Ordinary

I have been unbelievably sad lately. I even had to make a plan with my therapist in case I want to kill myself. I cant get a loan to go to school. So it was decided today that I am not going. I hate this. It feels so unfair. I did everything I was suppose to and I cant even go away to college like so many other kids get to do. Everything in my life is like this. Always difficult and I am so sick of fighting for everything I want just to get some cheap modified version of it. I'm so angry. I am so tired. I just know that if I have to stay here in this house going to a community college, I'm probably going to kill myself.

Because I'd rather die than have some ordinary life. Some life stuck in the cornfields. Some of marriage and babies i cant afford. Some life seeing the same stupid people and places that I've had to see my whole life. Some life full of struggling to find work, struggling to make ends meet. Some life full of ordinary bullshit.

I wish I was Kanye West or a Kardashian.

The better part of three years

I'm in love. So i want to write epic love stories that will make you puke in your mouth. If you have a weak stomach or are already feeling nauseous i would stop reading now.

Once upon a time was a weird awkward ninth grader. I was at a new school and I had very few friends. this made the depression i had been suffering all my life seem much scarier because not only was I fight a huge darkness hanging over my head, I was fighting all alone. This was pretty much the story for the greater part of my freshmen year. Then some crazy stuff happened and I got put on anti-depressants. That's when i found it easier to talk to people and much to my surprise people liked me.

Now i had friend. His name was Alec. Alec was weird and i like weird. One day before he walked to his bus, he kissed every single one of his friends on the check. I thought this was such a pleasant surprise, I thought I would surprise others in a similar way.

I went through this phase around this time where i would lick people's face when I hugged them. It was strange but a sign of affection.

I hugged a lot of my friends this way before they boarded the bus and licked their faces.

Some how I got shoved into the arms of some Junior boy I had never met before. He had dark skin and really white straight teeth. His skin was salty as I slid my tongue across it.

He was nice. I realized this as he simply just pulled away from me and laughed, instead of being pissed off and disgusted like experience has told me many would have done.

Then the obnoxious blow of  the bus' horn sounded, signaling that we were all suppose to run to the loud over crowed buses and go home. I smiled and said bye to this boy who had been introduced to me as Joey. I knew then that I wanted him in my life. I wanted to absorb his kindness, absorb the very sun shining off his skin.

Somehow or another me and Joey grew somewhat close before the summer.

During the summer we hung out at my house. We were both awkward teenagers at this point. He could over we would play guitar hero. I would dress in baggy, unattractive clothes out of consideration.

One night when I feeling unusually brave I texted him and told him I liked him. He did not return the feeling much to my sad frizzy haired teenager over emotional dismay. He was so kind in his rejection though I did not want to make things weird for us so I uncharacteristically did not flirt even one bit while we were together.
Finally though he came around. Through awkward text messages, in the middle of the summer I was 15, I got my first serious boyfriend.

It was so long ago, I really do not remember much from it. I remember being more nervous than I'd ever been making out with him. Sure I was not a stranger to the art of dangling my tongue in someone else's mouth but never ever ever ever had I laid in bed with someone on the very brink of manhood, someone who had already had sex. This was serious stuff. Should I act older? Did he expect me to have sex with him? Would my lackluster handjobs be a worthy compromise?

I poured over my mothers back issues of Cosmo. Learning how to be too sexy for a 15 year old, learning how running my fingers though his hair as we kissed would make him crazy, how to twist my hands and touch his junk so maybe he wouldn't need to go further. I was a nerd through and through. If i didn't feel comfortable in a subject, I studied till i felt I could do whatever act in practice.

This was all for nothing really. He didn't want to have sex with me because we just weren't in the right place for that. I was still a youngin with stars in my eyes, believing sex to be some act of magic.

As the summer grew cooler we spent hours in his room, embraced with innocent kisses, him introducing me to weird Red Vs. Blue videos. I took a trip to Florida and planned to call him and tell him I loved him for the first time before I got on the plane, in my usual melodramatic fashion. I chickened out at the last minute though and just waited till i got back and blurted it out before he went to get me another slice of pizza.
Finally the fall came though. We almost avoided each other in school. I was weird with his friends and didn't really want to hang out with him. Looking back it was easy to see the way we just kind of floated away from each other. I really did think there was some magically impenetrable bond between us though.

