having. - I have them anyway. I brought it back to Kingston with me, along with a truck load of food as well as flowers. The tulips bloomed already. They made me smile through all the tears and sad sack times I've had today. I want to be grateful for all the things I have, and I believe that I am grateful, but it's hard to tell when what is hurting and what is reality are all twisted together.
Huddling deep in a closet, between moth eaten dresses, I hide from my captors with an ear pressed up against the wall like a criminal breaking into a bank vault, but instead of listening for the clicks to indicate a correct code, I’m listening for the of sound of footsteps. I would like to stretch my legs, but any movement could cause a noise that might alert the guards to my position.
The closet is unnerving; I keep terrorizing myself with images of monsters sneaking up behind me, just to shrink back into the shadows as I turn around. I would like to breathe deeply, to inhale the exotic scent of perfume and dust covering forgotten disguises, but that too could make a sound to alert the guards. My shoulders and muscles are so tight and tense that any foreign motion what so ever, holds the power to plunge me into cardiac arrest. I’m painfully aware of my own existence.
I would like to leave, but I have to teach them that when they wish to punish me, they will have to come and find me first. Through all this I cannot deny the need inside me, the need for my mother to place her arms around me and tell me that the monsters are only in my mind, a creation of my vivid imagination. But, now I suppose she might be much more willing to place her hands around my neck, so I focus all my strength on escaping this prison camp.
I am invincible. I lay in the night street listening for the sound of a car, waiting to hear the rumble of tires on the dirt road, turning up stones and dust. The driver is blaring music, Neil Young perhaps, singing along and reliving memories. My heart is beating in my chest, beating so hard as if threatening to explode; a time bomb with no one around to disarm it. I cannot stay here too long. I imagine what would happen if that car came flying down the road. I do not have time to react and hopefully it will be over quick. I wouldn’t mind dying as Neil Young songs blare from a few feet away.
It’s a cold summer night, one that smells like open earth and new life. My nostrils are still burning and my eyes are teary from the campfire, but now I’m looking at the stars. I do not care that I have sand in my hair or that my sweater is dirty. I imagine my family sitting around a campfire, talking over each other and laughing, they are so warm wrapped in their sleeping bags that they have to move back from the fire. I’m freezing in the dampness and I’m wrong, because they are quietly looking at the stars too, each one off in there own perfect world. I’m free, I’m alive, I’m defiant, I’m naive and I’m unaware of the danger or my own stupidity. I turn my head in the dust and smile at the boy beside me. I am in love and time is ticking away.
I awake with a broken body. The last time that I was conscious I was laughing. Pushing myself up on my forearms, I give up trying to find sleep and in one moment, one I would regret, I open my eyes. The sun should have stung my eyes, eyes that should have been bloodshot. It was no nightmare. After several minutes of realizing this, I cannot get rid of the hollow feeling in my body. There was no mistaking the needle marks in my arm and hand. They had told me that I would be fine. Did they lie to me? No. Not really. I’m alive. I can hear the blood throbbing in my head, it blocks out all thought. I raise my bruised chest, bite down in a futile attempt to stop the pain and wait for my memory to return.
I must have fallen asleep again, only to wake up in the same condition with a sore neck. I start to see into my clouded memory of the night before but cannot comprehend the immensity of the gap where there is nothing. Nothing. Blank. Empty. I remember up to the point of the drinking, but past that… I do not want to remember that part. I knew that I had lost all control and at the time I was not thinking about the consequences.
I swallow some saliva and I am not entirely surprised when the taste of stale vodka and vomit greet my already churning stomach. I groan obscenities through dry, chapped lips, which I direct at my stupidity. I want my mother but do not want to face her. I knew there would be pain on the face of my loved ones. That fact hurts more than the bruises that cover my body.
It’s New Years Eve and I’m sitting with my father. We both escape the laughter and the happiness of the party to hide out in the dark living room. There is silence between us because we are two of the same. We are sick of making idle conversation, sick of faking smiles for people we meet, because introductions will be forgotten and faces will fade with time. It’s times like these where I get to see my real father. The one that I have never been told about, the one that I can only see on select occasions when he lets his guard down and he is so raw that I am speechless and I can only look on with wonder, afraid that any sound could destroy his tender core and he will forever be his steel shell. He turns on the television, surfs around and finds Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” concert.
The party noise disappears and I turn to my father. He’s gone and in place of where he was a moment ago is the portrait of a boy. He’s invincible, he’s free, he’s alive, he’s defiant and he’s naive. I sit through the whole thing, but I feel like a criminal who has stolen a glance at someone’s soul. Then it’s all over. My father is back and I’m heartbroken. He’s beaten down, he’s been captured, he’s obedient and he’s rational. Deep down I know that I am doomed to turn out the same way because we are two of the same.
Today I find myself sitting alone. I could go over to some people and strike up a conversation or make some new friends, but someone I’m oddly familiar with is holding me back. They are holding me back from the person that I want to become. What have I done to make this person that I am? What have they done to influence me? I’m sinking into my comfortable skeleton, reaching out for help, but too stubborn or lazy to speak up. Until I can go over to them, I will sink. But, when I do go over, I just might get knocked down. I need that force to break me. I need to be broken so I’ll stop sinking.
