My title is actually a quote from the theme song or the show "Friends." That’s mostly because this post is about my friends.
Recently, something changed in Alexandria. She’s different. I’m different. Our friendship is different, but in a good way. She seems to have realized the things in life that matter most, seems to have learned from the wrong turns she’s made. In her life, Alexandria has been depressed. She’s been a cutter. She’s gotten in drugs and alcohol. She lost her virginity to a boy she barely knew, and now, she regrets it. Her boyfriend that she was in love with for months broke up with her because they live so far away from each other. It left her heartbroken, trying her hardest not to care.
Alexandria is not the person she used to be in middle school, the perverted, loud-mouthed girl that got on people’s nerves easily. She isn’t even the girl she was last year, the girl who made all of the mistakes. Alexandria really only has three close friends, which are Yuuki, her ex-boyfriend’s sister, and me. When you’re only really close to three people, those friendships just get closer and closer. Last year, Alexandria and I started drifting apart, and I thought it was because of Sydney, the girl I mentioned was her ex-boyfriend’s sister. I thought that Alexandria didn’t want to spend time with me anymore, but now I know that was just making another close friend, not replacing me.
Other than Yuuki and Alexandria, I feel like I can’t relate to any of my friends anymore. I don’t even spend time with them anymore. I’ve been purposefully drifting away from them, just because they don’t understand anything. They don’t know what I’m going through. They don’t know how much it hurts.
First of all, there is Symphony. Symphony and me’s friendship has been a bit rocky from the very beginning. After we got to know each other better, we were constantly having bitchy arguments about random things. But, we were like sisters, and that’s what sisters do. Lately, I’ve begun to realize the person that she really is.
She believes that just because I’m her close friend, it’s okay to treat me like dirt. It’s okay to boss me around. It’s okay to try to control every aspect of my pitiful life. But, that’s not okay.
She puts down everything that I like, from people to music. She calls the music I listen to "garbage" but never says anything to her other friends who listen to the same kind of music. She says that I’m pathetic. She calls me a bitch. I am a bitch, aren’t I? But so is she. I just know how to fight back when she’s trying to knock me down. Symphony is not happy unless I am not happy. She thinks that the world revolves around her, when I could care less about her boring little band-geek life when I have real problems.
But the one thing that upsets me the most about Symphony is that one word that she called me, which I’ll never forget.
"Pathetic."
She’s right, isn’t she?
I would never go to January with my problems, because she has enough problems of her own. Also, she isn’t that great with advice. One time I asked her for advice about Jordan, asked her how I could possibly get him to like me back, or be able to tell if he already does. She told me to "wear low-cut shirts to show him what I got." This is where I will give my readers permission to think badly about January, but you have a 30 second time limit. She doesn’t need more haters. She just doesn’t have her priorities straight is all.
Like I have with January, I’ve also been drifting away from Violet. When you’re in eighth grade, friendships are different. What I expect from Violet isn’t what she expects from me. Our friendship was random and upbeat, and lately I haven’t been in the mood for upbeat randomness. She’s started talking to more people her age, and I just stopped trying.
And then there’s David. David just doesn’t get anything. He’s like a bitchy little preppy girl. I talk about Leslie and he turns around and her about it, and acts like he wasn’t just doing the same thing. He doesn’t see why I’m upset about Jordan, because he’s never cared for anyone that much. He can like a guy, ask him out, date him, and dump him when he’s bored. Or if the guy says no when he asks him out, he gets over him and finds someone else. He doesn’t know how hard it is.
I don’t even know what’s wrong with me, the way I purposefully push people away like this. I don’t want to be lonely, but I just want to be alone. I want time to think, time to be sad and have no one making half-assed attempts to cheer me up. I just want to have a friend that will listen instead of talk, because frankly, all anyone seems to want to talk about is themselves. I just want to be the one talking, the one looking for advice, but I have no one to ask. No one seems to understand what it’s like to be sad. No one gets what it’s like to be poor and not get everything you want. No one understands what it’s like to run into another wall everywhere you turn. No one understands what it’s like to love and love and love but never get anything in return, simply because you’re not worth it.
So where do I turn? What could my friends possibly do for me?
Alexandria has pined away for the same guy for six months and he feels the same way. How does that happen? How is it so simple for everyone but me? She would never be able to help her hopeless, ugly friend with her pathetic guy problems.
Cassidy gets everything she wants. She’s beautiful and happy. Happy. Sometimes I get the feeling that maybe the happiness is only an act. I feel like I can’t get close to her, because she keeps too many secrets about her past, like the depression and the scars on her legs. What if she still feels that pain? Where did it come from to begin with? She has so many reasons to be happy, but then there are the things that other people don’t know. Like how her uncle committed suicide, or how her birth mother abandoned her, so her grandparents adopted her. But she just seems so happy. I hope she is. But how could Cassidy help me if she’s still trying to figure her own life out?
Symphony thinks the world revolves around her. End of story.
Violet kind of goes through the same things that I went through when I was her age. We have so much in common. Or maybe we would if her and the fourteen-year-old version of myself were friends. They’re so alike. They have the same quiet attitude, with a touch of weird randomness. They fall for unattainable boys who have girlfriends. They wish to be the same type of people. They both have creative spirits, but they express themselves differently. I’m usually the one giving her advice, but now I’m the one who needs it.
David cares, but he also kind of doesn’t.
January. I love her dearly, but I would never rant to her, because she does not need my problems on top of hers. She’s going through so much, and I just want to help her, not be the one looking for help.
And then there are my online friends, the ones who live all over the country or occasionally in different countries. It’s so easy to talk to people you have never met in person, because for some reason, they won’t judge you. I like that. You can tell them absolutely anything. It’s just different from talking to your best friend you’ve known for ten years. It’s like secrets aren’t so important to keep hidden when you’re behind your computer screen. Maybe I find it easy to talk to these people because they read this blog, so they already know me. They know me better than anyone, weird as it may sound.
Anything is possible in this weird world I live in.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
Tis The Season To Be Jolly
Merry Christmas! Well, technically, it is Christmas Eve.
This year, I’m more into the whole "holiday spirit" thing than usual. Or maybe over the months in between, I just forget what this feeling is like. It’s strange. Everything just seems better covered in lights, wreaths, and red and green decorations. But, in the advanced, modern world I live in, Christmas went from a celebration of smiles, miracles and giving to a holiday of money and greed.
Parents dread Christmas, especially parents with no money like mine. Little kids make long lists of toys for Santa. Teenagers buy two tons of clothing, replace their phones, cameras, iPods, and game systems with newer, better models.
Hundreds of Christmas songs on the radio constantly. Pictures with Santa Clause. Ham for dinner. Putting out milk and cookies. Trees in living rooms. Lights on the front porch.
It’s all just a celebration for Jesus being born in a stable. Yet, so many people don’t even care about that. They just want their presents, their money, their Christmas cards. But Christmas is so much more than receiving. It’s believing. It’s giving.
Though it’s hard to believe, Christmas is still full of surprises and miracles, little reminders of why we are celebrating. About a week ago, I came home from the mall where I had been picking out clothes at Boscov’s and Hot Topic for Christmas. I was talking to my mom while I was taking off my coat, and I noticed the two baskets sitting in front of the television, both in large pink bags.
"What are they?" I asked, pointing at them.
Then, my parents told me. A stranger who knew my Girl Scout leader had bought boxes and boxes of food for my family. They had bought my mom a twenty-five dollar gas card. In the baskets were things for my sister and I, from bath products, to cookies, to fake nails, to iTunes gift cards.
Someone had actually went out and bought things for my family. My family, struggling just to live in stability. I don’t know if I’ll ever know what it’s like to simply have everything I want handed to me, but now I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of charity. It gives you a warm feeling, but at the same time, you kind of realize, "Wow, I really am that poor." It hit me hard, because after a while, you just forget. You forget about how your dad hasn’t had a job for a few years. You forget that the reason your mom isn’t home as much is because she’s working two jobs. You forget that the government buys your food. You forget that your Nana lets you live in her husband’s parents’ old house for free. You forget that that same Nana pays the phone and computer bills. You forget that you’re struggling. You just live. You move on and keep living, keep acting like your life is just normal. You act like everything is fine. Sometimes, it seems that way, surprisingly.
After getting those presents, my family and I seem to be enjoying Christmas more than we usually do.
I already know what I’m getting tomorrow morning, seeing that I just wrapped my own presents earlier today. But, there’s something I wanted to do, an idea stolen from Alexandria’s blog.
In one of her posts, she wrote a letter to Santa, just like a little girl would do. I only have four minutes until Christmas, so I’d better get working.
Dear Santa,
Wow, it’s been a while. I don’t know if I’ve ever written you a letter before. I know I’ve made you lists, but I don’t remember writing letters. So, when you’re going through all of those letters, don’t forget to look at mine. I know I’m a fifteen year old girl who doesn’t exactly believe in you, but there are some things I’d really like for Christmas this year, the kind of things I won’t find under my tree.
1.) I want you to give my dad a job. Or at least some money, so he could have some without having to leave home.
2.) I want Jordan under my mistletoe. Or at least to be my boyfriend.
3.) I want my friends to get along with each other and be happy.
4.) I want to change, in a lot of ways.
5.) I want to eliminate the haters in the world. Can you please kidnap them and turn them into elves so I never have to deal with them again?
6.) I want to be happy. I want my family to be happy. I want everyone around me to be happy.
Sincerely, that pesky dreamer girl with the blog.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.
This year, I’m more into the whole "holiday spirit" thing than usual. Or maybe over the months in between, I just forget what this feeling is like. It’s strange. Everything just seems better covered in lights, wreaths, and red and green decorations. But, in the advanced, modern world I live in, Christmas went from a celebration of smiles, miracles and giving to a holiday of money and greed.
Parents dread Christmas, especially parents with no money like mine. Little kids make long lists of toys for Santa. Teenagers buy two tons of clothing, replace their phones, cameras, iPods, and game systems with newer, better models.
Hundreds of Christmas songs on the radio constantly. Pictures with Santa Clause. Ham for dinner. Putting out milk and cookies. Trees in living rooms. Lights on the front porch.
It’s all just a celebration for Jesus being born in a stable. Yet, so many people don’t even care about that. They just want their presents, their money, their Christmas cards. But Christmas is so much more than receiving. It’s believing. It’s giving.
Though it’s hard to believe, Christmas is still full of surprises and miracles, little reminders of why we are celebrating. About a week ago, I came home from the mall where I had been picking out clothes at Boscov’s and Hot Topic for Christmas. I was talking to my mom while I was taking off my coat, and I noticed the two baskets sitting in front of the television, both in large pink bags.
"What are they?" I asked, pointing at them.
Then, my parents told me. A stranger who knew my Girl Scout leader had bought boxes and boxes of food for my family. They had bought my mom a twenty-five dollar gas card. In the baskets were things for my sister and I, from bath products, to cookies, to fake nails, to iTunes gift cards.
Someone had actually went out and bought things for my family. My family, struggling just to live in stability. I don’t know if I’ll ever know what it’s like to simply have everything I want handed to me, but now I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of charity. It gives you a warm feeling, but at the same time, you kind of realize, "Wow, I really am that poor." It hit me hard, because after a while, you just forget. You forget about how your dad hasn’t had a job for a few years. You forget that the reason your mom isn’t home as much is because she’s working two jobs. You forget that the government buys your food. You forget that your Nana lets you live in her husband’s parents’ old house for free. You forget that that same Nana pays the phone and computer bills. You forget that you’re struggling. You just live. You move on and keep living, keep acting like your life is just normal. You act like everything is fine. Sometimes, it seems that way, surprisingly.
After getting those presents, my family and I seem to be enjoying Christmas more than we usually do.
I already know what I’m getting tomorrow morning, seeing that I just wrapped my own presents earlier today. But, there’s something I wanted to do, an idea stolen from Alexandria’s blog.
In one of her posts, she wrote a letter to Santa, just like a little girl would do. I only have four minutes until Christmas, so I’d better get working.
Dear Santa,
Wow, it’s been a while. I don’t know if I’ve ever written you a letter before. I know I’ve made you lists, but I don’t remember writing letters. So, when you’re going through all of those letters, don’t forget to look at mine. I know I’m a fifteen year old girl who doesn’t exactly believe in you, but there are some things I’d really like for Christmas this year, the kind of things I won’t find under my tree.
2.) I want Jordan under my mistletoe. Or at least to be my boyfriend.
3.) I want my friends to get along with each other and be happy.
4.) I want to change, in a lot of ways.
5.) I want to eliminate the haters in the world. Can you please kidnap them and turn them into elves so I never have to deal with them again?
6.) I want to be happy. I want my family to be happy. I want everyone around me to be happy.
Sincerely, that pesky dreamer girl with the blog.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
I Am An Alien.
It started last Friday. I spent the day out on a holiday trip with my family instead of going to school. I spent most of the day miserable and bored. Little did I know that the weekend to come would be even more miserable, and even more boring. On Saturday, I cried. I sat at my kitchen table, listened to "Away From The Sun" by 3 Doors Down on repeat, copied my sister’s Geometry homework, and cried like the world was ending.
But it wasn’t.
I started crying for some stupid reason. But, have you ever started crying because of something stupid…and just couldn’t stop? It’s like every single horrible part of your life comes to mind right at that moment, and it’s like the tears never stop coming. My mom saw me crying and gave me a hug, telling me not to be mad at her for what she had done to upset me earlier. I told her that I wasn’t mad at her. I told her that I just wanted to be happy. And this made me cry more.
The next day, I cried again. My dad and I got in an argument and he said "You are only depressed all of the time because you want a boyfriend. No, actually, I think you just want to get laid." The second the words came out of his mouth, I was appalled. Why was he such as asshole?
He is so simple-minded, my father. Thinking that I’d cry my eyes out over something so stupid.
I do want a boyfriend, though. But, that’s beside the point.
I was crying because I am simply at the bottom. I am so far down, away from the sun. I am sad. I’ve run out of blue paint for a while.
