How the hell do you sleep at night? And a more pressing question is, why do you work with kids when it's obvious you fucking hate them? Why anybody would ever want to be in charge of a bunch of hormonal, pubescent, smack-talking kids is beyond me. This is what your life has resorted to and it must be really sad being you.
But it is not you I give a fuck about. Jump off a bridge for all I care. What I want to know is why you think you can have any position of power in a government-funded system when you have no god damn clue about the rights of American citizens - yes, even the preteen ones. Or maybe you do, but just have a sick need for power and control, no matter how insignificant it is, and get pleasure in censoring the voices of the children who so conveniently for you are unaware of the rights granted to them by the Constitution, and more specifically, the first amendment.
For not only did you violate my freedom of speech, you tried to get at me for expressing my religious beliefs at the time. And while those beliefs were temporary and out of curiosity, I had every right to explore them. Yet it was because of your ignorance an bigoted conservatism that I was written up for it. After all, if the Christian kids are allowed to wear their crosses and say their prayers, why isn't a Pagan allowed to absent-mindedly doodle her religious symbol? And not only did I doodle it, but I wrote peaceful slogans on it, such as, "Wicca is NOT Satanism" and "Wicca appreciates the natural world." And still - STILL - I was written up for "offensive Satanic material." How fucking BLIND are you people? It was right there in plain English for you! Besides, even if I was making Satanic remarks, so what? Satanists don't actually worship the Satan YOU believe in. It wasn't as if I was hurting anybody. "Offensive?" That sheet of paper was trying to teach people, to bring them out of their delusional superstitions. It was my religion, my beliefs. I don't get offended when people express their religious beliefs (as offensive Christianity in itself is), so I would expect the same respect, even though my beliefs aren't the same. But instead, I am punished. If Wicca wasn't a peaceful religion and that disallowed evil, curses on you!
My 8th grade history teacher, when I told her about the incident, totally patronized me after dragging me into the hallway. She defended the administration, and told me that I had no place in seeking religion as I was too young and naive to get into that business. She said I was just trying to be trendy and I ought to just give it up then. I was hurt immensely and felt completely discriminated against. Young? Yeah. Naive? Of course. Trying to be trendy? Perhaps, though it didn't seem that way at the time. But an American whose expressions ought to have been protected by the Constitution? Above all. Amazing that my U.S. History teacher didn't recognize this.
That is totally not even the end.
There was another occasion that you completely forgot first amendment rights. One day at lunch, my friends and I took a poll asking people whether they supported gay marriage (in case you're curious, most said no, since the conservative redneck parents you ally with brainwash their offspring young and allow their ignorance to be passed through generations). After school that day, we had organized a debate on the issue, with teacher supervision. Yet as we congregated when the time came, we were shooed into the VP office where we were told to wait for our supervisor. The VP (Ms. Casto) walked out and asked what we were doing there, and we told her.
"Are you the same kids that walked around at lunch taking a poll on gay marriage?"
"Yes," we responded. She then informed us that an offended (bigoted) parent had called and complained, and we would not be able to do our debate because people would object. The mouths of all participants, for and against, dropped, and because of the butthurt of one ignorant asshole, we hung our heads and slunk out, crushed.
The fact of the matter is that, once again, you degenerates sided with ignorance and bigotry, resulting in an offense of the most crucial and important right in our country. A parent wanted to shelter her precious baby from the real world and continue the never-ending generational chain of bigotry through brainwashing at extremely young ages, and you allowed for it. Whether out of agreement of convenience, you sided with everything that's wrong with this world. People who breed hate and try sheltering children from other ways of life are unfit to be parents, and any bitch who supports them is unfit to be an educator. For what you taught my friends and I, impressionistic kids, was that it's okay to silence the voices that need to be heard, that it's okay to be shit-scared of a bunch of rednecks and do the easy thing by doing the wrong thing, that it's entirely acceptable to respect and be exposed to only one point of view.
Your types are on a moral high-horse, yet you do what you do because you're so insecure in your fragile ways, so shit-scared of letting go of your mother's tits, that you close the door on a more tolerant and rational world.
I am glad I didn't follow in your steps. I'm glad that I am able to step out of my comfort zone an challenge my beliefs to gain a keener insight to the world. And this world is dark and cruel, yes, but it's real - and while nobody may ever know any Absolute Truth, I am much more in tune to the world's truths than you could ever dream of. While I don't believe in the afterlife, I will close my eyes for the last time and fall into an eternal slumber peacefully, knowing that my efforts weren't futile. But you and the unfortunate children who learned from you will be in total darkness and die completely stranded from the world that was your stranger, and you'll have lived only for fear, and have never truly belonged anywhere. And the world will forget you, oh yes, because you never knew it and have no chance of immortality. Just another forgotten corpse to be tossed into a mass grave of nobody worth knowing. Not even your shadow stands a chance.
Heaven and hell aren't where you, they're how you get there.
Fuck you,
Kaytee.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
I am pro-life.
How can anybody look into the eyes of a stranger who poses no threat to them, see the pleading and the thirst for life, and then shoot them dead? How can anybody take the life of a child who has not been given the opportunity to decide for himself what is good and evil? People who can do this have no conscience. People who can do this have no regard for their fellow humans' right to live, and thus do not quite deserve to live.
With these strong opinions, how can I be anti-life, and what does the "pro-life" movement suggest? Do they consider me to have the conscience of a sociopath? But, I declare, an unborn fetus is not a person; it is not a person, at least, until it is sentient and can possibly survive outside the womb, which occurs at the beginning of the third trimester (1.4% of abortions occur at or after this point). Until then, it cannot feel basic emotions, physical pain, nor can it understand mortality.
I insist that I am pro-life, then. I have a conscience and I do not think anybody should be killed for no purpose. I am not evil. I can look into a stranger's eyes and feel the life they live for in my heart. I want everyone to feel wanted and loved and to enjoy their only opportunity to exist. They are people. They want existence.
There is too much unnecessary suffering. There are too many children being born into a world that treats them wickedly. They are their own people now and should be given a chance. But no more unhappy children should be brought here unwanted. Before they know what misery is, make it so they'll never have to feel such a way. Children should be loved by parents and family. They deserve nothing less.
I am pro-choice because I can step into the shoes of an average woman - a woman with no more good or evil in her than the rest of us - and understand her pain. I can imagine myself as one of the millions of children who were born homeless. What can these "pro-lifers" do except condemn everybody, stamp their heels for every fetus yet ignore the plights of those already born, and make assertions solely based on their personal feelings rather than stopping to take a look at the condition their world is in?
I am indeed pro-life. But at the same time, I am pro-choice. My mind is big enough to hold both concepts.
Every year, 14,050,000 children still grow up as orphans and age out of the system.
Every 2.2 seconds, another orphan child ages out with no family to belong to and no place to call home.
In Ukraine and Russia, 10-15% of children who age out of an orphanage commit suicide before age 18. 60% of the girls are lured into prostitution. 70% of the boys become hardened criminals.*
Be pro-life: find homes for the children that are already born, and don't bring any more misery into the world. Many families can't have children and want some, but there are already millions to choose from.
*http://www.hfgf.org/statistics.pdf
With these strong opinions, how can I be anti-life, and what does the "pro-life" movement suggest? Do they consider me to have the conscience of a sociopath? But, I declare, an unborn fetus is not a person; it is not a person, at least, until it is sentient and can possibly survive outside the womb, which occurs at the beginning of the third trimester (1.4% of abortions occur at or after this point). Until then, it cannot feel basic emotions, physical pain, nor can it understand mortality.