Apparently I was wrong. The Monday after homecoming he walked me to my sisters car after school. I thought he was acting weird as we waited for my sister to come unlock the door. I don't remember exactly how the conversation started. I remember him saying something doesn't feel right anymore. As my sister walked up to the car, unlocked the door and stepped in, I knew I was going to be broken up with. Then he bitched on me saying well talk about this later. I didn't like that. I didn't want to have to wait for a heart break. No If  you have something to say, just say it now I told him.

He said something to the effect of wed be better off friends.

I cried in front of my sister for the first time in years, all the way home.

This was the first time id ever been broken up with and it hurt. At the time i really was unclear about why it happened and to be honest I still kind of am. I got through it though, reading twilight, singing sad songs, and finally just moving, realizing nothing was going to change between us. He tried talking to me, but i couldn't do it. I need time to stop seeing him as my love interest and start seeing him as just some really nice guy.

I dated a few other guys in between. Nothing special. I went to a Navy Ball with some sweet awkward boy who i would consequently date for a few weird months.

Finally after the dark winter months, summer shined upon me. It was the end of the school year. I found some way to become  comfortable and friendly with Joey again.

Then something happened. i not sure how or why but before Joey graduated, we were dating again. I showed up at his graduation with flowers. We talked about his plans for next year. We spent time at his house and at my house laying on the couch together. I did thing with him, I had never done with anyone before. We cried together before he went off to college in New York.

Then something else happen. While he was away at college, I started my junior year of high school, probably the best year in my high school career. While my boyfriend was away, I seemed to forget I had a boyfriend. I never cheated on him, but I wanted to. I was always flirting and boys were my favorite thing. I called Joey up one night and told him I couldn't be in a relationship anymore. This was right before homecoming.

During this break, I only dated one boy but I hooked up with plenty more. As I said, Junior year was the best. I had a car. I had boyfriends, I had actual friends, I had a job. Most importantly though, I had this new confidence. For some reason I just started acting more like myself, instead of the modified version I used in hopes people would like me. I met Kenny at a friend's party. He was in a band and he liked the same music I did and he was weird like i was. We started dating on Halloween. He wasn't exactly good for me. He had a job but spend all his money on cigarettes and weed, so i ended up paying for everything. I got high with him. I'd smoked weed before we dated but now it was a constant thing, most of my free time was spent high. Me and him broke up before march rolled around.

Me and Joey were friends again. He took me to prom and we planned on having sex afterward. We got to my house and ,strangely no one was home. I need him to help take off my dress. My heart pounded as we walked up the stairs. He undid the ties on my dress and slide my zipper down as my hands shook. as I stood there in front of him in my bra and panties, that dress that was too expensive laying on the floor, he started kissing me.

I had to stop. I told him i couldn't do it. It didn't feel right. I remained a virgin for a while longer. I got dressed and he changed and we walked around laurel just talking and then spent the night at my friends house in a tent with her and her boyfriend.

When the summer came, Joey came home from college. This summer we did not date, we just hooked up quite often. I would get off work at around 12 in the morning and would drive over to wear he worked to hook up on his break.

One night I got off at ten and him and some friends came to see me right before, after they had been out. I asked Joey if he wanted to hang out.

I left work, got taco bell and headed to him place.

We spent the night driving around. I told him how I felt alone, how I feel out of place now, how I feel like I'm always waiting for things to get better. Somehow we made it to Lewis beach.

We got out of the car and I changed into real clothes and we walked out to the water. There we found people already out in the water, even though it was 1 am. They were all drunk. One guy offered us a bottle of whiskey and called us Tarzan and Jane. We didn't drink. We all stood around talking about where we are from and where were going. One man was swimming and told us he was going to swim straight across the water to England. I informed him we were in the bay and he could only get to New Jersey.

Some how or another the men started fighting. Me and joey made a swift exit. we went to Wawa for food and I saw a boy I had a serious crush on and I found out you could get pancakes from wawa.

Then we went to  a neighboring beach and walked the board walk and streets and in the sand. We wanted to see the sun rise but this beach was too bright with street lamps and shop signs.