Maybe I have seasonal depression, that kind of thing when you’re only sad in the winter. But, I don’t want reasons to be sad. I just want to be happy, like I said to my mom on Saturday. Is that too much to ask?
My sadness followed me into the weekdays, where it hung over my head like a gray cloud, mocking my empty can of blue paint. I closed myself off from people, I listened to sad music, and every little thing made me upset. On Tuesday, I recall thinking about how much I wished I wasn’t a human, so I could move to another planet and live with all of the other aliens of my kind, called nice, non-judgmental people. They almost are like aliens, if you think about it. They’re so unknown anymore.
And then there is Ginny. Ginny is being a friend, and Jordan must be taking the wrong hint. He treats her so differently than he treats me. On Thursday, I looked out of my bus window, through the large front window of the high school, only to see them enveloped in a hug. I still have never hugged him. Maybe I should just face the fact that no guy will ever want to be with me, because I live in a shallow, superficial world where the ugly, nerdy girl doesn’t end up with the guy in the end. This is not a movie. Why can’t I just realize that I must’ve been put on this planet by mistake? No one understands me. People ask what is wrong, and reluctantly, I tell them. They don’t comfort me. They don’t see anything wrong. They just don’t get it.
They tell me I’m overreacting about the whole Ginny thing, that I’m not dating Jordan, so I shouldn’t get so worked up about it. But, just take a second and pretend that your life is the unlucky, predictable mess that mine is. Picture that the person you love doesn’t love you back, and seems to love someone else instead.
Wouldn’t you be upset, too?
Last period on Tuesday, during my English class, I went to the bathroom as soon as I got there, just to get away for a few minutes. I stood in front of the mirror, fixing myself up, frowning at my reflection. Above the mirror I noticed something. On the pale pink tiles, it said, "Smile." It was written spaced out, one letter per tile. I glanced into the mirror and smiled a little, a smile that was obviously not sincere. That writing above the mirror looked awfully familar.
I had written it there only a week earlier.
I can't even take my own advice.
But it wasn’t.
I started crying for some stupid reason. But, have you ever started crying because of something stupid…and just couldn’t stop? It’s like every single horrible part of your life comes to mind right at that moment, and it’s like the tears never stop coming. My mom saw me crying and gave me a hug, telling me not to be mad at her for what she had done to upset me earlier. I told her that I wasn’t mad at her. I told her that I just wanted to be happy. And this made me cry more.
The next day, I cried again. My dad and I got in an argument and he said "You are only depressed all of the time because you want a boyfriend. No, actually, I think you just want to get laid." The second the words came out of his mouth, I was appalled. Why was he such as asshole?
He is so simple-minded, my father. Thinking that I’d cry my eyes out over something so stupid.
I do want a boyfriend, though. But, that’s beside the point.
I was crying because I am simply at the bottom. I am so far down, away from the sun. I am sad. I’ve run out of blue paint for a while.
Maybe I have seasonal depression, that kind of thing when you’re only sad in the winter. But, I don’t want reasons to be sad. I just want to be happy, like I said to my mom on Saturday. Is that too much to ask?
My sadness followed me into the weekdays, where it hung over my head like a gray cloud, mocking my empty can of blue paint. I closed myself off from people, I listened to sad music, and every little thing made me upset. On Tuesday, I recall thinking about how much I wished I wasn’t a human, so I could move to another planet and live with all of the other aliens of my kind, called nice, non-judgmental people. They almost are like aliens, if you think about it. They’re so unknown anymore.
And then there is Ginny. Ginny is being a friend, and Jordan must be taking the wrong hint. He treats her so differently than he treats me. On Thursday, I looked out of my bus window, through the large front window of the high school, only to see them enveloped in a hug. I still have never hugged him. Maybe I should just face the fact that no guy will ever want to be with me, because I live in a shallow, superficial world where the ugly, nerdy girl doesn’t end up with the guy in the end. This is not a movie. Why can’t I just realize that I must’ve been put on this planet by mistake? No one understands me. People ask what is wrong, and reluctantly, I tell them. They don’t comfort me. They don’t see anything wrong. They just don’t get it.
They tell me I’m overreacting about the whole Ginny thing, that I’m not dating Jordan, so I shouldn’t get so worked up about it. But, just take a second and pretend that your life is the unlucky, predictable mess that mine is. Picture that the person you love doesn’t love you back, and seems to love someone else instead.
Wouldn’t you be upset, too?
Last period on Tuesday, during my English class, I went to the bathroom as soon as I got there, just to get away for a few minutes. I stood in front of the mirror, fixing myself up, frowning at my reflection. Above the mirror I noticed something. On the pale pink tiles, it said, "Smile." It was written spaced out, one letter per tile. I glanced into the mirror and smiled a little, a smile that was obviously not sincere. That writing above the mirror looked awfully familar.
I had written it there only a week earlier.
I can't even take my own advice.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Screw Rebecca Black, I'm Singing About Wednesday :)
Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. WEDNESDAYWEDNESDAYWEDNESDAY! I love, love, love, love, love Wednesdays. I live for Wednesday mornings.
In Guitar Club, Alexandria and I were playing a song that we learned together last year, "Remembering Sunday" by All Time Low. Jordan asked me to teach him how to play it, even though he doesn’t even know the song. I rearranged his fingers into the right chord formations, and he caught on quickly enough. Then, he did the strangest thing. He slid his capo up a few frets and started playing the same chords, only higher.
It was the perfect harmony. It sounded beautiful. We both smiled. We both looked up at the same time, and our eyes met. I didn’t look away. I wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. Was he thinking the same thing? God, I hope so.
Love, love. Love is the answer. Lovelovelovelove I am in LOVE. It’s so new. It’s so exciting. It’s almost suspenseful! "Does he like me or not? Will I ever know? Do I want to know?" I have so much hope. That look in his eyes when they met mine in Guitar Club, that’s the hope. That’s where it comes from. That possibility. The possibility that he just might feel the same way. It’s amazing. I dream about it all of the time. I write, I sing, I do little happy dances, I think about him nonstop, I make up happy endings.
On Wednesdays, I can’t even pay attention in class because I’m still stuck in the first half hour of the day. Stuck in that moment when I entered the room and I felt his eyes on me. Stuck in that moment when our eyes met. Stuck in that moment when he laughed at my attempts at jokes. Stuck in that moment when we walked together in an empty hallway, side by side, and I just wanted to reach over and grab his hand. Wednesday mornings are my getaway, and I can never seem to pull myself back into reality when I need to.
Jordan brings out the brighter side of me, the hopeful side. He’s that beautiful, beautiful harmony that brings out my melody. If he doesn’t want to be mine, then I’m just a simple song, just a combination of four chords. If he’ll let me hold his hand, if he’ll let me hold him and kiss him and love him so much like I want to, my life will be like a love song. He can write the music, I can write the words. He could be the harmony, and I’ll just keep being the melody. We’ll bring out the best in each other. I can see it, I can feel it. I want it happen. I want it so, so bad.
I need to go get it, eventually. When I’m ready. I’m more than ready. But I’m scared. I may be excited about all of this, but in the back of my mind there is indeed doubt. That little voice that asks "Why would he like me? I’m just a fat, awkward, unattractive girl who doesn’t know the first thing about love, and I never will. He won’t want you. Why would anyone want you?"
That voice, those things it says…where do those things come from? What put those thoughts there in the first place? Why do they creep up on me and ruin my day? If you don't know know me well, you might even mistake me for an optimist.
I’m the girl who reads hundreds of posts on GivesMeHope and saves them to my laptop. I’m the girl who writes things like "Smile, because it’s worth it" on the tiled walls of the bathrooms at school. I’m the girl who makes up cute, upbeat songs for the boy she loves. I’m the girl who wants piece, not war. I’m the girl who is determined to get somewhere, the girl who wants the world to know her, starting out with a handful of random strangers that love to read about her life.
But, I’m also the girl who listens to sad songs and feels sorry for herself. But aren’t we all that girl (or guy for that matter) at times? We all feel down sometimes. Some people think that having a bad day is the equivalent to be severely depressed, but it’s not. We all have our bad days. They suck, don’t they? But, a bad day is just twenty-four hours, isn’t it?
Wow.
I am an optimist, aren’t I?
Well, I guess that’s a good thing.
Optimists see the good. Optimists smile even when they think they have no reason to. Optimists can bring up the pessimists. Optimists have their own perspective. Optimists can save lives.
Pretty powerful stuff, right?
Maybe I’m only an optimist on Wednesdays. But hey, look on the bright side. There are always more Wednesdays. :)
In Guitar Club, Alexandria and I were playing a song that we learned together last year, "Remembering Sunday" by All Time Low. Jordan asked me to teach him how to play it, even though he doesn’t even know the song. I rearranged his fingers into the right chord formations, and he caught on quickly enough. Then, he did the strangest thing. He slid his capo up a few frets and started playing the same chords, only higher.
It was the perfect harmony. It sounded beautiful. We both smiled. We both looked up at the same time, and our eyes met. I didn’t look away. I wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. Was he thinking the same thing? God, I hope so.
Love, love. Love is the answer. Lovelovelovelove I am in LOVE. It’s so new. It’s so exciting. It’s almost suspenseful! "Does he like me or not? Will I ever know? Do I want to know?" I have so much hope. That look in his eyes when they met mine in Guitar Club, that’s the hope. That’s where it comes from. That possibility. The possibility that he just might feel the same way. It’s amazing. I dream about it all of the time. I write, I sing, I do little happy dances, I think about him nonstop, I make up happy endings.
On Wednesdays, I can’t even pay attention in class because I’m still stuck in the first half hour of the day. Stuck in that moment when I entered the room and I felt his eyes on me. Stuck in that moment when our eyes met. Stuck in that moment when he laughed at my attempts at jokes. Stuck in that moment when we walked together in an empty hallway, side by side, and I just wanted to reach over and grab his hand. Wednesday mornings are my getaway, and I can never seem to pull myself back into reality when I need to.
Jordan brings out the brighter side of me, the hopeful side. He’s that beautiful, beautiful harmony that brings out my melody. If he doesn’t want to be mine, then I’m just a simple song, just a combination of four chords. If he’ll let me hold his hand, if he’ll let me hold him and kiss him and love him so much like I want to, my life will be like a love song. He can write the music, I can write the words. He could be the harmony, and I’ll just keep being the melody. We’ll bring out the best in each other. I can see it, I can feel it. I want it happen. I want it so, so bad.
I need to go get it, eventually. When I’m ready. I’m more than ready. But I’m scared. I may be excited about all of this, but in the back of my mind there is indeed doubt. That little voice that asks "Why would he like me? I’m just a fat, awkward, unattractive girl who doesn’t know the first thing about love, and I never will. He won’t want you. Why would anyone want you?"
That voice, those things it says…where do those things come from? What put those thoughts there in the first place? Why do they creep up on me and ruin my day? If you don't know know me well, you might even mistake me for an optimist.
I’m the girl who reads hundreds of posts on GivesMeHope and saves them to my laptop. I’m the girl who writes things like "Smile, because it’s worth it" on the tiled walls of the bathrooms at school. I’m the girl who makes up cute, upbeat songs for the boy she loves. I’m the girl who wants piece, not war. I’m the girl who is determined to get somewhere, the girl who wants the world to know her, starting out with a handful of random strangers that love to read about her life.
But, I’m also the girl who listens to sad songs and feels sorry for herself. But aren’t we all that girl (or guy for that matter) at times? We all feel down sometimes. Some people think that having a bad day is the equivalent to be severely depressed, but it’s not. We all have our bad days. They suck, don’t they? But, a bad day is just twenty-four hours, isn’t it?
Wow.
I am an optimist, aren’t I?
Well, I guess that’s a good thing.
Optimists see the good. Optimists smile even when they think they have no reason to. Optimists can bring up the pessimists. Optimists have their own perspective. Optimists can save lives.
Pretty powerful stuff, right?
Maybe I’m only an optimist on Wednesdays. But hey, look on the bright side. There are always more Wednesdays. :)
It's The Little Things That Kill
Monday, Monday, Monday, Monday. Everyone hates Mondays. Me too. I got a 60% on a History quiz. I went from a perfect straight A student to a girl who isn’t even surprised when she gets a failing grade. How? I just stopped caring when I had to start trying, I guess. I mean, I know school is important, but I hate using my mind to store useless knowledge. I would rather use my imagination.
One good thing? Leslie wrote my sister a letter, completely out of the blue, telling her how she never really apologized for what she did, and she had been really thinking about last year lately and how much she wanted to be friends again. I read it, and I felt all of the ice that I had put up around my heart to keep her out melt away. Bad idea? Let’s hope not. I think I’m going to forget about my grudge and forgive her. Just the fact that her friendship with Abby and I means so much to her made me realize that maybe holding a grudge is just not the right idea.
But I can’t guarantee letting the whole envy thing go. Either I change or that doesn’t. And I can assure that I’ll never be able to change myself to be anything like her. I may forgive her, but one little part of me will always despise her for her perfection, something I can never quite get right.
Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. I am indifferent about Tuesdays. I spent half of this Tuesday walking on sunshine on a rainy day, the other half I spent wallowing in worry. My happiness was random, most likely powered by upbeat music and the sugary yogurt I had at lunch. The worry? Let’s call her Ginny.
Ginny is a friend of mine. She’s also a friend of Jordan’s.
I think he might like her. It’s a possibility.
But isn’t everything a possibility?
As the song says, it’s the little things that kill. And that’s what it is, the little things. Every time they talk, every time he meets her at her locker at the end of the day (which he’s never done for me), every time he smiles around her, every time he asks where she is, every time she hugs him,
it
kills
me.
I’ve never hugged him. I want to though. I want to know what it’s like to hug him.
Everyone tells me that Jordan and I would make an adorable couple. Well, we would, actually. Ginny and Jordan would probably make a cute couple too, though. Even their names sound good together. Even their made-up names for this blog sound good together. I should stop overreacting. She has a boyfriend, and I don’t even think he knows her name.