I insist that I am pro-life, then. I have a conscience and I do not think anybody should be killed for no purpose. I am not evil. I can look into a stranger's eyes and feel the life they live for in my heart. I want everyone to feel wanted and loved and to enjoy their only opportunity to exist. They are people. They want existence.
There is too much unnecessary suffering. There are too many children being born into a world that treats them wickedly. They are their own people now and should be given a chance. But no more unhappy children should be brought here unwanted. Before they know what misery is, make it so they'll never have to feel such a way. Children should be loved by parents and family. They deserve nothing less.
I am pro-choice because I can step into the shoes of an average woman - a woman with no more good or evil in her than the rest of us - and understand her pain. I can imagine myself as one of the millions of children who were born homeless. What can these "pro-lifers" do except condemn everybody, stamp their heels for every fetus yet ignore the plights of those already born, and make assertions solely based on their personal feelings rather than stopping to take a look at the condition their world is in?
I am indeed pro-life. But at the same time, I am pro-choice. My mind is big enough to hold both concepts.
Every year, 14,050,000 children still grow up as orphans and age out of the system.
Every 2.2 seconds, another orphan child ages out with no family to belong to and no place to call home.
In Ukraine and Russia, 10-15% of children who age out of an orphanage commit suicide before age 18. 60% of the girls are lured into prostitution. 70% of the boys become hardened criminals.*
Be pro-life: find homes for the children that are already born, and don't bring any more misery into the world. Many families can't have children and want some, but there are already millions to choose from.
*http://www.hfgf.org/statistics.pdf
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Land of the Free
My freedom is fenced by high expectations
And for years I've yearned for a little salvation
In the land of the free, how can I be
Individualistic?
Apparently it's an autonomy
That's far too concerned with economy
Thus we've become, except for some,
Far too materialistic.
Ironic that in this democracy,
I've never seen such hypocrisy
Freedom's our guise, but much of it's lies,
We're all just idealistic.
Americans have the mentality
That theirs is the only morality
Stop being blind, open your mind
It's risky to be narcissistic.
Once, people arrived to escape persecution
The New World it seemed was the greatest solution
If we've come so far, to me it's bizarre
That as a people we're unaltruistic.
Is it strange that I seem to want to be saved
From the land of the free and the home of the brave?
In the land of the free, how can I be
Individualistic?
And for years I've yearned for a little salvation
In the land of the free, how can I be
Individualistic?
Apparently it's an autonomy
That's far too concerned with economy
Thus we've become, except for some,
Far too materialistic.
Ironic that in this democracy,
I've never seen such hypocrisy
Freedom's our guise, but much of it's lies,
We're all just idealistic.
Americans have the mentality
That theirs is the only morality
Stop being blind, open your mind
It's risky to be narcissistic.
Once, people arrived to escape persecution
The New World it seemed was the greatest solution
If we've come so far, to me it's bizarre
That as a people we're unaltruistic.
Is it strange that I seem to want to be saved
From the land of the free and the home of the brave?
In the land of the free, how can I be
Individualistic?
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Advanced Global Personality Test
Advanced Global Personality Test Results
|
Stability results were moderately low which suggests you are worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious.
Orderliness results were low which suggests you are overly flexible, improvised, and fun seeking at the expense too often of reliability, work ethic, and long term accomplishment.
Extraversion results were medium which suggests you are moderately talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting.
***
Trait Snapshot
messy, irritable, depressed, fragile, worrying, emotionally sensitive, does not like to lead, phobic, weird, suspicious, low self control, paranoid, frequently second guesses self, dependent, unproductive, introverted, weak, strange, unassertive, submissive, familiar with the dark side of life, feels invisible, rash, vain, anti-authority, heart over mind, low self concept, disorganized, not good at saving money, avoidant, daydreamer, unadventurous
***
Oh great. Does this make me a failure of a human being? Heh. My trait snapshot is, saddeningly, somewhat accurate and seems to only say bad things about me: messy, irritable, somewhat depressive, emotionally sensitive, not a leader (but not a follower), weird, low self control, second guesses self, dependent, unproductive, introverted, not sure about weakness (mentally, I'm still unsure what that includes), strange, unassertive, submissive, familiar with dark side of life, rash, anti-authority, heart over mind, disorganized, not good at saving money, avoidant, daydreamer are all kinda accurate. Does this thing only focus on negative traits? I know I'm nice and open-minded and accepting. I know I'm funny and shameless and not easily abashed (though still quite shy).
The terms that aren't very representative of me are fragile, worrying, paranoid, feeling invisible, vain (wait, you know what, I take that back: I am kinda vain, I just try to closet it), low self concept (though I'm not quite sure what that means either) and unadventurous. I am most CERTAINLY adventurous... I'm just not giving many opportunities to be so! I'd like to be though! Life just gets so DULL, and I despise routine, and maybe I'm all these things because the same thing over and over again is kinda killing my spirit. I like to imagine myself post-high school, funny, carefree, intelligent. But is that just who I want to be, or do I really have the potential to be that person? Will everything change once I learn about true independence?
The Peter Pan complex thing, for which I scored 50%, was kinda a big deal a few months ago: if I'd taken this assessment then, I might have been 70%, but now I'm beginning to get eager to just live life and get old and die already!
Even though the thought of dying and not existing (in my head, that is) still kinda scares me... although I'm not quite afraid of death so much as I am afraid of dying young. If I was 80, bring it on. But I'm only 16, I still have a lot to do.
P.S. I read the descriptions of some of the traits above (they're blue and underlined, which means they are links, obviously), and I noticed that the person who created it doesn't know how to spell "weird." Personality tests are often easily inaccurate, but because the idiot can't spell "weird," I take these results much less seriously.
P.S.S. I kinda take pride in having a 90% score for "sexuality." If there was anything in my life I love more than life, it'd be sex and such.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Not My Rival
“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
If I lived in Biblical times, I’d have been a great Roman thinker. If I lived in the Dark Ages, I’d have been hung for heresy. If I lived in the Elizabethan Era, I’d have been the Queen’s confidante. If I lived among the slaves in the Confederacy, I’d have risked my life to free them. If I lived in the 1960’s, I’d have been a hippie. But I don’t live in any of those times: I am an American child of the 21st century.
Not that it concerns me. You know, where and when my existence takes place. The fact of the matter is that I only have this one life, and I’m not quite ready to give it up. I do care about what goes on outside my comfort zone – I hate haters and have a problem with people who have a problem with the outcasts, or the minority, or just anyone who is different (whatever THAT means). But right now, I’m 16 and I really just want to enjoy what’s left of my childhood. The world revolves around my friends, around San Antonio, around me. But that’s my world. Every person has their own world…and we share our worlds to create the Big Picture. People just have the tendency to hurl their worlds around and crash into others’. But my world isn’t going to destroy anybody’s, I hope. Mine is going to share waters! To be walked upon by trusted people. If you want to become a part of mine, here’s a tour!
