I'm going to use a quote from my sister to start this entry:
"Katie, I live my life these days without a filter. I just say whatever the hell I want and I don't regret it. Because you never know when it's all going to be over."
This is a practice that I have been implementing in my life lately. The "No Filter" practice. To me it is the most important thing you could do for yourself, above quitting smoking, exercising, or eating right. Deactivating the filter.
We as humans tend to live our lives completely ruled by the filter. "I can't say this. And oooh no, I won't tell that person because he might hate me." I bet you've said that before, at least something to that effect. We don't do things because we're scared of judgment. We withhold important information from people because we're scared of rejection. We do it. All of us. And it's normal. It's natural. It's completely 100% the common thing to do. And removing the filter from our lives is one of the hardest things to do. Because it means we're going to get hurt. It means that people are going to reject you and people are going to laugh at you and people are going to tell you, you're wrong.
I guess with me I have lived my entire life being told "you're wrong". "You're stupid." 'You can't." So it doesn't have as much of an effect on me. That's why I'm not afraid to write this blog. People message me, "I would never have the balls to say what you say". And I return their statement with "Why?" Some people tell me, "You can only say the things you do because you're hiding behind a computer screen." Please. Suck my dick. Come over for lunch sometime. I'll make you something to eat and I'll tell you everything I'm saying now to your face. It might not be so witty and artfully crafted as it is in writing but it will be the same idea. I say what I want and how I want it. If you get offended or you have a problem with what I'm saying then challenge me. Produce an argument. Don't just stand there giggling to your cohorts, "wow she's a total freak"...TELL ME WHY I'M A FREAK. It literally does not matter to me. Because at least I said what I wanted to say.
It would be the biggest travesty if I died and no one ever knew what I had to say. That's everyone's crisis right now. People don't realize how urgent it is to be heard. They think, "I have all the time in the fucking universe" and then before you know it you're in your fucking 20s and and those people that were important to you aren't even in your life anymore. It is URGENT. I witnessed this last week when my sister's friend passed. Not 17 years old yet and dead. Did she get to say what she wanted before she died? Because if she didn't THAT....that right there is the tragedy. Being unheard.
I won't be unheard. The other day I was in class and I noticed one of the guys in my class had gorgeous eyes. When I was 15 I would have stared at him and internalized my need to tell him that he had gorgeous eyes and then go home and cry about it, "Why didn't I tell him?" SO many times in my life have I deployed the filter and I regretted it. So I told that boy what I was feeling. "You have gorgeous eyes." He blushed. He might have been a little embarrassed and the girls around me laughed at me. But that boy...would probably walk with a spring in his step for the rest of the day because someone gave him a compliment like that.
That's why I love Luna Lovegood. Everyone knows Harry Potter. If you DON'T know Harry Potter STEP AWAY FROM THE TWILIGHT BOOK AND READ SOME REAL LITERATURE. Luna Lovegood has no filter. And that's what I love about her character. She says what ever the fuck she wants, she wears what the fuck she wants and she does what the fuck she wants and she literally does not give a flying flip in hell what people think of her. That's wonderful. If Luna Lovegood was a real person I would be best friends with her. Best friends.
I tell people how I feel. If I'm attracted to you I'm going to tell you I'm attracted to you. If I think you're repulsive I'm going to tell you nicely....if you're getting in my face. I'm not going to go up to some random person and be like "you're gross." But if a guy that I'm really not into is getting up on me I'm going to tell him, "No thank you sir, you're not my type." If I want to wear TYE DYE leggings under my gym shorts (like I did last week) I WILL GOD DAMMIT! And people laughed at me and told me I looked like a dork and I was like, "Well thank you." This life is TOO short to live with the filter activated. People tell me all the time, "Katie you're too forward, you're too bold." Good! I'm glad! Because if I get struck by a vehicle when I walk out of my apartment complex today (which ALMOST happened last week! Yikes!) and I die, that's how you're going to remember me. If I tell you, "I love you", or "I think you're really cute and I care about you", that is going to be your special memory of me when I'm gone. I'm not saying I'm GOING anywhere. People tend to get up in arms when I talk about dying because of my track record with that. But I'm not going anywhere. But we'd all be stupid if we thought there wasn't a chance that...we could....at any point in time. And I want the last thing I say to you to be full with truth. I want it to be bold. I never want to die never having told you that I care about you, or that I love the way you wear your hair, or that you're my best friend in the entire world, or that you really helped me get through this and that I really really love spending time with you. Even if it might make you uncomfortable when I say it....you'll remember it. And when we're not together you'll think on that and say, "Katie cares about me" and it will be a good thing.
This is part one of today's entry. I have an exam to go take now, but I will be back and I will write on another topic that I wanted to discuss today AND catch up on the weekend which some of you may have noticed isn't there. Ooops. Lol.
End Part One
Monday, October 11, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Day Forty-Nine: For the Love of C
I have come to the conclusion that either I am A) completely sick in the head or B) being tormented by the forces of nature.
I have come to terms with by now that I'm getting old. I mean not old. But older. I am no longer allowed to be a child. I cannot go trick-or-treating, I am legally an adult in a little over a month. I'm applying for graduate school. I have to pay for my own living and my mommy and daddy do not take care of me anymore. I'm a big girl now. I am independent. Or at least supposed to be. Even if in my mind I'm still 16 years old. I won't EVER understand how all of a sudden I became 21 years old. Literally. It's like I turned 16 and whatever happened after that is like....what the fuck? I must have taken a wrong turn because WHERE AM I? My little cousin Evan..who is like a brother to me...who I picked up and threw in the pool during summers...my baby bean...is FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD. No. That's can't be right. He was like...10 last time I looked at him. Now he's like 5 foot 11 and has a deep voice and likes girls. When did this happen? And why am I OLD? This is distressing to me. Quite distressing.
While all the other girls and boys my age are interning and owning their own vehicles and becoming members of society I'm refusing to get a job and I still talk to my stuffed animals. (There is NOTHING wrong with that! Shut up) And while I sit in my Adolescent Psych class and Professor Umbridge (who is becoming less and less of a crack head as the semester progresses) I can't help but look around and think, "Does anyone else feel like this kind of applies to them too?" And actually that's not weird.
According to my textbook, the borderlines between adolescence and adulthood are completely different for everyone and vary amongst cultures. Some people don't become adults until their mid-20s. Although some theorists have created a separate stage of life for these people called "Young Adulthood". And this is my opinion. You can't put stipulations on people like that. Take me and a girl that I went to High School for instance. I will name this girl...L. L goes to nursing school. Which is a 2 year program. I am a psychology major, which is an 8 year program. L's family isn't very close. L's family pretty much pushed her out of the nest when she was 16 years old, gave her a car and said "have fun". My family didn't let me get in a vehicle until I was 17. They didn't let me have a job. They really didn't let me have friends. They wanted me to stay close to the family unit. I don't really drive. I cannot afford a vehicle right now and as intense as my studies are I cannot take on a job. So the result would be that from the start, L was a more independent person. Her schooling takes less time and costs less money. L doesn't have to rely on her parents as much. Me, my parents pay for my schooling and my apartment at the moment. I will be taking up the responsibility of apartment cost next year. I'm attending a four year undergraduate program right now that costs more money. Hence I am more reliant on my family. Especially because I don't have a car. Even though L is the same age as me...we're on totally different levels of development. That doesn't say ANYTHING about who we are as people and how we've developed mentally. It's just our situations in life are different. And I figure that somewhere along the line that will balance itself out. But certainly I feel much more of an adolescent than L would. Because of the parental dependency thing. I don't LIVE with them, I take care of myself on a daily basis. But the reason I even have a place to live right now is because of my father.
