What's black, white and looking for gray?

I fear my caretaking nature might suffocate my confidence and well being.

On the other hand, I get so sick of giving, giving, giving, fucking giving until there's nothing left and draining myself for the sake of people I care about.

I would just love to discover some universal answer that makes every middle ground magically appear. I don't feel like fleshing this all out after all.
Peace.

"Sorry for the tease."

As much as I wish I could, I simply cannot control these obnoxious raging hormones in my short, teenage body. I do enjoy crushes, but not flings. It would be nice to be in a relationship, but my preferred maturity level seems to be as rare as a highschool student who uses proper grammar and spelling. Oh, what a world.

Reflecting upon this past year has brought me to some realizations and things I must express. For example, just like there are shallow girls who think with their boobs, there are equally shallow guys who simply have no balls. I would just like to say right now that when it comes to telling someone how you feel/breaking up, I find it disrespectful to do so over the phone, texting or facebook. I believe that if someone really had those feelings, they would do the honor of expressing it face-to-face, no matter the possibility of rejection.

In all honesty, there are four guys that come to mind when I think about my "crushes" from last year. And there seems to be at least one more at the moment; whether it's mutual or not, I have no clue anymore. I know it used to be, but whether it still is remains to be seen.
Yet there's still this feeling floating around that he's somehow gonna let me know he's simply not interested anymore. This is a personal problem: my fear of rejection and the ever-present core issue of being abandoned/left by men throughout my life. Also, I trust my instincts. I may not always be able to read people-- in fact, I mostly suck at it-- but, be it a blessing or a curse, I pick up on emotions like sharks on blood. Even through text messages, there always seems to be a signal in my brain that senses meaning behind words.

The point I'm getting to is this: I'm basically sensitive to bullshit. If you're flirting, I can tell if it's fake. If you're trying to make conversation, I know if you would really rather not. I don't say it all the time, but I know. And I really wish people would quit faking.

I try not to be one of those girls who denies she's attractive when the subject arises. I genuinely try to be modest with my you-don't-have-to's and lightly accept the compliments with "Oh, stop it... You're beautiful!" We all have self-worth issues and I do my best to fight mine. Honestly, though, it seems like most guys see me as something purely physical to just mess around with. I get that it's natural, to some degree, to be physically attracted to someone before you know them; but self-control wouldn't kill you. In fact, it would win you major points, no matter how slutty the girl may seem.

The other extreme is feeding off personality: what I like, know about, and am interested in. Bringing up an mutual interest to your advantage in order to impress will not always work. Modest is hottest, man, even personality-wise. Also, do not try the question game. I beg you. It's okay for fun and games among friends, but everyone knows it's gonna get sexual and only needy people will resort to that. (No offense or anything.) If you have something to ask, then ask. If you have anything to say, then say it.

As for Facebook status updates, it's honestly so completely low, disrespectful and concieted of anyone to be as passive as "I'm so over you, so suck it :)" or "You hurt me so bad... I hope you talk to me soon.... I hope I didn't offend him..." Really, just say it to their face. If you really wanted to get a message across so desperately, that's the only way to do it. This brings me to my personal favorite, "I'm so ready to move on and I'm not talking to you anymore! so over this drama, I'm not even gonna let you get to me!!!" That's basically dedicating your status, for all friends to see, to the person you're "not talking to" and "so over." If you really want to feel empowered about your decisions, keep everything to do with them away from social networking sites.

Brutal honesty is the key to all of this; being up front and honest, genuine, and not playing games. Despite the social norms and unspoken rules, taking chances with being the bigger person is a lot more rewarding than beating around the bush.

This has been a lot more scattered than I had originally planned. Maybe I'll come back and try to piece it all together sometime.

Why I Broke Down In Tears At Warped Tour

I couldn't sleep last night, so I drew this octopus. Based off the album art of some random compilation from Hot Topic.

Back on subject, with all that's going on, I really just want to freak out and start throwing up, cutting and smoking because that's what I feel like I should be doing. What do you do when you're counting down to what you never thought would happen?