I like to be funny and goofy and silly, but I’m also pretty serious and (obviously) cheesy. Not that any of these parts of me are fake; my personality is pretty big, and some aspects of it just can’t exist at the same time as others. But that’s not to say they don’t both exist. I am Cakes - fun, playful, flirty, horny, happy, extremely perverted, shameless, and giggly. I am Sana – sarcastic, annoyed, argumentative, opinionated, passionate, troublesome, pissy, and also extremely perverted. I am Hāsya – thoughtful, pessimistic, worried, tranquil, dreamy, shy…and still pretty damn perverted. But I’m always Kaytee, always perverted, and always lazy as hell. I’m not very ambitious: I don’t care much for school stuff (though I GUESS I’ll go to college, just in case I’ll need it one day). I just want to write and think and live a quiet, simple life…in a very happening, diverse neighborhood. I don’t want much, except friends, real love, and happiness. Money just isn’t anywhere on my list of priorities. It can’t buy happiness anyway!
Also, I would like to add, and it would be wise of you to consider this for the sake of your sanity, that I don't care what anybody thinks of me except for my friends for this reason: nobody really knows me like my friends do, and so how could I let strangers' false impression of who I am at my core bother me? No matter what, you are going to be judged negatively by somebody for whatever reason, but it shouldn't bother you if you know that their reasons for judging you don't represent who you really are (I'll admit to being occasionally annoyed). Your true friends, however, give the most valuable criticism, because they know you and care about you. And when they do criticise you, remember something: they're your friend for a reason, and that's that they love you and think your positive attributes greatly outweight your negatives. As for appearance, it's fun to shop for cool clothes and put on make-up (it's part of being a girl!), but don't let it control your life. Beauty is subjective, and for every ugly thought you have about yourself, there is somebody who thinks you are beautiful. (Also, the best boys are the nerdy ones who don't realise how attractive they are and thus do not strive for model-gorgeous girlfriends. =D)
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
If I lived in Biblical times, I’d have been a great Roman thinker. If I lived in the Dark Ages, I’d have been hung for heresy. If I lived in the Elizabethan Era, I’d have been the Queen’s confidante. If I lived among the slaves in the Confederacy, I’d have risked my life to free them. If I lived in the 1960’s, I’d have been a hippie. But I don’t live in any of those times: I am an American child of the 21st century.
Not that it concerns me. You know, where and when my existence takes place. The fact of the matter is that I only have this one life, and I’m not quite ready to give it up. I do care about what goes on outside my comfort zone – I hate haters and have a problem with people who have a problem with the outcasts, or the minority, or just anyone who is different (whatever THAT means). But right now, I’m 16 and I really just want to enjoy what’s left of my childhood. The world revolves around my friends, around San Antonio, around me. But that’s my world. Every person has their own world…and we share our worlds to create the Big Picture. People just have the tendency to hurl their worlds around and crash into others’. But my world isn’t going to destroy anybody’s, I hope. Mine is going to share waters! To be walked upon by trusted people. If you want to become a part of mine, here’s a tour!
I like to be funny and goofy and silly, but I’m also pretty serious and (obviously) cheesy. Not that any of these parts of me are fake; my personality is pretty big, and some aspects of it just can’t exist at the same time as others. But that’s not to say they don’t both exist. I am Cakes - fun, playful, flirty, horny, happy, extremely perverted, shameless, and giggly. I am Sana – sarcastic, annoyed, argumentative, opinionated, passionate, troublesome, pissy, and also extremely perverted. I am Hāsya – thoughtful, pessimistic, worried, tranquil, dreamy, shy…and still pretty damn perverted. But I’m always Kaytee, always perverted, and always lazy as hell. I’m not very ambitious: I don’t care much for school stuff (though I GUESS I’ll go to college, just in case I’ll need it one day). I just want to write and think and live a quiet, simple life…in a very happening, diverse neighborhood. I don’t want much, except friends, real love, and happiness. Money just isn’t anywhere on my list of priorities. It can’t buy happiness anyway!
Also, I would like to add, and it would be wise of you to consider this for the sake of your sanity, that I don't care what anybody thinks of me except for my friends for this reason: nobody really knows me like my friends do, and so how could I let strangers' false impression of who I am at my core bother me? No matter what, you are going to be judged negatively by somebody for whatever reason, but it shouldn't bother you if you know that their reasons for judging you don't represent who you really are (I'll admit to being occasionally annoyed). Your true friends, however, give the most valuable criticism, because they know you and care about you. And when they do criticise you, remember something: they're your friend for a reason, and that's that they love you and think your positive attributes greatly outweight your negatives. As for appearance, it's fun to shop for cool clothes and put on make-up (it's part of being a girl!), but don't let it control your life. Beauty is subjective, and for every ugly thought you have about yourself, there is somebody who thinks you are beautiful. (Also, the best boys are the nerdy ones who don't realise how attractive they are and thus do not strive for model-gorgeous girlfriends. =D)
Sunday, November 2, 2008
We All Fall Down...Like Toy Soldiers
One of my addictions is Yahoo! Answers. Many of my friends think it's pathetic, but I like it because...well, I dunno, it's just fun to answer questions. The sections I take most part in are "Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transsexual," "Religion and Spirituality," and "Psychology." I love being a counselor. Tonight, one young girl asked the Answers community how she could overcome depression. So I thought about my battle with depression. And I told her. It was a novel-length answer and some didn't even fit, but I think she'll get the gist. So here's what I said, in case anybody else has the same question she does and miraculously stumbles upon my blog:
Holy crap, I just typed a long response and I accidentally deleted all of it. I'm pretty mad, but I'm going to try again. lol. Maybe it'll come out better.
For most of my life until recently, at 16, I'd been depressed. I actually can't remember being depressed before 6th grade, but my mom recalls 9-year-old me saying something along the lines of, "If I got in a car accident and died, I wouldn't care!" Throughout middle school and the first half of high school, I was plagued with thoughts like, "Why the hell am I even here?" "Do I even have a purpose?" "Why does bad stuff always have to happen?" "Why is everybody so cruel, especially to me?"
Explaining how I so drastically changed from being miserable to absolutely loving life is difficult, and actually doing so is probably, for somebody trying to achieve happiness, even harder. It just sorta happened for me; I'm not sure how common it is to get over depression the way I did, but it probably takes a lot longer, considering I'm only 16 and many people suffer for much longer. Although my mindset at the time was awful and pessimistic and self-hating, it was driven to be happy. I WILLED myself to be as happy as I am today, I was determined. In 8th grade, it was the worst: I'd been dumped twice by two beloved boyfriends...the second one was very cruel about it. I felt ugly. I felt like a beyotch. I didn't like the person I was. My political views were radical and I hated the world. I was misanthropic. I was a drama queen, so the typical problems that kids that age faced were magnified.
But I didn't want to be that way. I began telling myself what then felt like lies...I began "brainwashing" myself to believe that my chubbiness was actually quite cute, that I was a good person and that as long as my motives for the world were good, that I was a good person. I didn't believe myself at first, of course. It was all bullcrap, in my angsty head.
I was on anti-depressants for a while, but I stopped taking them sometime in 10th grade because they weren't really working - I was still depressed, and the side effects were awful...when I was on Zoloft, I would feel nauseous for hours after taking it. My logic for deciding not to take them was, "Meds aren't going to help my condition. I'm depressed because I let bad things happen to me, and when they do happen to me, I sulk. I let bad things people say about me get to me. It's my fault this way and drugs aren't going to change my perception, mindset, and attitude." Of course, I thought this with a bad attitude, pessimistically, like I was incurable, but after actually changing myself so drastically I can say that it was terrific rationale.