But this isn't what I wanted to talk about. I want to talk about dating. Typically...since the beginning of puberty, I have always dated younger guys. My first boyfriend at 13 was a year younger than me. That was a joke. My second boyfriend was a year younger than me. My 3rd boyfriend was the same age as me. My fourth was 2 years younger than me. My sixth was the same age as me. And my seventh was 2 years younger than me. I have NEVER dated someone older. I don't know why that is. I like younger guys. If I'm going to play psychologist right now, I would deem it some kind of...deep seated need to nurture and to care for and to teach...if you know what I mean. I like to be the experienced one. But for some reason when it comes to decision making and sex I like to be submissive. Strange. Anyway. But I've never been into the massive age differences. My sister does this. She is 17 years old and only dates older men. She loves them in their early twenties. But I've never gone for anyone HER age or younger. First of all I think that's illegal here. In the US the age of consent is 18 years old and the shit that happens to people that get messed up in that is NOT pretty. I understand why the law is there. In my opinion I think it's reasonable. So I've never flirted with it. Besides, all the 15, 16, 17 year old boys are like...babies! Little. Skinny. Pubescent. Until I met C.
C has made everything go awry in the most adorable way possible. C literally smiled his way into my life. I'm a smiles person. I've mentioned this before. C had me at the very first smile. It's gorgeous. And without exaggeration at all...it is literally the most gorgeous smile I have ever seen on a human being. His mouth is like...shaped like a strawberry. He's got a full upper lip (which gets me every time) and sort of a pout. And he has lovely teeth. He's got the whole vampire teeth thing going on which my closest friends know sends me off the deep end. And then there's the Celtic god hair and the sad, droopy eyes, his thick eyebrows. Oh dear God why do you test me so?? C...does not look his age. If C never told anyone his age everyone would think C was 21 years old. This is the general consensus amongst my internet friends. I'd like to mention that C is an internet fried as well. I have not taken part in any delinquent activities. But I look. And who can't help but look? I look, and I blush and I look away. What the hell is that all about? I will not mention C's age here to avoid flames. If C looked like a normal boy his age I swear to God this wouldn't be an issue.
And then comes his personality. I have never..ever...witnessed such a sweet, wholesome, kind, gentle, caring and intelligent person. His eyes speak of years far far older than he really is. We have a lot A LOT in common. I'm starting to realize this more and more and he's...pensive and sensitive and pretty much my ideal man. And the kicker is...even though he lives overseas...before I even met him I was planning on moving to his country around the area where he lives. Now. What the hell? Why is this being set up this way? Is this supposed to be happening to me? Is this good? I am so confused. It just doesn't seem fair especially because I never asked to be 21 years old yet!
They say that when trauma occurs, sometimes, you mentally freeze in whatever age you were at that time. My mother is the epitome of this phenomenon. She is physically 55 years old, but when she was a teenager, her family treated her like a piece of shit and now she is mentally frozen as a 16 year old girl. I'm not saying because she parties like she's a teenager. I mean LITERALLY she does not have the reasoning of someone her age. Her thought process is exactly that of a 16 year old girl. When I was 15 years old I was doped up. It's my fault. I did this to myself. I asked my psychiatrist for behavior meds. I felt like it was going to make me happier. I felt like it was going to make me a better person. It didn't. All it did was make me completely mental and numb every emotion and feeling I could have. I remember lying on my back in my room staring up at the ceiling for 7 hours. Just lying there. Not feeling. Not wanting to move. Not wanting to eat. Wanting to hurt myself. To hurt other people. Being fifteen was a scary place for me. And I wouldn't really want to go back to that point but, I'm afraid that this fear of growing up comes from the feeling that I never really got a chance to be young. Playing parent to my sister. Figuring out life by myself with no guidance. And then being treated like a science experiment until I was 19 years old by doctors because they couldn't figure out why I was gaining ridiculous amounts of weight in such a short period of time! I was injected and extracted from more times that I can count in the last 4 years. I have to cry a little bit while I write this. It's almost too much for me to remember. I never got a chance to be young. And this has been a burden on my chest for a very long time. Meeting C and in a sense "falling for him" has just brought these issues to the forefront and I'm not afraid to talk about them anymore.
Do souls have ages? I don't think so. You can say someone is "an old soul" but, the actual soul...is there an age? I guess you would have to answer the question, "are there souls at all?" Is everything completely physical or is there something more to who we are? And does it really matter? Where C comes from this isn't illegal. Well it won't be. Soon. I compared the ages of consent in each country and I wondered why it was that they were vastly different. It's a culture thing I think. Why are Europeans always more mature? Why do they drink earlier than us? Why do they DRIVE later than us? Why do Americans force the issue of "young forever" down our throats? Why is it different? From what I have seen, and what I have experienced, people in Europe tend to be more mature thinkers than Americans. They're definitely schooled better. They're exposed to more culture. I guess with maturity there is more privilege. I wonder if that's why it's different?
But what I cannot ignore is that smile. I cannot stop looking into the eyes of one of the kindest people I have met. I can't stop being interested in someone who genuinely makes me happy. Who makes me laugh and puts a smile on my face even when my world feels like it's coming down on top of me. I will not stop getting to know C. Laws of different societies cannot stop people from knowing one another and interacting with each other. That's ludicrous. But it's happened before....meh. But that's a bit too political for my taste. You can hate on me. Tell me I'm a sick person. It's fine. I'll take it. For now I've found a friendship in someone that fascinates me on all levels. And I think that is the best thing anyone can ever have.
I will end this with an Amy Lee quote:
"But who can decide what they dream? And dream I do..."
End Day 49
I have come to terms with by now that I'm getting old. I mean not old. But older. I am no longer allowed to be a child. I cannot go trick-or-treating, I am legally an adult in a little over a month. I'm applying for graduate school. I have to pay for my own living and my mommy and daddy do not take care of me anymore. I'm a big girl now. I am independent. Or at least supposed to be. Even if in my mind I'm still 16 years old. I won't EVER understand how all of a sudden I became 21 years old. Literally. It's like I turned 16 and whatever happened after that is like....what the fuck? I must have taken a wrong turn because WHERE AM I? My little cousin Evan..who is like a brother to me...who I picked up and threw in the pool during summers...my baby bean...is FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD. No. That's can't be right. He was like...10 last time I looked at him. Now he's like 5 foot 11 and has a deep voice and likes girls. When did this happen? And why am I OLD? This is distressing to me. Quite distressing.
While all the other girls and boys my age are interning and owning their own vehicles and becoming members of society I'm refusing to get a job and I still talk to my stuffed animals. (There is NOTHING wrong with that! Shut up) And while I sit in my Adolescent Psych class and Professor Umbridge (who is becoming less and less of a crack head as the semester progresses) I can't help but look around and think, "Does anyone else feel like this kind of applies to them too?" And actually that's not weird.
According to my textbook, the borderlines between adolescence and adulthood are completely different for everyone and vary amongst cultures. Some people don't become adults until their mid-20s. Although some theorists have created a separate stage of life for these people called "Young Adulthood". And this is my opinion. You can't put stipulations on people like that. Take me and a girl that I went to High School for instance. I will name this girl...L. L goes to nursing school. Which is a 2 year program. I am a psychology major, which is an 8 year program. L's family isn't very close. L's family pretty much pushed her out of the nest when she was 16 years old, gave her a car and said "have fun". My family didn't let me get in a vehicle until I was 17. They didn't let me have a job. They really didn't let me have friends. They wanted me to stay close to the family unit. I don't really drive. I cannot afford a vehicle right now and as intense as my studies are I cannot take on a job. So the result would be that from the start, L was a more independent person. Her schooling takes less time and costs less money. L doesn't have to rely on her parents as much. Me, my parents pay for my schooling and my apartment at the moment. I will be taking up the responsibility of apartment cost next year. I'm attending a four year undergraduate program right now that costs more money. Hence I am more reliant on my family. Especially because I don't have a car. Even though L is the same age as me...we're on totally different levels of development. That doesn't say ANYTHING about who we are as people and how we've developed mentally. It's just our situations in life are different. And I figure that somewhere along the line that will balance itself out. But certainly I feel much more of an adolescent than L would. Because of the parental dependency thing. I don't LIVE with them, I take care of myself on a daily basis. But the reason I even have a place to live right now is because of my father.