So here's how I've been seeing/experiencing things the past few weeks: I'm couch-ridden because I can't lay flat in my bed due to having a cyst removed from my tailbone. I know, gross. But it hurt like a mother#$%&*@ for a good week and a half before I could sit up in a slightly more normal fashion. They left part of the 5cm incision unstitched to heal on its own and it still hasn't closed. Anyway, for the first few days I was kinda just chillin' and watching tv because I couldn't exactly go out for a jog; and my sister was parading her friends in and out of the house while I'm laying there looking like a cancer patient. I couldn't remember a time when I felt more disgusting and I just happened to see people I haven't seen since freshman year. I also overheard her talking about how I'm on a crap ton of pain pills so I wouldn't be conscious of anything going on around me. DEAD WRONG, HONEY. I saw and heard everything, especially when she ran down the stairs at ungodly hours (for summer, anyway) and started bashing ex-friends with her current friends. She used my stuff when I couldn't even climb the stairs and lent my clothes out to her friens without permission. I felt so helpless and frustrated. I honestly would've been fine with it if she had simply requested permission, which would not have been hard to recieve; but instead, I finally make it to my room four days later to find the contents around my sink askew and misplaced. What's really sad, too, is that I hardly even talked to her during that time period. She never really stuck around long enough or made much an effort to start a conversation and neither did I. But I guess she stuck around long enough to pretty much hate my guts as well as those of my mom, so she retreated to dad's for the weekend and pretty much decided to do what we all saw coming.

I feel like a horrible person for wanting my old bed back from her room and other frivolous things that may result in her moving out, but honestly, I'm not really sure how else to cope right now. I need to find some bright side to focus on because the logic in my head is keeping me from numbing everything down and retreating to the razor blades. I'm hoping that's a good thing...?

Amidst all this tension, I need a release. An artistic outlet, perhaps, as with everything else. There are so many details I can't even begin to describe that seem to be tearing my family apart from the inside out, ripping at even the materialistic cords we dared to hope would hold most of it together until we all arrived at a mutually peaceful agreement. I feel so stupid right now.



After getting rescued from the Attack! Attack! pit at Warped Tour, I sat on the curb while my friend remained in the crowd. I didn't know what to do with myself, sitting like a total loner, and the only thing I really had was my phone. So naturally, I opened up facebook. Lo and behold, my sister's simple status: "_______ is moving.."

Now after a few incidents at home before she packed up and left for dad's for the weekend, how could we not see this coming? Really. There were a few comments ("WHAAA?!" "When??" "Whoa what? Text me!!" ":((") and I really just wanted to slap everyone in the face and say WHAT THE F*CK, ARE YOU ALL BLIND?!

I texted to confirm and she replied ten minutes later with "I was gonna tell you when you got home." At like, 10pm. After being on my feet and in the sun all day, eating sick nasty junk food and not being able to mosh because of the hole above my ass.... "Hey, welcome home, how was your day, did you have fun OH BY THE WAY I'M MOVING OUT." Really.

Even before I recieved the anxiously awaited reply, I sat on the curb on the verge of tears, surrounded by high and drunken scenesters and a plethera of litter. Chin in hand, I stared in the general direction of the sun, contemplating how I would try to hide this from everyone just in case I wanted to completely lose it within the next few weeks and didn't want anyone to stop me. A grown man stood a few feet away, hugging a friend and wearing a deeply pained expression. He then looked over, sat down next to me and bluntly observed the saddened look in my eyes. I hollowly stated I was "just waiting for a friend" and he briefly explained his current struggle. "But we've gotta hold our head up, man," he said, "and be strong [for the ones we love and care about.]" I pursed my lips and nodded slightly, eyes widened. He told me come on man, smile. I did. The kindness of strangers gives me hope.

After the band finished playing their amazing set, my friend texted me and said he was looking for his wallet. So I sat and waited longer. Convenient time to spot your ex among the crowd, eh? Wallowing in grief and self-pity. Anyway...

I texted a completely plastic message back to my sister--"whatever's best for you sister" or something like that-- and put on an oh well life goes on looking mask for the rest of the evening.



More details later, perhaps, as the happenings unfold. My family is in desperate need of your prayer and good mojo. Senior year is going to be super hard for me, I only pray that I'll be strong enough to ask for support.