We thought it would be safe to go back to Lewis. We laid a blanket out and started kissing and making out and I knew the time was right. I told him we should have sex. He ran to the car to get a condom and I started feel a little childish and embarrassed as I lay alone on a blanket my mom made with my shirt pulled up.

It was painful. I had to tell him to stop.

We got dressed and just laid there for a while, watching the sun rise. We found a stingray flipped on it's back floating, nearly drowning, seagulls swooping down toward him,  in the water and joey flipped him back over. He was missing legs though and was having trouble staying afloat.

Since it was morning figure we aught to head back home. We stopped to get donuts and I dropped Joey off.

Then I had to go home and face the trouble I was in. Much to my surprise, i wasn't really in all that much trouble. I got yelled at some but my mom let me sleep most of the day.

Even if it had been worse though I still think it would have been worth it. Those are the kind of nights that make people who they are. They are the kind of nights people live for. The kind of nights were you get to be completely alive and who you are.I didn't stay out all night because I'm a rebellious teenager. I didn't express the sad lonely undertones of my life because I need attention or thought he could somehow fix me.  I didn't have sex because I was in love or because I'm a whore. I did it because I fucking felt like it, the only reason anyone should do anything. That's how you find out who you are and should be.

For the next month or so everything was good. I felt more grown up somehow, definitely more comfortable in my own body. I felt like a woman finally. I made choices for myself. I slept and did whatever the fuck I wanted with whoever the fuck I wanted to do. I felt so liberated.

Then I felt too grown up and started acting dumb.

I worked at this produce stand every so often over the summer in a town about an hour away from where I live. I was working one Friday and knew that when I got off I didn't just want to go home. Luckily enough i had a friend who lived in this city and knew he would take me out.

I got off and bought a shirt that wasn't covered in dirt and rotten vegetable juice and drove to his house. When I got there he handed me the cigarettes I'd asked him to pick me up. I lite one up and he hooped on the back of his scooter and turned it on and told me to get on the back. Do you know how hard it is to smoke on the back of a moving scooter? Hard.He waited for me to finish at a stop sign.

I didn't wear a helmet on the scooter, which scared me a little bit.

We went out for pizza and talked and then walked along the boardwalk and talked then sat in the sand and talked. I remember holding his hand through out the night, which now makes me anxious because of the actions intimacy.

Then we went back to his house. He made me sea breezes in his bay side house, half filled with some coconut rum. I've never drank before, so soon enough I was totally obliterated, rubbing my ass on his dick to the rap music he'd put on sometime in the night, while I was busy downing another glass. Soon enough i couldn't even stand up. We sat on the couch and I laid back on his lap and he kissed me. Like some whore I started rubbing the crotch of his pants and kissing his neck. The next thing I knew he was helping me up the  stairs and into his bed. We were kissing and i was instructing him to remove articles of my clothing. I'm not going to explain anymore. I sure you can imagine what happened next.

After the knocking of the boots, he was quick to jump up and take a shower. I didn't like that. It made me feel dirty. I hated laying in that bed alone like that. Truth be told though, I had enjoyed myself. The sex was amazing. As a person I didn't really like this person. He was kind of a douche bag, but when we came together though it was like magic. He gave really good head too which is definitely something I love for in a man.

I not really sure what happened. I know we had sex one more time then it was four o'clock in the morning and i thought i should probably get home. I thought I was sober enough to drive but looking back I'm not really sure because I vaguely remember yelling at a lady in the Millsboro MacDonald's drive through because their friers were broken and I couldn't get any fries and then stumbling into a royal farms and being pissed because the deli was no longer open.  Then I went home for some of that deep darkness death slumber and woke up completely still happy and good. This night of deviancy did not bring me down. This is where i started to see the difference between fucking and
 love making and realized both can be pretty fulfilling.

The aftermath of this event was ridiculous. Joey and me where talking and I mention what had happened that night. Joey has never been angry with anyone really. He was angry about that. For a while he wouldn't even talk to me. Apparently he had a problem with me also sleeping with his friends. I guess we had discussed it, but generally speaking when it came to hooking up, i didn't follow rules. Hook-ups were purely for pleasure. I wanted to do what i wanted to do.

After about a month, finally I texted him and told him I was sick of the silence we should get to together and talk because the whole situation was pissing me off as well. I hated drama and I hated that he thought he could tell me who to sleep with. Technically we were only friends and he had no claim to my vagina.

