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.
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