Coping vs. Cutting

**TRIGGER WARNING**




As I ponder my "sobriety" from that past behavior, I can't help but realize how different my mind is now. It was impossible for anyone to know how I felt when I didn't understand it myself. There was no light at the end of that damn tunnel, and I found all the justification in the world to back me up. Nobody believed me, but as long as I believed myself, that was all the reason I needed to grab whatever was closest and carve away at my porcelain skin and make it all go away, if only for a moment.

It's incredible. The process of treatment was nearly unbearable. I couldn't stand to look at my scars, but that's what I needed to face in order pull through. I was addicted to the behavior and the way it made me feel; but my obstacle wasn't my ex boyfriend or my stepfather's passing, the destructive behaviors of my friends or even my own self-harm; it was me. It was, and still is, all about me.

We deal with life on a daily basis and sometimes we don't even know why we do things. Why did I cut? Why did I isolate myself from those I wanted so much to be close to? Why did I seek help, but validation? There were emotions behind my actions, even if they were numbed down. I was scared- scared to death of losing someone else and frozen in my tracks, fearing my unknown future. I was sad- grieving my losses and life's constant inconsistency. I felt worthless... a fat, ugly, stupid, miserable failure. And all the rest of the baggage I'd been trying to numb down had been there since I was little.

My father walked out and I didn't know why. I wanted to fix everything, but I was just too small. My brother moved out, my stepfather died and I was left wondering what the hell went wrong. Freshman year, my first year in public school, started off with everyone thinking I was stoned because I was shy or high out of my mind because SSRI's fucked with my chemical balance. But if I tried to explain it all, even if I could, they would all think I was, well, crazy. I thought, who would believe antidepressants would do such strange things to a person? or that I still can't get over all the pain I've felt? What's wrong with me?

So, plain and simple, I started cutting. Just a little bit at first turned into every night as my first boyfriend emotionally abused me and I didn't know how to handle myself. I felt like a total freak, the unknown homeschool kid who suddenly popped up for everyone to spread rumors about. I hadn't known anyone since the 4th grade or even grown up in the same neighborhood. I thought it ridiculous that hugging my friends meant I was a slut (as I still do).

More cutting. More blood. More endorphins. More shaking. School, five days a week. More anxiety. More cutting.

And I just couldn't stop. I didn't want to, because obviously something was driving me to do it anyway, right? A trip to the psych ward, a few therapists.... Nope, nothing. Fuck them all. They don't understand. This self-harm thing is all new to them, so why would they try to help? What good could they possibly do for me?

I don't think I'd ever felt such intense fear as I did the day I was pulled away from my family, my friends and the only life I knew without any idea whatsoever when I might see it all again; and the idea of living in therapy for God knows how long was not appealing in the least. Nonetheless, I decided I would tough it out. I couldn't fight anymore. I couldn't run away and there was no more fooling anyone, especially a group of therapists in a residential treatment center.

Those first few months were the hardest of my life. I can't even begin to describe what it was like. Strangely, though, I realized that the more I gave in to emotional exercise this and take responsibility for that, the craving and urge to harm myself melted away. Establish the trust and just let it all out. And I don't think I've ever met such incredible people in my life.

I began to dance. I drew pictures. I played videogames. I talked with people. I called my mom and I fucking exercised to cope when I needed to. It was amazing. No longer would I try as hard to numb it down when I could heal myself instead, even in doing the most simple things.

Dealing with what was underneath, what I'd been carrying for so many years, confronted the actions that everyone tried to stop at the surface. And it hurt so much. And it was so worth it. Now, I can hardly grasp what it's like to go back to constant pain, fear and hopelessness. That damn tunnel is behind me and though there are shadows, they only prove the presence of the light and I am healing.