I was really into spirituality and began experimenting with Buddhism when I was 15, which probably helped (though ironically, I no longer give a crap about any of that spiritual and religious stuff). I also stopped hanging out with the morbid, depressing, suicidal gothy types and instead became friends with the clowns, the carefree nerds who were misunderstood but happy, weird yet well known and liked.
The key is to be nice to yourself. Use the "brainwashing" method that I did. Tell yourself that you're pretty, that your eyes are shiny and your smile is dazzling and your body is beautiful and you'll eventually begin to believe yourself. Be glad to be you. Hang out with nice people. Don't take life too seriously. Learn to take a joke. Live in the present. Listen to uplifting music (80's music is pretty good, lololol). If you are somewhat religious, become more in touch with your spirituality. Don't hold grudges. Accept people as they are, which will help you accept yourself. Hating is something that unhappy people do. Accept that bad things happen: you will get dumped, but it was never meant to be in the first place and there is someone better for you; somebody died, but your memory of them is happy and you're glad they were in your life. Be optimistic. Be hopeful. Don't be too hard on yourself when you get a bad grade. Live not by "nobody is perfect," but that "everybody is perfect." Don't dwell on your mistakes, but learn from them. Cry when you want to cry. Write about your feelings. Stand up for somebody. Stand up for yourself. You probably don't know what you want in life, but as time goes by you'll get an idea and things will just progress from there. If somebody disses you for your beliefs, don't let it get to you: you know that you have good motives. Don't hate humanity - the media loves to glorify the bad things, but when you get to know people one-on-one, no matter their beliefs, most of them are decent human beings with their own feelings and perspectives.
Also, don't accept the criticism from people who don't even know you. If you feel it's true, the bad things that they're saying, then accept that part of you, or make it work for you if you can. Friends are the only people who can say anything about you...but first you'll need to identify your true friends. Who do you act yourself around? Who knows you best? If they criticize you for something, don't feel awful about it: they're still your friend, right? They still love you, so you should still love yourself.
I know from experience that suicide is a permanent solution to temporary and totally fixable problems. If I had killed myself, I wouldn't have been able to feel as happy as I do today. Live with the belief that happiness is meant for you. Things will work out.
Coincidentally, "Human" by Human League is on the radio right now...listen to it, it's awesome.
P.S. I had indeed typed all of that and more previously, and hit the wrong key and got all of it deleted, which upset me to no end. Ha, I nearly cried - I hate when that happens SO MUCH! But I was determined to help this girl, so I did it again, though I think the first attempt was better. She probably won't even read all of it, but whatever, cuz it sure as hell did wonders for me.
Holy crap, I just typed a long response and I accidentally deleted all of it. I'm pretty mad, but I'm going to try again. lol. Maybe it'll come out better.
For most of my life until recently, at 16, I'd been depressed. I actually can't remember being depressed before 6th grade, but my mom recalls 9-year-old me saying something along the lines of, "If I got in a car accident and died, I wouldn't care!" Throughout middle school and the first half of high school, I was plagued with thoughts like, "Why the hell am I even here?" "Do I even have a purpose?" "Why does bad stuff always have to happen?" "Why is everybody so cruel, especially to me?"
Explaining how I so drastically changed from being miserable to absolutely loving life is difficult, and actually doing so is probably, for somebody trying to achieve happiness, even harder. It just sorta happened for me; I'm not sure how common it is to get over depression the way I did, but it probably takes a lot longer, considering I'm only 16 and many people suffer for much longer. Although my mindset at the time was awful and pessimistic and self-hating, it was driven to be happy. I WILLED myself to be as happy as I am today, I was determined. In 8th grade, it was the worst: I'd been dumped twice by two beloved boyfriends...the second one was very cruel about it. I felt ugly. I felt like a beyotch. I didn't like the person I was. My political views were radical and I hated the world. I was misanthropic. I was a drama queen, so the typical problems that kids that age faced were magnified.
But I didn't want to be that way. I began telling myself what then felt like lies...I began "brainwashing" myself to believe that my chubbiness was actually quite cute, that I was a good person and that as long as my motives for the world were good, that I was a good person. I didn't believe myself at first, of course. It was all bullcrap, in my angsty head.
I was on anti-depressants for a while, but I stopped taking them sometime in 10th grade because they weren't really working - I was still depressed, and the side effects were awful...when I was on Zoloft, I would feel nauseous for hours after taking it. My logic for deciding not to take them was, "Meds aren't going to help my condition. I'm depressed because I let bad things happen to me, and when they do happen to me, I sulk. I let bad things people say about me get to me. It's my fault this way and drugs aren't going to change my perception, mindset, and attitude." Of course, I thought this with a bad attitude, pessimistically, like I was incurable, but after actually changing myself so drastically I can say that it was terrific rationale.
I was really into spirituality and began experimenting with Buddhism when I was 15, which probably helped (though ironically, I no longer give a crap about any of that spiritual and religious stuff). I also stopped hanging out with the morbid, depressing, suicidal gothy types and instead became friends with the clowns, the carefree nerds who were misunderstood but happy, weird yet well known and liked.
The key is to be nice to yourself. Use the "brainwashing" method that I did. Tell yourself that you're pretty, that your eyes are shiny and your smile is dazzling and your body is beautiful and you'll eventually begin to believe yourself. Be glad to be you. Hang out with nice people. Don't take life too seriously. Learn to take a joke. Live in the present. Listen to uplifting music (80's music is pretty good, lololol). If you are somewhat religious, become more in touch with your spirituality. Don't hold grudges. Accept people as they are, which will help you accept yourself. Hating is something that unhappy people do. Accept that bad things happen: you will get dumped, but it was never meant to be in the first place and there is someone better for you; somebody died, but your memory of them is happy and you're glad they were in your life. Be optimistic. Be hopeful. Don't be too hard on yourself when you get a bad grade. Live not by "nobody is perfect," but that "everybody is perfect." Don't dwell on your mistakes, but learn from them. Cry when you want to cry. Write about your feelings. Stand up for somebody. Stand up for yourself. You probably don't know what you want in life, but as time goes by you'll get an idea and things will just progress from there. If somebody disses you for your beliefs, don't let it get to you: you know that you have good motives. Don't hate humanity - the media loves to glorify the bad things, but when you get to know people one-on-one, no matter their beliefs, most of them are decent human beings with their own feelings and perspectives.
Also, don't accept the criticism from people who don't even know you. If you feel it's true, the bad things that they're saying, then accept that part of you, or make it work for you if you can. Friends are the only people who can say anything about you...but first you'll need to identify your true friends. Who do you act yourself around? Who knows you best? If they criticize you for something, don't feel awful about it: they're still your friend, right? They still love you, so you should still love yourself.
I know from experience that suicide is a permanent solution to temporary and totally fixable problems. If I had killed myself, I wouldn't have been able to feel as happy as I do today. Live with the belief that happiness is meant for you. Things will work out.
Coincidentally, "Human" by Human League is on the radio right now...listen to it, it's awesome.