It may be those little things that kill, but there are other little things that bring me back to life. Maybe those are the little things I should focus on for once.
One good thing? Leslie wrote my sister a letter, completely out of the blue, telling her how she never really apologized for what she did, and she had been really thinking about last year lately and how much she wanted to be friends again. I read it, and I felt all of the ice that I had put up around my heart to keep her out melt away. Bad idea? Let’s hope not. I think I’m going to forget about my grudge and forgive her. Just the fact that her friendship with Abby and I means so much to her made me realize that maybe holding a grudge is just not the right idea.
But I can’t guarantee letting the whole envy thing go. Either I change or that doesn’t. And I can assure that I’ll never be able to change myself to be anything like her. I may forgive her, but one little part of me will always despise her for her perfection, something I can never quite get right.
Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. I am indifferent about Tuesdays. I spent half of this Tuesday walking on sunshine on a rainy day, the other half I spent wallowing in worry. My happiness was random, most likely powered by upbeat music and the sugary yogurt I had at lunch. The worry? Let’s call her Ginny.
Ginny is a friend of mine. She’s also a friend of Jordan’s.
I think he might like her. It’s a possibility.
But isn’t everything a possibility?
As the song says, it’s the little things that kill. And that’s what it is, the little things. Every time they talk, every time he meets her at her locker at the end of the day (which he’s never done for me), every time he smiles around her, every time he asks where she is, every time she hugs him,
it
kills
me.
I’ve never hugged him. I want to though. I want to know what it’s like to hug him.
Everyone tells me that Jordan and I would make an adorable couple. Well, we would, actually. Ginny and Jordan would probably make a cute couple too, though. Even their names sound good together. Even their made-up names for this blog sound good together. I should stop overreacting. She has a boyfriend, and I don’t even think he knows her name.
It may be those little things that kill, but there are other little things that bring me back to life. Maybe those are the little things I should focus on for once.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Wishing Star Wednesdays To Same Old Stupid Saturdays
In exactly fourteen hours, I will be sitting in English class. I might be that kind of high-on-life-happy that’s like a Red Bull/iced coffee rush. I might be completely distraught, head down on my desk, not talking to anyone, occasionally smiling as David and Yuuki try to cheer me up. Or, it might just be like every other afternoon, that nervous pit in my stomach that I’ve grown to know so well, even though I know I’m only going to put off telling him once more. But wait. Hold up. Whoa there.
Didn’t I already tell Jordan how I felt? I remember it clearly; the ugly mint green tiles on the walls of the hallway, the quick spurts of nonsense bursting from my mouth, the people sitting in the cafeteria in study hall, all different lives, all different problems, but none worse than the one that I was suffering through in that very moment. I remember saying it. "I really like you." I remember the look on his face, expressionless. No sign of a reaction. No sign of rejection, no sign of a happy ending.
But wait! I even tried before that awkward, nerve-wracking experience! I don’t even know if I’ve told this story. I was sitting in the band room before a football game, the homecoming game to be exact. I was staring intently at my laptop, messaging him. Earlier that day, he had asked me "So, are you going to that dance later? I would go, but I have no one to go with." My heart had fluttered like a butterfly. Maybe it was a butterfly, just one to add to the millions flying around inside of me. I didn’t know if I was going or not, so that’s what I told him. So, there I was, a few hours later, with money for the dance and the game, telling him I could go. He replied with "I kind of meant someone I would slow dance with and stuff." Feeling insecure, I sent "That’s kind of what I meant." He couldn’t go anyway, but that’s not my point. He didn’t get it that time, so I thought maybe next time. But, "I really like you" must not be enough either.
Third time’s the charm? Let’s hope so.
I’m just going to have to ignore the butterflies, put aside the sheer idea of rejection, listen to upbeat music all day, get a little dolled up so I feel pretty and confident, keep the perfect words in my head and say them all, right to his face. Then, I’ll hold my breath and wait. Seconds will go by like hours. And then, it will hit me right in the face, like one of Alexandria’s bitch-slaps. What will it be? Relief, hope, happiness, rejection, shock, sadness? A nod, an "okay," awkwardly walking away, one of those adorable smiles, a "yes," a "no," a "maybe," a hug—maybe a kiss?—a lame excuse, a happy ending, a tragedy?
The thing is, I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow when I ask Jordan to the winter formal and tell him exactly how I feel. But, you see, that’s the beauty of it. Just the look in his eyes when he looked at me today in guitar club, it gives me so, so, so, so much hope. Could this whole romance thing actually work out for me for a change? In less than fourteen hours, I’ll know the answer to that question. I might as well get some rest. Big day tomorrow…
Fourteen hours later, I am sitting on the bus on the way home, kicking myself mentally, as I usually do. I had asked Jordan is he was going to the dance. He said no. The conversation went elsewhere. Why did I always mess this up? I either said too much or didn’t say what I needed to around him…
So, the next day, it was suddenly Friday. Everyone loves Fridays, but I’ve never been superbly fond of them. First of all, Friday marks the beginning of the weekend. I think that weekends are slow and boring, the same thing every week. Also, Friday is the day that all of your exhaustion, your nights of five hours of sleep, catch up with you and you find yourself so tired by the time you curl up in bed that you just simply fade away for hours and hours and hours until your mom wakes you up for lunch. So, clearly, I’m fonder of Wednesdays than Fridays. Actually, I’m fonder of most of the other days too. But, this Friday was just weird. It could’ve been a lot better, it could’ve been a lot worse.
I split one of my favorite pairs of skinny jeans, right at the crotch. So, I ran upstairs to my locker during Drawing to change into a pair of sweatpants. I locked myself in a bathroom stall and patiently waited for the girl in the stall next to me to leave so I can change without being bothered. She didn’t, so I simply peeled off my skinny jeans and put on the sweatpants. Who cared what these people thought of me randomly changing my pants anyway? Upon washing my hands, the girl stared at me like I was insane. She practically glared at me, looking at me in the mirror as I tried not to meet her gaze. She frightens me, to be honest. She was one of the horrible, heartless girls that tortures January, and she disgusts me. I hope she didn’t see that in my expression. I’d rather if people didn’t know what I thought of them.
When I reached my locker once more, my English teacher stopped me in the hallway and told me that she absolutely loved my latest essay for her class, a reflective essay about a personal event in our lives, something that changed our perspective on things. Mine was about bullying, and how January’s experiences have taught me to always be the better person, the one who talks to a person that’s being bullied, instead of talking about that person.
My teacher told me that I should definitely pursue writing in the future. I smiled and thanked her, and she replied with "No, thank you." Her compliment was actually not the first compliment I had gotten on my writing this week. People have messaged me on the site I use to download music and said that my blog was amazing and inspiring. It just gives me this great feeling, knowing that my life, the life that I resent so often, has inspired others. It makes me feel like I’m actually someone, you know?
I’ve noticed that all of the people that read my blog are either friends I met online or random strangers from other states or countries. But, I like it that way. Strangers won’t be so quick to judge, they will only read and tell me what they think. They won’t post my words all over Facebook and make fun of them. Let me take a moment here to say again: I hate Leslie’s existence. Anyway, back to my Friday.
The rest of the day went by slowly. David had skipped school to sleep, so I had no one to talk to all day. I took a History quiz that I’m pretty sure I failed. Never mind, I’m positive. Throughout the day, I spend a lot of time on one of my favorite websites, givesmehope.com. It’s a site where people post stories about little moments in life that gave them hope. So many people go on sites like SixBillionSecrets, a place where people anonymously post about their depression, eating disorders, abuse, disease, self-inflicted pain, and other things. But, SixBillionSecrets only makes me sad when I read through all of those secrets, people crying out for help in a place where they know that no one can help them. Reading so many pain-infused words can make anyone feel a little down. So, after I’ve had enough secrets, I take a break. I open a new tab and go to GivesMeHope. I smile at the cute little stories, because smiling
is
so
worth
it.
I posted about four stories on GivesMeHope today. I hope they get voted on and published. I want people to know what gives me hope. I want people to read my little posts and say "Aww!" I want them to save them to the their computers and open them when they need something to smile about, like I do with the good posts that I read.
And then, suddenly, I am in English class, tired but forcing my eyes open to read the interesting story that we had been told to read. We talk about daydreaming, and how we start thinking of one thing, and it’s amazing where our thoughts can take us.
Tell me about it.
In the midst of all of this dream talk, I think about Jordan. Jordan, with his sweet little smile and hazel eyes, his lame Chemistry jokes and "My Little Pony" obsession. Jordan, who’s so oblivious to the fact that I’m falling in love with him. I just want to know how he feels, and I won’t stop trying to find out. We talk about the dance again at the end of the day. I ask him to go "as friends," though I’m dying to say "I want to go with you because I like you, a lot. I think you’re great, and I want to be your girlfriend." But, I don’t say that. I don’t want to scare him away yet. Apparently, he’s "not much of a ‘dance’ kind of person." Maybe he would be if someone worthwhile had asked him to go.
But, I’ll go to that dance tomorrow night. I’ll get all dressed up, straightened hair, black eyeliner, pretty dress, high heels, the works. Then, I’ll have fun with my best friends, because I don’t need romance to enjoy a school dance, though it would’ve been a plus.
And, though it may seem like the only thing I have left to do, I’m not going to give up on Jordan. I’ll keep trying to win that heart because there’s something in his eyes when he meets my gaze that makes me want to tell him. Nothing that persuades me, nothing that demands me, just something that makes my heart beat out of rhythm, which makes me wonder if maybe, maybe he feels the same way about me. Every moment we talk, laugh, smile together my whole body aches with the need to grab him around the waist, pull him closer and hold him tight, and pray that he’ll hold me, too.
What I feel for Jordan is not just a crush, not just an infatuation. There are things about him that irk me, sometimes I can’t stand him, he’s not the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, but the thing is, I’m falling in love with him anyway. His flaws aren’t overlooked, just more things that are part of the amazing, weird person he is…
So, here I sit. The dance is in exactly one hour. I haven’t straightened my hair yet. I can’t find my only pair of black heels. I have a pounding headache. I don’t have a date. This night is turning out to be quite the disaster. I don’t even want to go. A slow song will come on, and I’ll think of Jordan, who will probably be sitting at home playing his guitar, silently thinking of a girl who is worth his time. But, I’ll dance with my friends, laugh, and act crazy like someone spiked my iced tea, just for the hell of it. Just because that is what I do at dances. I don’t usually have a date, I don’t usually inquire about one. I usually just go with my sister and have a good time, until I am sitting in the car on the way home, looking out the window, listening to sad music, realizing that I will never be the girl who will show off her boyfriend at dances, and hold him as they sway to the music. It’s still so true. I’ll never know what it’s like to have someone, will I?
What did I ever do wrong?
….
Time flies. I’m home again. The dance is over. I want to tell you a fairytale. I want to say Jordan was standing outside of the school when I got there, wearing a spiffy suit, holding a bouquet of flowers, awaiting my arrival. But he wasn’t. I want to say he showed up late and held me all night. I want to say we swayed to a slow song, wrapped up in each other, and I looked up into those beautiful hazel eyes and said everything that needed to be said, and he understood for the first time. I want to say he leaned down and kissed me, a perfect first kiss.
But, that’s not the way it went. He stayed home and played his guitar and got drunk.
I spent the night dressed like a princess, a princess lacking a prince. I danced with my friends, until they all got depressed over their ex-boyfriends and sat out in the hallway and talked about depression, and tried to make each feel better by saying that they were all going through the same thing. I have no idea how they feel. I don’t think I want to. There were free refreshments, which is highly unusual and a definite plus. I forgot to take pictures. I went home, my feet aching in the black heels I found shortly after I lost hope in finding them. I went on Facebook, where I talked to my friend from Mexico, a girl I know from band who’s in seventh grade, and Jordan. May I point out that Jordan is incredibly annoying when he’s drunk.
And now, it’s time to go to bed, 2:15 AM, Sunday morning. Good thing I’m not going to church.
Didn’t I already tell Jordan how I felt? I remember it clearly; the ugly mint green tiles on the walls of the hallway, the quick spurts of nonsense bursting from my mouth, the people sitting in the cafeteria in study hall, all different lives, all different problems, but none worse than the one that I was suffering through in that very moment. I remember saying it. "I really like you." I remember the look on his face, expressionless. No sign of a reaction. No sign of rejection, no sign of a happy ending.
But wait! I even tried before that awkward, nerve-wracking experience! I don’t even know if I’ve told this story. I was sitting in the band room before a football game, the homecoming game to be exact. I was staring intently at my laptop, messaging him. Earlier that day, he had asked me "So, are you going to that dance later? I would go, but I have no one to go with." My heart had fluttered like a butterfly. Maybe it was a butterfly, just one to add to the millions flying around inside of me. I didn’t know if I was going or not, so that’s what I told him. So, there I was, a few hours later, with money for the dance and the game, telling him I could go. He replied with "I kind of meant someone I would slow dance with and stuff." Feeling insecure, I sent "That’s kind of what I meant." He couldn’t go anyway, but that’s not my point. He didn’t get it that time, so I thought maybe next time. But, "I really like you" must not be enough either.
Third time’s the charm? Let’s hope so.
I’m just going to have to ignore the butterflies, put aside the sheer idea of rejection, listen to upbeat music all day, get a little dolled up so I feel pretty and confident, keep the perfect words in my head and say them all, right to his face. Then, I’ll hold my breath and wait. Seconds will go by like hours. And then, it will hit me right in the face, like one of Alexandria’s bitch-slaps. What will it be? Relief, hope, happiness, rejection, shock, sadness? A nod, an "okay," awkwardly walking away, one of those adorable smiles, a "yes," a "no," a "maybe," a hug—maybe a kiss?—a lame excuse, a happy ending, a tragedy?
