Thank You For Your Existence

Right now, as I think about the people in my life, I'm nearly moved to tears. I don't want to pull a sixth-grade and list everyone who's special, 'cause it's not a competition...I just feel the overwhelming need to get this out somewhere, even if only on my blog, to share how truly grateful I am for the friends who appear to be sticking around for good. I want the world-or maybe just the blogosphere- to know. I want to scream out loud from building-tops and mountain-tops alike.

I love you all. So much. You have no idea. Thank you.

The Obligatory Thanksgiving Entry

Time for a non-depressing entry...a list of stuff I'm thankful for in honor of Thanksgiving...LOL. I feel like this is a corny elementary school exercise. OK, here goes:

1. Illegally (and legally) downloaded music: got me through this cold and mopey weekend
2. The friends who are true and lovely and who tell me what I need to hear...whether I want to or not. A part of me wants to be a total sixth-grader and list them...but I know who they are, and so do they (plus only one of them reads this anyways lol)<3
3. My lovely kitties
4. Indian food
5. My brother, my mommy, and my dad
6. Yard sales
7. Di Fara's pizza
8. My grandma's care-takers
9. Six-hour conversations about music, life, friendships, and love
10. My promotion to co-editor in chief at the Envoy!
11. The teachers and professors who have inspired me and continue to be my guideposts
12. My high-school yearbook, and the letters/photos in them
13. Alla Malovichko and our parallel lives.
14. The Q train
15. The upcoming winter break
16. Words
17. Recovery
18. Future

It's difficult to make people understand. Maybe showing will work better than telling.

In fifth grade, Ashley B. was on a mission. Sam had given her orders. You always did what Sam told you to do, otherwise Sam would put you on her personal blacklist, and she'd get you, too.

Field day. Sun and grass and stables and potato sack races and dirt: dirt on my face, dirt-tinged knees, dirt-covered elbows. Scratches and nicks, bruises and black&blues: not benevolent childhood injuries...

I trudged towards the horses. The day was nearly done. I had never been big on races and ball games, but still, I appreciated a day out of the classroom and under the sun. I was sent to get Kat and Ali from the stables. We were about to board the bus.

Inundation. Grass on face. Six-foot-tall girl on top of me suddenly, pounding head into floor.

Over before it starts. I get up. Stumble through a patch of trees, a New York City forest, eyes moist, body covered in black and green.

Sam sees me. She'd sent Ashely for me. She laughs and points and yells. So does Jennie. Jennie used to be my best friend. Leo watches from a distance, leaning on a tree. Silent. I can tell he doesn't think it's right, I can tell, but he recoils. The whole class seems to stand behind Sam, all 28 of them cackling.

I try to defend myself, but what good is it...

My voice is inaudible over the laughter. Kevin speaks up, but it is too late, it is too late...

I walk away. Board the bus. Sit alone. Stare. At nothing. At the bump on the floor of the bus where the wheel protrudes.



Mom finds out about everything, tells teacher, teacher tells guidance counselor, guidance counselor calls me and Ashley into her office, Ashley gets angry, class gets angry, class calls me tattletale, among other things....



Four
years
of
this...



AndIwouldratherbeinvisible.


And it's all coming back. And I know it shouldn't still affect me, but it does. And I know, and I know...

The little things still resonate with me. The falling outs, the party invitations that do not come my way, they make me remember. They make me doubt...everything.

They make me eleven years old, again, and rolling in the grass with dirtcoloredshame.

I'm the monster, aren't I?

Time to rant here because I'm tired of bothering actual human beings with my BS. I am so grateful for the existence of blogs, my cyber release of...everything...

So here it is: all of my current issues relate to past issues. Losing one friend makes me think of all of the friends I've lost, the wasted years, the time in my life when I had nobody to turn to...

I think about those years every day. Maybe not consciously, but not a second passes when I do not choose my words carefully or second guess my actions, for fear of doing or saying something that will cause someone not to like me, to tease me, to talk about me behind my back...

It's not just about the vacant space on my bookshelf, though that's a big part of it, too. But, really, it's about this void that will always be there, the missing years, the missing childhood (I know I'm being melodramatic but that's really what it was like).

I grew up so fast. I was forced to. I was teased, practically friendless, mentally and physically harassed...four years of my life, four years of my so-called childhood.

What happened this past summer, the friend I lost...it would matter so much less if there wasn't this history. I just wonder sometimes if there's something I am doing to cause this. How is it that time and time again I attract these people? These monsters? Then I conclude it must be me. I'm the monster. I'm the one no one talked to..they couldn't ALL have been monsters, right? It must have been me. It must have been me...