P.S. I had indeed typed all of that and more previously, and hit the wrong key and got all of it deleted, which upset me to no end. Ha, I nearly cried - I hate when that happens SO MUCH! But I was determined to help this girl, so I did it again, though I think the first attempt was better. She probably won't even read all of it, but whatever, cuz it sure as hell did wonders for me.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Old Stuff Collection: Confessions of A Timid Pop Can
In seventh grade we were required to write a short story about a soda can. I have no idea why. Many things in this story make no sense; for one, what are a variety of different sodas in the same box? There are also misusages of words, but I was 12 so forgive me.
Confessions of A Timid Pop Can
"I loved my home at the soda factory. There were many ethnicities, and different pop cultures. I was a Pepsi filled with sweet sugar, and had many friends.One soon-to-be gruesome day, I had a box-party, prepared for a rapturous afternoon of merriment, which, as I later found out, was not how it turned out to be.
"All my friends came, including my boyfriend Sprite, who was a DJ. Everyone loved Sprite's remixes, and fizzed joyfully over how Big Red had so much caffeine, making him the most annoying factory civilian.
"Suddenly, a giant - with hands like rough cloth, eyes like darts, and a voice like thunder - grabbed each of us by our waists, threw us in a box, and slammed the door shut, locking us in!" I cried to my counselors, Dr.Pepper and Mr. Pibb. They glared at me dolefully, and I knew they wondered what this monster that kidnapped us was.
"What happened next?" asked Dr. Pepper curiously.
"I don't wanna talk about it anymore," I decided, fiddling with my tin cap.
"Just please describe it to us as best as you can," pleaded Mr.Pibb, anxious to hear the rest of my vicious tale.
"I don't wanna, I tell you!" I spat, shaking with fury and irritation. "The memory of it destroyed my life!"
"If you won't speak to us, why come in the first place?" Dr.Pepper pointed out with a frown, stealing a glance at the clock. "I have a meeting at 3:00!"
"Fine," I muttered, slumping in my chair. My eyes swelled with tears, feeling afflicted by the experience.
"What?"
"I SAID I'LL TELL YOU, YOU IDIOTS!!" I shouted. They dropped their steno pads and pens with surprise, gazing into my eyes, freaked out by my aggressivness. Well, hello? I have every right to yell, seeing as how I'm the only can alive who knows about the actual horrors of life.
"Well, my parents disappeared that day," I began again, looking down miserably. The doctors didn't speak, so I continued. "I never saw them again, after being taken away by those blood-sucking scoundrels. They crammed us all into that miserable box, which was gloomy and nauseating.
"Oh, this traumatic catastrophe is one I will never manage to forget. I was only just a youngster, so this incident will haunt my life from the time it happened to the day I decay.
"Anyway, what happened was, we were put in this wall. The beasts called it 'Wal-Mart,' which meant we were for sale, or something. Like we were slaves!
"Although Sprite and my other friends were there, I was still apprehensive and blah. One day, after an endless, exhausting week, an elderly woman ambled by and said, to herself, 'My grandchildren are as stale as a year-old loaf of bread! They need a sweetening. These sodas will do the trick. Those attitudes...'"
"The next thing we knew, we were moving down this strange mat. It was pretty graceful actually - although I still wanted to barf up my calories - until we got to the CASHIER." Dr.Pepper and Mr. Pibb shrieked, and toppled off their chairs. I snickered, loving the way those menacing popheads freaked out like that.
"Not...not the CASHIER!" wailed Mr. Pibb, shuddering.
"Yes. The Cashier," I replied, a wicked grin spreading across my face like peanut butter. "You know what THAT means."
"No, don't say it!" cried Dr.Pepper gutlessly. Those idiots. They had no idea that getting all excited like that would only lead me on.
"The SCANNER," I cackled, emphasizing on the word. Boy, was that a mistake. Both doctors started panicking and ran around the room like nut-cased whackos. I had the mentality to understand that the "S" word was impracticable, but saying it was supposed to amuse me, knowing that these so-called psychiatrists would scudder around like cockroaches, covering their ears and screeching at the top of their lungs. But at the moment I found it vexatious, because I wanted to get to the point.
"ANYWAY, the..."
"Don't say it!" squeaked Mr.Pibb, shaking uncontrollably.
"I'll call it the Hoobla," I said.
"Yes, please do," nodded Dr.Pepper, relaxing.
"So, the 'Hoobla's' intense radiation alarmed us, and we could feel our metallic crusts melting, our insides were splashing around like tsunamis. Although it was incredibly painful, nobody died.
"But not for long. After a bumpy ride in a suffocating, air-less damp area, where we slid around everywhere, we were taken out and soon after placed in a cool, wonderful surface. The peephole in front of me displayed a vase with attractive, scented objects popping out of it.
"Two mini-sized humans, called grandchildren, tore apart the box, and one of those horrific beings pulled Sprite's head off and gulped up his insides! I sobbed hysterically, and his limp body was crushed, then thrown into a green bin with three white arrows pointing around in a circle.
"Slowly, my pals disappeared one by one, and finally, I was the last one left. One day, while I was asleep, a grandchild grabbed me, just like the guys at the factory did, around my waist. He picked at my head. I groaned with pain, but he wasn't able to rip me apart.
"'Grandma!' he had cried, 'I can't get my soda open!' The Grandma entered the room and immediately, the kid tossed me into the air. The lethargic woman missed me! I fell on the ground, and it nearly killed me.
"But not quite. My insides squirmed and fizzed. It was horrible! My sticky brown blood leaked slowly out, and I was picked up and thrown into a large, white can with a steep depth. I fell and fell, and landed on a number of incredibly stinky items!
"A few days later, a large monster dumped me here which I made my new home. So here I live, and have sheltered for eight miserable years." The room was silent except for the breaths of the doctors and I. I swear, I could have heard an atom drop.
"Well, thank you," Dr.Pepper finally said awkwardly. "Please come again." And the two dudes ran the heck outta there.
Come again? As if.
Confessions of A Timid Pop Can
"I loved my home at the soda factory. There were many ethnicities, and different pop cultures. I was a Pepsi filled with sweet sugar, and had many friends.One soon-to-be gruesome day, I had a box-party, prepared for a rapturous afternoon of merriment, which, as I later found out, was not how it turned out to be.
"All my friends came, including my boyfriend Sprite, who was a DJ. Everyone loved Sprite's remixes, and fizzed joyfully over how Big Red had so much caffeine, making him the most annoying factory civilian.
"Suddenly, a giant - with hands like rough cloth, eyes like darts, and a voice like thunder - grabbed each of us by our waists, threw us in a box, and slammed the door shut, locking us in!" I cried to my counselors, Dr.Pepper and Mr. Pibb. They glared at me dolefully, and I knew they wondered what this monster that kidnapped us was.
"What happened next?" asked Dr. Pepper curiously.
"I don't wanna talk about it anymore," I decided, fiddling with my tin cap.
"Just please describe it to us as best as you can," pleaded Mr.Pibb, anxious to hear the rest of my vicious tale.
"I don't wanna, I tell you!" I spat, shaking with fury and irritation. "The memory of it destroyed my life!"
"If you won't speak to us, why come in the first place?" Dr.Pepper pointed out with a frown, stealing a glance at the clock. "I have a meeting at 3:00!"
"Fine," I muttered, slumping in my chair. My eyes swelled with tears, feeling afflicted by the experience.
"What?"
"I SAID I'LL TELL YOU, YOU IDIOTS!!" I shouted. They dropped their steno pads and pens with surprise, gazing into my eyes, freaked out by my aggressivness. Well, hello? I have every right to yell, seeing as how I'm the only can alive who knows about the actual horrors of life.
