Make_x_Me_x_Happy's Xanga

Sick of It.

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 01:04:45 GMT

I'm scared to love.
I'm scared to trust.
I'm scared to have fun.
I'm scared of being hurt.

I'm terrified, I'm petrified. Fear is ruling my life, ruling my emotions toward others.

High school's a bitch. It's a joke-- one that lost its humor long, long ago.

Friend (by definition): a person attached to another by feelings of affection... a person who gives assistance, supporter... a person who is on good terms with another, a person who is not hostile.
My 'friends' don't seem to fit those descriptions. They've created a whole new meaning to that word. Friend. A person who is there for the laughs but leaves during the tears. A person who smiles to your face, then complains about you when you leave. Friend. A person who merely puts up with you. A person who is always there for you- if it fits in her agenda.

Fuck this world I'm becoming so sick of it.

Fall down on the floor
Squint your eyes
Try to look up
Through the darkness
To the light
If you see nothing
That's part of the plan
To destroy you
Simply out of spite
We know your weaknesses
We can hurt you
And oh, we will
Brace yourself dear.
This won't be fun.
Falling tears
And witheld screams
All the better
Tourture is what we give you
Laughter is how we react
Oh we love to see your pain

An attempt at French.

Wed, 01 Oct 2008 02:54:31 GMT

Bonjour mon amies.
Ca va?
Je suis comme ci comme ca.
Je parle un peu de francais et je voudrais parle avec tu (if) tu parles francais aussi!
Ma francais n'est pas bien, mais je travaille dans ce.
Aujourd-hui, j'ai regarde le garcons jouent le foot. Le match est tres bonne, mais nous ne gangons pas. C'est tres triste. Enfin, je regard House dans la tele. J'ai bonne humor maintenent.
J'ai fatigue. Je vas aller (I am going to go?? I think I said that wrong) to bed. Bien soir!

I do hope I said all that correctly, or at least close enough where you could understand it. I'm sure I butchered quite a bit of the spelling. Any parts you just can't figure out (which I'd totally understand) go ahead and ask. A few random words are in English because I just couldn't remember how to say them in french.

Stuff....

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 01:13:44 GMT

I sent him a picture and said to ignore the fact that I don't look so great.
"Everyone has flaws. Yours are not in your looks."
I, again joking, asked where they were then.
"I haven't found one yet."
I think I've found a real friend. He's so kind. Everyone needs someone like that.

A mere vision
A small flash of memory
A short laugh
Or a small tear
At a moment once shared
All I have left

Happy moments
Full laughter shared
Tears from the joy
Gladness throughout
But behind all that
I still hear the rain
Rain of memories
Pain and sorrow
Still inside I hurt

I slowly open my eyes one at a time as the blaring of my alarm clock goes off.
Damned thing.
Groping around in the dark, I find the offending object and hit the off button a bit harder than necessary.
I rolly clumsily off my bed, placing a hand against the wall for balance.
Wobbling across my room, I flick on the light switch, shielding my sensitive eyes to the sudden brightness.
I paused for a moment, and thought to myself that today seemed like it would be a good day.
A drowsy smile played at my lips as I turned to my closet and the full length mirror next to it.
Upon seeing my reflection, I froze. My smile dropped and tears sprung to my eyes.
I gently moved my fingers to my forearm. The cold of my fingertips gently moved over the ridges that streaked across my arm, soothing the heat that lay under my freshly sliced skin.
Memories from the night before flooded my mind.
And I remembered... that's why it wasn't going to be a good day after all.