But this isn't what I wanted to talk about. I want to talk about dating. Typically...since the beginning of puberty, I have always dated younger guys. My first boyfriend at 13 was a year younger than me. That was a joke. My second boyfriend was a year younger than me. My 3rd boyfriend was the same age as me. My fourth was 2 years younger than me. My sixth was the same age as me. And my seventh was 2 years younger than me. I have NEVER dated someone older. I don't know why that is. I like younger guys. If I'm going to play psychologist right now, I would deem it some kind of...deep seated need to nurture and to care for and to teach...if you know what I mean. I like to be the experienced one. But for some reason when it comes to decision making and sex I like to be submissive. Strange. Anyway. But I've never been into the massive age differences. My sister does this. She is 17 years old and only dates older men. She loves them in their early twenties. But I've never gone for anyone HER age or younger. First of all I think that's illegal here. In the US the age of consent is 18 years old and the shit that happens to people that get messed up in that is NOT pretty. I understand why the law is there. In my opinion I think it's reasonable. So I've never flirted with it. Besides, all the 15, 16, 17 year old boys are like...babies! Little. Skinny. Pubescent. Until I met C.
C has made everything go awry in the most adorable way possible. C literally smiled his way into my life. I'm a smiles person. I've mentioned this before. C had me at the very first smile. It's gorgeous. And without exaggeration at all...it is literally the most gorgeous smile I have ever seen on a human being. His mouth is like...shaped like a strawberry. He's got a full upper lip (which gets me every time) and sort of a pout. And he has lovely teeth. He's got the whole vampire teeth thing going on which my closest friends know sends me off the deep end. And then there's the Celtic god hair and the sad, droopy eyes, his thick eyebrows. Oh dear God why do you test me so?? C...does not look his age. If C never told anyone his age everyone would think C was 21 years old. This is the general consensus amongst my internet friends. I'd like to mention that C is an internet fried as well. I have not taken part in any delinquent activities. But I look. And who can't help but look? I look, and I blush and I look away. What the hell is that all about? I will not mention C's age here to avoid flames. If C looked like a normal boy his age I swear to God this wouldn't be an issue.
And then comes his personality. I have never..ever...witnessed such a sweet, wholesome, kind, gentle, caring and intelligent person. His eyes speak of years far far older than he really is. We have a lot A LOT in common. I'm starting to realize this more and more and he's...pensive and sensitive and pretty much my ideal man. And the kicker is...even though he lives overseas...before I even met him I was planning on moving to his country around the area where he lives. Now. What the hell? Why is this being set up this way? Is this supposed to be happening to me? Is this good? I am so confused. It just doesn't seem fair especially because I never asked to be 21 years old yet!
They say that when trauma occurs, sometimes, you mentally freeze in whatever age you were at that time. My mother is the epitome of this phenomenon. She is physically 55 years old, but when she was a teenager, her family treated her like a piece of shit and now she is mentally frozen as a 16 year old girl. I'm not saying because she parties like she's a teenager. I mean LITERALLY she does not have the reasoning of someone her age. Her thought process is exactly that of a 16 year old girl. When I was 15 years old I was doped up. It's my fault. I did this to myself. I asked my psychiatrist for behavior meds. I felt like it was going to make me happier. I felt like it was going to make me a better person. It didn't. All it did was make me completely mental and numb every emotion and feeling I could have. I remember lying on my back in my room staring up at the ceiling for 7 hours. Just lying there. Not feeling. Not wanting to move. Not wanting to eat. Wanting to hurt myself. To hurt other people. Being fifteen was a scary place for me. And I wouldn't really want to go back to that point but, I'm afraid that this fear of growing up comes from the feeling that I never really got a chance to be young. Playing parent to my sister. Figuring out life by myself with no guidance. And then being treated like a science experiment until I was 19 years old by doctors because they couldn't figure out why I was gaining ridiculous amounts of weight in such a short period of time! I was injected and extracted from more times that I can count in the last 4 years. I have to cry a little bit while I write this. It's almost too much for me to remember. I never got a chance to be young. And this has been a burden on my chest for a very long time. Meeting C and in a sense "falling for him" has just brought these issues to the forefront and I'm not afraid to talk about them anymore.
Do souls have ages? I don't think so. You can say someone is "an old soul" but, the actual soul...is there an age? I guess you would have to answer the question, "are there souls at all?" Is everything completely physical or is there something more to who we are? And does it really matter? Where C comes from this isn't illegal. Well it won't be. Soon. I compared the ages of consent in each country and I wondered why it was that they were vastly different. It's a culture thing I think. Why are Europeans always more mature? Why do they drink earlier than us? Why do they DRIVE later than us? Why do Americans force the issue of "young forever" down our throats? Why is it different? From what I have seen, and what I have experienced, people in Europe tend to be more mature thinkers than Americans. They're definitely schooled better. They're exposed to more culture. I guess with maturity there is more privilege. I wonder if that's why it's different?
But what I cannot ignore is that smile. I cannot stop looking into the eyes of one of the kindest people I have met. I can't stop being interested in someone who genuinely makes me happy. Who makes me laugh and puts a smile on my face even when my world feels like it's coming down on top of me. I will not stop getting to know C. Laws of different societies cannot stop people from knowing one another and interacting with each other. That's ludicrous. But it's happened before....meh. But that's a bit too political for my taste. You can hate on me. Tell me I'm a sick person. It's fine. I'll take it. For now I've found a friendship in someone that fascinates me on all levels. And I think that is the best thing anyone can ever have.
I will end this with an Amy Lee quote:
"But who can decide what they dream? And dream I do..."
End Day 49
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Day Forty-Six: Rant About Life and My Future Profession
I've come to the realization that any box of Sweetarts is going to be 95% pink Sweetarts. Which sucks, because pink is my least favorite flavor. They know this too. The Wonka establishment. They KNOW that blue tastes 90 times better than pink and that pink tastes like some capsulized version of cough syrup mixed with acid and blue tastes like sex. So they throw like...10 blues in a box of like...200 Sweetarts and of course fail to get your fill of blue Sweetarts so you go to buy another box and force yourself to eat like 80 more pink Sweetarts in order to get the blues. That's the way life is. One person screwing you over at a time.
It's like...YOU held up your end of the deal. YOU gave the lady the $3 at the obscenely overpriced University Bookstore for your box of candies and THEY...the corporation fucks you over. And you realize this right after you walk out of the store, open your box and find a flood of pink chalky disks with NO blue in sight.
It's like jobs and relationships.
Today my father of 63 lost his final and last contract. He no longer has a job. My father is one of the hardest working, most committed people I know. In fact he is the SOUL reason I even have a work ethic. For 40 something years my father held up his end of the bargain with those companies and for 40 something years he put in his time and he did what he was supposed to and he was a DAMN good employee. And all of a sudden some little young jerk comes along, thinks he knows the business and my father gets the boot. While he's going through a God damned divorce and still has a kid in high school. It's like when they give you that 30 days notice....it's like looking into that box full of pink candies.
It's also like my relationship with Jude. I put in the time. I gave 150% in that relationship. I gave much much more than Jude ever gave, and where do I end up? The fool. The stupid fool who was robbed of two years of her life, left with NO ONE. Because she was stupid enough to isolate herself from everyone else to better accommodate her relationship that ended up blown to smithereens. I gave my $3 and all I got was a box of pink Sweetarts.
I've been reading "It's Kind of a Funny Story" by Ned Vizzini. I've decided that I like it. It took me awhile to decide but I like it. It's a bit more...dialouge-y than what I normally pick. But I get that. There are times when all I do is write dialogue. I'm in the shower and suddenly I think "Oh, that would be clever to say there" and so I get out and write an entire dialogue set between two characters. I can see where he's coming from. I like Ned. I think he does well.