"Well, my parents disappeared that day," I began again, looking down miserably. The doctors didn't speak, so I continued. "I never saw them again, after being taken away by those blood-sucking scoundrels. They crammed us all into that miserable box, which was gloomy and nauseating.
"Oh, this traumatic catastrophe is one I will never manage to forget. I was only just a youngster, so this incident will haunt my life from the time it happened to the day I decay.
"Anyway, what happened was, we were put in this wall. The beasts called it 'Wal-Mart,' which meant we were for sale, or something. Like we were slaves!
"Although Sprite and my other friends were there, I was still apprehensive and blah. One day, after an endless, exhausting week, an elderly woman ambled by and said, to herself, 'My grandchildren are as stale as a year-old loaf of bread! They need a sweetening. These sodas will do the trick. Those attitudes...'"
"The next thing we knew, we were moving down this strange mat. It was pretty graceful actually - although I still wanted to barf up my calories - until we got to the CASHIER." Dr.Pepper and Mr. Pibb shrieked, and toppled off their chairs. I snickered, loving the way those menacing popheads freaked out like that.
"Not...not the CASHIER!" wailed Mr. Pibb, shuddering.
"Yes. The Cashier," I replied, a wicked grin spreading across my face like peanut butter. "You know what THAT means."
"No, don't say it!" cried Dr.Pepper gutlessly. Those idiots. They had no idea that getting all excited like that would only lead me on.
"The SCANNER," I cackled, emphasizing on the word. Boy, was that a mistake. Both doctors started panicking and ran around the room like nut-cased whackos. I had the mentality to understand that the "S" word was impracticable, but saying it was supposed to amuse me, knowing that these so-called psychiatrists would scudder around like cockroaches, covering their ears and screeching at the top of their lungs. But at the moment I found it vexatious, because I wanted to get to the point.
"ANYWAY, the..."
"Don't say it!" squeaked Mr.Pibb, shaking uncontrollably.
"I'll call it the Hoobla," I said.
"Yes, please do," nodded Dr.Pepper, relaxing.
"So, the 'Hoobla's' intense radiation alarmed us, and we could feel our metallic crusts melting, our insides were splashing around like tsunamis. Although it was incredibly painful, nobody died.
"But not for long. After a bumpy ride in a suffocating, air-less damp area, where we slid around everywhere, we were taken out and soon after placed in a cool, wonderful surface. The peephole in front of me displayed a vase with attractive, scented objects popping out of it.
"Two mini-sized humans, called grandchildren, tore apart the box, and one of those horrific beings pulled Sprite's head off and gulped up his insides! I sobbed hysterically, and his limp body was crushed, then thrown into a green bin with three white arrows pointing around in a circle.
"Slowly, my pals disappeared one by one, and finally, I was the last one left. One day, while I was asleep, a grandchild grabbed me, just like the guys at the factory did, around my waist. He picked at my head. I groaned with pain, but he wasn't able to rip me apart.
"'Grandma!' he had cried, 'I can't get my soda open!' The Grandma entered the room and immediately, the kid tossed me into the air. The lethargic woman missed me! I fell on the ground, and it nearly killed me.
"But not quite. My insides squirmed and fizzed. It was horrible! My sticky brown blood leaked slowly out, and I was picked up and thrown into a large, white can with a steep depth. I fell and fell, and landed on a number of incredibly stinky items!
"A few days later, a large monster dumped me here which I made my new home. So here I live, and have sheltered for eight miserable years." The room was silent except for the breaths of the doctors and I. I swear, I could have heard an atom drop.
"Well, thank you," Dr.Pepper finally said awkwardly. "Please come again." And the two dudes ran the heck outta there.
Come again? As if.
Factoid This, Bitch
This Factoid Friday thing is really pissing me off. We're supposed to choose a controversial topic and argue in defense of our stance. It's a year long project and every Friday, and we add another small fact to our folder. At the end of it, we're to write a persuasive paper about our topic. Every now and then we're supposed to present an "infomercial" to the class, and the first was today.
But you know what? I decided I don't give a shit anymore. About any of it. What the hell is up with this controversial crap anyway? Why the hell can't we just live simple bronze age lives, not giving a damn about what the rest of the world is doing? What's so great about being in touch with what the whole planet is up to? I used to care a great deal, and all I ever got out of it was pessimism, misery, and an, "I'll never be happy until everyone else is happy with me" attitude. Ever since I dropped it all and began at the very beginning - which is making myself and my closest friends and family happy before I try to be Wonderwoman and save the world - I've been a truly happy person. Besides, what if the world doesn't WANT to be saved? There are way too many views that would clash.
Sure, computers are fun and I'm the laziest person you'll ever meet, but I would much rather live in an ancient river valley working my butt off for food and just living the happy, simple life with my loved ones and share their beliefs and traditions instead of getting lectured for every fucking thing that comes out of my mouth.
Perhaps ignorance isn't an admirable trait in somebody, and I seem to be promoting it, but what I'm really promoting is simplicity. It's not like I'm trying to shove my personal beliefs down people's throats or attack people who don't believe as I do. All it is is a matter of perception and no matter how much we argue about something, people's minds will only change when they see the truth for themselves - which, for many moral issues we debate about today, does not exist. Almost everything is subjective.
If you're against abortion, nothing you do will prevent people from having them. If you think it's wrong to be gay, nothing you do will stop the fags from fucking. The only thing that will come out of your pro and anti babble is more conflict.
So if you're against abortion, don't have one. If gay acts are sinful to you, don't engage in them. If you don't like drugs, don't use them. If you think eating meat is wrong, then by god don't eat it! Just leave everyone else the fuck alone.
The only thing most of us agree on is that we would all like to lead happy lives, and not creating conflict where it isn't necessary is the first step to take. Do what makes you happy, but in such a way that it won't get in the way of other people's right to the pursuit of happiness. And for fuck's sake, stop all the fighting!
End of angry rant.
But you know what? I decided I don't give a shit anymore. About any of it. What the hell is up with this controversial crap anyway? Why the hell can't we just live simple bronze age lives, not giving a damn about what the rest of the world is doing? What's so great about being in touch with what the whole planet is up to? I used to care a great deal, and all I ever got out of it was pessimism, misery, and an, "I'll never be happy until everyone else is happy with me" attitude. Ever since I dropped it all and began at the very beginning - which is making myself and my closest friends and family happy before I try to be Wonderwoman and save the world - I've been a truly happy person. Besides, what if the world doesn't WANT to be saved? There are way too many views that would clash.
Sure, computers are fun and I'm the laziest person you'll ever meet, but I would much rather live in an ancient river valley working my butt off for food and just living the happy, simple life with my loved ones and share their beliefs and traditions instead of getting lectured for every fucking thing that comes out of my mouth.
Perhaps ignorance isn't an admirable trait in somebody, and I seem to be promoting it, but what I'm really promoting is simplicity. It's not like I'm trying to shove my personal beliefs down people's throats or attack people who don't believe as I do. All it is is a matter of perception and no matter how much we argue about something, people's minds will only change when they see the truth for themselves - which, for many moral issues we debate about today, does not exist. Almost everything is subjective.
If you're against abortion, nothing you do will prevent people from having them. If you think it's wrong to be gay, nothing you do will stop the fags from fucking. The only thing that will come out of your pro and anti babble is more conflict.
