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Saturday, October 20, 2012

two things (one much more important than the other)

1. 70th post on this blog. wow. 70th.
2. I don't get it. Nothing in particular, I just don't. get. it.
I'm sick of drama and being confused and having to deal with things.
I'm so tired. I sometimes want to sleep and never wake up because I'm so over having to deal with people and politics and romance and damn emotions.
A lot of my friends don't know this, and this may be a wake-up call to them, but I'm on anti-depressants that double as anti-anxiety meds. 10 mg per day.
I feel happier than I have in years. A couple of weeks ago my mom asked if I remembered what it was like. I automatically thought "what, being happy? no, I don't."
She meant the sadness. The empty ache of loneliness. Of not speaking.
She meant the keeping everything inside, not dealing with things. Letting them accumulate and pile on top of each other until they came spilling out all at once.
I don't care who knows. If I get bull for it, well, I can stand up for myself now.
I'm not a doormat.
But at the same time, I don't put myself first.
I want people to be happy. They deserve it. I don't see why I would, but they do.
they. deserve. whatever. they. want. from. life.
and maybe that's not healthy.
sometimes, a lot of the time, i look at my friends and think, why am i friends with these people?
Many of them I don't trust. Many of them say things that aren't supposed to hurt but strike my deepest fears, my most internal points.
The parts I don't show anyone.
I don't know anyone because when I did, when I used to, I got hurt.
I was proud of my art and someone else said, 'I can color inside the lines better than you'.
I was proud of my intelligence and someone said, 'I've been doing that forever. those are easy.'
I was proud of my work and I got behind in class because I cared when no one else did. My teachers would chastise me for working at a different pace.
I was proud to have a sister in fifth grade. One of her classmates said to me, 'she told me to massacre you' when she never did and he slapped me. I was seven.
I was proud.
And someone tore it all down.
It was never the same person, see. It was always different, always unexpected.
I'm doing a lesson on insecurities for the sixth grade class at my school. Me and my friends.
And the person who broke my heart on tuesday.
After leading me on for two days.
But that's not the point.
The point is, I am insecure. I am so incredibly insecure but I never say anything about it. My insecurity that I'm going to talk about in this lesson is 'anxious'. I have a generalized anxiety disorder. It's paralyzing. It's why I miss school. It's part of why I have an iPad instead of a planner.
I'm getting accommodations this year and I really, really wish I weren't. I get attention for it. People ask, why do you have an iPad? Why weren't you here? And I want to scream at them, to tell them to get out of my business, that I would tell people if I trusted anyone, anyone, anymore.
I don't trust anymore. I can't trust anymore. I'm more closed off than ever. It used to be that I had a best friend who I told everything and she never told anyone.
And then someone else got between us. Someone who I've known longer and have always liked better. We go to different schools now.
I made a new best friend.
I love her with all my heart.
But she knows she's mean. She's got my back, and I know that, but I'm not as close to her as I was either of my friends in elementary school.
I'm not close. I don't do close.
I do squealing and gossiping and I miss close.
I miss happiness and simplicity and wishing I was older. I wish I could go back and tell myself that it's not all that great.
That I am not me. I am a shell who doesn't know what to do because she doesn't do close.
I am makeup and this blog and whatever book I can get. I am fashion and beauty and boys because I can't be myself because I don't know who I am.
I don't know anything about who I am.
I want to, but I can't figure it out.
I am my statistics.
Emily Rose. Cis-female. 13 (Jan. 22). Eighth grade. Washington State. Parents are a civil engineer and a lawyer (both state workers). I have a sister. I have three pets. My parents are still married.
I like to write. I like to dance. I like to read. Especially classics. (The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald might be my favorite book. It might also be The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky or Shine by Lauren Myracle.) I have a lot of friends. I go to a private school for smart kids. John Green and Cassandra Clare are my favorite authors. I like superheros. Marvel ones. I'm pro-choice and pro-love.
I like late nights and coffee and good music is obscure music and/or Maroon 5. I like photography and flowers and dollhouses and tights. I like the idea of love and models and makeup and pictures of food. I like anime and sci-fi and romance. I like soccer and swimming and basketball and gymnastics. I like being relevant but disconnected. I like creating things instead of using them.
I like television and movies and actors. I like Disney Princesses and Hello Kitty and Winnie the Pooh and pastel colors. I like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings and the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen and the smell of old paperback novels.
I like the smell of grass and chocolate and perfume and ink and honey and farms.
I like the warmth of dogs and the sass of cats and the gentleness of horses and the aloofness of chickens.
I miss liking life.

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