Fake It ‘Til You Make It: The Fallacy of the Fantastic Four Faulty Factors

I know I am the world’s worst blogger for abandoning my blog for months on end, but there wasn’t really much to write about until now. With that said, here begins my collective whining that I’ve been caching for the past seven months.

As you might have gathered I have the propensity to abuse a few particular bad habits.

  1. Doing somewhat stupid things when I’ve been blatently warned I shouldn’t
  2. Falling for people left and right because I’m an idiot
  3. Managing to tell all the wrong people all the wrong things
  4. Dwelling on any and all of my mistakes until I die

The combination of these “Fantastic Four”, as I’ve decided to address them, is the recipe for a special little something I like to call a mid-strife crisis.

Because confrontation is, to me, the ninth circle of hell, I tend to be on the more passive side and lock away any possible conflict in my own little vault of emotions. Once I’ve gathered enough troubles to fill it to the brim, I enter the various stages of a mid-strife crisis. The stages usually tend to consist of: crying, hunger, excessive bad puns, staying up too late agianst better judgement, lots of calls to mom, use of alliterations (see title), too much time on twitter, etc..

After I’ve successfully tumbled through every stage, I usually pick myself up and relapse back into the same stupid habits that got me there in the first place. I know you’d assume that after two or three times around the block I’d have learned better, yet, here I go falling back into the same patterns like clockwork. Finally, I sat down with myself and weeded out all the bullshit until I was left with just the facts: I just care too damn much.

The only solution I can think of is to just play it off like I don’t care until it becomes a truth. If everone else is convinced that I just don’t give a shit, then maybe I can convince myself as well. If no one knows any better, who will it hurt if I come off as cool, calm, and collected? Don’t get a good grade on that project you worked on for 3 weeks? Who cares. Best friend doesn’t call for a month? So what? So stressed you can’t see straight? No biggie.

Things are only as important or as real as we allow them to be. Our perspective is the only thing that can turn a catastrophe into a minor mishap. With only so little that we have the power to control in our lives we might as well take advantage of that split second where we have the upper hand.



The Incomprehensible Dynamic Definition of Love and its Closest Relatives

What’s the point of loving someone if you don’t do everything you can to help them be happy? If we are incomplete without our love of someone else, why would we ever cease to love them? Well, here’s the real question: how far does real love reach? How much can you sacrifice for one person before it’s too much? There are countless epic tragedies of sacrifice for love yet, no one could ever confidently say where that boundary lies. 

“True love” is unconditional, fearless, prevailing, and defiant of logic and reason. Love ignites wars and brings monarchies to their knees. It spurs passionate sonnets and unearths the humanity within gods. Love is rumored to be an inexorable force that grounded the very roots of the human existance. If love, in all its forms, is intended to be wired into our minds as the determining factor of our microscopic view of the universe, where will we draw the line of our servitude to its will? 

The ultimate price to pay for love will not always be death. There are greater things to be lost that this life. The most you have to lose is yourself. There’s a stark difference between compromise and offering yourself in exchange for someone’s happiness. Usually, people will begin to notice when they’ve gone from caring for others to caring for ONLY others. But is that the point of no return? What length must we go to before we lose everything entirely? 

A slightly more obnoxious question: will the same boundary remain consistent throughout all variations of love? Should one go, and be limited, to the same lengths in a friendship? I’m not insinuating that  you should lay your life on the line for the guy you befriended at work 3 weeks ago. I’m merely posing a question of the validity of the love of friendship as it could constitute as “true love.” (Of course, there is always a possibility of a grey area between friendship and romance but that is a completely different topic.)

Okay. Wow. Enough talk of love and sacrifice for one night. I’ll leave you all with those scattered thoughts.



Return to the Land of Blogging

It really has been ages since I’ve written anything on here. I feel like now is when I need it the most. Right when I begin to question myself and things around me is when I need to write.

As a brief update: I started the year at my new school and so far I’ve hit every possible road bump I could along the way. I’ve made a couple of friends but I have yet to honestly relate to any one of them. I met a boy who goes to a school down the street from mine at a party the second week of school and I think things are looking up for the two of us.

With all of this overwhelming change recently, I haven’t quite found the time to do any of the things I like. Songwriting, writing in general, drawing, reading, and even drinking. Whenever I find myself in a moment of free time, all I can do is think. Then, just as soon as I’d had a moment of relaxation, it tumbles back into chaos. My body and mind are so exhausted and I just want time to figure out exactly what I’m going for.

However, within the past week, I’ve managed to ground myself even the slightest bit in spending time with Lee. We started spending time together roughly a week ago and it makes things not feel so uncontrollable. It started with us just hanging out to do homework but the more we talked the more we found in common. It feels really incredible to just connect with someone. I’m not on a crazed hunt for romance, I just like having someone to talk to on a deeper level than discussing what we did this weekend. And he kissed me, too, so I must be doing something right.


The Issue with Having a Backstory and Being the Only One Who Knows It Exists

I wish someone would ask me for my story. I feel like I say so much on here, but so little in person. If someone were to actually ask me why I left David or why I was depressed or why I lost self worth this past summer or why I get so angry with people. Or. Or. Or…

I just want someone to know that I have reasons for everything. It eats me up that the only one that knows the truth about me is me. Even Kitty doesn’t have the faintest idea of who I am and where I came from.