The thing is, I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow when I ask Jordan to the winter formal and tell him exactly how I feel. But, you see, that’s the beauty of it. Just the look in his eyes when he looked at me today in guitar club, it gives me so, so, so, so much hope. Could this whole romance thing actually work out for me for a change? In less than fourteen hours, I’ll know the answer to that question. I might as well get some rest. Big day tomorrow…
Fourteen hours later, I am sitting on the bus on the way home, kicking myself mentally, as I usually do. I had asked Jordan is he was going to the dance. He said no. The conversation went elsewhere. Why did I always mess this up? I either said too much or didn’t say what I needed to around him…
So, the next day, it was suddenly Friday. Everyone loves Fridays, but I’ve never been superbly fond of them. First of all, Friday marks the beginning of the weekend. I think that weekends are slow and boring, the same thing every week. Also, Friday is the day that all of your exhaustion, your nights of five hours of sleep, catch up with you and you find yourself so tired by the time you curl up in bed that you just simply fade away for hours and hours and hours until your mom wakes you up for lunch. So, clearly, I’m fonder of Wednesdays than Fridays. Actually, I’m fonder of most of the other days too. But, this Friday was just weird. It could’ve been a lot better, it could’ve been a lot worse.
I split one of my favorite pairs of skinny jeans, right at the crotch. So, I ran upstairs to my locker during Drawing to change into a pair of sweatpants. I locked myself in a bathroom stall and patiently waited for the girl in the stall next to me to leave so I can change without being bothered. She didn’t, so I simply peeled off my skinny jeans and put on the sweatpants. Who cared what these people thought of me randomly changing my pants anyway? Upon washing my hands, the girl stared at me like I was insane. She practically glared at me, looking at me in the mirror as I tried not to meet her gaze. She frightens me, to be honest. She was one of the horrible, heartless girls that tortures January, and she disgusts me. I hope she didn’t see that in my expression. I’d rather if people didn’t know what I thought of them.
When I reached my locker once more, my English teacher stopped me in the hallway and told me that she absolutely loved my latest essay for her class, a reflective essay about a personal event in our lives, something that changed our perspective on things. Mine was about bullying, and how January’s experiences have taught me to always be the better person, the one who talks to a person that’s being bullied, instead of talking about that person.
My teacher told me that I should definitely pursue writing in the future. I smiled and thanked her, and she replied with "No, thank you." Her compliment was actually not the first compliment I had gotten on my writing this week. People have messaged me on the site I use to download music and said that my blog was amazing and inspiring. It just gives me this great feeling, knowing that my life, the life that I resent so often, has inspired others. It makes me feel like I’m actually someone, you know?
I’ve noticed that all of the people that read my blog are either friends I met online or random strangers from other states or countries. But, I like it that way. Strangers won’t be so quick to judge, they will only read and tell me what they think. They won’t post my words all over Facebook and make fun of them. Let me take a moment here to say again: I hate Leslie’s existence. Anyway, back to my Friday.
The rest of the day went by slowly. David had skipped school to sleep, so I had no one to talk to all day. I took a History quiz that I’m pretty sure I failed. Never mind, I’m positive. Throughout the day, I spend a lot of time on one of my favorite websites, givesmehope.com. It’s a site where people post stories about little moments in life that gave them hope. So many people go on sites like SixBillionSecrets, a place where people anonymously post about their depression, eating disorders, abuse, disease, self-inflicted pain, and other things. But, SixBillionSecrets only makes me sad when I read through all of those secrets, people crying out for help in a place where they know that no one can help them. Reading so many pain-infused words can make anyone feel a little down. So, after I’ve had enough secrets, I take a break. I open a new tab and go to GivesMeHope. I smile at the cute little stories, because smiling
is
so
worth
it.
I posted about four stories on GivesMeHope today. I hope they get voted on and published. I want people to know what gives me hope. I want people to read my little posts and say "Aww!" I want them to save them to the their computers and open them when they need something to smile about, like I do with the good posts that I read.
And then, suddenly, I am in English class, tired but forcing my eyes open to read the interesting story that we had been told to read. We talk about daydreaming, and how we start thinking of one thing, and it’s amazing where our thoughts can take us.
Tell me about it.
In the midst of all of this dream talk, I think about Jordan. Jordan, with his sweet little smile and hazel eyes, his lame Chemistry jokes and "My Little Pony" obsession. Jordan, who’s so oblivious to the fact that I’m falling in love with him. I just want to know how he feels, and I won’t stop trying to find out. We talk about the dance again at the end of the day. I ask him to go "as friends," though I’m dying to say "I want to go with you because I like you, a lot. I think you’re great, and I want to be your girlfriend." But, I don’t say that. I don’t want to scare him away yet. Apparently, he’s "not much of a ‘dance’ kind of person." Maybe he would be if someone worthwhile had asked him to go.
But, I’ll go to that dance tomorrow night. I’ll get all dressed up, straightened hair, black eyeliner, pretty dress, high heels, the works. Then, I’ll have fun with my best friends, because I don’t need romance to enjoy a school dance, though it would’ve been a plus.
And, though it may seem like the only thing I have left to do, I’m not going to give up on Jordan. I’ll keep trying to win that heart because there’s something in his eyes when he meets my gaze that makes me want to tell him. Nothing that persuades me, nothing that demands me, just something that makes my heart beat out of rhythm, which makes me wonder if maybe, maybe he feels the same way about me. Every moment we talk, laugh, smile together my whole body aches with the need to grab him around the waist, pull him closer and hold him tight, and pray that he’ll hold me, too.
What I feel for Jordan is not just a crush, not just an infatuation. There are things about him that irk me, sometimes I can’t stand him, he’s not the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, but the thing is, I’m falling in love with him anyway. His flaws aren’t overlooked, just more things that are part of the amazing, weird person he is…
So, here I sit. The dance is in exactly one hour. I haven’t straightened my hair yet. I can’t find my only pair of black heels. I have a pounding headache. I don’t have a date. This night is turning out to be quite the disaster. I don’t even want to go. A slow song will come on, and I’ll think of Jordan, who will probably be sitting at home playing his guitar, silently thinking of a girl who is worth his time. But, I’ll dance with my friends, laugh, and act crazy like someone spiked my iced tea, just for the hell of it. Just because that is what I do at dances. I don’t usually have a date, I don’t usually inquire about one. I usually just go with my sister and have a good time, until I am sitting in the car on the way home, looking out the window, listening to sad music, realizing that I will never be the girl who will show off her boyfriend at dances, and hold him as they sway to the music. It’s still so true. I’ll never know what it’s like to have someone, will I?
What did I ever do wrong?
….
Time flies. I’m home again. The dance is over. I want to tell you a fairytale. I want to say Jordan was standing outside of the school when I got there, wearing a spiffy suit, holding a bouquet of flowers, awaiting my arrival. But he wasn’t. I want to say he showed up late and held me all night. I want to say we swayed to a slow song, wrapped up in each other, and I looked up into those beautiful hazel eyes and said everything that needed to be said, and he understood for the first time. I want to say he leaned down and kissed me, a perfect first kiss.
But, that’s not the way it went. He stayed home and played his guitar and got drunk.
I spent the night dressed like a princess, a princess lacking a prince. I danced with my friends, until they all got depressed over their ex-boyfriends and sat out in the hallway and talked about depression, and tried to make each feel better by saying that they were all going through the same thing. I have no idea how they feel. I don’t think I want to. There were free refreshments, which is highly unusual and a definite plus. I forgot to take pictures. I went home, my feet aching in the black heels I found shortly after I lost hope in finding them. I went on Facebook, where I talked to my friend from Mexico, a girl I know from band who’s in seventh grade, and Jordan. May I point out that Jordan is incredibly annoying when he’s drunk.
And now, it’s time to go to bed, 2:15 AM, Sunday morning. Good thing I’m not going to church.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Everything's So Blurry, And Everyone's So Fake
I scroll through my News Feed on Facebook, absentmindedly reading posts and glancing at photos. Who knew that you could know so much about people you don’t even know? Thank the internet. Or blame the internet. Either way can work. I come across a photo. The photo is of my best friend, Alexandria, holding the person I hate the most in this whole universe in a buddy-buddy hug. The two girls in the picture look like how best friends should look, all smiles and pretty faces. I bite my lip. I hate her. I hate her so much. Not Alexandria, but her.
Who is she?
I think I’ve mentioned her briefly, but I didn’t even give her a name, mostly because I hate thinking about her, I hate ranting about her, I hate her.
I see her in the halls at school, where she usually greets me with a big, gorgeous smile and gives me some sort of sweet-as-sugar compliment. I smile back and say thank you, and it is assumed that everything is fine.
On the outside, maybe it is. Inside of me, my heart burns out and turns to ice, my thoughts explode with hate, my soul turns green just below my skin, just below the outside where everything is fine.
It all started at the end of my freshman year.
Let’s call her Leslie.
Leslie and my sister, Yuuki, had gotten fairly close that year. Leslie seemed like the perfect friend to have. She had what seems like an endless supply of money to spend on band merchandise and bright, cute clothing, she had a sweet, loving boyfriend, she was beyond gorgeous, pretty and petite with long straight hair and a sweet smile, all slightly crooked teeth and shiny pink lip gloss. She listened to great music, and went to concerts with her boyfriend practically every few months. She showered her friends with compliments and always tried to make them feel better when they were down. Trust me, I know all about that. She would always tell me that I have a hundred reasons to smile, and that I look beautiful when I smile, so I should do it more often.
Well, unlike her, I actually don’t look beautiful when I smile, and I don’t have a hundred reasons to.
But, though it may be hard to believe, no one is perfect, not even Leslie.
From the start, I didn’t like Leslie much. Remember when I said about how I felt when I see her? How I said that my "soul turns green?" Well, you can read into that and say that just the sight of her makes me sick, but I was going for a different meaning. My soul turns green with envy.
From the very beginning, I was jealous of Leslie. I was jealous of her even before I knew her, actually. On the evening before Grey’s graduation ceremony, I was a mess. I was upset, fearing that I would never see him again, trying to think of the right thing to say as goodbye. I was in a rush. All of the other band members were already down at the field, setting up their music stands in front of their folding chairs. On the way down to the field, one of the black flip-flops I had been wearing had fallen apart right on my foot. So much for designer sandals, I remember thinking. The shoes had been a hand-me-down from one of my dad’s friends, most likely around thirty dollars at full price, some big name in shoes, Steve Madden, I think.
Now, I was on my way back down to the field in the extra pair of flats I had brought, hands trying to balance a music stand, my clarinet, and my music. Frustrated, I ran into someone I knew, that I had met only a few weeks earlier at a school dance. Let’s call him Brendon. Brendon was Leslie’s boyfriend. He was a year younger than her, in seventh grade at that time. Leslie had brought him to the spring dance, and we had met there. He had instantly struck me as a complete sweetheart, just the way he had comforted Alexandria when she was practically in tears over some boy standing her up. He had genuinely tried to make her feel better, something I would never suspect a twelve or thirteen year old boy to do for anyone.
So, there we were. We said hello and he asked me if there were any soda machines around the school anywhere. I showed him where to find a water machine, since my school was on this big health-food kick and would never serve soda to anyone other than a faculty member. He said thank you, and before he left, he asked me if I needed any help carrying my things down to the field. Inside, something went off in my brain, almost like a light bulb moment. I said no, but thanks anyway. After the ceremony I spotted him once more, and he greeted me with a small wave and a sweet smile. That same light bulb went off in my mind. This time, I even got butterflies.
For only a month or two, I had a small crush on Leslie’s boyfriend. That is where the jealousy started. As time went on, I stopped thinking about Brendon in a romantic way, but freshman year, that envy of Leslie sparked like a little green fire in my mind once more.
She was, and still is, everything that I will never be. Pretty, but not Malibu Barbie pretty, pretty in a unique way. Thin, but not like a stick, more like an hourglass. Happy, with a perfect sweetheart of a boyfriend, tons of friends, a family who didn’t pay attention to anything she did, and a pile of money to spend on all the things that made her so perfect; makeup, clothes, hair dye, the works.
Everything that I will never be.
So there is the jealousy. But where did the hatred come from?
I was on Facebook one night, and I came across a fan page for my sister’s blog. Extremely curious, I went to see who liked it. They were all people I knew vaguely, Light and his friends. Some obnoxious kid in my grade who was Oliver’s older brother. And then there was Leslie. These people actually read my sister’s blog? I told her, and she was so excited. People actually read her blog!
Then, I saw it. A post from Leslie, written on Light’s wall. Using his name in Yuuki’s blog (mentioned because he was the guy I currently liked at that point), she had said this: "Ohai, *Blog name.* ;D" All of the other people who liked the fan page had commented using quotes from Yuuki’s blog, making fun of her words. I froze. Tears stung my eyes. I heard Yuuki singing in the shower. How would I tell her? Light was involved…? Why? What was going on?
There had been a sleepover; one of Light’s friends had invited Leslie and David. A girl there had been friends with one of Yuuki’s friends, and she knew about Yuuki’s blog. For some reason it was brought up. The webpage was opened and every post had been read aloud. I can just see Leslie sitting there, looking at the computer screen, giggling and saying, "Oh my God, this is so hilarious!" Anger boiled in me. I always knew she was bad news, and now I was sure of it. I opened a new message, slammed on the computer keys, using many choice words, practically screaming at her through my words, and sent it right to her.
Then, I messaged David. How had he let this happen? He said he was half-asleep the whole time, but for some reason I didn’t believe him. Even now, when he doesn’t like her as much as I don’t, he would still rather hang out with Leslie than be with me. I was crying. Yuuki came in and I told her. She went upstairs and outside onto the porch and cried, too. Why was Leslie trying to ruin her life? Why were people she didn’t even know trying to ruin her life?
Leslie had given the web address to Yuuki’s blog to both of the guys she liked, so they would read all of it and it would humiliate Yuuki even more. She told Oliver’s brother to read the posts about him aloud to him. She even taped an obscene letter to the other guy’s front door with Band-Aids, which said things that Yuuki would never say to him, with the web address at the bottom.
