A Friend

Maybe it isn't the best time to talk about this for me, but I figured since I was here I might as well go ahead.
So something very tragic happened in my life, no more than a month ago. I don't know why I hadn't posted about it sooner; I had a lot to say. I suppose it hurt too much to talk about when I wasn't even sure anyone would hear (or read. Whatever.)
I guess maybe I should start out in the beginning, and I apologize in advance if the story is rough; I'm having a hard time with this. It all started almost two years ago, when I was still with my ex. There was a new kid in school; we all had science class together. He was funny, attractive..Everyone liked him. We never really talked, but he got to be good friends with my ex. They hung out, joked, played video games. Now that I think back, he first really came into my life asking to have sex with me. I, being myself, said no. Not only did I have a boyfriend, but I didn't even want to have sex with the person I was with. Thinking about all this, I don't even remember how he got my number. So that being done, he told people I was a whore. I think he probably got the idea that I might have sex with him from the fact that my ex exaggerated all that we'd done together. I was mad, but I got over it.
Time passed and eventually all was forgotten. Summer turned to fall. He and I had gym together.
Now, by this point in time he had decided he liked me. Though I my previous relationship had ended, I rejected him. He continued, however, to slap my ass whenever the chance presented itself. And yet, despite that, he sort of became my friend.
As I may have mentioned in the past, I got sick that winter. I was unable to return to school, and until graduation, we had lost contact. Still being a technical member of the student body, I did attend. I'm not even going to go into the details of how idiotic I looked. But once it was done and we'd all filed out into the courtyard, he was one of the first people to come up and hug me. He asked me out for the first time that day. I might have said yes had there not been another girl; my sisters best friend. Every now and then I wonder what would have happened if I'd said yes; whether things would have turned out differently.
Now it was around that time when things started to turn around for him. Looking back at our conversations, he described it as a switch turning in his mind. It was that summer he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. When he got to his new school, his personality had changed. He was bullied, his mother wanted to send him away. It was then he contacted me again. I had forgiven him. I listened, and he knew that I cared. After that, we began to talk more frequently and became closer friends. He wanted to kill himself. I told him I couldn't stop him if that was what was best for him, but that I would be devastated if he did.
Shortly after this, he went missing. Well..Not really missing. I looked for him. Went out in the middle of the night; the memory still threatens to bring me to tears. I was so relieved when he texted me, telling me he's been in the hospital, suicidal. At least he was alive.
We were going to move in together year after next. He asked me to run away with him; I wish I'd said yes. I didn't. He claimed to be in love with me. I don't really doubt that now, but I did at the time; it was what was holding me back.
Three months ago I made a mistake. I abandoned him. I found someone I wanted to be with. It having been a month since what happened, I've had time to think, and I don't regret saying yes to him. He's probably the best boyfriend I've had. What I regret is leaving my friend when he'd told me what was going on; told me he needed me. I regret not telling him I loved him when I had the chance.
Almost a month ago, this friend killed himself. He was found on the reservation near our towns, bullet in his heart.
I wasn't lying when I said I'd be devastated. I was devastated. I didn't want to believe it. I cried; I screamed; I slammed my head on the wall, but he was still gone. I knew it was my fault. I came close to following in his footsteps several times.
My current boyfriend stayed the night, making sure I didn't hurt myself. At that point, I felt sick. I regretted ever even considering going out with him. That's changed now of course; I know there's nothing I can do now, whether this is my fault or not. I can't go back. Why turn my back on someone who really cares about me, and who I care about, just to dwell in the past. I couldn't take the funeral; it was open casket. I don't like to cry in front of people, and more than that I didn't want to see the people he thought didn't care.
Time has passed and I'm no longer on the verge of tears at all times; no longer swimming in the void of depression I was a month ago. Don't get me wrong, I'm not over it. I'm not over him. I still dream about him, wake up praying to whoever that it was all a dream. It wasn't though. I know that. There are so many emotions that I could share, that I just can't get out into words. All I can say is that I hope he knows that I really truly love him, and that I cared. I really cared.
Guys- if you know someone who needs you, don't doubt them. Let them know how you feel. I think it's worth being made a fool of if it means they know you care. I'd do virtually anything to go back and tell him just how much he meant to me, rocky past of not. But I guess life isn't fair.

Happiness and Standards

Looking back, it's been several months since I wrote anything. Oops. I guess I just haven't gotten around to it. I know I've thought about it, but my motivation hasn't exactly been at it's highest, and I'm never online when I feel like writing. So, here we go.