One day after school I picked him up and we went for a drive. I told exactly what i wrote above and he explained to me that he felt too jealous to really want anything to do with me because he knew I wouldn't stop doing anything just because he had a problem with it. Maybe that made me a bad friend but we weren't exactly friends, were we? Eventually he said it'd be best if we stayed out of each others pants.

Then I did something which I'd never done in front of any boy before.

I cried.

I felt somehow betrayed, unwanted. I didn't know how to just be friends with Joey. Always,always, always he had been more than a friend to me.

He started rubbing my shoulder awkwardly. I told him to stop and got him home as quickly as I could.

I went home and I know I was sad about this. I don't remember much about this period though. I guess there was still more anger and me not trying to talk to him and him still trying to talk to me though because that's it always is when we broke up before. Nothing really phased him it seemed. He never got sick of dealing with my crap. Soon enough we were talking and even hooked up once like wed decided not to.

Then one of my friends had a bonfire and we were both there. I was for what ever reason somewhat sad that night and was looking for someone to hook up with to no avail. I ended up like about half the party goers sleeping in her living room floor. Somehow or another me and joey ended up laying next to one another and you can probably imagine all the fornicating that happened subsequently.

Afterward though, we were just laying there and holding each other and really not saying anything. This feels incredibly intimate. Almost too intimate to put on a blog, even though countless times I've talked about sex. But that's why i want to share it, to show that I have seen the difference between intimacy and fucking and everyone should because intimacy is the way you fall in love. the danger is not in having sex.

I looked him in his face and i told him right there, some monster of emotion swelling in my stomach, my finger tips trying to grip onto this moment to capture the tingling feeling left on my skin, i told him, " I know this is crazy to say. We aren't even dating but I love you" I had said I love you to others before and even to joey before but never had it ever felt so right and true to say. Never in my life had i riped my beating heart right out of my chest and handed it to someone who hasn't shown any real investment in me yet and could easily crush it.

If he stayed silent I would have got up and left and went home and cut him out of my life forever. I wouldn't text him. I'd unfriend him on facebook. Whenever someone mentioned him I'd say " Joey who? I don't think I know him?" and ignore any attempt to make me remember. the only time i would let myself remember him would be when the lights were out and i was alone in my room and i could cry and cry and cry over the whole that surely would be left in my chest.

but he wasn't silent.

he said he loved me back.

which is why I'm writing this. With him i have a love story all my own. So epic and beautiful even in it ordinary-ness. Something that i want to share with everyone. I'm in love. I'm in love and i don't care who knows it. I have watching Kevin hart till the wee hours of the morning. I have climbing to the tops of the abandon buildings, i have sexy sexy time all the time because we never get sick of devouring one another. I have unafraid talks about the future and marriage and babies and dogs and houses on the ocean and Knowing, even when knowing completely kills me inside, that someday he will leave me to fight for our country in some stupid war i probably wont even believe in and knowing i will wait for him to return, counting every second hes away. Most of all I have someone who knows all the shit that comes with me and still loves me and want to take this broken girl and make her smile, make her feel better and miraculously can do it.

I cannot wait to grow up and pledge to this man that I'll forever be his.  

I've always said i never wanted to get married because it's forever and I'm afraid of saying yes to something forever. but with him forever isn't scary. It's a necessity.

I'm always sad

but it makes me sadder seeing you do cute things with other girls than turn around and tell me were in a rut. I hate to be sensitive. I hate that I feel like I'm doing it anyway. I hate that I can't be away from you for to many days at a time without a terrible ache for you. I hate that I sat in my room crying this morning, not because I can't figure out how to pay for college and I'm looking at the doom of getting stuck here, but because some stupid boy. It makes me sad that I'd rather see you cheat on me than just hang out with other girls because, sex, i do understand, but damn I do not understand friendship, I guess. I don't understand that 6 am is not to early to get up to get breakfast with a friend but when I texted you later that night saying I was horny, you were too fucking tired. It makes me sad that sometimes I feel like your other woman, some dirty little secret. It makes me sad that I'm writing this instead of telling you because I don't want to talk to you about it because I don't think you should have to stop being friends with people or feel like I'm ungrateful for all the time you spend listening to me be sad and helpless and trying to help me anyway. It makes me sad that I feel like I need you way more than you need me. It makes me the most sad that I'm actually sad about all this. In any other relationship, we would have been fucking done the moment you said you're friends think I'm slutty and you still want to be friends with some bitch who talks about me behind my back.

the art of manliness

Want to read another one of my creative writing pieces?