When I was in the forth grade, I lost my father in a matter of days without knowing for months that it was because of pneumonia. The same year, a very coercive friend of mine manipulated and persuaded me into performing sexual acts with her. A year later, when I spent the night at her house in a tent in her backyard, her uncle slept in the tent with us and I’d wake up intermittently to find him closer to us, but I forced myself to forget most of the night because my mother said if anything like that happened I’d never see her again. Every so often I would slip into states of depression that I had no way of explaining to my mother. Throughout middle school I was bullied, abandoned by friends, and tossed aside. After leaving for boarding school in the 9th grade, the remainder of my friends in my hometown stopped talking to me altogether and I was pressured into doing drugs for the first time. That following summer, I was constantly getting into trouble with my mother over drugs, lying, and other things. One day, I almost watched my friend die of an overdose. I was only 15. Sophomore year I got into a relationship where my boyfriend insisted on moving very fast even when I was uncomfortable. That Christmas break I hooked up with a very aggressive boy on a cruise ship that left right afterwards without even saying goodnight. That spring, I started to speak to David for the first time in years. Sophomore summer I was heavily into drugs and drinking. David and I were on and off all summer. To try to feel wanted, I hung out with as many boys as I could. I spent many nights too drunk to speak and was taken advantage of by both friends and strangers. By the start of junior year I was in a relatively stable relationship with David, but began to sink, once again, into my depression. Even though things will David were mostly well, I made a mistake. I got really drunk over Christmas break and involuntarily cheated on him with a friend of mine who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I decided that I couldn’t tell David the truth, but I also couldn’t lie to his face, so I left him. When I spoke to Kitty about all of my drunken nights being held down by people I barely knew, she only congratulated me on the experience. Now fully submerged in severe depression, I spun out of control and became fairly suicidal. Once I’d almost recovered, Kitty told me she was going to kill herself. She was completely set in her mind on ending her life until she went to jail. When she was released, all she could ever do was speak about herself. If the conversation wasn’t about her, it wasn’t relevant. I decided to switch schools to escape both lives and start over. Turning over a new leaf, I wonder why no one from my past knows me.

That’s where I am now.

I don’t want to throw pity parties for myself. That’s far from the point. I want someone to understand that I’m not what’s on the surface. As cliché as that sounds, people seem to forget that we only ever know as much as we dare to find for ourselves.

Maybe I’m being ridiculous.



Holding Dear the End of the Year

Things have been rough lately, but, since the end of junior year is right around the corner, I’m choosing to fight it with optimism. The worst thing I can do is admit defeat and let my depression cut me off from the people and things I love again. I have to fight. However, this time, the enemy isn’t me.

No more battle scars.

I will win this fight.



Putting Together All My Pieces and Seeing What I’ll Find

God damnit.

You know I really tried. I was doing so well. I had my shit together for the better part of 5 weeks. I was accepted into my new high school. I was okay.

Now, I feel like I’m slipping under again. I hadn’t cut in a really long time, but I relapsed tonight. I tried to tell myself I didn’t need it, but I was having a panic attack and NOTHING could calm me down but that.

I look back into my past and I can recall that things have been this way for my whole life.

Last year, I became really depressed, but I couldn’t recognize it at the time. I didn’t know how to let it go, so I wrote the horrible thoughts in my head in a notebook.

Roughly 5 or 6 years ago, my mother took me to a therapist for just one appointment and, now that I think about it, I was trying to make sense of early depression. I told the therapist that I didn’t like to be left alone because my thoughts made me feel sad and I’d get a pain in my chest. She gave me a CD that was intended to use hypnosis to help me rid myself of my thoughts.

Even farther before that, I remember a significantly memorable roadtrip with my mom and sister. For some reason I had thoroughly convinced myself that my mother was going to pull over to the side of the road and kick me out of the car. She’d given me absolutely no reason to think this, but I had it set in my mind that she was seconds away from leaving me alone on the side of the road. I began to cry uncontrollably in the backseat. Neither my mother nor my sister noticed.

I don’t know what to do.

Maybe this is just part of who I am and how my life will be.



Resurfacing With My Sights Set on Tomorrow

I have been happy. For the past 4-5 days, I have felt genuine happiness. Remembering what it feels like to recognize an emotion that doesn’t tear me apart is a ginormous weight off my shoulders. I have started telling my dorm mates that I won’t be returning next year, but it’s not nearly as hard as I’d feared it would be. I can see a light at the end of this tunnel and I feel magnificent. School is becoming easier, I can actually talk to my friends, and I don’t hate the girl in the mirror anymore. I think I found my way out.



My Unorthodox Savior: High School

I have finally decided on a new school for senior year. It’s an all girls catholic private school in the city that my parents just bought their new home in. Making this decision has started to change my mood a little bit. I haven’t wanted to die nearly as much. I am still incredibly irritable and negative, but I see a vague purpose to life. I might be almost happy.



A Safe Little Cage of Darkness

I am in the final stretch before Spring Break. I have no idea what I’m doing though. My mom is coming to visit this weekend to talk with me about possibly switching schools for senior year. I don’t think I can take another year here. This place destroys me. Everywhere does, but, here, I can’t even cry by myself. I am under constant supervision and all I want in the world is to be able to scream at the top of my lungs to let out some of the noise.

How many times do I have to repeat “I’m fine. I’m just tired” before someone will catch on. Until they see I don’t know what it’s like not to be sad. It’s my natural state now. It’s become my own twisted safe haven that I cradle myself in. My counselor asked me if I wanted to get better the other day. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say yes. I just told him I didn’t know because I have no idea who I am. I don’t want to be blind and stupid as a sacrifice for temporary false happiness. I couldn’t do it.

Is it really so wrong that I wouldn’t really care if this breath was my last. If tonight when I fall asleep, I don’t open my eyes again.