http://www.denverpost.com/lifestyles/ci_14312363

random thoughts from a camping trip

When writers create a word picture of fire, I have often found a description that tells of the flames "licking" the wood, or a rock, or whatever. When I think of licking, I imagine perhaps a pet's sign of affection or an animal's action to clean itself; or a human, driven by curiousity or craving to taste and find pleasure and comfort in the sensation.
This description does not properly personify fire by any means. The heat is not affectionate; it inflicts pain. The flames do not clean; they create ash and charcoal that stain the skin. A fire does not wonder about a taste or take a timid sample; it consumes without thought and without hesitation. Smoke and fumes do not provide pleasure or comfort; rather, they pollute the air we breathe and burn as an acid to the lungs and eyes. Fire erodes death and decay to be swept away by the wind, takes life in ruthless agony and reduces it to a pile of colorless ash.

smoke

You know how there's usually a voice of reason that tries to overpower the impulse? How sometimes there's that voice that says, "If you do that, you'll regret it because __________" and somehow it prevails, if only on occasion?

It is not a terribly deep moment. We're walking to his car after he so graciously offered to take me home. Dark grey clouds are slowly rolling in and the air smells cool and fresh. I haven't known him that long, but his calm demeanor and efforts to make conversation make me strangely comfortable, despite the overwhelming aroma of cigarette smoke on his clothing. I have forgotten his long, thin limbs and welcoming posture, the way he carries himself with shy stability. I'm surprised the image of his face had escaped me as well: the small, square chin, high and delicately shaped cheeks, and the kind, protected eyes that couldn't possibly be hidden behind his wire-rimmed glasses. I find myself wanting to look longer than I should at the beautifully simple lines of his body; the small yet heartwarming grin, a permanent shape on his soft lips makes me feel accepted.

I guard myself. This is nothing new, as of a year or so ago. Although, what I find strange is that my impulse, to blurt out an excuse and get out of the car, is being surpressed by the more confident, convincing voice that's telling me to stay longer and enjoy his company. Nevermind the smoke. Nevermind the way he is, the place he's at. Nevermind the fact that I could be with someone I know and am already comfortable with. What's life without risk, without excitement?

It's so strange that more persuasion comes from the part of me that wants to go back to that world I almost reached once upon a time. Even though the idea has always seemed entirely unappealing, I always knew it was just... there. Right next to me. Yet I've been listening to the voice of logic for so long that emotional reasoning just seems ridiculous.

I need a smoke: I need a shade of grey that can comfortably host my mind and heart. I need my narcotic--my dose of comfort in a time of subconsciously desired responsibility and wisdom seeming beyond my years. I long for a taste of what I never had and what made everyone else feel okay. I want to blow away self-consciousness as a puffy cloud of foul comfort. I wish it was all as simple as one flick of a flame.

We all have these conversations.... Right?

I've been getting really close with a person I met this year. For privacy reasons, I'll refer to them as ______.

As summer came closer (It's here now! Yay!), we would hang out and be lazy after school as each afternoon lasted just a bit longer than the last. Now with ______, I'm totally comfortable talking about almost anything. They're totally nonjudgmental toward me as I am in return; however, we don't have as much in common as good friends usually do.

Okay, so we have a few common interests: dancing, choir, playing piano. We also basically have the same group of friends, since all of the drama hall kids make one big, lovin' family. Our main love language is also touch (I assume) because we love long, warm hugs and falling asleep in someone's lap. I mean, who doesn't?

One particular afternoon, we walked to the park in our neighborhood to swing. Many of life's great conversations occur either in the shower, late at night, parties (controversial, yes) and on swings--this usually only works with two people, though.

As we took the short walk from the thick walls and weed-filled air of our high-school building, we mainly discussed the future. This is where one of our main differences come up:

**______'s mind is fixed on getting good grades, excelling academically to get into the college of their choice. (______ is a sophomore, by the way, and I am a junior.)
~~I do my best to maintain average grades above C and live for the moment, with the mindset that I still have time to decide what I want to do with my future. (I'm in no rush and I don't see myself becoming a traditional college student, anyway.)

After acknowledging these key points, the topic of future children came up. By this time, we were already swinging and weaving fond playground memories from childhood into the conversation as it progressed. As I swung upside-down, I talked about what I would do if my children ever got into hard drugs or experimented with alcohol. Standing on the swing next to me, ______ bluntly stated that if their children ever did anything like that, they're getting their butts kicked out of the house no matter what.