Blows to the face.

Nose cracks.

Stinging palms and cracking knuckles.

 Jabbing at a body.

Ribs cracking.

Air punched right out of the lungs.

Eyes droop.

Pursed lips slide down  toward the chin weighing the face down till the eyes can only focus on the spinning floor.

 Blood.

The crowd sees it drip with gratitude.  They scream, their faces covered with shadows, under the pointless lights.

My body is coated in a layer of dirt, soaking up the sweat that I drip with after every match.

I need to shower but I feel low and embarrassed. I’m sick of these grimy faces. I need to leave.

I am bruised and I am hungry. 

Under my broad shoulders and square jaw, I am small, looking up at the crystal tops of buildings. No matter how much I puff out my chest, flex my muscles, beat against blocks and blocks of hard flesh, I always end up in the dirt. My shoulders are falling and my legs ache. The arch of my foot screams with every step and I feel a small painful quake in my calf.

I prowl past restaurants and bakeries, which had closed hours ago. My stomach growled, yearning for some kind of substance. I find nothing to fill it.

I’ve wondered to the edge of the city, where the black masses reaching for the sky melt into dimly lit houses with pickets fences and grocery lists and minivans and ritual kisses before setting off for work, most days at least, and retirement plans to sit and wait to find yourself back in the dirt. I am still not home.

My knees give in front of some less quaint yard. The grass looks rough, patchy. It looks dry and long, especially next to the near by well manicured yards surrounding. It must have rained earlier. The dirt was damp below me as i fell. It felt nice, cool water pressing through my tee shirt.

I laid there, finding no strength to get me up, to move another block of flesh. I lie there under the dark sky. Tonight the moon hides and took the stars with him. I face the emptiness, stare into it. I'm looking for something, but I see nothing.

I think back to the fight. My desire to see blood, to see another man fall, to deliver some fatal blow to him, to beat him until he would never get up again, knowing even if I win I will have to do it again. Next time I face a man we will have to stand with our raised fists.

“Excuse me Sir! Sir!”

I open my eyes and pop my head up. The sun shines into my eyes still crusty with sleep, probably illuminating a trickle or two of dried blood still on my face. I don’t remember sleeping. My dreams must have just imitated the darkness I had look up to as I fell asleep.

The man who had awoken me stands above me, the sun glistening off his wrinkled skin, bouncing off his glasses. He stands straighter than I would expect. Most old  people slowly start to fold in half as their years weigh on them. His skin hangs loosely off of his slender skeleton. He looks at me like he’s concerned.

“Are you okay?”

As he says this he strolls over and puts his hand down, offering it to me.

“Come on, young man. Let me help you out of the dirt.” he says and I take his hand.

He looks me up and down and smiles. “Rough night?” He laughs and pats my back. “Come in. I’m about to make breakfast.”

We walk across the yard, the dewy grass tickling my ankles. I know this old man’s feet are being soaked right through his house slippers.

When we get to the porch, I see how spry he is, seeming to leap right up the stairs to grab the handle on the screen door to hold it open for me. I painstakingly lift my legs up every step. My knees crack and I wobble a bit. My legs are stiff. He nods to me as cross the threshold.

The home is perfect. All the windows are open, air rushing in and out. Sunlight touches the hardwood floor, illuminating all the streaks and different colors that the wood was naturally made with. Pictures of the old man when he was younger and some pretty redhead, always holding hands, always laughing, adorn the walls.

I hear a woman sing from somewhere around one of the corners. The voice floats and echos off the walls. The song is passionate, some kind of gospel.

The old man steps into the house behind me and says, “kitchen’s this way” and walks on, expecting me to follow.

We step into a room of linoleum and bright yellow walls, filled with more sun. There's a wooden table with just enough places set. The voice floats in, It’s an older woman, I assume the man’s wife, most likely the pretty redhead from the pictures. She’s round, full, her skin folded over comfortably  in wrinkles on her face, small lines forming as she smiles.

