Fragile

It’s hard to write right now without writing about love. It’s hard to write without a response back, telling me it’s going to be okay. It’s hard for me to write without him holding me, playing video games or something so he’s not looking over my shoulders. It’s hard for me to write at all. I can’t begin to tell you my story without telling you the end, but maybe the beginning of the end is a good place to start.

He would call me psychotic, because I was a little jealous. I didn’t like my boyfriend texting other girls, and I appreciated knowing where he was. My favorite store was going out of business, a store that I worked for, a store that I loved. I saw the worse in people those few months, and I often came home crying because of the amount of disrespect I was handed on a silver platter every day and night.

One day, this woman begins yelling at one of my fellow employees. It was about something stupid, because she couldn’t get an extra discount, but she was yelling at her, calling her stupid and all kinds of derogatory terms. I wondered over, after my own customer and saw my fellow employees face—full of fear.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry you lost your $20, but we’re losing our jobs. We’re not getting any severance pay, and unfortunately this is the only thing a lot of us have.”

She wasn’t too happy with that, and she said a few choice words to me and fumed off. I hugged my coworker and told her to go take a break. That was something that happened like clockwork. A single person would never be on the floor and would always be somewhere else, just to get away from the chaos, if only for a few minutes.

I told my boyfriend this, his name is Joe. I texted him.

“I’m not having a good day at work today.”

“What happened?” I told him about the lady, without refraining from using her insults and he responded back “I’m sorry baby, remember I love you. Want me to do something special when you get home?”

“All I want right now is a foot rub and to relax with just you, maybe have a glass of wine.”

“I can arrange that, I’ll get a movie and we’ll just have a quiet night in.”

I was excited for the rest of the night. I didn’t let anything else get to me. I rang people up like a hallowed out ghost and didn’t let a single one of them in on my psyche. When I finally got out that night, around eleven o’clock, I called him. No answer. I called him again. No answer. I sent him a text and sat in the parking lot, waiting for a reply and after ten minutes there was still no answer.

I began to head home. It’s not considered cool to sit in your work parking lot, while you wait for a guy to call you back. While I was driving, I noticed the road that two of his friends lived off of. I thought, “Hey, I could just stop by and see if he’s there, he might not be answering because he’s busy visiting or something.”

Pulling into their court, my headlights illuminated everything; a bunch of kids from high school, playing football in the middle of the street. I knew he was involved in the game, and there were so many people. I just simply turned around and went back the way I came. I didn’t feel like visiting with that many people when I was already upset.

He told them I was checking up on him, because I didn’t trust him. He told them that I probably thought he was taking shots or something. I just wanted a night with my boyfriend after a stressful day at work, is that too hard?

Joe had this habit of lying. There were many times where something would happen and he’d blame it on me. His friends would ask to hang out, and he’d say I wouldn’t let him. Then he’d tell me “I just don’t feel like spending time with anyone but you.” Unfortunately, that earned me quite the reputation for being a crazy girlfriend.

We started fighting. Everyone knew that we were fighting, but everyone also knew that we loved each other; except his friends I guess. Every time he hung out with them, he’d come back with a new thing to fight with me about. He would say that I was causing the drama, but it was always him. He’s the one who texted a girl telling her he missed her, and wished she could be with him that night, I took the rep for that one too.

He told me he just didn’t like hanging out with his friends anymore. He told me they were immature, and that they just didn’t understand. He stopped hanging out with them. It was always his choice. They didn’t like that very much, but they blamed me without him even saying it. I became the scapegoat for everything.

It gets to you, ya know? Everyone hated me. He would force me not to hang out with my friends. He would force me not even text them. I felt so alone. He would check my phone, and even though I had done it to him previously, he wouldn’t allow me to check his.

That’s because he was once again texting another girl. On Saturday night, he slept with her. I was his first, and he used everything that I taught him, everything we had learned together, for someone else. On Sunday night, he broke up with me. He told me he just wanted to go into the next area of his life alone, and I believed it. I was sad, but I believed it.