Memories

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 02:14:23 GMT

I saw two of the guys that sat in the row of desks to my left exchange a glance. Nudging the other two guys in their row, they muttered something, then all stood up, dragging thier desks to the wall a few yards away.
"God, what is that smell?" Cruel grins played across their face as the guy behind me and another on my right caught on. They too then moved their desks away from mine complaining of a horrible stench.
The teacher ignored the fact that half the student's desks were against the far walls of the room and continued writing at his desk.
I stared down at my homework, trying to pretend that I didn't notice what was going on- that I didn't care.
For the next fifteen minutes, the boys made jabs about a non-existant smell that just happened to be coming from my area.
The second the bell rang, I left the room and burst into tears.
The flat-out cruelty of these boys amazed me.
What I had ever done to be the one to pick on, I didn't know.
I wasn't a soft spoken person.
I wasn't a loser.
I didn't smell.
I wasn't fat.
I was none of the things that you picture a kid who is bullied to appear as.
I was a normal, pretty girl, with a lot of friends and an outgoing personality.
But somehow, I was it.
Every class there was at least 5 of this group of 10 boys.
7 hours a day was spent being relentlessly tourtured by them.
One teacher pretended to be blind to it.
Two others tried, then gave up, trying to stop it.
One ended it when he caught it.
Two months of this, then classes switched.
If those boys had still been in my classes after they changed, I was ready to report them for harassment. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) none of them were in any of my classes after those two months in hell.
Why I was picked as the victim, and not the stereotypical 'loser' I don't know.
But I will tell you this now,
Don't you EVER be the one who hurts someone as badly as those boys hurt me.
What they (and all the students who just sat and watched) thought was fun and a joke was really scarring and demeaning.

This, along with hundreds of other memories from the last two years haunt me like nothing I have ever experienced.
Perhaps if I begin to share them, they will leave me alone.

Take this to heart.

Sun, 21 Sep 2008 22:48:25 GMT

You can dream about it
Or you can make it happen

Him.

Sat, 20 Sep 2008 22:35:17 GMT

This background (brightly colored & polka dots) or my old one (black with colored blocks on the right)?

He visited me in my dream last night. {doesn't he always?}

It's been just over a year now.
Him breaking up with me.
He loves her.
I still love him {damn that emotion to all hell}.

Picture a movie theatre-like set up. But we were watching a play, not a movie.
I was sitting next to him.
We talked, and playfully nudged/hit/etc. eachother.
I could tell he was starting to like me again.
As a friend for sure, as more- perhaps.
My heart sqeezed with hope and longing.
Thinking that maybe, just maybe, I had a chance at getting him from her.
I had grabbed his hand, and as we moved our hands to the side, just about to release our grip, his hand brushed just under my jaw. He laughed, "I can feel your pulse." And still just messing around, he rested the backs of his fingers where he could feel my heart. I could see him about to make a foolish comment or joke about what he felt, but then time began to slow and our eyes locked. He stared at me for a minute. His face slowly neared mine, causing my heart to pick up speed in anticipation. His eyes were cautious, wondering. The air seemed heavy almost, thick with electricity and wonder. His eyes never left mine as he leaned toward me. At the last second, our faces just a few inches apart, an almost pained look crossed his face, and he pulled back ever so slightly. "You need to stop that," he whispered, referring to my pounding heart. He was tempted, and my body's reactions weren't helping him resist. He sighed, and slowly leaned back, moving his hand from my skin and the pulse beneath.

God, my heart thuds as I type this, in pure longing for his touch.

A Few Words

Wed, 17 Sep 2008 02:02:36 GMT

Do you like my new background/set up better?
Or the old one?

There she cried the most sorrowful of tears.
With but one friend to hold her hand.
And so many others that looked away.

Life can be hell, but it can also be wonderful.
So stick around through the crummy parts
So that you can experience the great ones.

I'm over him and ready to move on.
Until he calls my name later that day.
Then I am wrapped back around his finger.
Where I always find myself,
While he loves her.

Fix Me.

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 01:44:03 GMT

Deleted an overly long entry.
Such meaningless words.
I cannot bear this any longer.
Pain with no source.
Strong pain from small problems.

Normal or Unique?

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 02:48:58 GMT

I strive to be the best I can be. Therefore, I want to be myself, not copy anyone's idea of perfection or success but my own. I want to carve out my own paths, drive down my own road of happiness. I want to show everyone just how amazing I can be in everything I do if only I put my mind to it.
Yet at the same time I crave to be a normal girl. I come home from work and put in a movie, wondering if normal people do that, or if they read, or if they exercise or if they... I realize I don't know what I should be doing or how I should be doing it. I don't want to be a copy, but I'm scared of being a freak.
So how can I be my (sometimes seemingly impossible) version of my perfect self while also being a rounded, normal teenager? Is there such a thing or do I create stress and fear over something that cannot happen?
My mind is such a jumble of nerves at the thought of school, and therefore my chance to improve things, begining.
Am I ready? I don't think so. All those pressures to live up to- I am so scared that I will not meet my own goals. They are not unreasonable, but it seems that they are so much harder for me to accomplish than it is for others.

Fear.