            He lightly touches her elbow and kisses her. “Good morning Dear.” He says as he pulls away looking sweetly into her eyes. This innocent act so intimate, I wasn’t meant to see it., but I had to look.

“Hello,there,” she says looking past her husband, finding me standing sideways, feeling gravity pull toward the floor. As she sits a bouquet of flowers on the table, she tells me , “ have a seat, dear.”

I sit down and she and her husband bustle around the kitchen. She makes coffee as he cracks eggs into a sizzling pan. Toast pops up out of the toaster. He throw bacon into a popping skillet. I watch the way they move around each other, every so often, glancing toward one another, smiling sideways. They look happy.

She sits a cup of coffee in front of me and sits down pulling her chair in front of me. She pulls out  a wet wash cloth and starts to rub my face.

“Sweetheart, what have you done to yourself. You’re a mess.” She looks at me with worried eyes.

I feel ashamed.

I don’t want to say it.

i don’t want to say what happened.

i don’t want to say i’m a boxer

i don’t want to say for a living i beat,

 i fight.

In the nice home of these nice people

i don’t want to say

 i fight.

i’m quiet.

I close my eyes as she wipes a bit of dirt from them.

            “Ready to eat?” the old man sits down the food on the table and shovels fried eggs and bacon and toast onto my plate.

            My stomach growls.

I start throwing food into my mouth. I gulp the hot coffee, scolding my throat. Some yolk drips on my shirt as i cut  and  shove the egg up into my mouth. Bits of the crunchy bacon crumble onto my lap, into the clean floor. Some slobber finds it’s way out of the corner of my mouth as i ravish this meal.

            They sit looking at me, neatly chopping they’re eggs into small bit size pieces and lift their bacon with delicate fingers, slipping the food onto their tongues.

            This is the first time I’ve eaten with anyone in a while. Again my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I’m an animal. I stop eating and want to make polite discussion but cannot come up with anything to say.

            “Uh, thanks for the food. It’s really delicious.”

            “You looked like you need some help” the old man replies.

            I looked like I needed help.

            I imagine them in the house staring at the monster outside of their window, confused as to if hes lost to death or sleep. I imagine them thinking of their son, seeing him in me, so lost he’s ended up in some elderly person’s barren garden. They were concerned.

            They notice how I’ve begun to sway with discomfort.

            “ So what do you do for a living, son?” the old man speaks to me, smiling.

            I stare at him.

            More shame.

            I have to tell them. You cannot sit at someone’s table, eat their food and then refuse to speak to them.

            I confess.

            “I’m a boxer.” I say slowly turning my head back toward my food.

            They glance back and forth at each other.

            “So is that why you’re all roughed up now?” the old man says with a laugh.

            “Yea,

 I had a match last night.” I reply.

            They shake their heads knowing smiles on their faces.

            “So how did that go?” the woman asks, sounding concerned.

            I wonder if she’s making fun of me.

I look bad, bruised and beaten. Doesn’t she know her husband found me in a pile of dirt?

            I look toward the window. Sunlight hits my face. I am warm. My stomach aches a little bit from eating so much. I am full.

            I face the old man and tell him.

I tell him.

“I won.”

incoherent ignorance

People think I'm so funny and i love that and it makes me sad that i look back on my blog and realize it is no longer funny, even though as a person i don't think I've stopped being as creative and playful. Now though most of the time i am alone and sad and i don't know how to handle it. Ive been through the whole depression thing before and i know that is a constant cycle of dips and highs and being elated from soaring feeling, the confident glowing feeling, a new medication gives you, and then the middle where you're just sort of floating and the end where your drowning, treading water, then dripping wet and cold you wonder into some clinic, full of sniffling children wiggling, their parent praying for a prescription of adderal so they can just calm down those children, those kids, and the doctor gives you some script for lexpro, vibryd, what ever new drug is on the market and says "let's see how that works for you". Usually they'll set you up with a therapist and in my case they can never find a reason for all the darkness i seem to hold. I'm  a true through and through case of clinic depression. I got depressed for the same reason people get cancer or type one diabetes, genetics, bad luck, medical mystery for the pure sake of medical mystery. They say theirs a link between alcoholic grandfathers and depression in his granddaughters.
There is no cure for depression. The only hope i have for a "normal" life not full of sleeping eighteen hours a day and crying spells and burst of angers filling the rest, along with devouring mountains of food trying to fill some hole inside me.