Days passed. Three people apologized to Yuuki. One was Light, one was one of Light’s friends, and one was Leslie. Light had said that everything had been Leslie’s idea, and he felt terrible, because he gets made fun of all the time and he didn’t know why he would even consider making fun of someone else. Light’s friend had said that she knew that it was a really stupid thing to do, and Yuuki didn’t have to forgive her, but she still wanted to apologize. Leslie’s apology was sprinkled with anger, and it didn’t even seem sincere. Yet, Yuuki still accepted it anyway. I don’t see why. In school a few days later, they hugged and everything was fine. I refused to even look at her. She would’ve never suspected how much I hated her, how much I still hate her.
She had tried to ruin Yuuki’s life, ruin her relationships, ruin her chances with any of the guys she was interested in.
It hasn’t even been a year since it happened. Why does everyone forget? Sometimes, Yuuki even forgets. But, every time I see Leslie’s pretty little face, I want to tear it right off of her pretty little head. As weeks go by, other terrible, not-so-perfect things are revealed about Leslie. Like how she cheats on her sweet boyfriend all of the time, constantly flirting with other guys and even doing physical things with them behind Brendon’s back. And Brendon has no clue. Brendon came to guitar club on the day I told Jordan I liked him, and just seeing him made me feel this incredible sadness for him, made me want to tell him about the horrible things his perfect little girlfriend has been doing to him. Two years of dating. Two years. He needs to know.
Leslie had tried to ruin my sister’s life. Maybe I could try to ruin hers. But, see, I would never do that. I would never stoop so low.
So, to see my best friend with her completely broke my heart. They looked pretty and happy, like real best friends, friends who can actually relate to each other about normal things like guys and secrets. I can never relate to Alexandria anymore. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never even kissed a guy before. I don’t have juicy secrets. I can’t talk for hours upon hours about regular girly things, because I have nothing to contribute. I’m practically not even a girl. I’m a mess of a person, who does nothing but write, play computer games, read books, dream about a boy who most likely wants nothing to do with her, and play her guitar so much that her fingertips are hard and calloused.
I’m a terrible friend. I don’t give good advice, because I’m more of a listener than a talker. All I ever want to talk about is how much I hate myself and my life, all of the things that go wrong. But that’s only because nothing ever goes right. Ever.
Take this week for example. I was supposed to sell some of my clothing. With the money, I was supposed to go out and buy new headphones, hair dye because my roots are starting to show, foundation, and pencil eyeliner. I was supposed to pay my English teacher back for the books I had ordered from her. Now she’ll probably think I’m a complete scumbag because I haven’t given her the money for weeks, and I probably still won’t have it. I was supposed to put aside four or five dollars for the winter formal on Saturday night. I’m supposed to ask Jordan to the formal next week, and he’ll probably say no. Why wouldn’t he?
So, out of pity, my nana is taking me out to buy my headphones and hair dye. She’s paying my way into the formal. All because my (not-so) Great Aunt wouldn’t accept my old clothes and buy it for her thrift store, even though she knows my family is practically in poverty. My dad hasn’t had a job in four years. My mom has two jobs, but she only makes enough to pay her bills, buy her and my father’s cigarettes, and put gas in her car. My nana pays some of our bills, and she pays the computer bill. My other grandmother, my mom’s mom, is always lending our family money, so much that my mother feels guilty about it. I had to get a new pair of glasses that don’t even look nice on me, just because my mother couldn’t afford nicer ones or contacts. The government pays for our groceries. I get lunch for free at school. For my fifteenth birthday, I don’t remember my parents getting me much of anything. But, I don’t blame them. I forgive them, I understand.
My parents are both very depressed. Today, in the car, they were arguing over who would get to commit suicide first. I know that they won’t actually do it, but I know that deep down, they both want to sometimes. Why wouldn’t they? Everywhere they turn, every time they see a light leading the way to a way out, they just run into yet another brick wall. But, I don’t know what I do without them. They may not have a lot to give, but they are the best parents a girl could ask for.
Do you see what I mean? Do you see why it would be so hard for my friends to relate to me, with their cozy little lives, pockets full of cash, their pretty faces, their list of past boyfriends and their current ones?
I’m just a nobody. I’m never happy. I don’t have any money. I’m fifteen and I’ve never had a cell phone, yet I stopped caring about that two years ago. I’m borrowing David’s old iPod because mine broke a while back. I go shopping for new clothes three times a year, at the most. I eat when I’m unhappy, which explains being God-knows-how-many pounds overweight, which makes me even more upset. I’m not pretty, just a girl with short, uncooperative hair and an unremarkable face, who never gets a second glance. I’m the girl who goes to glow parties and school dances with her friends and awkwardly dances alone while her friends dance with guys and actually have a good time. I’m the girl who awkwardly stands there while the attractive guy flirts with her friends. Maybe that’s just what I am. Awkward. Alone. Single for almost sixteen years. Pitied by her friends, who constantly try to make her feel better about herself, even though they know they are lying.
I go to church every Sunday, but sometime I wonder why God didn’t give me a perfect life, like the life that Leslie lives. I wonder why God didn’t make me beautiful. Leslie, and probably most of the other people with perfect lives in the world, are atheists. What did I, a Christian, ever do to make God so mad at me?
I just want to be happy. I want to be good enough for Jordan. I want to be good enough for my best friend. I want to look in the mirror every morning and actually like what I see.
I wish confidence, self-esteem, and happiness were all things that I could just take some sort of pill for, and feel them immediately with the occasional symptom of a problem, only to be solved by taking another pill for optimism. But, all of those things are not the kind of thing I can pick up at CVS for a few dollars. I probably wouldn’t even be able to afford them anyway, with my luck. Those things are all things that I have no idea how to find, and I probably never will. But, where did they go in the first place?
Who is she?
I think I’ve mentioned her briefly, but I didn’t even give her a name, mostly because I hate thinking about her, I hate ranting about her, I hate her.
I see her in the halls at school, where she usually greets me with a big, gorgeous smile and gives me some sort of sweet-as-sugar compliment. I smile back and say thank you, and it is assumed that everything is fine.
On the outside, maybe it is. Inside of me, my heart burns out and turns to ice, my thoughts explode with hate, my soul turns green just below my skin, just below the outside where everything is fine.
It all started at the end of my freshman year.
Let’s call her Leslie.
Leslie and my sister, Yuuki, had gotten fairly close that year. Leslie seemed like the perfect friend to have. She had what seems like an endless supply of money to spend on band merchandise and bright, cute clothing, she had a sweet, loving boyfriend, she was beyond gorgeous, pretty and petite with long straight hair and a sweet smile, all slightly crooked teeth and shiny pink lip gloss. She listened to great music, and went to concerts with her boyfriend practically every few months. She showered her friends with compliments and always tried to make them feel better when they were down. Trust me, I know all about that. She would always tell me that I have a hundred reasons to smile, and that I look beautiful when I smile, so I should do it more often.
Well, unlike her, I actually don’t look beautiful when I smile, and I don’t have a hundred reasons to.
But, though it may be hard to believe, no one is perfect, not even Leslie.
From the start, I didn’t like Leslie much. Remember when I said about how I felt when I see her? How I said that my "soul turns green?" Well, you can read into that and say that just the sight of her makes me sick, but I was going for a different meaning. My soul turns green with envy.
From the very beginning, I was jealous of Leslie. I was jealous of her even before I knew her, actually. On the evening before Grey’s graduation ceremony, I was a mess. I was upset, fearing that I would never see him again, trying to think of the right thing to say as goodbye. I was in a rush. All of the other band members were already down at the field, setting up their music stands in front of their folding chairs. On the way down to the field, one of the black flip-flops I had been wearing had fallen apart right on my foot. So much for designer sandals, I remember thinking. The shoes had been a hand-me-down from one of my dad’s friends, most likely around thirty dollars at full price, some big name in shoes, Steve Madden, I think.
Now, I was on my way back down to the field in the extra pair of flats I had brought, hands trying to balance a music stand, my clarinet, and my music. Frustrated, I ran into someone I knew, that I had met only a few weeks earlier at a school dance. Let’s call him Brendon. Brendon was Leslie’s boyfriend. He was a year younger than her, in seventh grade at that time. Leslie had brought him to the spring dance, and we had met there. He had instantly struck me as a complete sweetheart, just the way he had comforted Alexandria when she was practically in tears over some boy standing her up. He had genuinely tried to make her feel better, something I would never suspect a twelve or thirteen year old boy to do for anyone.
So, there we were. We said hello and he asked me if there were any soda machines around the school anywhere. I showed him where to find a water machine, since my school was on this big health-food kick and would never serve soda to anyone other than a faculty member. He said thank you, and before he left, he asked me if I needed any help carrying my things down to the field. Inside, something went off in my brain, almost like a light bulb moment. I said no, but thanks anyway. After the ceremony I spotted him once more, and he greeted me with a small wave and a sweet smile. That same light bulb went off in my mind. This time, I even got butterflies.
For only a month or two, I had a small crush on Leslie’s boyfriend. That is where the jealousy started. As time went on, I stopped thinking about Brendon in a romantic way, but freshman year, that envy of Leslie sparked like a little green fire in my mind once more.
She was, and still is, everything that I will never be. Pretty, but not Malibu Barbie pretty, pretty in a unique way. Thin, but not like a stick, more like an hourglass. Happy, with a perfect sweetheart of a boyfriend, tons of friends, a family who didn’t pay attention to anything she did, and a pile of money to spend on all the things that made her so perfect; makeup, clothes, hair dye, the works.
Everything that I will never be.
So there is the jealousy. But where did the hatred come from?
I was on Facebook one night, and I came across a fan page for my sister’s blog. Extremely curious, I went to see who liked it. They were all people I knew vaguely, Light and his friends. Some obnoxious kid in my grade who was Oliver’s older brother. And then there was Leslie. These people actually read my sister’s blog? I told her, and she was so excited. People actually read her blog!
Then, I saw it. A post from Leslie, written on Light’s wall. Using his name in Yuuki’s blog (mentioned because he was the guy I currently liked at that point), she had said this: "Ohai, *Blog name.* ;D" All of the other people who liked the fan page had commented using quotes from Yuuki’s blog, making fun of her words. I froze. Tears stung my eyes. I heard Yuuki singing in the shower. How would I tell her? Light was involved…? Why? What was going on?
There had been a sleepover; one of Light’s friends had invited Leslie and David. A girl there had been friends with one of Yuuki’s friends, and she knew about Yuuki’s blog. For some reason it was brought up. The webpage was opened and every post had been read aloud. I can just see Leslie sitting there, looking at the computer screen, giggling and saying, "Oh my God, this is so hilarious!" Anger boiled in me. I always knew she was bad news, and now I was sure of it. I opened a new message, slammed on the computer keys, using many choice words, practically screaming at her through my words, and sent it right to her.
Then, I messaged David. How had he let this happen? He said he was half-asleep the whole time, but for some reason I didn’t believe him. Even now, when he doesn’t like her as much as I don’t, he would still rather hang out with Leslie than be with me. I was crying. Yuuki came in and I told her. She went upstairs and outside onto the porch and cried, too. Why was Leslie trying to ruin her life? Why were people she didn’t even know trying to ruin her life?
Leslie had given the web address to Yuuki’s blog to both of the guys she liked, so they would read all of it and it would humiliate Yuuki even more. She told Oliver’s brother to read the posts about him aloud to him. She even taped an obscene letter to the other guy’s front door with Band-Aids, which said things that Yuuki would never say to him, with the web address at the bottom.
Days passed. Three people apologized to Yuuki. One was Light, one was one of Light’s friends, and one was Leslie. Light had said that everything had been Leslie’s idea, and he felt terrible, because he gets made fun of all the time and he didn’t know why he would even consider making fun of someone else. Light’s friend had said that she knew that it was a really stupid thing to do, and Yuuki didn’t have to forgive her, but she still wanted to apologize. Leslie’s apology was sprinkled with anger, and it didn’t even seem sincere. Yet, Yuuki still accepted it anyway. I don’t see why. In school a few days later, they hugged and everything was fine. I refused to even look at her. She would’ve never suspected how much I hated her, how much I still hate her.
She had tried to ruin Yuuki’s life, ruin her relationships, ruin her chances with any of the guys she was interested in.
It hasn’t even been a year since it happened. Why does everyone forget? Sometimes, Yuuki even forgets. But, every time I see Leslie’s pretty little face, I want to tear it right off of her pretty little head. As weeks go by, other terrible, not-so-perfect things are revealed about Leslie. Like how she cheats on her sweet boyfriend all of the time, constantly flirting with other guys and even doing physical things with them behind Brendon’s back. And Brendon has no clue. Brendon came to guitar club on the day I told Jordan I liked him, and just seeing him made me feel this incredible sadness for him, made me want to tell him about the horrible things his perfect little girlfriend has been doing to him. Two years of dating. Two years. He needs to know.
Leslie had tried to ruin my sister’s life. Maybe I could try to ruin hers. But, see, I would never do that. I would never stoop so low.
So, to see my best friend with her completely broke my heart. They looked pretty and happy, like real best friends, friends who can actually relate to each other about normal things like guys and secrets. I can never relate to Alexandria anymore. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never even kissed a guy before. I don’t have juicy secrets. I can’t talk for hours upon hours about regular girly things, because I have nothing to contribute. I’m practically not even a girl. I’m a mess of a person, who does nothing but write, play computer games, read books, dream about a boy who most likely wants nothing to do with her, and play her guitar so much that her fingertips are hard and calloused.
I’m a terrible friend. I don’t give good advice, because I’m more of a listener than a talker. All I ever want to talk about is how much I hate myself and my life, all of the things that go wrong. But that’s only because nothing ever goes right. Ever.