You’d think after two years someone would at least give you the decency of telling you the truth. I don’t believe he doesn’t love me, but I also don’t believe that that matters. I sent him a text the other day and I asked him, “Do you really want me to be over you, because I’ll sleep with someone tonight.” And he sent me back one word,

“Yes.”

My heart dropped, I couldn’t do anything with anyone but him. I can’t do anything with anyone but him.

I’m a beautiful, single young lady. The boys in the lounge make me alternate laps so that they can ensure that everyone gets fair treatment. I’ve been asked out 5 times in the last two days. Apparently I just have the aura of being single. All of a sudden, everyone who has covered up their feelings has stopped covering them.

It’s nice, because I’m never alone. Mom calls me a slut, because there are constantly guys in and out of my bed. I only sleep with them—and I mean actually sleep. For the last two years, I haven’t slept alone and it scares me to all hell.

I know it’s stupid. I know that I’m juvenile, and that I’m a teenager and that my heart’s supposed to be indestructible. It’s not though. I’m not indestructible. I can’t hang on any longer, and I’m done thinking about it.

There was this time that I came home from work and cuddled into his arms and I told him “All I want right now is some Chocolate Chip cookies.” He got up, in a rush, and began putting on his blue jeans. “What?”

“Then let’s go get some!” he said as he kissed my forehead.

We went to Walmart, at 1 am to get cookie dough because it would make me happy. When we got home, I tried to give him a bite of dough, and he said something along the lines of it being gross and unhealthy for you, even though me and him had once gone to the store only for cookie dough and ate through the entire carton. He yelled at me, telling me that I was insensitive of his dreams of being in shape so he could join the marines.

He’s the one who popped out of bed just to get me cookie dough. He’s the one who once held me, but turned away from my computer screen so that I could write.

When he left me, he told everyone that we’ve just been friends with benefits for the last month. He’s been showing off other girls, and sleeping with other girls. His friends say I don’t have any right to be upset because we weren’t actually dating. They say I’m being a drama queen.

He asked me to marry him. He said things like “I hope you know that after I get back from boot camp, I intend to propose to you.” He talked about it with my mother.

I know you probably think, “Why would you marry a jerk like that?” And the only answer that I can give you, is he wasn’t always a jerk. He says he can’t be with me because he’s an ass hole. He is one, but he didn’t used to be. He used to be the guy that smiled, and held me when I was too afraid to go to the dentist for the first time in two years. He let me cry. He rocked me, and calmed me down, just like he loved me, and he held my hand and told me he’d be there every step of the way.

Where are you now Joe? I’m afraid of myself, and you’re not around. I’m afraid of my fears and what they might turn into, and I’m alone in a bed, writing a story without you holding me and looking away.

If I told you I was in crisis mode, would you come? Would you hold my hand, and play with my hair and stroke the back of my arms? Would you sleep with me, and let me cry it all out until I didn’t have anything anymore left to give, and would you be there when I woke up?

The only thing bad about having guys in your bed is they’re never there when you wake up. They’re never there to fix your bed hair or tell you what outfit might look good that day, or what they want to see. They can’t hug you when you wake up from a bad dream, and they can’t keep your bad dreams away.

I dreamt about you tonight Joe. I dreamt that you came to me, and you said “I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life, and despite what everyone says or thinks, we’re going to work through this, and we’re going to be us again.”

I took you back. I would take you back, if you were here while I was in crisis mode.
Tonight I’m alone. I’m sitting here, holding my baby blankets and my computer on my lap. I’m watching my 43” television. My rabbits asleep next to the igloo that he bought her, and there are a bottle of pain meds within arm’s reach.

Everyone tells me it’ll get better. Everyone tells me I need to wait it out. Maybe I don’t want to wait it out. Maybe I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else. I used to tell people that he was my soul mate. It sounds so stupid now, but in the 2 years we were dating, I can count the fights that we had on one hand. You can’t tell me that that’s a bad match.

I miss the way he stroked my arms with his finger tips. I miss the way he’d rub my back when I was stressed out. I miss the way he looked away from my computer when I wrote.