I'm definitely slipping of my floating phase into the drowning one. So I don't want you to take anything I say too seriously. I know when I need to find help again, what works for me, when to stop treading and wave for help, never to wave a white flag.

I know life isn't pointless as I have said in last blog. I'm just living pointlessly like this. I'm struggling for survival for what seems like nothing, because this struggle looks to have no end.

A fellow blogger ((Insert clever title here)) talked about the point of life in her blog. She talks of these shining moments in life, where she truly felt alive and, although she doesn't know what her purpose is, those moments tell her there is one. This made me feel so much better. Someone heard me and told me straight up in a place she knew I and other lost wonders on the Internet would find it that we are wrong.

I'm eighteen and I know nothing about life. I am but some spec in the universe who's been on it for less than a second of it's time and I am so wrong to try to explain it's meaning to anyone, let alone, assign it with none. Of all the years I've spent listening and in school and reading and watching, I still know nothing and that's fine.

Good luck exploring the infinite abyss

I watched garden state last night. By the end of it I was bawling and I never bawl. I'm not much for crying especially over movies. I'm a boulder emotionally. Steady. Gray. Unmovable. This movie got to me though. I felt as if Zach Braff had written a story about how I had felt my whole life. He had reach into me and pulled out a hidden bit that I thought I alone only had. We all have it though. This sense of waiting. We are always planning. We go to school for years, preparing to live some life that we hope will make us happy. We pull people into and out of our life depending on how they fit into those future plans. We are always waiting for some truer life to start for us, but this is it. We are alive and this is our lives and the constant fight we all face everyday to try to make it bearable is never going to stop.

This is what i got from this movie. It's nicely wrapped up. He gets the girl in the end and stays with her. happy ending.

That didnt give me that much hope though, like it was probably intended to.

Instead it reminded me how isolated I feel from everyone. I have some friends. I have a boyfriend who I love so much. I have a family. I still never feel like I'm apart of anything. I'm not needed. If I was never part of any of these people's lives, nothing would be that different for them. More so I feel like I don't need them. Forever I have been the most important person in my life. Everything I do I do for myself and I hate having to rely on anyone for anything.

Ths is why it's so hard for me to make friends. As cliched and stupid as it sounds I do not let people really in. Last night I called my boyfriend crying. I told him how sad I felt. Whenever I present him with problems he always tries to fix them for me. I can't stand that. I'm not sure what I want him to do though. I told him that I didn't feel needed. He said he needed me. I didn't know how to tell him he really doesnt though. He has so many friends and girls that would gladly fill what ever hole I would leave in his life, probably fill it better than I do. They would be stumbling around constantly in a state of numbness, getting drunk and high and fucking just to feel something. I couldn't verbolize how I felt so I just sat on the phone and let him listen to me cry. I said that that must be annoying. He said he stays on the phone with people, not talking all the time; people need the company. I guess that what I want most of all someone to be sad with me. I feel like I'm standing alone on the edge of some cliff and i just want someone to stand with me.

Not only do i feel alone though, I'm overwhelmed that this is life. I'm sick of fighting for everything. I'm sick of working. I'm sick of worring about the future all the time. It's getting in the way of my now but I feel like there is no way to stop.

Don't worry, im not going to kill myself.

What makes me saddest is this isolated restless feeling dosent just lie in me. Garden State's a hugely popular movie. The feeling's and issues it brings up must have resonated with a lot of people.

We all walk arounding wondering what the point to life. Why are we here? all that shit. The truth is that there really is no point. We all just walk around with an expiration date stamped on our foreheads.

Hunting for curly fries

I saw this lady at work last night and something about her caught my eye. She seemed so genuinely happy. It was just her and her toddler, pulling through the drive through in the hunt for curly fries.
I saw what i want to be in her. just happy. I won't feel sad and sufficated in my life like so many mothers i see everyday at work. I'll drive a nice car. I won't bitch at greasy faced teenagers working at fast food places about having the freshest fries possible. I'll remember to say please and thank you and to smile back at my son. I'll be happy.