I had a friend on Facebook comment on my status the other day when I was talking about buying the book. It was more so of a textual punch in groin than a comment. I've been getting a lot of those lately. Textual punches in the groin. I'm wondering if maybe people are just in foul moods lately or it's "Let's Hate on Everything Katie Ever Thinks" month. This friend was OBVIOUSLY hospitalized in a mental institution before and kind of jabbed my in the throat for being excited about a drama about a teen that become institutionalized. She said something to the effect of, "Mental institutions are gross and horrible and this is completely mocking them and making light of the subject". And while that MAY or MAY NOT be true, MY OWN opinion resides here. The reason most mental institutions are so gross and terrible is because the people in charge of them couldn't give a rat's ass about anyone in there. In psychology we do not CURE people. There is no CURE for mental illness. If there was we'd all be running up and down the street throwing streamers at our neighbors and singing "Old McDonald Had a Farm". In psychology we TREAT mental illness. So in all honestly there really isn't any HEALING going on in the psychology department. We're not healers we're supporters. We're highly trained individuals who THINK we know what's going on in your head that know EXACTLY what to say to make you feel like we know what we're talking about and then you give us a lot of money to give you a generic "This is what you should do about this..." that if you REALLY wanted to think for yourself you could have come up with that too. And you thought we were so noble. PLEASE. We're JUST like you. Just as fucked up. Just as angry. Just as lost. Just as sad. We're basically professional moral support. Which in my opinion...is a worthwhile investment. Since so many other people in your life are just as emotional and ridiculous as you. Here's the catch though. 98% of people who are psychiatrists today DO NOT CARE ABOUT THEIR PATIENTS. They went into undergrad thinking "Oooh. I'm going to major in psychology because psychiatrist make bank." Literally. I'm a psychology major. I hear it all the time. It's not because they WANT TO or they CARE ABOUT YOU. It's because at the end of the day they know all the have to do is say "It's your mother's fault" and they can go home to their house in the hills and sip wine until they have to wake up the next morning and do it all over again. But where does the other 2% fall? Well. That would be me.
Hi guys. I'm Katie. I'm a psychology major because when I was a child I was verbally, physically, and emotionally abused by everyone in my life. I am 21 years old now and it took me about that long to figure out why the hell I am on this earth and who I am. That was REALLY hard. That was HORRIBLE trying to figure that out on my own. Gee. I might know a few things about the way the mind works. I might KNOW how to relate to people who come into my office bawling because their mother calls them a fat whore and their friends spit on them and ostracize them at school. And HEY! I'm a pretty smart cookie. I could become a psychologist. And so. I did. Because the ONE thing I can't stand is to watch people suffer. I can't do it. I FEEL it when someone else suffers. And I can't watch someone suffer the same way I did. That's why I can't stand fat people. It makes me so sad. Because I'm fat. I've been fat my entire life. And the emotional and physical pain is something that NO ONE can get rid of. It's there for the rest of your life no matter how thin you get. And when I see other people struggling with the same thing it makes it unbearable to be around them. Because you KNOW what they suffer with. You KNOW the feeling they're having when they can't buy the clothes they like and people are talking shit about them. So it makes it worse. So I thought....if I could have the chance...to spare people the mistakes that I made...if I had the chance to change someone's path for the better so they don't end up like me...that would be awesome.
My dream is to become a doctor. A psychiatrist. And I want to head up a teen psych ward in a mental hospital. And when I do, it won't be a holding cell for messed up kids. It's not going to be a place that people just drop off their kids so that I can medicate them and tell them that they're good boys and girls and one day they are going to succeed and then dope them up some more. That's not going to happen. There is something seriously fucking wrong with this business. And I've heard more and more horror stories and guess what? I've been there. I've been a victim of a fucking shrink that just wanted to line her pockets with my mommy's cash. I've been doped up before. I've been treated like a failure. I've been a zombie before and a slave to what my psychiatrist says is right for me. That's why I'm not going to be that way. Perhaps I'll become one of the only "healers" in this field one day.
I like this book by Ned Vizzini. Because it depicts something dark in a positive way. It shows that even when you're the worst you can be there's still something right around the corner. This book is hopeful and when other kids who are struggling like Craig, the main character, read that book or see that movie they might feel better. So guess what. The girl who commented that on status a few weeks ago can suck my dick. For real. The reason you're so miserable is because you let yourself be that way. Did someone ever tell you that? Well. There you go. Stop sucking the happiness out of people's lives. Thanks.
End Day 46
It's like...YOU held up your end of the deal. YOU gave the lady the $3 at the obscenely overpriced University Bookstore for your box of candies and THEY...the corporation fucks you over. And you realize this right after you walk out of the store, open your box and find a flood of pink chalky disks with NO blue in sight.
It's like jobs and relationships.
Today my father of 63 lost his final and last contract. He no longer has a job. My father is one of the hardest working, most committed people I know. In fact he is the SOUL reason I even have a work ethic. For 40 something years my father held up his end of the bargain with those companies and for 40 something years he put in his time and he did what he was supposed to and he was a DAMN good employee. And all of a sudden some little young jerk comes along, thinks he knows the business and my father gets the boot. While he's going through a God damned divorce and still has a kid in high school. It's like when they give you that 30 days notice....it's like looking into that box full of pink candies.
It's also like my relationship with Jude. I put in the time. I gave 150% in that relationship. I gave much much more than Jude ever gave, and where do I end up? The fool. The stupid fool who was robbed of two years of her life, left with NO ONE. Because she was stupid enough to isolate herself from everyone else to better accommodate her relationship that ended up blown to smithereens. I gave my $3 and all I got was a box of pink Sweetarts.
I've been reading "It's Kind of a Funny Story" by Ned Vizzini. I've decided that I like it. It took me awhile to decide but I like it. It's a bit more...dialouge-y than what I normally pick. But I get that. There are times when all I do is write dialogue. I'm in the shower and suddenly I think "Oh, that would be clever to say there" and so I get out and write an entire dialogue set between two characters. I can see where he's coming from. I like Ned. I think he does well.
I had a friend on Facebook comment on my status the other day when I was talking about buying the book. It was more so of a textual punch in groin than a comment. I've been getting a lot of those lately. Textual punches in the groin. I'm wondering if maybe people are just in foul moods lately or it's "Let's Hate on Everything Katie Ever Thinks" month. This friend was OBVIOUSLY hospitalized in a mental institution before and kind of jabbed my in the throat for being excited about a drama about a teen that become institutionalized. She said something to the effect of, "Mental institutions are gross and horrible and this is completely mocking them and making light of the subject". And while that MAY or MAY NOT be true, MY OWN opinion resides here. The reason most mental institutions are so gross and terrible is because the people in charge of them couldn't give a rat's ass about anyone in there. In psychology we do not CURE people. There is no CURE for mental illness. If there was we'd all be running up and down the street throwing streamers at our neighbors and singing "Old McDonald Had a Farm". In psychology we TREAT mental illness. So in all honestly there really isn't any HEALING going on in the psychology department. We're not healers we're supporters. We're highly trained individuals who THINK we know what's going on in your head that know EXACTLY what to say to make you feel like we know what we're talking about and then you give us a lot of money to give you a generic "This is what you should do about this..." that if you REALLY wanted to think for yourself you could have come up with that too. And you thought we were so noble. PLEASE. We're JUST like you. Just as fucked up. Just as angry. Just as lost. Just as sad. We're basically professional moral support. Which in my opinion...is a worthwhile investment. Since so many other people in your life are just as emotional and ridiculous as you. Here's the catch though. 98% of people who are psychiatrists today DO NOT CARE ABOUT THEIR PATIENTS. They went into undergrad thinking "Oooh. I'm going to major in psychology because psychiatrist make bank." Literally. I'm a psychology major. I hear it all the time. It's not because they WANT TO or they CARE ABOUT YOU. It's because at the end of the day they know all the have to do is say "It's your mother's fault" and they can go home to their house in the hills and sip wine until they have to wake up the next morning and do it all over again. But where does the other 2% fall? Well. That would be me.
Hi guys. I'm Katie. I'm a psychology major because when I was a child I was verbally, physically, and emotionally abused by everyone in my life. I am 21 years old now and it took me about that long to figure out why the hell I am on this earth and who I am. That was REALLY hard. That was HORRIBLE trying to figure that out on my own. Gee. I might know a few things about the way the mind works. I might KNOW how to relate to people who come into my office bawling because their mother calls them a fat whore and their friends spit on them and ostracize them at school. And HEY! I'm a pretty smart cookie. I could become a psychologist. And so. I did. Because the ONE thing I can't stand is to watch people suffer. I can't do it. I FEEL it when someone else suffers. And I can't watch someone suffer the same way I did. That's why I can't stand fat people. It makes me so sad. Because I'm fat. I've been fat my entire life. And the emotional and physical pain is something that NO ONE can get rid of. It's there for the rest of your life no matter how thin you get. And when I see other people struggling with the same thing it makes it unbearable to be around them. Because you KNOW what they suffer with. You KNOW the feeling they're having when they can't buy the clothes they like and people are talking shit about them. So it makes it worse. So I thought....if I could have the chance...to spare people the mistakes that I made...if I had the chance to change someone's path for the better so they don't end up like me...that would be awesome.