Who’s holding me now while I spread these words across these pages? Who’s not looking? He sure isn’t, and he wouldn’t look if I reached over and I picked up the pills and I took them.

Oh God.

Unfinished.

It’s hard to write right now without writing about love. It’s hard to write without a response back, telling me it’s going to be okay. It’s hard for me to write without him holding me, playing video games or something so he’s not looking over my shoulders. It’s hard for me to write at all. I can’t begin to tell you my story without telling you the end, but maybe the beginning of the end is a good place to start.
He would call me psychotic, because I was a little jealous. I didn’t like my boyfriend texting other girls, and I appreciated knowing where he was. My favorite store was going out of business, a store that I worked for, a store that I loved. I saw the worse in people those few months, and I often came home crying because of the amount of disrespect I was handed on a silver platter every day and night.
One day, this woman begins yelling at one of my fellow employees. It was about something stupid, because she couldn’t get an extra discount, but she was yelling at her, calling her stupid and all kinds of derogatory terms. I wondered over, after my own customer and saw my fellow employees face—full of fear.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry you lost your $20, but we’re losing our jobs. We’re not getting any severance pay, and unfortunately this is the only thing a lot of us have.”
She wasn’t too happy with that, and she said a few choice words to me and fumed off. I hugged my coworker and told her to go take a break. That was something that happened like clockwork. A single person would never be on the floor and would always be somewhere else, just to get away from the chaos, if only for a few minutes.
I told my boyfriend this, his name is Joe. I texted him.
“I’m not having a good day at work today.”
“What happened?” I told him about the lady, without refraining from using her insults and he responded back “I’m sorry baby, remember I love you. Want me to do something special when you get home?”
“All I want right now is a foot rub and to relax with just you, maybe have a glass of wine.”
“I can arrange that, I’ll get a movie and we’ll just have a quiet night in.”
I was excited for the rest of the night. I didn’t let anything else get to me. I rang people up like a hallowed out ghost and didn’t let a single one of them in on my psyche. When I finally got out that night, around eleven o’clock, I called him. No answer. I called him again. No answer. I sent him a text and sat in the parking lot, waiting for a reply and after ten minutes there was still no answer.
I began to head home. It’s not considered cool to sit in your work parking lot, while you wait for a guy to call you back. While I was driving, I noticed the road that two of his friends lived off of. I thought, “Hey, I could just stop by and see if he’s there, he might not be answering because he’s busy visiting or something.”
Pulling into their court, my headlights illuminated everything; a bunch of kids from high school, playing football in the middle of the street. I knew he was involved in the game, and there were so many people. I just simply turned around and went back the way I came. I didn’t feel like visiting with that many people when I was already upset.
He told them I was checking up on him, because I didn’t trust him. He told them that I probably thought he was taking shots or something. I just wanted a night with my boyfriend after a stressful day at work, is that too hard?
Joe had this habit of lying. There were many times where something would happen and he’d blame it on me. His friends would ask to hang out, and he’d say I wouldn’t let him. Then he’d tell me “I just don’t feel like spending time with anyone but you.” Unfortunately, that earned me quite the reputation for being a crazy girlfriend.
We started fighting. Everyone knew that we were fighting, but everyone also knew that we loved each other; except his friends I guess. Every time he hung out with them, he’d come back with a new thing to fight with me about. He would say that I was causing the drama, but it was always him. He’s the one who texted a girl telling her he missed her, and wished she could be with him that night, I took the rep for that one too.
He told me he just didn’t like hanging out with his friends anymore. He told me they were immature, and that they just didn’t understand. He stopped hanging out with them. It was always his choice. They didn’t like that very much, but they blamed me without him even saying it. I became the scapegoat for everything.
It gets to you, ya know? Everyone hated me. He would force me not to hang out with my friends. He would force me not even text them. I felt so alone. He would check my phone, and even though I had done it to him previously, he wouldn’t allow me to check his.
That’s because he was once again texting another girl. On Saturday night, he slept with her. I was his first, and he used everything that I taught him, everything we had learned together, for someone else. On Sunday night, he broke up with me. He told me he just wanted to go into the next area of his life alone, and I believed it. I was sad, but I believed it.
You’d think after two years someone would at least give you the decency of telling you the truth. I don’t believe he doesn’t love me, but I also don’t believe that that matters. I sent him a text the other day and I asked him, “Do you really want me to be over you, because I’ll sleep with someone tonight.” And he sent me back one word,
“Yes.”
My heart dropped, I couldn’t do anything with anyone but him. I can’t do anything with anyone but him.
I’m a beautiful, single young lady. The boys in the lounge make me alternate laps so that they can ensure that everyone gets fair treatment. I’ve been asked out 5 times in the last two days. Apparently I just have the aura of being single. All of a sudden, everyone who has covered up their feelings has stopped covering them.
It’s nice, because I’m never alone. Mom calls me a slut, because there are constantly guys in and out of my bed. I only sleep with them—and I mean actually sleep. For the last two years, I haven’t slept alone and it scares me to all hell.
Tonight I’m alone. I’m sitting here, holding my baby blankets and my computer on my lap. I’m watching my 43” television. My rabbits asleep next to the igloo that he bought her, and there are a bottle of pain meds within arm’s reach.
Everyone tells me it’ll get better. Everyone tells me I need to wait it out. Maybe I don’t want to wait it out. Maybe I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else. I used to tell people that he was my soul mate. It sounds so stupid now, but in the 2 years we were dating, I can count the fights that we had on one hand. You can’t tell me that that’s a bad match.
I miss the way he stroked my arms with his finger tips. I miss the way he’d rub my back when I was stressed out. I miss the way he looked away from my computer when I wrote.
I know it’s stupid. I know that I’m juvenile, and that I’m a teenager and that my heart’s supposed to be indestructible. It’s not though. I’m not indestructible. I can’t hang on any longer, and I’m done thinking about it.
There was this time that I came home from work and cuddled into his arms and I told him “All I want right now is some Chocolate Chip cookies.” He got up, in a rush, and began putting on his blue jeans. “What?”
“Then let’s go get some!” he said as he kissed my forehead.
We went to Walmart, at 1 am to get cookie dough because it would make me happy. When we got home, I tried to give hima bite of dough, and he said something along the lines of it being gross and unhealthy for you, even though me and him had once gone to the store only for cookie dough and ate through the entire carton. He yelled at me, telling me that I was insensitive of his dreams of being in shape so he could join the marines.
He’s the one who popped out of bed just to get me cookie dough.