Take this week for example. I was supposed to sell some of my clothing. With the money, I was supposed to go out and buy new headphones, hair dye because my roots are starting to show, foundation, and pencil eyeliner. I was supposed to pay my English teacher back for the books I had ordered from her. Now she’ll probably think I’m a complete scumbag because I haven’t given her the money for weeks, and I probably still won’t have it. I was supposed to put aside four or five dollars for the winter formal on Saturday night. I’m supposed to ask Jordan to the formal next week, and he’ll probably say no. Why wouldn’t he?
So, out of pity, my nana is taking me out to buy my headphones and hair dye. She’s paying my way into the formal. All because my (not-so) Great Aunt wouldn’t accept my old clothes and buy it for her thrift store, even though she knows my family is practically in poverty. My dad hasn’t had a job in four years. My mom has two jobs, but she only makes enough to pay her bills, buy her and my father’s cigarettes, and put gas in her car. My nana pays some of our bills, and she pays the computer bill. My other grandmother, my mom’s mom, is always lending our family money, so much that my mother feels guilty about it. I had to get a new pair of glasses that don’t even look nice on me, just because my mother couldn’t afford nicer ones or contacts. The government pays for our groceries. I get lunch for free at school. For my fifteenth birthday, I don’t remember my parents getting me much of anything. But, I don’t blame them. I forgive them, I understand.
My parents are both very depressed. Today, in the car, they were arguing over who would get to commit suicide first. I know that they won’t actually do it, but I know that deep down, they both want to sometimes. Why wouldn’t they? Everywhere they turn, every time they see a light leading the way to a way out, they just run into yet another brick wall. But, I don’t know what I do without them. They may not have a lot to give, but they are the best parents a girl could ask for.
Do you see what I mean? Do you see why it would be so hard for my friends to relate to me, with their cozy little lives, pockets full of cash, their pretty faces, their list of past boyfriends and their current ones?
I’m just a nobody. I’m never happy. I don’t have any money. I’m fifteen and I’ve never had a cell phone, yet I stopped caring about that two years ago. I’m borrowing David’s old iPod because mine broke a while back. I go shopping for new clothes three times a year, at the most. I eat when I’m unhappy, which explains being God-knows-how-many pounds overweight, which makes me even more upset. I’m not pretty, just a girl with short, uncooperative hair and an unremarkable face, who never gets a second glance. I’m the girl who goes to glow parties and school dances with her friends and awkwardly dances alone while her friends dance with guys and actually have a good time. I’m the girl who awkwardly stands there while the attractive guy flirts with her friends. Maybe that’s just what I am. Awkward. Alone. Single for almost sixteen years. Pitied by her friends, who constantly try to make her feel better about herself, even though they know they are lying.
I go to church every Sunday, but sometime I wonder why God didn’t give me a perfect life, like the life that Leslie lives. I wonder why God didn’t make me beautiful. Leslie, and probably most of the other people with perfect lives in the world, are atheists. What did I, a Christian, ever do to make God so mad at me?
I just want to be happy. I want to be good enough for Jordan. I want to be good enough for my best friend. I want to look in the mirror every morning and actually like what I see.
I wish confidence, self-esteem, and happiness were all things that I could just take some sort of pill for, and feel them immediately with the occasional symptom of a problem, only to be solved by taking another pill for optimism. But, all of those things are not the kind of thing I can pick up at CVS for a few dollars. I probably wouldn’t even be able to afford them anyway, with my luck. Those things are all things that I have no idea how to find, and I probably never will. But, where did they go in the first place?
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thank God It's Friday
It’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday. Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend.
That reference was completely unnecessary, especially since I’m not in the mood to be quoting any upbeat song, let alone Rebecca Black. But, it is Friday.
Sometimes, I swear January’s life is like a soap opera. She’s like, a walking, talking disaster zone. I mean, who falls for a homeless drug addict kid and ends up being stalked by him? Who has two boyfriends at once? Who has already had two guys ask to marry them at sixteen? Who is made fun of every single day of their life? Who constantly worries about being pregnant? Who actually wants to be pregnant? Who has sex with a guy after only a few days of dating? Who does that?? Well, the answer is January. I love her to death, but why does she come to me for advice? I’ve never been in one relationship, let alone two at the same time. And so, I always end up doing the best I can, telling her what I think is the right answer, but then the very next day, something dramatic and horrible happens, and I’m proven wrong. And, not to mention, she never listens to me, anyway. I hate to say anything bad about January (doesn’t everybody do that?), but I needed to rant somewhere, and this seems like the safest place. January’s life is becoming too much to handle in my calm, quiet, little-girl life that I live.
And then, there are my problems. Compared to January’s, they seem almost unimportant, easy to deal with.
Trust me, they’re not.
It’s almost like nothing happened. It’s almost like I never said anything. It’s like we’re both avoiding the horrible, humiliating outburst I made on Wednesday morning.
It’s driving me insane.
What should I do? I need to ask him out properly, don’t I? How? When? Where? WHY? Shouldn’t "I really like you" be enough? Shouldn’t I already know what he thinks? Shouldn’t he get it? But, I don’t know if he does. I can feel it in the air when he’s around me. I remember catching him looking at me in guitar club on Wednesday, the way our eyes met, and he looked back down at his guitar, the music he makes up as he goes along in that amazing way of his. He hasn't looked into my eyes like that since I told him. I just want to look into those pretty, sometimes brown, sometimes green eyes like my own and know how he feels. He’s not saying anything, but he has a reason. He isn’t avoiding me, but he’s avoiding the whole situation, acting like
It
never
happened.
But, it did. I remember it so vividly. Why wouldn’t I remember something like that? It was one of the most
F
R
I
G
H
T
E
N
I
N
G
moments of my life. Oh, and I made a complete ass out of myself. Now what? What do I say? Do I have to say anything? I really don’t want to to. But, I think I might have to. What will I say? This is killing me.
Why can’t everything just go right? Why can’t I be the kind of girl who holds hands with her boyfriend, and when she walks by people with him, and they think about how adorable it is? Why can’t I be the happy, crazy-in-love girl that has the life that the awkward, unattractive girl watches from a distance and is dying to live?
Why does it have to be the other way around?
I wish I were beautiful. I wish I were worth his time. They say that God created everything to be beautiful. I am the Coffee Break. When God was making everything beautiful, he decided to go on a coffee break when I came along. By the time he finished his mocha cappuccino or WHATEVER HE DECIDED TO DRINK ON THAT DAY, the damage was already done. I had been created to be unloved and unhappy, thought beautiful by no one. I have never been called beautiful by anyone, except for random old people. (Blame their most likely failing eyesight.) And of course, there’s my family. But, don’t they have to? Isn’t it expected of them, in a way?
I hate being so pathetic. I hate having so much hope, when deep down, I know that I won’t be happy, no matter how many limbs I go out on, how many chances I take. Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy. But, why? Am I really that shallow that I need to be loved to be happy? I guess I am, aren’t I? How do you change yourself to be a person who deserves happiness?
Wouldn’t everything just be betterif
he
were
mine?
I just want to curl up in a little ball and cry my eyes out right now. Why can’t I make it right? Why did I make it wrong in the first place?
In Child Care, I leave. I say I’m going to my locker and go everywhere but there. I walk by the class Jordan is in and glance at him from outside the closed door. He intently stares at his laptop. Would he look up if he knew I was there? Or would he become even more intent on whatever was on that computer screen, hiding from my weird, stalker-like staring? I go to one of the bathrooms, lock myself in the big stall with a sink in it. I sit on the toilet and think and think and think until I don’t remember what class I’m supposed to be in, and how long I was gone. Is it possible to cry without tears, to only cry inside? If it is, I’ve been doing it all day. I’m doing right now, listening to people laugh like maniacs, enjoying their day. No one knows of my crying inside, no one asks what is wrong. If they did, would I actually tell them? Would they care? I cry and cry and cry no tears, just a pain in my heart and my favorite song in my ears.
Am I as pathetic as I feel? I think of the long, lazy weekend ahead of me. A weekend of being alone, working on my novel, blogging, reading, and playing my guitar. Thank God it’s Friday.
That reference was completely unnecessary, especially since I’m not in the mood to be quoting any upbeat song, let alone Rebecca Black. But, it is Friday.
Sometimes, I swear January’s life is like a soap opera. She’s like, a walking, talking disaster zone. I mean, who falls for a homeless drug addict kid and ends up being stalked by him? Who has two boyfriends at once? Who has already had two guys ask to marry them at sixteen? Who is made fun of every single day of their life? Who constantly worries about being pregnant? Who actually wants to be pregnant? Who has sex with a guy after only a few days of dating? Who does that?? Well, the answer is January. I love her to death, but why does she come to me for advice? I’ve never been in one relationship, let alone two at the same time. And so, I always end up doing the best I can, telling her what I think is the right answer, but then the very next day, something dramatic and horrible happens, and I’m proven wrong. And, not to mention, she never listens to me, anyway. I hate to say anything bad about January (doesn’t everybody do that?), but I needed to rant somewhere, and this seems like the safest place. January’s life is becoming too much to handle in my calm, quiet, little-girl life that I live.
And then, there are my problems. Compared to January’s, they seem almost unimportant, easy to deal with.
Trust me, they’re not.
It’s almost like nothing happened. It’s almost like I never said anything. It’s like we’re both avoiding the horrible, humiliating outburst I made on Wednesday morning.
It’s driving me insane.
What should I do? I need to ask him out properly, don’t I? How? When? Where? WHY? Shouldn’t "I really like you" be enough? Shouldn’t I already know what he thinks? Shouldn’t he get it? But, I don’t know if he does. I can feel it in the air when he’s around me. I remember catching him looking at me in guitar club on Wednesday, the way our eyes met, and he looked back down at his guitar, the music he makes up as he goes along in that amazing way of his. He hasn't looked into my eyes like that since I told him. I just want to look into those pretty, sometimes brown, sometimes green eyes like my own and know how he feels. He’s not saying anything, but he has a reason. He isn’t avoiding me, but he’s avoiding the whole situation, acting like
It
never
happened.
But, it did. I remember it so vividly. Why wouldn’t I remember something like that? It was one of the most
F
R
I
G
H
T
E
N
I
N
G
moments of my life. Oh, and I made a complete ass out of myself. Now what? What do I say? Do I have to say anything? I really don’t want to to. But, I think I might have to. What will I say? This is killing me.
Why can’t everything just go right? Why can’t I be the kind of girl who holds hands with her boyfriend, and when she walks by people with him, and they think about how adorable it is? Why can’t I be the happy, crazy-in-love girl that has the life that the awkward, unattractive girl watches from a distance and is dying to live?
Why does it have to be the other way around?
I wish I were beautiful. I wish I were worth his time. They say that God created everything to be beautiful. I am the Coffee Break. When God was making everything beautiful, he decided to go on a coffee break when I came along. By the time he finished his mocha cappuccino or WHATEVER HE DECIDED TO DRINK ON THAT DAY, the damage was already done. I had been created to be unloved and unhappy, thought beautiful by no one. I have never been called beautiful by anyone, except for random old people. (Blame their most likely failing eyesight.) And of course, there’s my family. But, don’t they have to? Isn’t it expected of them, in a way?
I hate being so pathetic. I hate having so much hope, when deep down, I know that I won’t be happy, no matter how many limbs I go out on, how many chances I take. Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy. But, why? Am I really that shallow that I need to be loved to be happy? I guess I am, aren’t I? How do you change yourself to be a person who deserves happiness?
Wouldn’t everything just be betterif
he
were
mine?
I just want to curl up in a little ball and cry my eyes out right now. Why can’t I make it right? Why did I make it wrong in the first place?
In Child Care, I leave. I say I’m going to my locker and go everywhere but there. I walk by the class Jordan is in and glance at him from outside the closed door. He intently stares at his laptop. Would he look up if he knew I was there? Or would he become even more intent on whatever was on that computer screen, hiding from my weird, stalker-like staring? I go to one of the bathrooms, lock myself in the big stall with a sink in it. I sit on the toilet and think and think and think until I don’t remember what class I’m supposed to be in, and how long I was gone. Is it possible to cry without tears, to only cry inside? If it is, I’ve been doing it all day. I’m doing right now, listening to people laugh like maniacs, enjoying their day. No one knows of my crying inside, no one asks what is wrong. If they did, would I actually tell them? Would they care? I cry and cry and cry no tears, just a pain in my heart and my favorite song in my ears.
Am I as pathetic as I feel? I think of the long, lazy weekend ahead of me. A weekend of being alone, working on my novel, blogging, reading, and playing my guitar. Thank God it’s Friday.
Garbled Nonsense, The Big Mistake, & Holding On For Dear Life
He watches me play my guitar. I watch him play his. We laugh. We talk. We have fun. It’s a great Wednesday morning. Until I ruin it.
We walk up the stairs. First period has already begun. He’s in a rush. He doesn’t want to be late. It takes a lot of trying, but it comes out. Somewhere in the garbled nonsense falling from my mouth comes the words "I really like you." He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t scoop me in his arms and kiss me like I want him to. He nods a little. He says "okay." His voice is quiet. He is gone. I go to class.
I feel sweated and uncomfortable. My face is too warm. When did it get so hot? I feel like my head is going to explode into a million pieces. I want to disappear. I vaguely hear my Driver’s Ed teacher as she speaks. I learn nothing. My mind only stops racing when we watch a video about a few teenagers who have lost their friends in car crashes. It is then that I realize that compared to that, this thing I’m dealing with is nothing. But I still can’t help but feel like
I’ve
made
the
worst
mistake
ever.
Cassidy and Yuuki want to know exactly what happened. I tell them the truth. Nothing. They think I’m sad. I’m not sad. I’m going insane with worry. Did I ruin that nice thing that we just had minutes before?
In Chemistry, Cassidy tells me she loves me a lot and acts like she’s trying to cheer me up. Why is she doing this? This can’t be the end yet, can it? There’s still time for a happy ending, isn’t there?