My dream is to become a doctor. A psychiatrist. And I want to head up a teen psych ward in a mental hospital. And when I do, it won't be a holding cell for messed up kids. It's not going to be a place that people just drop off their kids so that I can medicate them and tell them that they're good boys and girls and one day they are going to succeed and then dope them up some more. That's not going to happen. There is something seriously fucking wrong with this business. And I've heard more and more horror stories and guess what? I've been there. I've been a victim of a fucking shrink that just wanted to line her pockets with my mommy's cash. I've been doped up before. I've been treated like a failure. I've been a zombie before and a slave to what my psychiatrist says is right for me. That's why I'm not going to be that way. Perhaps I'll become one of the only "healers" in this field one day.
I like this book by Ned Vizzini. Because it depicts something dark in a positive way. It shows that even when you're the worst you can be there's still something right around the corner. This book is hopeful and when other kids who are struggling like Craig, the main character, read that book or see that movie they might feel better. So guess what. The girl who commented that on status a few weeks ago can suck my dick. For real. The reason you're so miserable is because you let yourself be that way. Did someone ever tell you that? Well. There you go. Stop sucking the happiness out of people's lives. Thanks.
End Day 46
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Day Forty-Five: Teacher's Pet
I got something to admit right now. I LOVE being a teacher's pet. All right I'll give you a moment to scoff at me and call me names...that's cool I'll wait.
Are you done now? Ok cool. I can't help it. I love it. I love when a teacher pats me on the head and sets me up as an example in front of the class as smart and talented. I LIKE the feeling of being better than everyone else. If only for a moment. That could never be a permanent thing with me. I hate having too much attention. And frankly, I don't think I could handle being better than everyone else outside of a classroom setting. Because it's meaningless. Like...oooh good job....you have a designer bag...you're technically better than everyone else because mostly everyone else can't afford that. Kudos. But what does that really mean? Because the moment your dog chews up the lining in that bad boy the moment you won't be better than everyone else. But in the classroom...that's forever. You can't...chew up knowledge. You can't STOP being smart. I mean you can REALLY try but you really can't un-know things. So when I do a good job and a teacher makes a spectacle out of me and I look back and see everyone's pissed, annoyed faces it's euphoric. And ooh. The OTHER people like me....the other teacher's pets that want to know everything...when I get made spectacle of and they don't...the bewilderment and jealousy on their face is delicious. It's like "Oh that's right. What? Who did awesome? Who's smarter than you. That's right. Woop woop!" There's a specific red head in my Statistics class that IS my intellectual rival in the class. And I KNOW that we both equally piss off everyone around us but it's nice to have our own little competition going on in our private world.
Today in French class I got my first "plus un", which means "Plus one" in French if that wasn't obvious. Anissa was teaching us something...I can't really remember...something to do with the subjunctive....OH! Emotions. We were covering that again. And she was making us make sentences with this tense. Well basically....no one volunteers to talk a loud in that class. I get it. I know where they're coming from. I like to keep my dignity intact for the day too. But I thought, "what the hell...I hate my life enough right now anyway...so might as well". I RAISED MY HAND....which is unheard of. Anissa looked at me like I had just put on a chicken suit and ran around the classroom. I could just see her face was like, "What iz zis?" I love typing her accent. It makes me laugh. So I gave her a perfect sentence in French. Perfect. I pronounced everything right. And she looked at me with the cutest form of glee I had ever seen. She clasped her hands together and said "VERY GOOD KAY-TEE! VERY GOOD!" She ran to the board and wrote the sentence down and said "Ploos uhn, KAY-TEE!" I was like "heh heh heh". I couldn't help but smile to myself. Anissa only gives "plus un"'s when you do something really good. I guess she was like...so startled that someone volunteered to talk.
So I was kind of like, "heh heh Anissa loves me" in my head as I was walking to Statistics. It really frightens me how much I need teacher's acceptance sometimes. Actually...how much I need PEOPLE'S attention sometimes.
Well then I got to the math study hall and pulled out my homework. I am really surprised about Statistics as a class. I've heard NOTHING but horror stories about it. It's SO hard. It's IMPOSSIBLE. I think I lucked out because I got a good teacher. Lian is like a no bullshit kind of teacher. He doesn't toot his horn because he knows math and he doesn't try to MAKE you fail because he's Asian and Asian people really don't ever bring their emotional lives into their studies like fucking Americans do. This is not a fact it's just an observation. He's also a PhD graduate student so he's humble about himself. He's not a DOCTOR yet so it's like...he's not a jerk about it. I mean when he tutors you it might seem like he's talking down to you or being mean. But really it's because he doesn't speak English well. When he was tutoring me one time instead of saying "Can I see your pen?" he said "Show your pen!" He doesn't ask things really he just commands and says simple sentences in English. Which makes me laugh. I don't really mind. But I am finding Statistics to be not easy but challenging. Which is good. It's not easy for me but it's not hard. It's challenging. It gives me something to work with and it's not impossible to figure out. There are sometimes communication errors in a lesson so sometimes it takes me a few classes to figure out where he's coming from. But I usually get it. Well he gives us homework problems to do and he picks random kids each time to do them on the board.
I started working the problem and I was surprised that I got it mostly right except for a few semantic errors, where I didn't write my conclusion right or do the write notation for something. Lian was in the study hall with an exchange student from Africa. She was really struggling with the concepts and he was like....fussing at her...I didn't really know what was going on but I just did my own thing. Lian always stares at me. I can FEEL him looking at me. It's creepy. After he finished bitching out the exchange student he came over and looked over my shoulder at my homework and pointed out my few errors but told me it was correct and gave me what...I think...was some kind of praise. I don't really know. He helped me correct my other homework problem that I had misunderstood and when I was done he left and I shitted around on the computer until I went upstairs for class.
Well in class he decided that he was going to use the entire 50 minutes to go over the homework problems. He kept asking "Who wants to do number fiyoh?" and no one would do it. He saw me and said, "You. Do." and pointed the chalk at me. I guess he knew that I had the right answer already so I was like "Ok, cool." So I got up and taught the class the problem. It was a long problem and was very complicated and I was kind of afraid that I wasn't explaining it right. Red head girl in the front was FUMING. She was so pissed that I was up there doing the problems and explaining them and Lian was standing next to me nodding his head. He doesn't like to give praise much so he just said, "Thas right." And I went and sat back down. SEE? That's what I'm talking about. I love to feel intellectually special. It's just a rush.
Anyway. That's my teacher's pet confession.
End Day 45
Are you done now? Ok cool. I can't help it. I love it. I love when a teacher pats me on the head and sets me up as an example in front of the class as smart and talented. I LIKE the feeling of being better than everyone else. If only for a moment. That could never be a permanent thing with me. I hate having too much attention. And frankly, I don't think I could handle being better than everyone else outside of a classroom setting. Because it's meaningless. Like...oooh good job....you have a designer bag...you're technically better than everyone else because mostly everyone else can't afford that. Kudos. But what does that really mean? Because the moment your dog chews up the lining in that bad boy the moment you won't be better than everyone else. But in the classroom...that's forever. You can't...chew up knowledge. You can't STOP being smart. I mean you can REALLY try but you really can't un-know things. So when I do a good job and a teacher makes a spectacle out of me and I look back and see everyone's pissed, annoyed faces it's euphoric. And ooh. The OTHER people like me....the other teacher's pets that want to know everything...when I get made spectacle of and they don't...the bewilderment and jealousy on their face is delicious. It's like "Oh that's right. What? Who did awesome? Who's smarter than you. That's right. Woop woop!" There's a specific red head in my Statistics class that IS my intellectual rival in the class. And I KNOW that we both equally piss off everyone around us but it's nice to have our own little competition going on in our private world.