Growing up

What's growing up? Does it mean knowing the answers to everyone's problems? Does it mean finally being the one to give all the advice? If the latter was the answer, i'd be a grown up, but i'm not one. To me, growing up is having the ability to deal with shit. It's the ability not to just get angry and throw your hands in the air and do things that are out of your character.

I think i handle problems pretty well. I could handle them better. I handle problems by being very angry but continuing to stay composed. Then, when i'm free from the stressful stimuli, i unload on pretty much whoever is around me. It's not the best method, but it's what keeps me sane. I want to get to that point where i don't have to vent off the extra steam, but i'm not grown up enough to do that. And-- i'll admit to it.

Here's what sucks about life. You finally go through all the pressure to get up the little life stairs. You climb up the mountains, avoid the wind and the bobcats, and when you get up there breathe a sigh of relief cause you're done. You're over it. However not all of us grow up at the same rate. We then sit and watch everyone else attempt to pull up themselves up these mountains while we sit and drink Pina Colada's right? Wrong. After we're finally done facing the mountain, we face another-- infinitely on, and at the same time people expect us to look back and fix them too. Give them an elevator ride up.

But there is none. There's like this broken pulley that you have to constantly pull to get them up to the new level. A broken pulley that gives you splinters as you pull, forcing sweat to your brow line and ruining your newly blow dried hair. I can't pull everyone up and that's just a fact, but i try, while still facing my own mountains head of me. Attempting to do everything.

The people in my broken pulleys constantly tell me to stop doing everything, but don't drop me they say. Drop that person-- that person's un-important. And that person tells me to drop the other person in the pulley who nominated him. So on, and so on, and so on.

