The World Spins Madly On

Why am I expected to care about your feelings when you all so openly disregard mine? I put so much into an unbalanced relationship, but the second I stop forgiving their unspoken apologies, shit hits the fan. I’m the one who was left behind. I’m the one who spent New Year’s crying while you all got wasted. But I’m the one who needs to apologize? I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I did to deserve any of this. I feel like this is karma for mistakes unrelated, but the least fate could do is give me a superficial reason for all the sudden contempt. I have my heart telling me to just go back to them, find some random reason to apologize and hope it’s the one they’re looking for. My mind is telling me that I could do better, that I deserve better. And from the outside looking in, it would be obvious I should move on. But I’ve invested so much of my time into the friendships, where would I go from here? With only a semester left of high school, it seems I might as well deal with it. I don’t want to spend the rest of my senior year alone. But I don’t know how much longer I can take being trampled on. I don’t know how much longer I can take constantly supporting my friends and never having the conversation about me. I’ve always been depressed to some extent, but these last few months have been the worst. You would think my friends would notice if I’m this unhappy. It’s been brought to attention once, and the subject was quickly changed to their problems. I have to admit that I’m not the easiest one to turn the direction of the conversation toward, but aren’t friends there to make you talk? Maybe it’s because I am such a giving friend that I expect the same from others. I’m not saying this to brag, we all have our faults, but being a friend is not one of mine. So I think for once I’m going to ride it out, wait for an apology. If they come back, they come back, but I refuse to crawl back to them again.

For once I have people in my life that I can count on. I know this is for the long term and I can feel it helping me. I confess to them everything. Every thought, every wish, and there has yet to be a judgement. Their support never falters. It's something I need in my life right now, stability. With the constant havoc inside my home and my head, it's nice to get away for a while. No need to impress anyone -- no sugar-coating or secrets. 


And while they might not know exactly what's going on, they sure as hell try to understand. They relate with issues of their own, but not competitively. It's out of love. Wanting me to know I'm not alone, not a contest on who has had it worse. 


I trust them. That's not an easy sentence for me to write, it's not common for people to enter my life and stay, but I find myself opening up to them. Things I've never even admitted to myself I find telling them. In a way I think it's just another of my fucked up tests: how long will they stay now? But I realize this is real. This is true friendship.

I remember when writing was my world. I made promises to write on my blog daily, which obviously, were broken. I dreamt of published novels, articles in Cosmo or Nat Geo or the San Francisco Chronicle. It's weird the way I grew; I started high school knowing who I was better than I do now. I knew I was going to write. I knew how I wrote and what I wrote about. I knew who I was. Then came the constant worry of being accepted, both at home and at school. So I drifted, forgot about the blog, and for a while there, about writing all together. I started dreaming of how my life could play out. I dappled in the ideas of owning my own businesses or becoming a Criminal Profiler, but those only cover one aspect of my life. Writing can consume everything. Sure, I could get degrees in as many things as possible, as a fall back, but writing is my passion. Writing will be my world.

200th post.

I can't tell you how unhappy I am. It's sad when you start to realize how little your family cares. Friends? they've always been just been thinly covered lies. There when you need them, but only because they're desperate for gossip, turning your personal tragedies into their bragging rights. But family is there forever. A mother to run to about silly fights and daily dramas, a father to be eternally proud of you -- the love is unconditional. For me, though, family means a step-mom who's repulsed by your existence one second then wishes you were closer the next and a father who can't speak more than three words without yelling and insults then leaves you crying of laughter seconds later. Even with this fucked up web of love and hate, I'll still defend them to the last day. "My mom has insomnia, so she was just really tired when she said all of that." "My dad's just been really stressed out since my sister was born, it's hard having a two year old." And just that easy, I lie to the whole world.


Then you have your friends, those ones that you call with a bad day, seeming to go through it all with you. Asking if you're alright but secretly praying you don't ruin the night with all your depressing drama. They'll never truly understand what you're going through. Sure, they might be sad themselves, maybe even prescribed help, but everyone is different. I've grown up without a mom, so to me having a full family, gorgeous body, and everyone loving you, yet still being insecure doesn't really appear on my radar. Of course I care my friends are hurting, I'm probably the one that cares the most. Bad day? I'm over there in a heartbeat with ice cream and a hand to hold. But where is that for me? Why when I put such effort into us, does my side go unacknowledged?


I guess that all just goes back to the fact that they'll never be able to see what I'm going through. They're the friends I call with a bad day in class or a fight with a friend, but if the topic gets too personal or vulnerable, the phone remains untouched. Just sleep off the negativity, and somehow I always wake up with a smile. No matter that I am actually completely alone, I somehow find the ability every time, to tuck it all away beneath a smile. Because who wants to hear that your mom and you ended the night cussing each other out? That's ghetto. And who wants to hear that your dad got mad and pushed you to the ground? That's borderline abuse. Anything that puts them in an awkward situation, makes them uncomfortable, or the worst -- pity you, those are the things you keep to yourself.


Maybe it's best I'm so good at hiding it all. Sure, there's the vague emotional status online, or a night where you breakdown with your friends. The times where for a moment you feel good you got it off your chest. Content despite the fact that the problems remain unfixed, just relieved you don't feel like the weight lies completely on you anymore; someone is there propping you up. Then you remember that these are temporary pains, all the fixables. You remember that the real issues tearing you apart inside, continue doing just that. The longer they are left alone with their roots planting deeper, the more likely the branches will destroy you.