Today in French class I got my first "plus un", which means "Plus one" in French if that wasn't obvious. Anissa was teaching us something...I can't really remember...something to do with the subjunctive....OH! Emotions. We were covering that again. And she was making us make sentences with this tense. Well basically....no one volunteers to talk a loud in that class. I get it. I know where they're coming from. I like to keep my dignity intact for the day too. But I thought, "what the hell...I hate my life enough right now anyway...so might as well". I RAISED MY HAND....which is unheard of. Anissa looked at me like I had just put on a chicken suit and ran around the classroom. I could just see her face was like, "What iz zis?" I love typing her accent. It makes me laugh. So I gave her a perfect sentence in French. Perfect. I pronounced everything right. And she looked at me with the cutest form of glee I had ever seen. She clasped her hands together and said "VERY GOOD KAY-TEE! VERY GOOD!" She ran to the board and wrote the sentence down and said "Ploos uhn, KAY-TEE!" I was like "heh heh heh". I couldn't help but smile to myself. Anissa only gives "plus un"'s when you do something really good. I guess she was like...so startled that someone volunteered to talk.
So I was kind of like, "heh heh Anissa loves me" in my head as I was walking to Statistics. It really frightens me how much I need teacher's acceptance sometimes. Actually...how much I need PEOPLE'S attention sometimes.
Well then I got to the math study hall and pulled out my homework. I am really surprised about Statistics as a class. I've heard NOTHING but horror stories about it. It's SO hard. It's IMPOSSIBLE. I think I lucked out because I got a good teacher. Lian is like a no bullshit kind of teacher. He doesn't toot his horn because he knows math and he doesn't try to MAKE you fail because he's Asian and Asian people really don't ever bring their emotional lives into their studies like fucking Americans do. This is not a fact it's just an observation. He's also a PhD graduate student so he's humble about himself. He's not a DOCTOR yet so it's like...he's not a jerk about it. I mean when he tutors you it might seem like he's talking down to you or being mean. But really it's because he doesn't speak English well. When he was tutoring me one time instead of saying "Can I see your pen?" he said "Show your pen!" He doesn't ask things really he just commands and says simple sentences in English. Which makes me laugh. I don't really mind. But I am finding Statistics to be not easy but challenging. Which is good. It's not easy for me but it's not hard. It's challenging. It gives me something to work with and it's not impossible to figure out. There are sometimes communication errors in a lesson so sometimes it takes me a few classes to figure out where he's coming from. But I usually get it. Well he gives us homework problems to do and he picks random kids each time to do them on the board.
I started working the problem and I was surprised that I got it mostly right except for a few semantic errors, where I didn't write my conclusion right or do the write notation for something. Lian was in the study hall with an exchange student from Africa. She was really struggling with the concepts and he was like....fussing at her...I didn't really know what was going on but I just did my own thing. Lian always stares at me. I can FEEL him looking at me. It's creepy. After he finished bitching out the exchange student he came over and looked over my shoulder at my homework and pointed out my few errors but told me it was correct and gave me what...I think...was some kind of praise. I don't really know. He helped me correct my other homework problem that I had misunderstood and when I was done he left and I shitted around on the computer until I went upstairs for class.
Well in class he decided that he was going to use the entire 50 minutes to go over the homework problems. He kept asking "Who wants to do number fiyoh?" and no one would do it. He saw me and said, "You. Do." and pointed the chalk at me. I guess he knew that I had the right answer already so I was like "Ok, cool." So I got up and taught the class the problem. It was a long problem and was very complicated and I was kind of afraid that I wasn't explaining it right. Red head girl in the front was FUMING. She was so pissed that I was up there doing the problems and explaining them and Lian was standing next to me nodding his head. He doesn't like to give praise much so he just said, "Thas right." And I went and sat back down. SEE? That's what I'm talking about. I love to feel intellectually special. It's just a rush.
Anyway. That's my teacher's pet confession.
End Day 45
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Day Forty-Four: Untitled
I wish I could think of something profound to say right now...but to be honest I'm more lost than ever. For a little while I felt like I was getting out of the woods. I felt like I was starting a new life and it was wonderful. But I realized that the source of my happiness was because I thought Jude and I were going to get back together. It wasn't like I was truly happy being single or being on my own two feet. It was only a temporary thing, still using Jude as a crutch. And now, as I sit at rock bottom grasping for memories of him, I can't help but feel that this very well might be where I'll be for the rest of my life.
How does one forget the most important love they've ever had? How do you really wash that slate clean? I doesn't happen. And all my friends who are in serious relationships are saying, "Just get over him", but I can't help but want to shout back, "What if HE left YOU?" Would it be so easy? My friends that are in year long relationships with their men...would it be so easy for you to forget him? No. The answer is no because the heart doesn't forget the memories. And the longer you spend with someone and the more memories you make the worse it is. The harder it gets to forget.
I'm tired all the time. That's the only thing this situation has given me in the last 5 months...sleep. Lots of it. The more depressed I am the more I want it and the more my body cries out for it. I could not keep myself awake in Statistics yesterday. I put my head down on Jude's sweatshirt and fell asleep for five minutes. I woke up only to see my Statistics professor glaring at me as he lectured. If only he knew. Professors are so insensitive and ridiculous. They act like us students are invincible. They make us do inhuman things. They expect us to be robots that do whatever they say. But when someone is grieving or hurting so badly on the inside it's not easy to perform. It's not even ok to be physically sick anymore! My biology lab professor cut my balls off because I had a cold one morning. But how do you get excused from class because you're depressed? They're just going to look at you and tell you to go to hell. For instance, I went up to my Stat professor after class to get him to check my homework and a girl came up to him and told him that she missed two days of class last week because her father had a heart attack. He went into cardiac arrest and was in the hospital. First of all I don't think he understood what she was talking about because his English is limited to the subject that he teaches. But he basically told her "too bad" she was still going to get points off her grade. It's like....omg....what if he had DIED? She's not supposed to go see her father because she has STAT CLASS? No fuck that. That's so stupid. If I were her I would take it to the dean. That's so unfair. I hate how universities pull that shit.
Like tomorrow. I have French class bright and early. I HATE French class. I hate it so much it makes me want to throw up walking into that class. It's not that I hate learning French. But the language professors at this university are retards. They are so rude and mean. My professor expects us to pick up the concepts she is teaching us and apply them perfectly in speech in the matter of 5 minutes. Like..last class she taught Expressions of Emotion. She literally wrote them on the board, taught us how to use them an then expected us to start using it in speech like three minutes later. People were confused. And then she gets mad when we don't say it right and she does this number...."Vite vite!" which means "Fast fast!" Like she wants us to speak it fast and with precision and it's like "Woman, I hate to tell you this but we are not going to use French in our lives unless we move to France or some other Francophone country." If I do use French after this class it'll be completely recreational. The only reason anyone is taking that class is because they HAVE to, to graduate. She's acting like we're all going to be airlifted to France any second now and will have to fend for ourselves in French. Which isn't that hard I've done it before. Sadly, in America...we speak English and ONLY English. Fuck this Spanish shit they're trying to integrate into our country. Now, one day I might want to move to Europe. If that's the case then I will use my French when appropriate. But honestly, I have more appropriate things to deal with in my life than learning how to say "I like to make crepes" in French the correct way. They also like to humiliate you in front of everyone. It's like they get off on that. If they're having a bad day...they'll pull out the worksheets and start making you fill them out. They give you like two minutes to do the whole thing and then expect you to go down the row and answer the questions. They don't even give us enough time to read the fucking directions! It's all in French and I'm not a native speaker so by the time I get a grasp on the directions she's calling on people! That's not how people learn. If they really wanted you to learn then they wouldn't take their emotional problems out on students. That's how I failed French 102 the first time. My professor was an emotional wreck and that's how he got his kicks. Making people feel like shit. There's one girl in my class majoring in French Education and she isn't even keeping up because of my professor. It's nuts.