I was confronted a few months back while having some issues with panic, by someone I previously considered to be a friend. He called me a hypochondriac, said I overreact about everything, and that I just don't want to be happy. I'm just going to start out by making it very clear that I am not a hypochondriac. I have emetophobia. Sure I worry over whether or not something will make me sick. If you'd remember, I'd rather die than vomit. That clear? Alright. If there's one thing you should never say to me if you expect to gain my friendship, it's "you're a hypochondriac/hystrionic."
On to claim number two. Yes, I make a big deal over shit. Know why that is? I feel more over shit than most people do. I overanalyze and I overFEEL. I can't help it. I'm just overly sensitive. If I could change that, I very well might.
Number three: Happiness. Could anyone really be so daft as to believe I WANT to be unhappy? Obviously this person wasn't too sharp (He believed people only ever vomited because they had bacteria in their stomachs(WHAT?)). But really. Happiness, to me at least, is something far more complicated than what I want. Yes, I want to be happy. In fact, sometimes I actually AM happy, it just tends not to last very long. The thing is that once you've been brought up from unhappiness, it's going to hurt even more once you fall again. Don't understand? Think of it this way; You want a kitten, so you go to the shelter and adopt one. A week or two later, the kitten dies. That loss feels a hell of a lot worse than just wishing you had a kitten. However, even with the threat of falling further, I still want to be happy. Fuck, I LIKE being happy. And of course I do; that particular balance of chemicals makes us feel good. Maybe happiness is harder for me not only because I have a hard time climbing out from my hole to get there, but because I'm constantly in fear of losing it. I couldn't tell you for sure.


Anyway- since I haven't posted in so long, I thought I'd write on two topics today, this second one being standards. Yes, I mean standards in dating.
To really understand why this is bothering me you'd have to go back about a year. About a year ago, I met a guy. He seemed pretty nice, and we got to be pretty close. Problem was, he liked me a little bit more than I wanted him to. When he asked me out I told him no, but that there was always a chance I'd change my mind in the future- that was where I messed up. After that, he was on a constant mission to try to get me to date him. I'm not even going to go into that shit right now, seeing as it's far to much for me to want to type. Long story short, he was nice to me, maybe even a little too nice (to the point where it got stalkerish), and was under the impression that because of that, I owed him a relationship. Now we get to my standards. "Nice guys"- the kind you always see complaining on the internet- for some reason have got it into their heads that girls only go for douchebags. There are two things I have to say to this. One- people tend to have a side to them that isn't necessarily obvious. Every now and again, there will be a douchebag that actually has a nice side to them that you can't see. The same goes to nice guys. A lot of the "nice guys" are actually assholes. Yeah. If you go around the internet complaining because a girl actually values your friendly relationship then chances are I'm talking about you. You're an asshole. Second thing I have to say: No. A lot of girls DO in fact want a nice guy. But a lot of them also have standards. So I thought, for everyones benefit, I'd share my rule on dating. For me to even consider dating a guy he must be two of three things: Nice, interesting and attractive. If you are just nice, that's good and all, but not enough for me to want a relationship with you. As cruel as it sounds, that's just to help me avoid some not-so-pleasant situations, and so I intend to stick to that rule. And to that "nice guy"- because I know he knows how to find this blog- I don't want a douchebag. I do genuinely want a nice boyfriend. Oh- and, though I hate to jump the gun here since it's only been a month, I'd have to say my boyfriend is a pretty nice guy, and I'm very pleased with that.

I do hope anyone reading this will excuse any mistakes I've made with the text. This computer is not my own and therefor I'm finding it slightly difficult to use, seeing as I've yet to get used to it.

A Suicide Wish.

The first time I tried to kill myself I was a young child. And I don't mean an adolescent. I was somewhere between the age of 4 and 8; I should have been happy. I should have been enjoying the best years of my life. But I could not. I wanted to die. First, before I knew anything about the usual methods of suicide, all I could think of was to suffocate myself. I tried tying things around my neck, putting my head in a plastic bag, squeezing my throat. Of course, nothing worked. As I got older, I got smarter. Though for a while I tried cutting, I soon realized my true passion; medicine and pathology. And so I began trying to breed bacteria in my skin. I came very close to sepsis a few times. I was caught though, and hospitalized before anything more could come of my infection. I'd been bullied before I even started school. I was terrorized by my father. My mother didn't stop him. When I started school, all the children though I was weird. They say middle school is bad, but things got better, however small that change might have been, when I reached it. These suicide thoughts continue. I've asked for help. Again and again I've been brushed off. Every once in a while I'll get together my medicine bottles, think about swallowing every pill I have. But I know, even in high doses the drugs I have will not cause lethal toxicity..at least, not quick enough. My anxiety further pulls me from the idea of overdose..With phobic disorder, I would rather die than vomit. Maybe one day I'll get up the nerve..but who knows? Maybe I'm meant to live. I suppose only time will tell. Time, and my own will.

