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.

My Grandmother

So things have been hard recently. I've been out of town for the last week. My grandmother passed away on the second of the month. I'm not sure what happened exactly, since no one trusts my stability enough to tell me anything, but in the end she had sepsis originating from a perforated colon. I didn't think I'd be nearly as upset as I was. I had problems with my grandmother; it seemed she gave my other cousins credit for everything I did right. I still haven't forgiven one of my cousins and I do not look forward to seeing him, having to refrain from lashing out at him. However, at her first memorial service (there will be two), which was today, I learned that she was in fact proud of me. According to her friends, she talked about it all the time. I just wish now I was able to say goodbye, but my blasted fear had to get in the way and that will never happen. She was a great woman. She was very loving and accepting of everyone, though sometimes brutally honest. She and my grandfather played a huge role in bringing down segregation in the town in which they lived, back when African Americans were treated so unfairly. The received recognition from the town when they left for everything they'd done. I didn't realize this really until she was gone. I miss her terribly. On a lighter note, if any of you read this blog regularly who I'm not introduced to, I'd enjoy hearing from you. Only if it's convenient, of course. Send me an email if you ever need to talk. This is my way of letting out what needs to be let out..stuff that I'm sure would annoy the fuck out of any given person I might choose to confide it. But I'll listen to anything anyone has to say, so if you want then go for it.

Hatred

I don't have too much to say today, and I cut my nails so I'm having a hard time typing. But I had to post. I'm angry. Really, very angry. I know, it happens a lot, but this time it has a valid reason. Today, I was cussed out for defending a girl with a rare terminal illness. Sure, it wasn't the brightest idea for her mother to post pictures of her all over the web, but seriously? Why all the hatred? It's unnecessary. And that brings me to my point. Why do people hate for such idiotic reasons? Hate because someone doesn't look like you, act like you, because they're from a country you think is somehow inferior. It shows immaturity. We're all human. Yes, some people do terrible things. But being born in a particular country, liking the same sex, having a illness that makes you look or act different; those are no reasons to hate people. So many people lack empathy, humility, rationality... It's insane. What the fuck, guys? Why do we need to hate each other. If anyone reads this, I want you to know that where ever you're from, whoever you are, whatever diseases you may have; as long as you're a good and kind person, I wish you the very best.

The Adverse Effects of a Subconscious Tyranny

I don't think anyone has ever understood the depth of the situation. It may have seemed like it ended months and months ago, but it's still going on in my head. Don't tell me to get over it, because it will be a long time till I will. No one saw what went on between us; no one was there but us. We were like one person at a time. It was his choice to bring that to a close, but it still haunts me. It's as if all along, it was me. As if all my mistakes were amplified to the point of taking blame for him. Sure, maybe my mind exaggerates the past a bit to itself, but I'm constantly seeing him in my head, my dreams, and I feel like I've committed some great crime against myself. I can't let it go. The past 3 or 4 nights I've been given no rest. People are constantly talking about him, how cool he is, how they're going to hang out with him and his new perfect girlfriend who everyone likes. She and I are opposites. She's some sexy goddess of perfection. I'm the only one who doesn't metaphorically bow in her presence. I was, in fact the one who introduced the two. She had been my friend for a year or two before that. And before I know it they're the new princess and prince charming. Ever since then, she's treated me like shit on a stick. How did she get to be princess and I get to be an infected stool sample?How does she have so many friends? I just wish I knew what it was about me that revolts people so much. I see his mother everywhere as well. And I see him in my dreams. My head won't give me a moment free of him. I've dreamed several nights in a row that he'd been infected with Taenia saginata (the beef tapeworm). I've wondered whether it has some hidden meaning; like maybe whatever it is that's turned him into a monster isn't really him; it's just living inside him, feeding off of him, controlling him. Or maybe I've just spent too many nights studying medicine. Last night I dreamed about the people who have been so fondly thought of as my friends. We don't talk so much anymore, but it was them. The whole lot of them. In the dream, we were all at the house of a family I know where we all used to hang out together. I confided in them, told them as best I could of what was going on in my head. "Fuck you," they told me. "You really think this is their fault? No one likes you because of you! It's all you! You have no friends because you're so fucked up!" Everyone turned their back, shouting and swearing at me, and left. And there he was, telling me it was okay, that he cared. I woke up trying to figure out exactly what it is about me, and why my mind is so insistent on torturing me with the memories of betrayal and what could have been if it all hadn't been so drastically fucked up. I feel as if I'm being eaten away from the inside. The sadness, hopelessness holds me down, as the fear drags me. I've frequently found myself daydreaming, working away at some delusional plan for the future. It brings a momentary feeling of manic. Like the world is mine; I can do whatever I want! And then it's gone. Reality slowly slips back into place. I've decided it's a coping mechanism. Without that flash of light, the hopelessness and intense fear would likely drag me into a no-return zone. The therapist is changing my medicine from Zoloft to Lexapro. I doubt it will make any difference. If anything, it will raise my anxiety and make me sweat. The sadness on it's own might be manageable, but my senseless fear is something that I am unable to deal with. I want her to help me, but she's the certified doctor, she calls the shots. I want to ask her, why can't she change my medication to something that will actually help me? I'm not going to give myself toxicity poisoning, I'm scared to death of being sick, why the hell would I do something like that? I know all about toxicity poisoning. As for addiction and abuse? I need this medicine. I feel so damn handicapped. I would tell her all that, but as much as I know, I'm still not elidgable to argue with a psychiatrist. What the hell?

An Introduction

My brain keeps telling me how pointless this is; making a blog about my life. I mean, who really gives a flying fuck? But right now I really just need to let myself be heard, whoever may be listening. Which- I expect will be one or two angry trolls loving to hate me and every word I say. But here goes... It's been over a year and a half since I starting going out with him. He seemed like a sweet boy; shy, quiet, never had a girlfriend before. It's been over a year and a half since I started going with an abusive freak. For a while it was a secret. I was ashamed. Sexual abuse isn't exactly something one would want to brag about, but eventually I had to tell..officially labeling me as an attention whore, since by that point I was far too attached to him to leave. What can I say? Maybe I am an attention whore. But I loved him, and part of me still does, despite my constant anger towards him. A year and a half later we're finally over. But everything that happened between us just makes it do hard. It's been about three weeks since I lost all my friends over a silly, meaningless, one-week relationship. But who needs friends? Especially when everyone you know is just waiting to stab you in the back. It's been two hours since my mother poured a glass of water over a years worth of my art; my expression. And now I ask myself. What am I doing? What am I doing here? I feel like I'm sinking into a deep and dark abyss of sadness and fear. Medicine doesn't help. Nothing seems to, except for maybe the brief encounter with a new romantic interest or momentary enlightenment into the perfect simplicity of animals. It all starts to seem pointless. Day after day, over and over, it seems like no one cares, like no one is ever listening to me. Life drones on. Every now and then I start to miss him. In truth it took half a year for him to build the confidence to really hurt me..but, despite that, the friendly relationship we held, behind the romance, meant more to me than any other. No one else could tolerate my bad attitude, constant panic attacks, and bursts of depression. When I lost that, a big hole opened up in my heart. No one has yet to fill it. My whole world is filled with hatred. Hatred to me; I look like a boy, I'm a drama queen, I'm an attention whore, I'm a whore, I'm pansexual, I'm agnostic, I'm white. And hatred towards others; through racism, the church, politics. It all brings me farther down. I just want to love, be loved; be able to trust in love, in the world, in the future. This blog will be about my life; trying to get away from all that's gone wrong. So maybe- just maybe- when I'm gone, someone will remember.