I wish i could talk about marriage and babies and not feel entirely out of my element. Not feel that that one certain person is going to pull this own and pull the quotes off of it and blackmail me to shit and back about how much i should be doing anything but what i'm doing.

I don't know where this blog is going. So i'll end it here. My eyes are kind of swollen and red, and i could really use another Caramel Apple thingy that I still don't know the name to.

Thank you world.

People

"its funny how the people who know us the least have the most to say."
this is in regards to me thinking about how [people] are always curious about my love life or ask or make comments are how I am with the women, or ask if I'm dating you.

It just got me thinking, they really don't know 2 shits about me, but often talk to each other about me. For example, [they] told [each other] I was now seeing someone, and [then] made a comment about it. so it's just like, ugh. im not that special, stop talking about me so much.

This was Edited to remove names ;3.

A good friend of mine sent me this message the other day. I think what really struck me is his quote "It's funny how the people who know us the least have the most to say." unfortunatly, this is so abnormally truthfull. That's the reason i agreed to write a blog about it.

The problem is this. If you know someone really well, normally you don't go around talking about them. Unless they're your signifigant other and you're fourteen and think "ohmigod somebody loves me" which isn't true, just get over it, you're fourteen. I don't go around blibber blabbing about Theodore all the time, sometimes, yeah. But that's just normal.

We seem to talk about people that we're jealous of. "Oh, i'm jealous he has a love life and i have no self confidence so i'm just going to pick on him about it." That's not fair either guys. Just because someone seems more better off than you, never means that they don't have their own problems.

For example, i have one friend on academic probation right now because he found alcohol in college. He told me the other day "You have a 4.0, you don't understand what it is to have a hard life." Excuse me. With everything happenning with my mother i don't believe that you know what my life is about, so shut the fuck up and grow a pair of balls to realize that drinking every night of the week doesn't make you a grown up. [i don't even know if he actually said that, i'm just kind of ranting]

Any who. As people, we need to learn to be the stronger person and look at someone else and say "Hey, they've got something good in their life, but i'm sure they've got flaws too." Everyone has flaws. Something mom doesn't quite understand right now. Everyone has permission to do something wrong. In fact, do it wrong! That's how we LEARN.

The people who know us however, sometimes don't even know us-- on the other hand. They think, oh well i know that person so well, i don't have to work on their friendship. WRONG. That's how we get left behind at college with no reinforcements and mental disorders. I don't even want to talk to half of my friends in college because i haven't even gotten a message that said "Hi, how are you?"

It's common courtosy to keep up with your friends ya know, and you're just a dick if you don't realize this. Friends are friends because we support each other. Just because you spread rumors and lies, does not make you a friend, and ignoring the person completely equally doesn't.

I feel like this blog entry was really crappy so i'm sorry...

The lasik consultation is tomarrow and i'm worried about everything from Manassass to Cuba. Teddy's laying here, looking extra cute, breathing deeply, and wrapped in my warm snuggly blanket, so i may force him to calm my nerves. What do you do when you're so nervous and anxious that you can't sleep at night?

Or is that just my mental disorders weighing in?

Also, what's your thought at seeing therapists, should you see them early? Later? Balloon up because of the crazy ass drugs they put you on?

Maybe i'll say something about that tomarrow.

Sleep

Here's the truth: I haven't been sleeping regularly since my sophomore year of highschool. But, I haven't really been sleeping at all since the begginning of college. I know the reason.

There's no schedule.

I stay awake for homework, and don't just skip class because I haven't done it. I also will wake up on time, almost every day. Last semester there were only two classes i slept through, and that was with insomnia. That's pretty good i think.

People blame it on my caffeine intake, which has nothing to do with it, because as those silly friends from highschool will contest-- my coke addiction started well before highschool. It's just school, and the stress from school keeping me awake. Even after i finish a six page paper, i sit in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about what i could do to make it better, and this is at 4am, for a 9:30am class.

I've gotten pretty good about not letting myself becoming effected by my sleeping schedule. I'm proud that i've only missed parts of two classes due to it. I really am, because anyone with the same sleeping problems as me wouldn't bother to wake up, especially if they had someone as evil as my french teacher staring them in the eyes.