So if you're against abortion, don't have one. If gay acts are sinful to you, don't engage in them. If you don't like drugs, don't use them. If you think eating meat is wrong, then by god don't eat it! Just leave everyone else the fuck alone.
The only thing most of us agree on is that we would all like to lead happy lives, and not creating conflict where it isn't necessary is the first step to take. Do what makes you happy, but in such a way that it won't get in the way of other people's right to the pursuit of happiness. And for fuck's sake, stop all the fighting!
End of angry rant.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Molester
I just had a crazy dream and I can't let myself forget it.
Anyway, in this dream, I was still friends with Vivian, and Selena and I were spending the night at her house. At Vivian's house, we were, I don't know, watching a movie when I fell asleep and had a dream within a dream. In this dream, I was riding a bus which was moving down the dark road at a snail's pace past a hospital. Some of the blinds in the hospital windows were pulled up, so I could see into the rooms where sick, elderly people lay. All of a sudden, I was in one of these rooms. It was dimly light, and the hospital bed obstructed my view of the patient, but I knew she was a very old woman. Her son, who sat beside her, said, "She's gone..." A nurse walked in pushing a very fancy-looking armchair on wheels and squeezed it next to the bed, to move the body there (I suppose that's what you were supposed to do with the dead - put them in fancy movable chairs). All of a sudden, I became terrified of death and ran out of the room into the dark hospital hallway before I could see the woman's empty face. The hallway looked like that of a fancy hotel.
It seemed like the walls were closing in on me. I saw things in night vision and I felt the death behind every single door, and it was going to get me, and it had hands and feet and was chasing me. So I ran down the hallway, and down a staircase. I was back in Vivian's house, but I was still dreaming, and I knew it because Vivian's house wasn't so gigantic and didn't have staircase after staircase, and it wasn't that dark, and this looked like a millionaire's mansion, or maybe a palace because of the extremely regal furniture that lie around, unused. The thing continued to chase me and I made it for the front door and pulled it open so I could run quickly and lose it. But damn it, it was raining! Even still, the sun was just beginning to rise and its morning rays fell upon the lawns and trees and wet pavement.
By now, I was like, "Okay, that was a dream, and nothing is chasing me, and I'm back at Vivian's house, and I'm awake now. But obviously I was sleep walking because I'm outside." Despite this, I continued to sprint down the street in the light downpour. I ran, figuring I'd just tell Vivian when she woke up to find me missing that I went for a morning job, and eventually found myself outside my old elementary school, Thornton.
For some reason, time had gone backwards, and it was around 6 in the morning - rather than 7, and I knew this because it had gotten dark again. People were outside of Thornton, sitting around in the grass and parking lot; little children, people my age, adults. It was "buddy day", or something, and I sat down next to a fifth grader (who looked more like she was 14). But I felt young. I didn't look 16, I looked 11, but I wasn't. I wanted this girl to know, as she smiled at me and introduced herself, that I had experienced things since I left Thornton and I was older and I should really be listened to. One of the Thornton coaches, Coach Cowin (right? That was the tall skinny lady?), told us to walk around the school and explore. The girl and I went left in the direction of the playground. It was becoming light again, and as we strolled I told her, "I didn't come here in kindergarten, instead I went to this crappy school called Bear Creek." I thought for a moment. "Well, it wasn't crappy, but whatever..."
All of a sudden, I was back on Vivian's street, just as I had already been, with drizzle falling from the sky and the morning sun rising over the trees. Except now, Selena was running after me with her suitcase (she could have just taken a bag, but this is a dream and things like this cannot be explained). "Wait!" she cried. "I'm coming too."
"Why'd you bring your stuff?" I asked, slightly annoyed. "I'm just going for a morning jog."
"I brought it, just in case my mom shows up before we get back and I'll be ready." Which makes no sense, but in the dream it did.
We were at Thornton again, and we sat in these very tight bleacher things...except they were bars too...it's difficult to explain, because such does not exist in reality. Basically, the were bleachers that were crammed against a fence, except instead of benches, you sat on bars. Selena sat on the bar above me, leg dangling, and we laughed and remembered our days at Thornton together. Everything was great, and I was eight years old again. Selena nudged me and pointed below her, where one of my old friends Jorge was talking to some girls (one of them, I saw, was Nicole's little sister Mariana). "Oh cool. Jorge!" I said. He ignored me pointedly, and I felt dissed - maybe I was eight again, but he was still the age he is now. I said his name again, and he looked at me: "Yeah?" "Do you remember me, Jorge?" "Yes, I do." Then he turned and talked to the girls again. Selena and I looked at each other.
Suddenly, still at Thornton, we were in a bathroom stall together, and Mariana was with us. We were just there to hang out, which again, makes no sense, but in dream world it did. I still felt eight years old and my perception of reality was innocent and carefree like that of a child's. I was at Thornton. I could be one again. I could just throw experience and rationale out the window.
But apparently, there are consequences for being young, because all of a sudden a fat man was in the restroom with us, and he shoved his fist in an arm hole in the door of the stall (no sense!) and began trying to grab Selena and I. His hand brushed my jeans right at the zipper and then I knew what he was trying to do: stick his hands down our pants. Selena and I swatted him away and bolted the door shut so he couldn't open it and moved away from it so he couldn't reach us, cramming ourselves. In reality, we could have just opened the door, kicked his ass, and walked away, but in this dream, he had us trapped and were being held hostage by a pedophile. I didn't know I could do anything about it because I was a kid again. As the guy entered other stalls and molested young girls, Selena and I tried to come up with a way to get out of there. Every now and then his body would be pressed up against our door, threatening. I dug my hand in my pocket and pulled out a red ballpoint pen and tried to force myself to think 16 again, so I could know what to do with it.
"Okay," I whispered to Selena, "Next time his body is pressed against the door, I'm going to stab him with this pen, and we're going to get out of here and he won't be able to touch us." Five seconds later, his body was pressed against it again, and my grip on the pen tightened as I prepared to thrust it through the hole and into his fatty and jiggly epidermis. But then he was gone, and I had x-ray vision and saw Vivian standing behind the door, her eyes flashing. She opened it and motioned for us to come out. "Hurry, he's doing something else, but I'm going to get you out of here." We sneaked out of the bathroom, and as I stepped outside, the sun was high in the sky and I closed my eyes to protect then against its light.
I opened them and I was in my bedroom. And then I went to the kitchen to see if there were any diet Pepsi, which there wasn't, and came back, and here I am, and I'm still kinda in that dreamy state.
But yeah, I had to share it because it was epic.
Anyway, in this dream, I was still friends with Vivian, and Selena and I were spending the night at her house. At Vivian's house, we were, I don't know, watching a movie when I fell asleep and had a dream within a dream. In this dream, I was riding a bus which was moving down the dark road at a snail's pace past a hospital. Some of the blinds in the hospital windows were pulled up, so I could see into the rooms where sick, elderly people lay. All of a sudden, I was in one of these rooms. It was dimly light, and the hospital bed obstructed my view of the patient, but I knew she was a very old woman. Her son, who sat beside her, said, "She's gone..." A nurse walked in pushing a very fancy-looking armchair on wheels and squeezed it next to the bed, to move the body there (I suppose that's what you were supposed to do with the dead - put them in fancy movable chairs). All of a sudden, I became terrified of death and ran out of the room into the dark hospital hallway before I could see the woman's empty face. The hallway looked like that of a fancy hotel.
