The 4th

I’ve been kind of down lately and I’m glad I got to spend the 4th with one of my good friends. Honestly one of the best 4th of July weekends I’ve ever had.


Unexpected turn…

Good News: I’m all set for my weekend at the coast and have the best books and coolest journal to bring with me.

Bad News: My pulse has spiked to a little over 100 beats-per-minute, my eating habits have gotten worse to the point where I’ve lost about 30-35 pounds in a month, and I’m anxious almost every night from the hours of 6pm ’til about 3am.

Oh, and half my friends are depressed and seem well past their breaking point.

This has turned out to be a very stressful summer.

I began reading “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” by Ned Vizzini and everyone told me that it would stress me out, but its all I seem to find peace in. That and writing. It’s weird, but I feel like as I’m reading the book, making notes and reading the thoughts of this kid with anxiety and depression, it feels like it’s a friend trying to help me understand what I’m feeling. Every time I pick up the book, I read these sentences that hold so much weight, but I feel my shoulders get lighter and lighter as I read it. Is that weird?

I mean, the book literally starts with the words: “It’s so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself.” and while most people would be deterred by that and put down the book immediately to go pick up some happy fairytale, I became even more interested in it. While books are and always have been my greatest comfort, is it weird that this is one of the most attractive things about a book? When they’re painfully truthful and don’t sugar-coat it right from the start?

I mean, I’ve always had an underlying No-Bullsh*t attitude, but there’s a difference from telling the truth and then telling the truth in such a way that it hurts. It strikes a nerve that the receiver forgot to cover or didn’t think would be hit so they left it bare and while the truth hurts, those nerve-strikers are absolutely agonizing to the point we beg for a lie.

Is that why I like it? I’ve been lied to in a lot of situations that I would’ve preferred the truth just because the lie hurt once I found out about the truth and the reason for it being used instead of the truth…

But there are others… Other truths that stung… Stung more than the worst wasp you could find… truths that left me broken… broken to the point I sat on the floor hunched over myself. They left me lying on the floor, shattered like a broken window. They crippled me to the point that I laid in bed for almost three days thinking of how I left that one nerve bare… And how I was dumb enough to think it was okay.

It’s those painful truths that, in real life, disable even the strongest of minds. But write it in a book…

You give it a different face than your own. You give it a different name, a different place… You give it another situation detached from your own but similar enough to make you feel something. It makes you feel vulnerable.

You feel that vulnerability as if you’ve given that character a loaded gun and told them to point, but not shoot… Until they tell you that they understand… and that they won’t judge you for going through your situation as they go through theirs…

They turn that loaded gun on themselves and tell you that it’s your turn to listen and point… but not shoot… not judge them for their situation.

And although it hurts to read it… to read those thoughts that had haunted your mind as you endured your hell… we hold on to it. We cling to it. We crave those sentences, one right after the other.

Because we know what dialogue is next. We know what they’ll do and how they’ll think through it all, and we hate knowing that…

But you know something? Our society thrives on this knowing. Because even though we know the pain and suffering that this character is going to go through, we keep reading because we can’t stand to be the only one who went through it.

We want someone else to have complete knowledge of the challenges we faced.

We refuse to be the only ones.

We refuse to be alone.

Update: Somewhat better…I think…?

So, just a little update on how things are going. I know I ended my last post on kind of a bad note.

My job has gotten much better in a lot of ways. I can’t say a lot about it due to contract, but just know that it’s a really nice place to be working right now. I only have about one friend coming in for the 4th of July since no one else could come last weekend or the 4th and it’s not my ex. It’s one of my good friends and I’m kind of relieved that he’s the one who could make it out of the two. I’m a little sad that my gals couldn’t make it, but there’s plenty of summer left to go.

Which brings me to another part of my post… my ex. And I’m not sure I’m ready to type about this. not right now, at least.

I just… For once, I want someone who’s afraid to lose me.

WARNING: The following may include a rant from a college girl’s mind at 1 am!

So, after having probably the sh*tiest week of my life, I’m calling some major bullsh*t on “College summers are way better than high school!”.