Putting Things Off

I don't quite know why I'm choosing to post right now. I don't have much to say and no one much to read it. I guess I was just thinking. Sometimes I just sit down when I have nothing else to do and start remembering everything and analyzing my own mind, and then boom- I feel hopeless. Like there's nothing I can do; as if I'm locked up in shackles and can't move but a few inches. And I want to kill myself. No emotional breakdown, panic attack or anything. I just look to the nearest bottle of medication or the nearest sharp object and think 'I could do this. I want to do this.' So I sit there, feeling helpless and broken, weighing my options. In the end I don't usually do anything, because what if I vomit? Dicyclomine overdose is rarely fatal and I don't know for sure how much would be necessary. And what if I change my mind midway? Basically, I decide not to bother, and instead I wallow in self-pity and regret, listening to my puppy snore and thinking of all the things in my life that have gone wrong; telling myself how selfish and horrible I am to feel sorry for myself when there are so many others suffering more than I, and wondering if tomorrow I'll do what I've been putting off the majority of my life, and just straight out end it. I apologize, to anyone reading this, for ranting.

Just Some Words

It was raining; dark. I was cold. Alone. I looked to the sky; it was a rough grey. I took a deep breath. Was there really anything worth running for? Was there really anyone waiting? All those years before, no one had cared. The road I'd walked had been forsaken, save those few passersby asking for directions along their ways. No one had wanted me before, when I was young, innocent, lovable. Why would they want me now? I rejected the thought of letting someone get too close, yet I constantly drowned in the loneliness which continuously plagued me. I had no rope to hold onto, left to dwell only on those thoughts not worth dwelling on. Why was this my life? Why wasn't this someone else's burden? It has been this way all alone, even before I'd been given the chance to make a faulty move. Time and time again I'd thought to end it. Again and again I thought of those who might one day need me; those who has betrayed me but I still loved. And time and time again I was selfless. I has it in my hands; the power to end all my past, present and future suffering. But I did not die. Instead I sat; wept bitterly within my seemingly hopeless world. Still I ask myself if I would have been better off making those final cuts, taking that jump, hiding the infection, swallowing the rest of those pills. But I will never have an answer for myself. I looked around; there was no one in sight. Tears sprang from my eyes and words from my lips. Lyrics to a sad song, thoughts burst into life. I dreaded the moment I'd have to return. Return to my life, return to my problems, return to the company who would soon surround me. Slide back into my mind, scarred and blemished; an imperfection of an unknown god. I cried, knowing soon the voices would once again ring in my ears, filling my entire being with anger and sadness, Once again the memories would flood through me, bringing me to my knees. Why am I so afraid? Is it the scars? Not the ones that cover my skin, but the ones that batter my mind? I was never given what I needed. I could never call for help before it was far too late. Is that why I'm scared? Is that why I feel so hopeless, angry? Is that why, however many people may surround me, I still feel utterly alone? I know this is stupid. My thoughts are stupid. But as stupid and stereotypical as it is, it needed to come out.

Fuck.

Why should anyone listen to me? I'm just a kid. A useless, scared, ignorant kid. Who fucking cares if I know more than half the adults in the world about medicine. Who cares if I'm capable of understanding things that happen around me. I'm just a kid. Don't listen to me. Don't care about me. Don't be nice to me. I'm just a kid. I don't need anyone's praise. I don't need anyone's support. I'm foolish. Foolish enough to give my life for another human being. Foolish enough to care. I feel too much. Why should I care if you believe I'm ignorant? Why should I care if you think I'm annoying, bitchy? Fuck everyone who ever doubted me. Fuck everyone who ever told me I know nothing. Fuck the fact no one likes being around me. Fuck the fact that I was an ugly kid that no one liked. Fuck the fact that my grandmother died proud of Charlie and not me. Fuck everything. Fuck the world and all the humans in it. I'm just a kid. Just a kid who no one likes.

Falling Back Into Hopelessness

So I no longer have any friends (spare the one in Ohio), and the world is seeming rather hopeless. I was told today that I was just like every other girl..I'm just a whining attention whore. And I don't know, I guess that's true. It all started with an out of taste joke saying people should be killed. I jokingly told him he was an ass. He wouldn't believe it was a joke and just went on and on about he was sick of everyone, including me, screwing him over. I explained so many times that I didn't hate him, but to no avail. He said he wanted me to tell him the truth, so I did. I told him everything that had happened with HIM, and how my anxiety effects me. He accused me of lying. My every word was used against me. What's wrong with me? I couldn't keep a friend if my life depended on it, and right now, it's feeling like it does. I don't see a future for myself right now. Everyone tells me I can't be a doctor because of my fear, then refuse to help with the fear. I don't want friends anymore. I just want to get away. Get away from this town, get away from myself, get away from this life. Damn. The main thing that's keeping me from ending it all tonight is the fact that that would make me just like every other whiny teenage girl in this world, now wouldn't it? Fuck it all.