Every day I sit, staring at my vacant bookshelf, and I remember...

just
give
me
my
freaking
books
back
already
because
i
cant stop...
cantstopdwelling,
cantstopremembering
cantstopcantstopcantstop,
hyperventilating

I am here now; I am home now, and everything's OK. I've moved on, gone on, have so much to do that I cannot stop to reflect. And maybe it was all good like I told myself before; I learned so much...realized so much. Realized my ability to be strong and independent and self-sufficient as I found myself suddenly alone and trudging about in a foreign country.

Yet it isn't fair. That is a painful way to learn a wonderful lesson. So many wonderful lessons I've learned in this manner. Too much at stake here. Too much pain. Maybe, melodramatic. Maybe, maybe...

I am proud of who I am, but why...

eyelids dissolve into face
face dissolves into body
body dissolves into floor
into red rug from aunt amy
into dust
into dreams..
into photos..
into shadows..
into memory..

the collective white space in the story. all that goes unsaid.





blankess suffocates.




empty





bookshelf.

Every time I get into one of these moods...

I tell myself to cut the melodrama.

And still...

Sometimes I wish I weren't so quiet and introspective. Not that I don't enjoy deep, philosophical conversations with my friends that last until the wee hours of the morning...

But I think that, with some people, that's all our relationships are built on: the deep conversations. I'm always included in that but I feel like I'm never included in the fun stuff. I don't even know if I want to be, because when I AM included, I invariably would rather be doing something else...especially when it comes to dance parties. Often, I am just way too self-conscious to let loose...not just in dancing but in any situation that involves going out and having energy and enthusiasm. I'm so not funny or charismatic. I have two left feet. And I hate interrupting people or talking over people. I feel like the only people who know me, want to know me, are the people who take the time to talk to me or happen to be there for an interesting conversation. But if it's left to first impressions, I probably just come off as boring and timid. I hate that about myself. I wish I could just forget about what people think and let go, because really, by not letting go, I'm worse off. People may not think badly of me, but they think NOTHING of me. Which is maybe worse? Like, I'm just...there. Trying to make myself heard sometimes is like trying to talk over a movie...

Ugh. What a dumb rant. Every time I get into one of these moods I tell myself I should count my blessings for EVERYTHING I do have. I need to breathe in and gain some perspective. I need to stop whining because this is ridiculous.

You think I can't lie, but I was born with a poker face.

My head is pounding. I just want to run away and dance on table tops. Far away from here. Far away from judging eyes. Drunk and drunk and drunk and giddy.

Clarity

After a few weeks of thinking, I can suddenly see where I'm going and see it clearly. I was rejected from doing small things because I'm meant for something bigger, and I know exactly what it is.

I won't be getting coffee or running errands or answering the phone got the big guys. I will BE the big guy. I feel so reinvigorated and ready to take on the world. Who knew how much could change in a week...

I know this sounds cocky, but I have such a clear vision, such a clear plan. And it's all falling into place...

Quarter life crisis?

I find that I am questioning everything, who I want to be, what I want to do, when I want to do it. I was charging, full-speed ahead with journalism. Now, who knows. I don't. It's like running a marathon for the sake of moving. And I run with focus, drive, and determination. I can envision my goals, see them clearly. Yet I feel as though I am on a treadmill, standing in the same spot. And maybe I am moving forward, but everything feels remarkably the same. That's the weirdest thing about college- yes, much has changed, but in some ways, I feel as though I'm standing still. I was supposed to get an internship this semester, but didn't (probably)- partially due to laziness and partially due to overly high expectations. Somehow, I decided that it is beneath me to start at the bottom and work my way up. But maybe that is what I must do. I can't automatically qualify to intern at the NY Times, right?

Right now, the same person who wanted to write for a major daily right out of college is actually thinking about taking a year off to gallivant around the world--doesn't sound very responsible, driven, does it? But still, the world is calling to me...and that's what I want.

12 AM Mindlessness

Is mindlessness even a word?...

Well, here it is: my new blog. Let's see if I can actually manage to update it. A lot has changed since I started my Xanga, which was my last blog. I still update every now-and-then, but well, it got old. So did I. Sorta? I started Xanga freshman year of high school. Weird, how long ago that finally seems...

Here is my fresh start.

Oh, and a shout-out to Sybil, who is sitting right across from me and is the inspiration for my starting this particular blog! :)