It seemed like the walls were closing in on me. I saw things in night vision and I felt the death behind every single door, and it was going to get me, and it had hands and feet and was chasing me. So I ran down the hallway, and down a staircase. I was back in Vivian's house, but I was still dreaming, and I knew it because Vivian's house wasn't so gigantic and didn't have staircase after staircase, and it wasn't that dark, and this looked like a millionaire's mansion, or maybe a palace because of the extremely regal furniture that lie around, unused. The thing continued to chase me and I made it for the front door and pulled it open so I could run quickly and lose it. But damn it, it was raining! Even still, the sun was just beginning to rise and its morning rays fell upon the lawns and trees and wet pavement.
By now, I was like, "Okay, that was a dream, and nothing is chasing me, and I'm back at Vivian's house, and I'm awake now. But obviously I was sleep walking because I'm outside." Despite this, I continued to sprint down the street in the light downpour. I ran, figuring I'd just tell Vivian when she woke up to find me missing that I went for a morning job, and eventually found myself outside my old elementary school, Thornton.
For some reason, time had gone backwards, and it was around 6 in the morning - rather than 7, and I knew this because it had gotten dark again. People were outside of Thornton, sitting around in the grass and parking lot; little children, people my age, adults. It was "buddy day", or something, and I sat down next to a fifth grader (who looked more like she was 14). But I felt young. I didn't look 16, I looked 11, but I wasn't. I wanted this girl to know, as she smiled at me and introduced herself, that I had experienced things since I left Thornton and I was older and I should really be listened to. One of the Thornton coaches, Coach Cowin (right? That was the tall skinny lady?), told us to walk around the school and explore. The girl and I went left in the direction of the playground. It was becoming light again, and as we strolled I told her, "I didn't come here in kindergarten, instead I went to this crappy school called Bear Creek." I thought for a moment. "Well, it wasn't crappy, but whatever..."
All of a sudden, I was back on Vivian's street, just as I had already been, with drizzle falling from the sky and the morning sun rising over the trees. Except now, Selena was running after me with her suitcase (she could have just taken a bag, but this is a dream and things like this cannot be explained). "Wait!" she cried. "I'm coming too."
"Why'd you bring your stuff?" I asked, slightly annoyed. "I'm just going for a morning jog."
"I brought it, just in case my mom shows up before we get back and I'll be ready." Which makes no sense, but in the dream it did.
We were at Thornton again, and we sat in these very tight bleacher things...except they were bars too...it's difficult to explain, because such does not exist in reality. Basically, the were bleachers that were crammed against a fence, except instead of benches, you sat on bars. Selena sat on the bar above me, leg dangling, and we laughed and remembered our days at Thornton together. Everything was great, and I was eight years old again. Selena nudged me and pointed below her, where one of my old friends Jorge was talking to some girls (one of them, I saw, was Nicole's little sister Mariana). "Oh cool. Jorge!" I said. He ignored me pointedly, and I felt dissed - maybe I was eight again, but he was still the age he is now. I said his name again, and he looked at me: "Yeah?" "Do you remember me, Jorge?" "Yes, I do." Then he turned and talked to the girls again. Selena and I looked at each other.
Suddenly, still at Thornton, we were in a bathroom stall together, and Mariana was with us. We were just there to hang out, which again, makes no sense, but in dream world it did. I still felt eight years old and my perception of reality was innocent and carefree like that of a child's. I was at Thornton. I could be one again. I could just throw experience and rationale out the window.
But apparently, there are consequences for being young, because all of a sudden a fat man was in the restroom with us, and he shoved his fist in an arm hole in the door of the stall (no sense!) and began trying to grab Selena and I. His hand brushed my jeans right at the zipper and then I knew what he was trying to do: stick his hands down our pants. Selena and I swatted him away and bolted the door shut so he couldn't open it and moved away from it so he couldn't reach us, cramming ourselves. In reality, we could have just opened the door, kicked his ass, and walked away, but in this dream, he had us trapped and were being held hostage by a pedophile. I didn't know I could do anything about it because I was a kid again. As the guy entered other stalls and molested young girls, Selena and I tried to come up with a way to get out of there. Every now and then his body would be pressed up against our door, threatening. I dug my hand in my pocket and pulled out a red ballpoint pen and tried to force myself to think 16 again, so I could know what to do with it.
"Okay," I whispered to Selena, "Next time his body is pressed against the door, I'm going to stab him with this pen, and we're going to get out of here and he won't be able to touch us." Five seconds later, his body was pressed against it again, and my grip on the pen tightened as I prepared to thrust it through the hole and into his fatty and jiggly epidermis. But then he was gone, and I had x-ray vision and saw Vivian standing behind the door, her eyes flashing. She opened it and motioned for us to come out. "Hurry, he's doing something else, but I'm going to get you out of here." We sneaked out of the bathroom, and as I stepped outside, the sun was high in the sky and I closed my eyes to protect then against its light.
I opened them and I was in my bedroom. And then I went to the kitchen to see if there were any diet Pepsi, which there wasn't, and came back, and here I am, and I'm still kinda in that dreamy state.
But yeah, I had to share it because it was epic.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Sensation or Fail?
This is the book I stayed up for hours last night reading. What Lesley did was take a bunch of diary entries from ages 11 through 25 and updated them. She goes through all these crazy phases and gets on all these drugs, and it ends after she goes to rehab and stays off heroin forever. Maybe my life isn't as dramatic as hers was...but then again, my life has been pretty chaotic. And what do you expect, I'm a teenager! So this morning, I pulled out all my journals and started reading and tabbing entries I though I could possibly one day comment upon and then publish.
But then I had a better idea: instead of making it a book, I can create a blog for it! Every day, I will take a journal entry, write my own "update" (in chronological order of course) and post it. I realise how risky it is and people might get offended if they see their names there. If the person isn't directly relevant but I still bash them, I'll probably change their name. It will also be extremely embarrassing, but I know how to laugh at myself. Well sometimes. But this would be a true test to see how much I don't care what people think. =D
Also, it could help its readers. Maybe a girl will be skimming along, and then thinks, "OMG I'm facing this same problem right now!" And then she'll see how terribly I handled the situation and it'll be a learning experience for her without having to mess up her life. The demographic I'd be aiming for are, of course, the kids of my own age group, or maybe people who just love making fun of other people.
Maybe it's a terrible idea, but I will try it anyway and ask my friends what they think about it, whether or not they would follow it, etc. I mean, even when I just started writing in journals, I fantasised about one day publishing them and people reading them and learning from them and laughing at them and bonding with me despite having never met me. I wanted everything to be in the open one day, like Mia's diary in "Princess Diaries". But see, thing is, she's fictional. I was edgy because I'm not fictional (I don't think) and hadn't really read non-fictional journals, except maybe The Diary of Anne Frank, and more recently, Go Ask Alice (like, it's an old book, but I just read it), except that one is anonymous, and BOTH she and Anne Frank ended up dead and their journals were published by other people. But then I read "Dear Diary", and Lesley Arfin did exactly what I wanted to do. I'm going to do it!
I'm really excited about this, but I'm also pretty scared. Heh. What if I get shot? Oh boy. Whatever though. Life is about taking risks and this is one that I totally just have to take.
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