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 00:45:21 GMT

Today I had a healthy breakfast. A small lunch at 11:30. A tiny snack at 2:00. And nothing for another 4 hours after that. Which means I had enough time to get pleanty hungry. Enough time to feel my empty stomach. Enough time to feel proud for not snacking and eating junk. Enough time to feel fear join the hunger knotting my stomach. While I try to forget the past, my stomach-brain link still strongly remembers the feel of hunger being a good thing. It still remembers the amount of pride that would fill me when hunger was all I felt. And that pride still automatically comes once I'm hungry enough.
I feel sickened, but mostly fearful, of the fact that pride is what I feel when I'm hungry. I know that I will continue to eat, I enjoy it now, but what if one day that proud feeling is what I need, and I skip a meal? What if old habits return? There is more I fear than eating scantily for a couple weeks at a time. I always managed to snap out of it. But there are worse things, worse habits, that could return. I do not want a ruined life again.

     I stood outside, my arms outstretched, eyes closed, face turned up to the sun. Laughing from the pure joy that comes from simply being alive, I twirled in a circle, feeling the warmth of the sun contest with the cool breeze that was playing with the ends of my hair.
    A grin still playing at the corners of my mouth, I turned to face the road. A large, refreshing breath of air filled me, and then I was off.
    My feet pounded at the pavement; my lungs and heart settled into an old familiar rythm. Energy coursed through my body so that I felt more alive than I ever had. Every cell buzzed as I picked up my pace, smiling for no reason other than my love for everything in this moment of perfection. SInce slowing or stopping was unthinkable, I pushed myself to my limits, loving the aching of my body, knowing I would be even better because of my actions. A giggle escaped from my lips, and a bounce of sheer delight picked up my step. I was so alive. Happiness seeped through every corner of my being, knowing no bounds or limitations.
     Upon reaching the river, I pulled off my running tank, exposing my bright sports bra and lightly tanned skin. Kicking off my shoes, I wiggled out of my socks and jumped into the water with a delighted splash. Immersing myself in the calm of the cool, flowing water, I sighed and closed my eyes. I focused all of my wandering attention onto the soothing feel of the river and allowed myself to swim lazily upstream, only to float back to my starting spot. Cold water ran through my hair and over my body, relieving the heat that had accumulated from my run.
     Satisfaction buffered away any feelings of unhappiness that may have tried to disturb me. Already that morning I had cleaned my room, prepared an incredibly healthy breakfast, and did all my laundry while dancing to high energy music.
     For the last few days, there had been no stopping my actions. I had to be doing something productive at every waking moment. Emotions soared through me, boundlessly stretching to feel even better than I already did. I was part of this miraculous world, living perfection, no limits holding me back from all that I can accomplish. Oh, how amazing life truely was.

One week later.

     I sighed, turning over to look at the clock. 1:21am. Only two minutes past the last time I had looked. Groaning, I thrashed around under my covers, trying to find a position that was anything less than painful. After several more minutes of my grunted protesting and tangling of my sheets, I sat up and leaned against the wall.  Reaching out, I flicked on my desk lamp and pulled my diary to me.
     A wasted day, all I did was sit on my worthless, lazy, ever-expanding ass. I seem to have this tendancy to forget just how pathetic I really am, thinking I can change the world if I so wanted. Fuck the highs of this disorder, I was wrong. This is not worth it. To think, silly, pathetic me every thought I could succeed at something.
     God! I cannot bear this! I feel as though my chest will explode from the amount of hate I hold for myself. I am so overwhelmed by simply waking up to live my pointless life that I don't think I can take this much longer.
     A painful rush filled me as the memory of my emotions from earlier rushed back to greet me. Tears welled in my eyes and I slammed my head back against the wall. Why must I live through such pain? Chest tightening, my breaths came more quickly. My thoughts began to race, insults running into statements of failure, feelings mixing with nonsense, all jumbling into a uncomprehendable mess. I sucked in a harsh breath, trying to steady the shaking of my hands.
     Fuck! This was not going to work. I yanked open the desk drawer, rummaging to the bottom for an old candy tin. Instantly feeling calmer upon locating it, my hands steadied enough to pull the top open and pull out my trusted razor.
    Tears streamed down my cheek as I realized that returning to this destructive habit only proved just how much of a failure I really was.

-----True exerpts from my life of undiagnosed (obviously probable) bipolar disorder-----