Back in the closet, I’m thinking: This is a sure way to drive them crazy.As I finish this train of thought with a know-it-all smirk, a dress falls on my head. The shock sends me screaming and flailing into the hall to crash right into the knees of one of the guards.
I cannot remember what their wrath was, but I do remember thinking, I promise that I will never grow up to be an angry, boring adult; an adult who works all day and becomes a shell of their former self. This was my last thought before the rest of my life began.
When I first started writing on my blog, I used the desktop computer in my living room at home. I used to play Death Cab for Cutie's album Plans when I was home alone and belt out all the lyrics. Some of the songs made me cry. I was so overwhelmed with emotion. I assumed I was feeling love or something. But now I know that I had no clue to what I was feeling. I still don't. When you watch too many romance movies that tell you how to feel and what to do to find love, you get kinda lost. I don't know what's right anymore and I don't think I'll ever know. Maybe that's the point. You're not supposed to understand why you pull away, give up, cry to songs, over dramatize the little things, or fall in "love" over and over again. Will we get over it? Knowing if we will or wont doesn't mean anything really. All we can do is try and move on to something better. I threw away my first love/my security blanket and now all I have is myself. I'm not sure how I feel. For a person who can write a bunch of crap about her feelings on her blog, it's funny that I don't know how to understand them.
It's weird looking back at the little things I did in the past. I guess this is what getting older feels like. Hopefully I'll live long enough to feel like this more.
Last night I had a nightmare that my Dad died. I'm not sure what made my subconscious come up with something so sadistic. I hate dreams that love to fuck with your mind. Perhaps I feel guilty because he probably thinks that I hate him. I really don't. All I dream about are things that make me feel guilty... oh and things like cats morphing into cockroaches. But that's a whole other story.
Since I've been in University, I have started to wonder what exactly makes people do stupid things. There's no doubt to the fact I've done a lot of stupid things in my life - some that I really should regret and perhaps never talk about again... but what's the fun in that? Anyways, I have two major exams tomorrow, so I'll try and wrap this up quickly with a convenient list of the top 7 stupid things I've sadly done, in no particular order:
7. Kissing my friend. Things became super awkward. 6. Taking one puff of a cigarette and hating it -don't worry, it was gross- (Swore to myself I never would when my aunt died of breast cancer.) 5. Vodka hospital list/Disappointing my parents. 4. Getting drunk and completely naked, somehow ending up in my friend's dad's office wrapped in a foam mattress cover. 3. Almost pulling out into oncoming traffic during a driver's lesson. 2. Drinking two energy drinks, smoking, and also drinking beer all in one night. 1. Accidentally (stupidly) taking too much medicine for my cold on an empty stomach -last night- and thus ended up puking and hallucinating for hours.
The funny thing is that I started off with a list of 5 and just started coming up with more. I'm just glad that I came out of all these experiences alive. I wonder if everyone has crazy stories to tell. I didn't think that I had much to hide until I considered all the crap that has happened over the years.
A sane person would say that they would go back in time and change it all. But, if time travel movies have taught us anything, it's that no matter how often time repeats itself, you'll probably just end up doing the same things over again:
I kissed my friend because I liked him. I knew it would be awkward in the morning, but at the time I didn't care. I wanted him to know.
I took that puff of the cigarette because it was offered and at the time I wasn't thinking for myself.
The vodka hospital visit happened because I honestly didn't know how much alcohol to drink or that alcohol effects people so quickly.
I got drunk at my friend's for fun, I passed out in her bed and that's all I remember. It was the first time I ever blacked out (without a hospital visit). The shit that happened after, happened without me being fully conscious.
My driving slip up happened because I don't pay enough attention when I'm driving. I'm insecure about my eyesight and once I get stressed I can't concentrate.
All the drinking, smoking and alcohol consumption happened because I wanted to see what it felt like.
And finally, last night was stupid because I didn't eat and took medicine. But, because I'm sick I don't have an appetite.
All of these things happened because of the choices I made, many which were made without better judgment. But the one thing I can't stand is being with someone who is a constant reminder of these sad and very embarrassing lessons I've learned. Afterall, I have my own fine memory. An outsider, father figure, telling me what is best without participation or passion, is the last thing I need. Unless you're standing next to me when I'm about to fuck up, you have no right to tell me you told me so or that you have a right to look down on me. I'd rather be in this big fucked up world of stupid experimenting human beings than in a glass world of naive robot perfection and isolation.
Last week I went home. I wish I could say that I was happy, but I wasn't. I took the small amount of time I had there for granted and now I miss it more than ever. Driving home, the closer and closer I got, the more I realized that I would have to leave too soon. I would be soon going back to an environment of stress that I could not escape. I am not as strong as I would like to think I am. I rely on my roots, my family, my home for support I could never get elsewhere.
Here I'm surrounded by my future. I think about what would happen if I failed. If I ended up disappointing my family. I'm not some rich kid who can throw away money for education. My parents are struggling to keep me here.
I prefer living in my past. The cozy, quiet past.
But if my parents have worked hard to put me here, then I'm going to work my ass off to stay here. This is the struggle that what will make or break me. There's no doubt that I will stress, or that I will turn to my internet diary for support. As long as I have my thoughts and my love of learning, I will become a stronger person. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself. One day I wish to be happy and I hope that I'm on the right path that will lead me there.
This is my home now. It's about time I put my heart into it.
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.