The true question is, i don't know how to ask for sleeping pills. I have a physical thursday and i know they're going to ask that question, cause when you don't sleep your immune system goes down for the count, along with your sanity.

I feel like, they're going to look at my mothers records and pretty much tell me that they're not allowing it in my house because of her, plus the fact i'm probably effected by the same disorder as her, and giving a nineteen year old the ability to kill herself is usually not a good thing.

Truth be told, i don't want to kill myself. There are sometimes i wish that i could just lay down and sleep for days-- but that has to do with the lack of sanity involved.

Does it make me crazy to want the pills, or does it just make me crazy to need the pills?

What is Fiction?

Fiction is that thing that authors make money with. It's also the thing that i happen to need the most practice with. I don't know if i could call myself an author, but i do know i have a lot of drive to be one.

Theodore likes this blog better, it's more real than fiction-- well duh-- fiction is-- fiction-- and it's nothing more than that or less than that. It's not real, it's not my thoughts as abrupt as they may be, it's getting into a character's shoes and then deciding on how to act as that character.

I guess i need to work on my characterization. I've started this new character, and her name is Maddie, and she doesn't care about her dad's death like she's supposed to. People think she's insensitive, and people think she's cold hearted, but really that's just who she is, and maybe people should start accepting her as she is.

Maybe people will. You see, these are the things that people just don't know.

I want to write something that will sell. I want to write something that will cause a person to want more, and to read through it in a day because they couldn't put it down. I want to write-- fiction!

But i don't think that you actually have to include the zombies, or weird bat creatures in your fiction to have a believable fictional character. I just have to work on recreating the real people, and the people who seem so realistic in my mind. I think i can do it through quirks.

My characters are too perfect, they need to be fucked up so that people maybe care about them. My characters need to be me, and they need to be rounded with family, and supervisors, and the friends who don't mean shit, and the friends who mean everything and somehow i've got to convey all of that without bluntly saying:

"This is that, that is this."

I'm not a Stephen King, but i'm also not a Josh, and i've got to find some middle ground. Somewhere may just happen to be in blogs for now, and later on maybe i'll progress to something more private.

I badly need positive feedback on anything, so if you're reading this, and if you care, and if you want me to find myself as a writer and be able to voice my oppinion clearly through characters and subcharacters and plot...

Speak up to me now.

Please i do need some hope. Someone to tell me that I can do it, in a less squealy voice then i'm used to hearing it, and without all of the conditions.

Glasses

I got new glasses today. To me they simbolize failure. Failure to spend my own money on them, and failure to not have enough to just get my eyes fixed in the first place. I've been saving up pretty much since i got my laptop (in the ninth grade). Five thousand dollars isn't just chump money.

When i got my job though, i began to save up more avidly. Mainly because all of a sudden, my dreams became reachable. Yet again i feel my family continue to tare me away from these dreams. I'm trying to get a second job now, so i can get more money, quickly before summer. Then i can try to get it done then (if i am a candidate). My sister's first remark is "why do you need another one?"

Because i'm getting five hours every other week and the company that i am working for is going out of buisness-- that's why.

I'm trying to apply to starbucks. Trying to figure out the Venti Soy Chai No Water, from the inside out.

They're cute glasses though. Kind of a goldie brown color, like the color of coffee, with little cut out flowers, slowly progressing in size up to the actual lense. Dad decided not to get a protection plan on them, which may bite him in the butt later. My glasses like to break, so i'll have to be extra carefull with them.

At least this year i won't be throwing wet flags at my face.

I need to get into serving, but i doubt my abilities. Remember that learned helplessness thing? How can i take care of people? I'm too clumbsy, i'm too stupid, and forgetfull. Fuck you. I can do anything. But maybe i'll start into serving small; starbucks, or just something that requires specialties more than just asking about borders rewards plus cards.

I rock at the plus cards, even as Borders is slowly meeting it's demise. It helps to believe in your product. It helps to believe in yourself.