It's passed my bedtime right now. This entry has really no purpose to it. I'm so depressed and numb that I can't even feel anything right now. I feel like I need pills. Like....to make me feel nothing. Jude and I spoke briefly on MSN tonight. He wanted to show me some stuff that he was looking up on the Internet. That is Jude's FAVORITE recreation. Showing me links to websites and videos and pictures and things that he thinks I will like. Maybe that's his way of trying to relate to me. Either way....it has made me feel a little better for the time being. I would be stupid to say that I didn't care about him. I would be a liar if I said that he wasn't important to me. The thing about me and Jude is...I didn't just lose my boyfriend..my lover...I lost my best friend in the world. And that somehow makes it 80 times worse.
I took a two hour nap today and my body is STILL crying out for sleep. Even though I slept 9 hours last night. This grief is really getting to me. I made a tiny egg salad sandwich out of polymer clay and silicon tonight. I will use that as today's picture.
God bless.
End Day 44
Monday, October 4, 2010
Day Forty-Three: Coping with Grief
I feel like I’ve digressed about 3 months. After spending 24 hours in my sane place back at college where I’m not exposed to the hyper-emotional atmosphere of my family’s household, I’ve been able to think rationally and realize that’s where I am right now. Three months ago I still could not stand on my own two feet comfortably and three months ago I was still stuck on the idea of him. Except now the feeling is layered with a thin sheet of resentment and hate. I should know better than to talk to Jude when I’m at my parents’ house. I had a rough weekend starting with a death and ending with my father being pissed at the world. Jude just needs to understand that when I go home you really can’t take anything I say seriously or to heart. Not that I said anything ugly to him. I’m just hyperemotional. I’m already emotional but when I go home it’s like my family gives me depression injections hourly.
Every second it’s something else why I should be upset or why I should hate something or how someone said this to someone else and it made them upset. My father and mother are signing this divorce papers this week. My mother is pissed to the max that my father won’t file sooner and she thinks he’s “putting off the divorce so that she won’t be able to buy her new house”. So every ten minutes all I hear about is how horrible her life is because her husband won’t divorce her. My father is pissed to the max all the time because he’s depressed that his wife doesn’t love him anymore and that he’s lost his job and that he has no money. He got drunk Friday night seriously just to numb the pain. My sister’s friend just died on Friday and that’s pretty much ALL I heard about in between my mother’s complaints and my father’s foul mood swings.
I spent the first 24 hours in Covington at a memorial service watching everyone blubber. NOT that there wasn’t reason for it. Death is NEVER a good thing and it’s contagious. What I mean by that is, one person dies and suddenly everyone else thinks it’s a good idea to die with them so you got people committing suicide. No one’s done that yet but apparently my high school is preparing for the worst. I mean….800 hormonal female teenagers just lost one of their own…it doesn’t take SCIENCE to figure out what might happen. So I mean…this whole controversy with Jude over the weekend was a direct product of my family. And he should know that by now. He knows my family like he was a part of it.
But in the process of being overly emotional I’ve found out a few things about Jude that I didn’t want to find out. And that’s basically that he cheated on me in his mind for our entire relationship. He relayed that to me by saying “Remember all the times when you thought something was going on with me and Shelby? Well there was.” Now. I don’t want to believe that. Because Shelby and I USED to be friends. Shelby is Jude’s long time best friend. And I’d love to believe that Shelby is in love with Jordan, her long time boyfriend. I would love to believe that Jude was just being angry and tired at the time and said things he doesn’t mean. I also CANNOT believe that Jude is IN LOVE with Shelby. Jude has no idea what it would be like to be in a relationship with her. And again, I’d like to believe that he was just mad and was lashing out. EITHER WAY, I realized what a hateful person he really is. And that makes me sad. Because this truly seems to be a recent development. When Jude and I were together we had a lot of fun. There were a lot of rough times but he was never hateful to me. He would get angry and impatient but never hateful. This is something new that he developed and I’m not sure if that’s grounds for extermination from my life completely or not.
Basically, I’m still under the impression that I need him. Now, my logic tells me this is not so. I am a very attractive person. I have some wear and tear on me, I am a little overweight but I am NOT hideous. And to say that I am is just FALSE. I am very smart. Last week I stood up in front of my psychology class and presented an argument to my psychology professor that NO ONE else in my group could do. I am straight up intelligent. Jude is too. I think that’s why we got along in the first place. We both are good in school and make good grades when we apply ourselves. Jude just uses 75% of his brain for storage of useless facts and trivia. Which is…whatever. Everyone to his own I suppose. But I’m saying that as I sit in this library typing this entry, I look over the rows of people sitting around me and I realize that I have about 80% more potential to succeed in life than everyone sitting around me. That’s not cocky it’s just who I am. My major, my competence level, and my unwillingness to think ONLY of recreational activities widely contribute to this. I am also a very kind person. Today in biology class a boy failed to write down 25% of the slideshow, and wandered up to me and asked me if he could copy my notes. I didn’t have anywhere to be so I sat there for an extra 20 minutes letting him copy my notes. If I had had somewhere to be I would have asked for his email so that I could send them to him. I’m very generous and kind and selfless. And those are very attractive qualities to the RIGHT kind of people.
People who like mean, hateful, smart aleck, rude, bossy, or excessively tan women have PROBLEMS. Jude falls under this category by the way. He seems to find friendship in the most hateful, rude people. I think that’s where he’s getting it from. It’s a shame he has to be exposed to that kind of behavior. It’s only making him a terrible person. Anyway. Bottom line is…I’m an extremely competent person. So why have I resorted to carrying around his jacket all day. Like this piece of material is going to transform into him any minute. It’s a crutch. I don’t need people to tell it to me. I am in love with the idea of him. Basically that’s what it boils down to. I am not in love with Jude anymore. I am in love with who he used to be, with the idea of him, and with the way he looks. That is all. I seriously CANNOT find the ability to love him like I used to. And who would? I mean after what he has done to me. I think there would be something seriously wrong with me if I could say in all seriousness that I am still truly in love with Jude as a person. I think that pretty much changed finally on Friday.
Here’s the part I fail to understand. Jude tells me he hated being with me because it was emotional and scary. Now. The girl that apparently he is IN LOVE with is JUST as emotionally unstable as me if not more. And he HIMSELF even admitted that to me that we are “very alike” and “act the same”. Awhile ago before Jude and I split, Shelby and I ran into some kind of confrontation because apparently she thought I was using her. Which was not the case but everyone sees things in their own light. Even AFTER I apologized to her, up and down the street she continued to shout at me and tell me how fucking ridiculous I am and how shitty of a person I am every time I would go to speak with her after that she would fly off the handle at me over something stupid. Now. If that is not emotionally unstable then I don’t know what is. She even told me, “I have a lot of stuff I’m dealing with in my life that makes me emotional.” I think that’s pretty much the definition of why I behave the way that I do. I have SO much shit in my life right now, mostly coming from my family and before it was them and Jude’s problems combined. So pretty much….he’s leaving me in the dust because I’m EMOTIONAL and SCARY for someone who is equally EMOTIONAL and SCARY. It really REALLY does not make sense to me at all. I feel like I’m in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”! It’s like…if everyone else around you is completely mad…and completely off their rocker….and you are the only sane person….then you are going to be the insane one because you’re the odd person out.
Frankly, I’m sick of feeling like I’m taking crazy pills. I’ve completely resigned myself to the fact that I’m not insane. I am not the one with problems. I might be emotional and I might be going through a lot right now but I am so strong. If anything, I have exemplified strength in my life while people like Jude have only showed cowardice because they run away from their problems. I know this is completely contrary to my future profession and major, but right now I need to stay away from the crazy people. At least until I have a certificate that says I can medicate them. Jude and I have decided to take a week to not speak to each other. And I think this is a good practice. I don’t really want to speak to him because for once in my life I am actually ANGRY with him. I used to call it, “Being sad with him”. I am not sad with him at all. I am pissed fucking off. I hear that is the last stage of grief before the world starts to get better. Right now, I AM grieving. Grieving for wasted time, grieving because I am still sexually attracted to Jude, grieving because I miss the person he used to be, grieving because right now I am alone, grieving for those memories with him that I just found out meant nothing to him, grieving because I have to. It’s only the natural thing to do. And how am I dealing with that grief? Well so far I’ve been sleeping a lot. I’ve resigned completely from eating. I am literally shaking I am so hungry right now but I cannot eat. I packed some leftover potatoes from my dad’s dinner last night for lunch and I only sat there picking small pieces off and touching them to my mouth. I remember this. This is how I lost 20 pounds over the summer. Grieving.