Which leads me to think it's best to let it out and if the friends go running, so be it. But how pathetic would I sound with my petty arguments? Nobody is going to understand the runnings of my family. They're not going to understand that while the fight may have been about something as stupid as an inside-out cardigan, it picked away at what little relations we had left. That each fight brings me closer and closer to a mistake I won't be here to regret. Or there's the chance that it truly is nothing, and that by just saying it aloud, I'm speaking it into existence.


With all these what-if's, I have decided my opinion -- at least momentarily. I may have come to terms with this now, but I know there will always be that internal debate. But at the moment, and in a majority of my past moments, I believe it's best to leave it be. It's better it be left to rot your soul rather than risk affirmation of your deepest fears and have rejection prove that you really are alone in this world.

Unfinished

I talk too much
I laugh too loud
I cry too easily
I hurt too often
I obsess too quickly
I love too unconditionally
I trust too many
I judge too unfairly
I worry too frequently
I care too endless

I grew up and lost myself along the way. I sacrificed my opinion of myself for the opinion of others.

I miss me.

I miss the girl who knew who she was.
Who was comfortable with wearing goodwill flannels and throwing her hair up.
I miss reading every day while listening to records.
The girl who hardly ever judged and likewise never considered what others thought of her.
I knew where I was going. I knew why I wanted to be there.
I've always been addicted to change, but I never thought I would drift this far away.

I feel like my brain is being scrambled by a whisk.
Everything slowly starts to shut down.
Eyes stop crying.
Mouth stops moving.
Neck stiff and back straight, I go numb to face the pain.

Mindless Babble

I don't cut because I don't want to add any more flaws to my appearance.
I don't starve myself because food is the only constant in my life.
I don't purge because I don't want anyone to know anything is wrong.
I don't write any more and it's slowly causing me to try these.
I can't stand to be around myself anymore, but at the same time I'm falling more and more in love with my taste. But movies, music, and fashion is not saving me from my attitude, my weight, my life. For the first time in my life I have a group. A set place where I belong. I'm going to lose them like everyone else. I'm surprised they've put up with me this long. Each day I grow bitchier and bitchier, testing them -- pushing them away to test my limits.
I know I'm depressed. It's a battle I've been fighting to admit for years. The weekdays just blur by, but the weekends. The weekends are when I live, if not only for the Facebook pictures, I party for the smoke and drink. The feeling of being completely out of control. An excuse for being annoying. I think that's the biggest pro for me, is a blame for my constant running mouth, my bitchy comments.
I can't believe I'm writing again. I cried my way through this but it gives life a little more meaning.

It's always scary when you're happy. You know that what goes up, must come back down.

I believe that everyone's biggest fear is being alone.
I face that fear everyday.

These phases are normal.

Every action has a reaction: every smile, a tear.

Nobody truly deserves happiness if they can't make it work for them.

We all have a long way to go.

Honest Reservations

Doubts flash over and over.

By not trusting myself, I don't let anyone else.

I've learned to expect the worst from people.

Back to that ever haunting wall.

Even writing this right now, I'm putting a wall up.

I haven't written in months.

I block out the positive, focus on all of my regrets.

Every mistake, every possible consequence.

I've let secrets grow in my mind. 

I'm used to letting out the poison.

Always the first to apologize,

but I guess that's out of fear of abandonment.

Things are just too different.

I thought I wanted change but I'm not sure I can handle it.

The terminals all carry a burden, each gate a sad goodbye.
The saltwater of the tears slick the floors of the airport.
The terminals all carry a gift, each gate filled with hope.
Those tears are mopped up by the smiles of the happy.

Read it how you please. See what you want to see. A sign is yours to interpret. Look to the skies and you'll never fall. The clouds will lead you, the stars will guide you.

She talks to herself because there's no one else.

Tears at the beginning of my long journey home, I cry myself out and reach a state of total numbness. A layover brings me back to the real world, I'm reaching normalcy. A simple call awakens me and I'm excited. Ready to start my new life. Ready to prepare for those days that I come bhack and start a new life with her, better late than  never.

Nails digging into my skin, I embrace the pain. Better there be blood than tears. She's telling me the story of my childhood. A straight face, she means no harm. So palms pressed into my thighs, I count my breaths. My lips clamp onto my straw to keep from quivering. The pain that's not just mine, but my sister's. The slap across her innocent face makes my cheek burn, the hunger in her stomach makes my full one ache. Stories that make me realize how protected I was. A father fighting the one he once loved to keep me from knowing such a cold world existed, if only for a few years. Memories rush back of a small hand grasping my even smaller one, pulling me from danger. All of these emotions in the blink of an eye and I'm back to listening to the saddest story I know.

Maybe, but I'll never know.

I write the me that only I know. It's not others' faults for not knowing, after all, it's all just one big lie. Smoke and mirrors shroud the truth. A mask for the soul hides the parts I want shown. Flaws sneak through and I dream of the maybes. The never-knows. Maybe there are lies for a reason. The untapped beauty of a soul is to remain to oneself. Maybe by writing all these thoughts, speaking them aloud, I'm messing with powers higher than me. Bringing ugly into this perfect world. Loneliness is in fact a gift. Yet another theory that life throws upon us, or that I find myself digging into the mystery of.

The glitter of the ocean blinds the dreamers,
makes them realize how large the world is.
Their footprints in the sand slipping away with the tides,
the salt of their tears collects.
A child steps into the sea.
Splashes the water and drifts with the current.
He tastes the pain with every rush of water.
The sorrow crashes against him harder than any wave could.
A tsunami of emotions spanning the world.
Each drop of the ocean another story,
swallowing you,
overcome with empathy,
you drown.
There is no place for dreaming in reality.