In Drawing, I forget about everything. I look in a mirror and I draw my eye. My eyes look green today, not as brown. The drawing looks bad. I leave to go to the bathroom. When I leave the art room, I remember. Art is an escape, and now I come down from the cloud it puts me on. In the bathroom, I look in the mirror and fix my eyeliner. The girl in the mirror looks back at me with those oddly green eyes. You’re stupid, I think. Why did you do that? You ruined everything! She looks back at me with the same forlorn stare I give her, and doesn’t answer me. I grab my purse to leave, only to face her again in the small, scratched mirror I gaze into to draw my eye.
Then, I leave, on the way to my Geometry test, almost positive that I’ll be getting a C on it. Maybe a high D. Possibly a low B, if I’m lucky, which I don’t think I am. Never, ever an A. Not in Geometry. Never. I see Jordan out of the corner of my eye. I see him, but I don’t look at him. Does he look at me? What is he thinking? I wish I knew. I wish I knew. I slip into class where he can’t see me, and take my test. It’s a bit difficult, but easier than I expected. I write down numbers and equations and all my mind does is
W
O
R
R
Y.
I sit in fifth period, history class. I have an assignment that I ignore. The teacher comes over to talk to me. He sits on the desk behind me and talks to me about writing a thesis, and where it belongs in the paragraph. It is the third sentence. I thought it was the first. He smells like 5 gum and a tire store. He says I had looked at him like he was insane. I actually didn’t. He just made me feel stupid. Get that. I’m a writer and I don’t even know where to put my thesis.
I eat lunch at a quiet lunch table. I eat pumpkin pie in Child Care class. I go to the printer in French. I see Jordan in the hallway. I look at the floor. Does he look at me? Do I want him to? Why did I make everything so awkward? I want to cry. I’m mentally kicking myself for this.
But, then there’s the happy ending. The hope. Could it still turn out right? My inner dreamer wants to say yes, but reality makes me think otherwise. Am I a pessimist? Or am I right? I’m dying to know, but at the same time, I’m terrified. I went out on that limb, but now I’m dangling from it, holding on, ready to let go. Will he catch me as I fall for him? Or will I hit the ground? Will I land on my feet, hit the ground running? Or fall down hard and lay there broken on the ground? All because
I
went
out
on
a
limb.
Isn’t that where the fruit should be?
I go to the bathroom in French to escape from the project I should be working on. I talk to a friend of mine while I’m in there. She brings up who she likes, some guy I know who’s a really good graffiti artist and has blue hair. Some people are just so open about these things. I wonder if she told him. I tell her that I told the guy that I like that I liked him today. She’s curious to know who it is. I’m reluctant, but I think What the hell do I have to lose now? He knows, so why not tell her? So, I tell her. I tell her that he didn’t give me a straight response and that I’ve been avoiding him all day. She tells me that I should say "What the fuck does ‘okay’ mean? Stop being an assbedonkin!" She’s not the right person to ask, obviously. I get a good laugh, though.
But, maybe that’s what I have to do. Ask him again. Say more. Ask him what he meant by "okay." Does he really think this is okay? Because it’s not okay. I am not okay.
And so, the end of the day has come. I run to the band room to drop off my stuff, practically sprint back up the stairs and outside into the light rain. I wait for him. He always comes over to talk to me at the end of the day. But not today, because
I
ruined
everything.
I see him look at me, but he doesn’t come to me. He doesn’t say a word to me. He only watches me as I watch him. Who will say something first? Is that what this is? A problem solved easily if we both weren’t so damn shy? That sounds too easy, almost like if I talk to him tomorrow, all will be well and I’ll finally be the girl with the happy ending. What if that is what happens?
Sounds great, right? But, judging from today, nothing we ever do goes exactly as we planned, does it?
I knew it was a bad idea to tell Jordan how I feel on a rainy day.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to fix this. At least I’ll try, and that’s the best I can do, right?
We walk up the stairs. First period has already begun. He’s in a rush. He doesn’t want to be late. It takes a lot of trying, but it comes out. Somewhere in the garbled nonsense falling from my mouth comes the words "I really like you." He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t scoop me in his arms and kiss me like I want him to. He nods a little. He says "okay." His voice is quiet. He is gone. I go to class.
I feel sweated and uncomfortable. My face is too warm. When did it get so hot? I feel like my head is going to explode into a million pieces. I want to disappear. I vaguely hear my Driver’s Ed teacher as she speaks. I learn nothing. My mind only stops racing when we watch a video about a few teenagers who have lost their friends in car crashes. It is then that I realize that compared to that, this thing I’m dealing with is nothing. But I still can’t help but feel like
I’ve
made
the
worst
mistake
ever.
Cassidy and Yuuki want to know exactly what happened. I tell them the truth. Nothing. They think I’m sad. I’m not sad. I’m going insane with worry. Did I ruin that nice thing that we just had minutes before?
In Chemistry, Cassidy tells me she loves me a lot and acts like she’s trying to cheer me up. Why is she doing this? This can’t be the end yet, can it? There’s still time for a happy ending, isn’t there?
In Drawing, I forget about everything. I look in a mirror and I draw my eye. My eyes look green today, not as brown. The drawing looks bad. I leave to go to the bathroom. When I leave the art room, I remember. Art is an escape, and now I come down from the cloud it puts me on. In the bathroom, I look in the mirror and fix my eyeliner. The girl in the mirror looks back at me with those oddly green eyes. You’re stupid, I think. Why did you do that? You ruined everything! She looks back at me with the same forlorn stare I give her, and doesn’t answer me. I grab my purse to leave, only to face her again in the small, scratched mirror I gaze into to draw my eye.
Then, I leave, on the way to my Geometry test, almost positive that I’ll be getting a C on it. Maybe a high D. Possibly a low B, if I’m lucky, which I don’t think I am. Never, ever an A. Not in Geometry. Never. I see Jordan out of the corner of my eye. I see him, but I don’t look at him. Does he look at me? What is he thinking? I wish I knew. I wish I knew. I slip into class where he can’t see me, and take my test. It’s a bit difficult, but easier than I expected. I write down numbers and equations and all my mind does is
W
O
R
R
Y.
I sit in fifth period, history class. I have an assignment that I ignore. The teacher comes over to talk to me. He sits on the desk behind me and talks to me about writing a thesis, and where it belongs in the paragraph. It is the third sentence. I thought it was the first. He smells like 5 gum and a tire store. He says I had looked at him like he was insane. I actually didn’t. He just made me feel stupid. Get that. I’m a writer and I don’t even know where to put my thesis.
I eat lunch at a quiet lunch table. I eat pumpkin pie in Child Care class. I go to the printer in French. I see Jordan in the hallway. I look at the floor. Does he look at me? Do I want him to? Why did I make everything so awkward? I want to cry. I’m mentally kicking myself for this.
But, then there’s the happy ending. The hope. Could it still turn out right? My inner dreamer wants to say yes, but reality makes me think otherwise. Am I a pessimist? Or am I right? I’m dying to know, but at the same time, I’m terrified. I went out on that limb, but now I’m dangling from it, holding on, ready to let go. Will he catch me as I fall for him? Or will I hit the ground? Will I land on my feet, hit the ground running? Or fall down hard and lay there broken on the ground? All because
I
went
out
on
a
limb.
Isn’t that where the fruit should be?
I go to the bathroom in French to escape from the project I should be working on. I talk to a friend of mine while I’m in there. She brings up who she likes, some guy I know who’s a really good graffiti artist and has blue hair. Some people are just so open about these things. I wonder if she told him. I tell her that I told the guy that I like that I liked him today. She’s curious to know who it is. I’m reluctant, but I think What the hell do I have to lose now? He knows, so why not tell her? So, I tell her. I tell her that he didn’t give me a straight response and that I’ve been avoiding him all day. She tells me that I should say "What the fuck does ‘okay’ mean? Stop being an assbedonkin!" She’s not the right person to ask, obviously. I get a good laugh, though.
But, maybe that’s what I have to do. Ask him again. Say more. Ask him what he meant by "okay." Does he really think this is okay? Because it’s not okay. I am not okay.
And so, the end of the day has come. I run to the band room to drop off my stuff, practically sprint back up the stairs and outside into the light rain. I wait for him. He always comes over to talk to me at the end of the day. But not today, because
I
ruined
everything.
I see him look at me, but he doesn’t come to me. He doesn’t say a word to me. He only watches me as I watch him. Who will say something first? Is that what this is? A problem solved easily if we both weren’t so damn shy? That sounds too easy, almost like if I talk to him tomorrow, all will be well and I’ll finally be the girl with the happy ending. What if that is what happens?
Sounds great, right? But, judging from today, nothing we ever do goes exactly as we planned, does it?
I knew it was a bad idea to tell Jordan how I feel on a rainy day.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to fix this. At least I’ll try, and that’s the best I can do, right?
Monday, November 14, 2011
Just Your Average Warm November Day
I walk into the school. For a second, I think the door is locked so I yank on it, hard. It flies open fast and collides with my head. I laugh like an idiot. A girl I know stares at me. She’s not smiling like I am. Why? To be polite, I say hello. I pull open the door to the cafeteria, only a few feet away from the door I had just so haphazardly entered. Yuuki follows me. She laughs with me. She sees the humor.
We sit down at our usual table. The other seats soon fill up with people. Friends, acquaintances, and some girl with blonde and blue hair who I don’t know. A friend of Violet’s, I guess. I listen to them talk about roller-skating. Alexandria comes in, a sweated mess yet still somehow put together with her curled hair and perfectly done eyeliner. She is complaining about her walk to school, as usual. She should really stop smoking. Cassidy comes in and talks about her new boyfriend. I smile but feel a stab of envy in the back of my mind. I wonder why I can’t walk into school one day, excited, smiling like an idiot, totally in love with my brand spankin’-new boyfriend. But, I’m still happy for her, because she’s my friend.
Then, his huge black binder slams down on the table and he drops his things by the seat beside me. Always the seat beside me. Maybe because I make it that way, but I’d like to think otherwise. Jordan. Then, he is off running, always on a mission. The times when he is stopped, when he is sitting still, almost seem rushed. He buys a chocolate chip muffin. I buy a cinnamon roll, like I do every morning. We sit down and eat. He talks to me about his weekend and I listen. We share his muffin. It’s delicious. Cassidy is now talking about her weekend and says something that makes us all laugh.
I love to hear him laugh. He laughs like a complete dork.
I watch him as he talks. Does he notice?
I noticed something about the way I feel about him. When I see him, I don’t go insane inside. My heart doesn’t beat fast, my thoughts don’t scatter. Sometimes, I feel my stomach do a little flip-flop when I realize that it’s merely minutes until I get to see him, to be near him, to talk to him. I’m not nervous. I’m comfortable. Is this a good thing? It feels like one.
As he leaves in that fast, dramatic, awkward way of his, I watch him go. I smile, because all I can think is You’re amazing in the weirdest way. I want you to like me. Do you like me? Do you like me the way I like you?
I walk through the rest of the morning, dazed, tired and deep in thought. The Chemistry teacher calls on me and I’m clueless with an empty worksheet. In Drawing, my mind pauses for only a few minutes to focus only on my sketch and the calm music playing softly in my ears. Next, Geometry and History. Time to hit play again. I eat lunch with David, and we talk and talk and talk. We talk about weird stuff and laugh. After these past few months, I would say with no doubts that David is one of my best friends. I spend most of every day with him. His sarcastic comments and mean and perverted gay-guy attitude amuse me to no end. I really like that David spends so much time with me, because I hope it teaches him to be kinder and more open-minded. Not very often does David say anything nice about someone, and I’m constantly sticking up for people around him. But, nonetheless, I love him all the same.
The day flies by. I listen to Asking Alexandria in French. It’s been a while since I listened to Asking Alexandria. I don’t pay attention in English, though I usually do. And before I know it, the end of the day has arrived and I am outside sitting on a bench next to Jordan. He talks about rolling down a hill and crashing into a generator in gym class and I try not to laugh, though I do feel bad for him. I caress his head when he shows me where he hurt it and a lump was forming beneath his hair. I wonder if he feels the love in my touch. We talk about random things as we usually do until his bus shows up. He walks away and climbs aboard the huge yellow vehicle as the doors hiss open. I smile, remembering when he had compared the newer buses to trains. I said they looked like submarines. He had said, "Now I know what the Beatles were talking about!" We laughed. I love that laugh.
I go to band practice and laugh with all of my bandgeek friends until tears are in my eyes, and I fear my makeup has started to run. Then, I go home, ignore my never-ending doom of homework and work on this blog post.
Today's song of the day is "I Am The Highway" by Audioslave. You may have heard it on the radio before, because I know I have. My dad gave my an Audioslave CD today to put into my iTunes library because he knew I would like it. He told me to listen to "I Am The Highway" because it was his favorite by them. I listened to it. I'm still listening to it. Have you ever heard a song and it just struck a chord (no pun intended) deep inside of you? This song is so beautiful, like the song is straight from the writer's heart, and the music emphasizes that. The song just really gets to know, you know? You just can' listen to something else for a while after listening to "I Am The Highway."
Today has been a typical warm November day. November 14, 2011, to be exact. A day walking around school, going through the motions, on a mission, plowing through the heaps of snow that are my life in my sister’s black combat boots.
A day so typical that I
just wanted to write about it.
We sit down at our usual table. The other seats soon fill up with people. Friends, acquaintances, and some girl with blonde and blue hair who I don’t know. A friend of Violet’s, I guess. I listen to them talk about roller-skating. Alexandria comes in, a sweated mess yet still somehow put together with her curled hair and perfectly done eyeliner. She is complaining about her walk to school, as usual. She should really stop smoking. Cassidy comes in and talks about her new boyfriend. I smile but feel a stab of envy in the back of my mind. I wonder why I can’t walk into school one day, excited, smiling like an idiot, totally in love with my brand spankin’-new boyfriend. But, I’m still happy for her, because she’s my friend.