Needless to say, this took me by surprise. Now, I realize that I've reached a maturity level that I don't expect some people to get--not to be arrogant, but maturity is a lifelong process and we're all at different stages. It's just life. That being said, I also found out that ______ flat out doesn't believe in deep-seated emotional pain.

{Now pause for some background information: I was sent to treatment freshman year and ended up living away from home for about 15 months. I never did drugs, I never drank alcohol, I'm still a virgin and all that. I'd been dealing with depression for a number of years and somehow didn't recognize it until I began cutting that year. Three perscriptions, three therapists, two trips to the psych ward and numerous suicidal ideations later, I was sent away in April of 2008. I got back this past August of 2009. I'd often heard from psychologists that being a shared custody kid basically forced 10 years of mental maturing upon said individual; and completing a residential treatment program added another century. If you can't quite grasp that, I'll just leave you with this: it was a s*** ton of therapy. Now resume.}

So I'm not a competitive person and ______ certainly is; but when it comes to not believing in a deeper meaning behind everyday motivation, I tend to get somewhat defensive. I've explored a few of my core issues inside and out, and it still hurts. The thing is that as children, we don't know the difference between right and wrong, seriousness and sarcasm. So when mom tells you to stop jumping on the bed and your sibling starts doing it under her nose, you're naturally going to feel jealous and frustrated, right? And a simple statement, "I'm not as worthy of luxury as someone else," is enough to alter the mindset of a developing brain.

I tried to explain some of this to ______--how people don't just do stupid things for no reason; but there was no convicing them, so I backed off pretty fast. I sometimes wonder whether or not I might have gotten my point across eventually, but I can get very heated when it comes to what I believe in, so it's just as well.

It turns out that ______ is also grossed out by piercings and tattoos. I can understand this, of course, growing up in a protective household; but I also like to respect other people's decisions. I myself have my ears and belly button pierced and my nose will have its own little gem hopefully sometime this week. ______ is completely against that kind of thing.

One of the more petty differences can be easily stated as: I am to dance as ______ is to choir. We are both passionate and dedicated to these things. Even though we enjoy both, I would easily choose dance over choir and ______ choir over dance. Although I think I'm more stubborn about them sticking to dance than they are about me with choir.

We all have that friend that we know, love and just can't stand; that one person that gets on your nerves like no other poke their way into your gushy insides so you can't help but appreciate their friendship. Diversity is always the way to go when you're scanning the crowd for your kind of people.

I realize that ______ and I are both teenagers and there's no telling how our views will and will not change as we grow up. I suppose my intentions in reflecting upon this unique interaction is to do just that: look back and see what came of it. I think it's important for friends to connect in different ways and make unique memories to look back on, learn from, and grow together as a result of their shared experiences.

"Don't tell my mom I lost my PILLS!!"

As I lay here, apathetic about my homework lingering in another window, I can't help but let my mind wonder. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is playing not too quietly from across my small living room and, of course, my inner critic is going crazy. (Someone once said everyone has an iner frat boy.... That may be true, but I also have that little voice sitting on top of my brain that always finds something to criticize. It's a blessing and a curse. And I'm sure I'm not the only one with one, either.)

I recently went and saw Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland this past weekend. I loved it, naturally. And I can't help but think how different the Harry Potter series would be if he'd been the director. I absolutely love the actors they chose to portray the characters- I wouln't change any of them. But with Burton's curiously unique and- dare I say- somewhat morbid point of view, I think it would make it a lot more interesting. They all just seem so serious. I get how they're wizards and have reached a certain level of maturity, blah blah blah. It's just the acting (or lack thereof) that gets me (or doesn't...?). They're missing the spark of adventure, of youth! And there's absolutely no humor... which makes the supposedly serious scenes harder to take, well, seriously. Seriously.

I've read all but the last book (I know, I know...) and I absolutely love them. The writing is brilliant and the characters' emotions radiate off the pages with each paragraph. I wish they could have brought that to the movies. They're so empty, so forced. And those who were meant to have a huge influence and high status in the wizarding world just don't bear the air of wisdom and awe they should.

Bahhh. Okay, I'm done. Like I said... it's a blessing and a curse. It sucks to leave it hanging, and I honestly don't think this is even worth posting... but whatever.