If someone tells you that, they’re lying to you and themselves. Sure, there are some good moments, like talking to your roommate about living together next semester, and comparing each other’s family pets and their levels of stupidity.

But when your first serious boyfriend calls after being together for almost a year to say that they’re just not interested anymore and your job moves you to an “as need” basis, you just want summer to be over. I miss seeing everyone everyday and I miss knowing what’s actually happening in my friends’ lives.

Call me cry baby all you want, but hey, I warned you what this was going to be and you kept reading, so who’s actually at fault here…?

Anyway, now I get to go to my councilor and give them the run-down of why the hell I’ve put everyone at a distance. I mean, I usually do that when I’ve been hurt by 1 or more people, but now I have to explain why I do that and I’m not looking forward to it…

Nor am I looking forward to going on vacation with my now ex next weekend, but hopefully I’ll have some friends with me as well and it won’t turn into the hot mess it looks like right now… maybe?

It’s a Paper Town…

I’m supposed to be cleaning up my college crap downstairs, but I can’t stop thinking at the moment, and from experience, me thinking isn’t such a good idea. At this point, I’d probably tell you that it’s not going to be a sob story, though, I might cry at this point and tell you all my problems like you’re that one friend that I trust even more than myself, so, technically, this is just some sob story. My sob story.

It’s been almost a full month since I came home from my first year at college and already I feel like a total bitch. Yes, you heard me.

I have blown off my two best friends from high school for an interview, told my dad he didn’t understand a disability that he and I struggle with on a daily basis, and I’m probably smothering the one boy I actually enjoyed dating (sorry to you others who dated me if you ever read this…).

I have done nothing but lay around the house complaining about how there’s nothing to do and going to work at a place I used to use as a get away. It’s now my place of work which honestly makes it ONLY a job. They say if you like a place, work for it and invest your time into it. Yeah, don’t. “Why don’t you quit?” Well, I don’t know that. And for now, that’s okay for me.

Not only has all of that happened, but I’m also on ADHD meds. WHOO! Right? Well, it seems like everyone, including my family, seems to like me way more when I’m not myself, but am. Now what that means is that when I’m on my meds, everyone finally kind of seems to accept me, but when I’m not, there’s something wrong with me. I know it’s a disorder, but damn, it hurts to know that people who you thought loved you for who you were turn out to only like you when you act a certain way via drugs or just a facade.

If I wanted that kind of shit from anyone, I’d go back to high school. At least someone would tell me if they had an opinion instead of putting on a fake smile, acting like my friend and then ripping me to shreds as I turned my back. Is it too much to ask for something real?

I know only one person will probably read this and I know you’re the last person who should.

All I can think about is why I’m so f*cking broken?!

And why the hell does everyone step away when I start to fall? I’m sick of the pity friendships, the “I like you way more like this”‘s…

I’m sick of Bullsh*t.

The worst part is that I’m never going to get away from any of it. I hate comparing myself to book characters because even though you see yourself as them, they are not entirely you. However, I feel myself becoming more and more like Margo Roth Spiegelman. It’s just how she said it at the beginning of the book:

“Here’s what’s not beautiful about it: from here, you can’t see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It’s not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It’s a paper town. I mean, look at it, Q: look at all those culs-de-sac, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I’ve lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters.” –John Green, Paper Towns

These paper towns with paper people… I can’t take it. I can’t watch futures burn I can’t see another paper heart cut into confetti…

I feel like running. No, I feel like leaving. Leaving to a different paper town, with paper people who burn their futures…

“At some point, you gotta stop looking up at the sky, or one of these days you”ll look back down and see that you floated away, too.”

I wish I could float away. I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d go somewhere far from here, or anywhere anyone would likely find me. I’d do what I want. Then I’d leave again. Cut all my strings so I don’t have to wait for them to break like Margo said. She says that a paper girl has to have at least one string, right?

I don’t think I’d even have the one.

It seems like there are lynch-pins everywhere. If one goes, they all go…

All I have to do is break the first one, if I haven’t already done it…