Then, his huge black binder slams down on the table and he drops his things by the seat beside me. Always the seat beside me. Maybe because I make it that way, but I’d like to think otherwise. Jordan. Then, he is off running, always on a mission. The times when he is stopped, when he is sitting still, almost seem rushed. He buys a chocolate chip muffin. I buy a cinnamon roll, like I do every morning. We sit down and eat. He talks to me about his weekend and I listen. We share his muffin. It’s delicious. Cassidy is now talking about her weekend and says something that makes us all laugh.
I love to hear him laugh. He laughs like a complete dork.
I watch him as he talks. Does he notice?
I noticed something about the way I feel about him. When I see him, I don’t go insane inside. My heart doesn’t beat fast, my thoughts don’t scatter. Sometimes, I feel my stomach do a little flip-flop when I realize that it’s merely minutes until I get to see him, to be near him, to talk to him. I’m not nervous. I’m comfortable. Is this a good thing? It feels like one.
As he leaves in that fast, dramatic, awkward way of his, I watch him go. I smile, because all I can think is You’re amazing in the weirdest way. I want you to like me. Do you like me? Do you like me the way I like you?
I walk through the rest of the morning, dazed, tired and deep in thought. The Chemistry teacher calls on me and I’m clueless with an empty worksheet. In Drawing, my mind pauses for only a few minutes to focus only on my sketch and the calm music playing softly in my ears. Next, Geometry and History. Time to hit play again. I eat lunch with David, and we talk and talk and talk. We talk about weird stuff and laugh. After these past few months, I would say with no doubts that David is one of my best friends. I spend most of every day with him. His sarcastic comments and mean and perverted gay-guy attitude amuse me to no end. I really like that David spends so much time with me, because I hope it teaches him to be kinder and more open-minded. Not very often does David say anything nice about someone, and I’m constantly sticking up for people around him. But, nonetheless, I love him all the same.
The day flies by. I listen to Asking Alexandria in French. It’s been a while since I listened to Asking Alexandria. I don’t pay attention in English, though I usually do. And before I know it, the end of the day has arrived and I am outside sitting on a bench next to Jordan. He talks about rolling down a hill and crashing into a generator in gym class and I try not to laugh, though I do feel bad for him. I caress his head when he shows me where he hurt it and a lump was forming beneath his hair. I wonder if he feels the love in my touch. We talk about random things as we usually do until his bus shows up. He walks away and climbs aboard the huge yellow vehicle as the doors hiss open. I smile, remembering when he had compared the newer buses to trains. I said they looked like submarines. He had said, "Now I know what the Beatles were talking about!" We laughed. I love that laugh.
I go to band practice and laugh with all of my bandgeek friends until tears are in my eyes, and I fear my makeup has started to run. Then, I go home, ignore my never-ending doom of homework and work on this blog post.
Today's song of the day is "I Am The Highway" by Audioslave. You may have heard it on the radio before, because I know I have. My dad gave my an Audioslave CD today to put into my iTunes library because he knew I would like it. He told me to listen to "I Am The Highway" because it was his favorite by them. I listened to it. I'm still listening to it. Have you ever heard a song and it just struck a chord (no pun intended) deep inside of you? This song is so beautiful, like the song is straight from the writer's heart, and the music emphasizes that. The song just really gets to know, you know? You just can' listen to something else for a while after listening to "I Am The Highway."
Today has been a typical warm November day. November 14, 2011, to be exact. A day walking around school, going through the motions, on a mission, plowing through the heaps of snow that are my life in my sister’s black combat boots.
A day so typical that I
just wanted to write about it.
Soundtrack Of My Life
Have you ever pondered what it would be like if there was a movie about your life? What actors and actresses would play you and all of the people in your life? Would the audience be intrigued or bored to tears? What would the the movie be called?
One thing that I wonder about my life-based movie is what songs would be played throughout the movie? And why?
There are many songs that when I listen to them, I feel that they define me, in a way, whether it be the words, the music, or just having a fond love for the song. They are my songs, you know? The kind of songs that just relate so much to your life that the writer of the song must have been secretly spying on you for inspiration. Or the kind of songs where a few lines just jump out at you form the music, and just scream in your face: "This is you."
If my life were a movie, these would be the songs released on the soundtrack. The Soundtrack Of My Life.
1.) "A Candlelit Dinner With Inamorta" - Asking Alexandria
This song is the first song I find myself listening to when I'm sad or angry. During my freshman year, this song was number one on my top twenty-five on iTunes. I had listened it nearly three hundred times all the way through! This song was my obsession. "With eyes closed, her heart breaks, and through it all, she brought this on herself." Not only does it apply to my own life, I've found it relates to other people's lives, too. Like Yuuki and January. Everyone goes something that breaks their heart, but every situation is different. For me, it was feeling heartbroken over Light, but I had brought it upon myself, because I didn't even know him. Yuuki and Oliver. January and her torturers. There's no running from the pain that all of these things put me through, so I might as well just grin and bear it. What better way to do that than having this song blasting in my ears?
2.) "Bewitched" - Blood On The Dance Floor
I just thought I'd put this one on the list, because it was (and sometimes still is) the Light song, which I mentioned in previous posts about him. Light is part of my life story, isn't he? My experience with him related to just about every line in this song, that feeling of hopelessly loving someone that is destroying you. And it concludes with that free, beautiful feeling of letting them go.
3.) "Boyfriend" - Best Coast
"I wish he was my boyfriend. I wish he was my boyfriend. I'd love him to the very end, but instead he is just a friend. I wish he was my boyfriend." I can relate to this one right now. At least it helps me realize that I'm not the only one stuck in the friend zone, dying to get out.
4.) "Chelsea Smile" - Bring Me The Horizon
I chose this song for this list, even though it doesn’t make a lot of sense. This song is about so many things that don’t really make sense put together. It is about having a secret, the end of the world, having doubts in God. You know, your typical screamo song. But in some ways, this song kind of defines some parts of me. It’s the perfect song for any mood. It’s fast, intense, catchy.
5.) “Stay With Me” – Breathe Electric
This song is easy for me to relate to, but not in a romantic relationship way. This song actually reminds me of January. It reminds me of no matter what happens to her, no matter what people say about her, no matter what people think of me, I’ll keep being her friend. I won’t leave her when everyone else does, and they already started leaving a long time ago.
6.) “Comedown” – Bush
Now, this is an amazing song. But, it doesn’t exactly relate to my life, except in one way. This song is the last song my mom listened to before she gave birth to Yuuki and I. Every time I hear it, I always feel like I’ve known it for so long. It feels so familiar. I guess that’s why.
7.) “Stratovolcano Mouth” – Chiodos
i think this song is keeping your feelings to yourself for so long, that one day you can't hold back anymore. They'll explode from your mouth. There is always something that you keep from someone, and sometimes it's so hard to keep it from them. Trust me, I know.
8.) “Fallin’ For You” – Colbie Caillat
This is one of the major Jordan songs. The words are so relatable. The song just captures the essence of falling for someone that you have just met, and wondering if you should let them know how you feel. Also known as my life.
9.) “All I Want”- A Day To Remember
“All I Want” is my favorite ADTR song, because it has so much feeling. It’s fast and intense, and the words are so angry and powerful. It can either be your “top of the world” song, or it can be your “I hate my life” song. It works either way.
10.) “Six Days” (Original Version) – DJ Shadow
This song doesn’t describe any part of my life. Actually, this song doesn’t make any sense at all, but this is what I call my “Drawing Song.” I call it this because it is very calming to listen to when you’re drawing. I always listen to this at least once a week in Drawing class. I also listen to it when I’m writing, when I’m trying to fall asleep, when I’m in an indie mood, or if I simply want to calm down. Because that’s what the song has: a calming effect. Seriously, it’s like a lullaby. If you’re an insomniac, you should look it up. *Laughs.* I’m actually being serious.
11.) “Cosmic Love” – Florence And The Machine
This is another one of my “Drawing Songs.” Indie music is just very inspirational. Also, I love the lyrics to this song. It’s very poetic, and the music is very powerful and almost, like, hypnotizing. If you’re not really a fan of indie, I would really suggest getting more into it. It’s like a dose of calm, content, power for your soul.
12.) “Lovey Love” – He Is We
Sappy and cliché, this song reminds me that even though I lose faith in love, it’s still out there waiting for me. The lyrics are practically like the sequel to this little four-line poem I wrote when I was in seventh grade, called “Chasing Love.” I think I have it memorized, actually.
“The love I want is running from me, it’s driving me crazy
I run so fast, but no matter what I do, I’ll still behind it
I can still see it up ahead, but the image is hazy
Maybe I should stop chasing love, and then someday I’ll find it”
By the way, I think this is copyrighted. Even if it’s not, it’s still my original work, so a quick note to any readers, don’t be stupid.
Anyway, I feel that “Lovey Love” would be like a sequel to this poem. The only problem is, it’s been almost four years since I wrote that poem, and my sequel still hasn’t been written. I guess… I’ll have to write it myself.
13.) “Trouble” – Never Shout Never
This song is just great. It’s been one of my favorites since eighth grade, and I still love listening to it. The words are so creative and cute. <3 Alexandria and I had a dance to go along with this song and everything. We were doing it on the band bus two weeks ago, actually.
14.) “Vanilla Twilight” – Owl City
“Vanilla Twilight” is just one of those songs, one of those songs I know every single detail about. I know all the words, I know how to play it on the guitar, I even know why Adam Young wrote it. It was my absolute favorite song when I was thirteen, and listening to it now brings back so many memories, times and reasons why I’ve listened to it in the past. Have you ever gotten that feeling when you’re listening to a song, almost like déjà vu? It’s just this odd feeling that’s almost like a memory, a faded version of a way you felt when listening to the song at some other point in your life. “Vanilla Twilight” is a major déjà vu song for my eighth grade year. It brings back the sadness I went through, the hopeless obsession with Grey. It brings back the time I sang it with him on the band bus. Thinking about how much things have changed in such a short time can kind of make you feel weirdly empty, you know?
15.) “C’mon” – Panic! At The Disco
This song is cute. The words and music just have so much hope. The combination of instruments and the two singer’s voices just make it sound so… Disney. That is the best word I can think of for a description.
16.) "Anything But Ordinary" - Avril Lavigne
"To walk within the lines would make my life so boring." This song is about wanting your life to be exciting, wanting to be different, not minding being weird, because you would rather be anything but ordinary.
17.) "Laminated E.T. Animal" - Destroy Rebuild Rebuild Until God Shows
It took me a few times listening to this one and also looking up the lyrics until I finally got what it was about. It's about me. Now, I know it's not actually about me, and I still don't really know what it's about. But, the words just really speak to me, you know? They describe me, some of my situations in life, some of my personality traits, some of the things I do. Explanation? Here it is.
"If you're looking to me, I must confess you're like an answer lost deep in loneliness. I'm just a question, I'm just full of passion. You aim and you miss. If we keep fighting who we are, we won't hit anything.
It's like I'm stabbing in the dark, it's like I feel to much, but I can't find my heart. It's like I'm stabbing in the dark, it's like I think to much and then I fall apart, like stabbing in the dark.
Eyes set on me like I'm an answer, just a question you missed, a complete disaster. Just a person, probably the worst one, loose-lipped and shoulders chipped…
Yet, still I'm here. I'm singing for you."
18.) "Same Dumb Excuse (Nothing To Lose)" - Forever The Sickest Kids
I should be brave with nothing to lose
that's how I was until the day I met you
now I'm afraid that I don't know what to do
a couple of things I really gotta tell you
Dive off a cliff, jump from a plane
all sounds easier than what I've gotta say
go for a swim with sharks in the sea
oh, sounds easier than me telling it to you straight
I've got nothing to lose
I've got nothing to lose but you
If I just say nothing, you'll never hear the truth
I can't keep using the same dumb excuse
Cause I've got nothing to lose
I've got nothing to lose..but you
To get you to laugh, get you to smile
get you to tell the world that you're on my side
Make me a star, at least in your eyes
Let's take on the world
But, first I gotta make you mine..
No, the words ain't coming out
But, tonight it's going down
cause I've got nothing to loseI
I've got nothing to lose…. but you.
My life? I'm thinking yes. Did I mention that Jordan still doesn't know yet? I'm thinking about telling him on Wednesday, November 16, 2011, unless circumstances move it to an earlier or later date. That's in three days. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
19.) "City" - Hollywood Undead
Have you ever been so mad that you wanted to burn down a city? Not that you had any intention of hurting anyone in the city, just because you wanted to watch the fire? Watch something being destroyed, so your heart isn't the only thing?
If so, listen to this song.
20.) "The One That Got Away" - Katy Perry
I like this song. Katy Perry has to be my popular music guilty pleasure. :)
21.) "Why Can't I" - Liz Phair
Ultimate sappy chick song. I love it. <3 "Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you? Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you?" How many people just read that to the tune of the song? Anyway, this song makes me smile, and it makes me think about Jordan.
22.) "Undisclosed Desire" - Muse
During my drawing class, my art teacher plays music from his iPod. That is where I heard this song for the first time. Ever since I had asked him for the name of the song and downloaded it, I can't stop listening to it. It's a beautiful song. Mysterious. Calm, but with a distinct beat and and upbeat sounding tune.
23.) "Speak Up" - Show Me The Skyline
This song is amazing. It's like caffeine for your ears. It's upbeat and fast, electronic and poppy with a loud beat in the background. It has adorable lyrics. I would love to kick off my shoes and dance with someone to this song. <3
24.) "Punch-Drunk Love" - The Summer Set
I think that because we're nearing the end of the list (I'm thinking this is the last one..), the songs are slowly going for songs I relate to emotionally to songs that I just simply love. This song has absolutely nothing to do with my life, but I listen to it constantly. It is the "A Candlelit Dinner With Inamorta" of this school year. Good thing it's the kind of song that can instantly put me in a better mood. It has a cute tune, funny, creative lyrics, and The Summer Set is one of my current favorite bands.
Well, that's it.
These are my songs. Weird combination, right? Well, put together, these songs describe me. They define me. They highlight my feelings, my personality, my situations. They are the Soundtrack Of My Life.
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