For the first time since Brandon, I could think of no words to touch the way I felt. There are still none, so the best I can do to explain is to tell you what happened.
When Maggie's voice rumbled through the piece of plastic in my hand, something in me dropped dead. Excuse the cliche, but my heart stopped beating. I can usually fight those obnoxious little balls of saltwater for a while, but not this time. It was coming with a will of its own, so I ran. Suddenly my life's ambition was to keep walking. I had to know if you were just gossiping, Maggie. Mr. Austin would either tell me truth or tell me he couldn't, but he wasn't going to lie.
I broke a couple of my own rules. First being letting the fear sink into me and take over, second freaking out in front of other people. I lost it. I don't have any reason to lose it more than the rest of you. It wasn't my right to make this my own crusade and pretend like I was alone. I tend to be self-righteous like that.
So the sunshine beaming on this little suburban breakdown I hosted in my room is this: I get to hear you again. It will take a long time for me to consider saying anything about it, but I'm just incandescent to hear you again. You didn't turn me away so, for that, I thank you. I know you haven't been completely destroyed. Mr. Ottman had me scared for a moment.
Bottom line to those who read this (since I know you care like me without the lack of self-control), he'll be alright.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
My rope no longer exists
I know I shouldn’t be writing this. I can’t believe I’ve let you get to me but, since you have, I thought this worthy of more than a comment.
Thing number one: rearranging the words in a sentence to make it sound like decent writing is an ineffective method. Maybe you should start saying what you mean instead of trying to sound intelligent because it doesn’t work.
Thing number two: Is there anyone you can think of who is more amazing and deep than yourself. You are irrefutably arrogant. You spend your time complaining about your miserable teenage life and about how there are no people as smart as you. Poor thing. Everyone around you is a daft fool, right? You’re the genius. You’re the poet who people hate because they’re intimidated by your brilliance. They criticize you unjustly when they don’t even know you? Only one, maybe two people know who you really are? But you criticize every single one of those people when you have know idea who they are. And I hate you because I secretly know you’re too good for me, right? No. I hate you because you are blind, weak, and self-righteous.
Thing number three: You’re nothing special. You’re just more effected by the teen syndrome than most. (My life is terrible, the world doesn’t understand me, all my peers are idiots, I have a creative, unique mind that’s much better than all the others.) You are the essence of self-absorbed, pathetic American youth. You’re not above any of the high school bullshit, you’re just filling a niche. Every school had an emotionally damaged asshole like you.
Thing number four: Michael is so much better than you and he deserves Bess. You just can’t stand that, for once, the person you preyed upon saw you for what you are. Someone should warn your new tease.
So, I guess what I’m saying surmounts to this: fuck you. : )
Thing number one: rearranging the words in a sentence to make it sound like decent writing is an ineffective method. Maybe you should start saying what you mean instead of trying to sound intelligent because it doesn’t work.
Thing number two: Is there anyone you can think of who is more amazing and deep than yourself. You are irrefutably arrogant. You spend your time complaining about your miserable teenage life and about how there are no people as smart as you. Poor thing. Everyone around you is a daft fool, right? You’re the genius. You’re the poet who people hate because they’re intimidated by your brilliance. They criticize you unjustly when they don’t even know you? Only one, maybe two people know who you really are? But you criticize every single one of those people when you have know idea who they are. And I hate you because I secretly know you’re too good for me, right? No. I hate you because you are blind, weak, and self-righteous.
Thing number three: You’re nothing special. You’re just more effected by the teen syndrome than most. (My life is terrible, the world doesn’t understand me, all my peers are idiots, I have a creative, unique mind that’s much better than all the others.) You are the essence of self-absorbed, pathetic American youth. You’re not above any of the high school bullshit, you’re just filling a niche. Every school had an emotionally damaged asshole like you.
Thing number four: Michael is so much better than you and he deserves Bess. You just can’t stand that, for once, the person you preyed upon saw you for what you are. Someone should warn your new tease.
So, I guess what I’m saying surmounts to this: fuck you. : )
Saturday, August 16, 2008
The night after seeing you.
I'm still awake at two in the morning of August 14th. My mind is racing and I've finally hit the tears. I grab a Sharpie and write in small letters on the wall: 1. I need to leave. I need to rupture the framework of this reality and break into a new one. Live a different life than is handed to you. It's getting too easy to be... nevermind. I lost the words in a drop of saltwater tainted with a wish.
"Silence is the loudest parting word you never say. Now a voiceless sympathy is all that remains."
~Ben Harper
In another spurt of this strange sob sessions, I write above it: 2. Do REAL good fro humanity. Get out while you still can.
On a different wall this time: 3. A pair of eyes are always staring in at me. I wish they were real.
4. I'd like to go crazy now. Maybe I should try my skills at resisting the words of therapists and mental institutions. Maybe that would do the trick. At least I would have something more to escape from then my own selfishness.
5. The only thing I'm fighting is myself and my accidental acceptance of the world in which I live. Silly me. Of all rebellions, I had to pick the hardest.
6. Sleep deprivation makes great fuel for thought. It maddens the spirit just enough.
7. When my lips are dry, I put on chapstick. How many people do that?
For some reason I found no number eight the next morning.
9. Whatever I do fresh from high school, I hope it is physically uncomfortable to prove I can be content anywhere.
10. This is the last one because I dropped the better Sharpie behind a shelf. I'm entertained to imagine reading these to find I have idea why I wrote such random, trite shit. : )
And I honestly don't. It really is a sad thing when I try to be dramatic, but this is how my night went, I suppose. You can check my walls to find the thoughts of a maddened heart staring back at you. I'm glad I saw you again, person. I was hoping I would.
"Silence is the loudest parting word you never say. Now a voiceless sympathy is all that remains."
~Ben Harper
In another spurt of this strange sob sessions, I write above it: 2. Do REAL good fro humanity. Get out while you still can.
On a different wall this time: 3. A pair of eyes are always staring in at me. I wish they were real.
4. I'd like to go crazy now. Maybe I should try my skills at resisting the words of therapists and mental institutions. Maybe that would do the trick. At least I would have something more to escape from then my own selfishness.
5. The only thing I'm fighting is myself and my accidental acceptance of the world in which I live. Silly me. Of all rebellions, I had to pick the hardest.
6. Sleep deprivation makes great fuel for thought. It maddens the spirit just enough.
7. When my lips are dry, I put on chapstick. How many people do that?
For some reason I found no number eight the next morning.
9. Whatever I do fresh from high school, I hope it is physically uncomfortable to prove I can be content anywhere.
10. This is the last one because I dropped the better Sharpie behind a shelf. I'm entertained to imagine reading these to find I have idea why I wrote such random, trite shit. : )
And I honestly don't. It really is a sad thing when I try to be dramatic, but this is how my night went, I suppose. You can check my walls to find the thoughts of a maddened heart staring back at you. I'm glad I saw you again, person. I was hoping I would.
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