Where Jude’s picture used to be on my phone, I have put a picture of Jesus. I don’t think it’s because I am trying to be super religious in my time of pain…I don’t think that’s it. It’s a visual of someone who was completely selfless. You don’t find those kinds of people anymore. It’s good to know that once there was one, and that possibly he loves me.
End Day 43
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Day Forty-Two: The Butterfly
Spending time with my father is one of those pastimes that never gets old. In the wake of what happened last night I expected today to be hard. But it wasn’t. Leaving the house this morning I felt light as air. It was beautiful outside. A perfect morning for a Sunday. Dad and I went to church. It was something I was wary about. I don’t go to church when I’m at school. It started off as a being shy thing and not wanting to branch out and find somewhere else to attend church. Now it’s a “I don’t know what I believe” thing. Over the last year my life has gone to the shitter. And honestly, I cannot find it in myself to believe in God. Maybe that’s because I was too romantic about Jude and I from the very start. There was a time that I remember very well when I thought Jude and I were going to get married. I thought that after ALL THOSE YEARS of being alone and praying to God for my soulmate that he had answered my prayers in Jude. I viewed him as such a blessing and I was completely in awe of our relationship. I with all my heart believed that Jude was my answered prayers. And then…he took him away. And not only did God take him away but he turned him into one of the cruelest people I’ve ever met. And so far I’ve been sitting here at rock bottom praying like a fool to a God that has gone silent. To a God that does NOT want to hear me anymore or maybe never did. And I’ve been asking for strength and for this hurt to go away and it only gets worse. And I pretty much resigned myself from going to church ever again because I was not going to get up and sing praises to a God that didn’t exist or if he did, didn’t deserve them. That was my mindset. And maybe that’s a horrible mindset. Maybe all you Christians out there are condemning me to hell right now but that was what I had resorted to in my mind.
Last night when my world was crashing down for the millionth time in the last 5 months I was closing my eyes to sleep and I thought of Jesus. I don’t know why I thought about Jesus. I was trying to find something to make this hurt go away and my mind transported back to those times when I was in Sunday school and they used to tell me how Jesus loved me so much that he died for me. Now. I don’t give a fuck if you’re reading this and you don’t believe in Jesus. That’s fine. That’s completely fine. I have no problem with other people not believing in Jesus because I would not want someone telling me that my ideas and my beliefs weren’t true or not real. But if you have something ugly to say about what I’m saying right now, shut your fucking mouth or I’ll do it for you. This is my blog and I’m going to talk about what I want.
For some reason thinking about Jesus helped me fall asleep. I said a few words to him in my moment of half awake delirium and then I was out cold. The thing was that I awoke the next morning feeling better than I had in days. Which was odd. Because judging on last night…I was expecting to wake up feeling like my guts were coming out. But I got ready for church. Dad MAKES me go to church. It’s one of those things you just don’t fight because it’s not worth expelling the energy. I didn’t expect to enjoy church. On the way over to church I listened to angry songs about women who got left by their men and now they’re pissed. Some examples of this would be P!nk’s “So What” and Miranda Lambert’s “White Liar” and Taylor Swift’s “Tell Me Why”. I was enjoying thoughts of getting hot one day and showing Jude up and getting a sexier boyfriend. All of things that won’t happen because I’m not a mean spiteful bitch that writes these kind of songs.
When I got to church for some reason I wanted to participate in the service. I went and got communion this time, I did sing and I wrote notes down about the pastor’s sermon. What was very odd to me was that the sermon was about marriage. And that’s a sore spot for both my dad and me. My dad is losing the person he was married to for 35 years and I am losing the person I thought I was going to marry. But I kept an open mind about it and I realized that the pastor was talking about all the things that a husband and a marriage should entail. And it made me realize that with Jude those things were never going to happen. It wasn’t like….a sermon about “CHRISTIAN” marriages but a sermon about GOOD marriages. And that’s what struck me was that with Jude I wouldn’t have a good marriage. Not unless Jude was heavily medicated to maintain ONE personality and not eleven. Which if he was interested in that I could indeed supply that kind of medication after I graduate. Heh. Anyway, the pastor told a story about a little boy that went on the Johnny Carson show and was asked, “Do you go to Sunday School?” The boy told him yes and he asked the boy what he learned in Sunday school this past week. The boy told him that he learned about how Jesus turned the water into wine at the wedding. And the man asked him, “what do you think this means?” The boy said, “It means don’t forget to invite Jesus to the wedding” And of course the congregation laughed because the little boy was referring to the literal act of Jesus turning water into wine and how cool that is.
But it made sense to me in another way. I didn’t take it like “You must go to church every Sunday and you and your husband need to be fire and brimstone Christians and pop out little fire and brimstone Christians” but more like….we need to exemplify what Jesus taught in our marriage. Whether or not you believe in Jesus as the son of God he WAS a real person and he did teach lessons. And the Ten Commandments really, give or take one or two really apply to EVERYONE no matter what faith. And you need to bring that into your marriage to be able to be happy. If one member is a complete selfish asshole and only thinks of themselves, well then you’re not going to have a good marriage because that’s not the right thing to do! And from my point of view, I want a man that exemplifies Jesus’ teachings of being a good person and giving to others. That’s what I WANT and what I NEED. And that sermon helped me understand that. I need to invite Jesus to my wedding.
After church dad and I went to the football game. Dad has been a Saints season ticket holder since their conception as a team. Yes. My dad IS that old and OLDER. Haha! And I took interest in going to the games with him and now when I am in town, my dad and I go to the game. That’s our ritual and happy fun time with each other. As we were driving down the Causeway, Louisiana’s pride, The Longest Bridge IN THE WORLD, there were THOUSANDS of Monarch butterflies! I was completely in awe of them and there were SO many. My dad kept trying not to hit them. And it reminded me of something. A long time ago when I was still in high school I used to frequent PJ’s Coffeehouse because my family didn’t have internet at the house and I needed to do my homework. Well there in the Hwy. 190 PJ’s Coffeehouse in Covington there is a rack of inspirational greeting cards. They really are beautiful cards and have such nice and unique sayings on them. Well the summer after my first year of college I went home and I got a bunch of these cards. I sent them to my friends but, there was one that I kept for myself. It was a plain card, just dark blue with white writing that had the quote:
“And just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”
I thought that quote was so much like me. I have always been a butterfly. I have always been an ever-changing person, constantly getting stronger and improving. And while other people are becoming worse, I have gotten better. I think that’s because I was born on rock bottom. Well I kept that card on my bulletin board for a LONG time and pretty much forgot about it.
Well after this whole thing happened with Jude, I really thought the world was over. A lot of times I resorted to the idea of killing myself and ending my life. To this day I still think about it and it takes every bit of strength in me to not act on it. But as we were driving and I was seeing ALL these butterflies I couldn’t help but think about that quote. I’m thinking about getting that tattooed on me somewhere. It also made me cry a little because a few days ago Lanie had likened Angelle, the girl who died, to a monarch butterfly. She told me that after Angelle had died and everyone had learned the news, she said there had been one lone monarch circling the school courtyard as if it was protecting the girls and the perimeter. Lanie said she thought that was Angelle looking over them. So I got very emotional seeing that.
The game was another heart-stopper. The Saints really know how to send you into cardiac arrest. The whole second half I think I cried, cursed and jumped up in extreme elation all in 1 hour. My dad and I were physically clinging to each other the last 10 minutes of the game. I was being petty and wanted the Saints to win because they were playing the Carolina Panthers and anyone who knows anything about my life knows that Jude is from South Carolina. AND I know that they are based out of NORTH Carolina but they are still related! They share a name and thus to me it is the same thing. It felt good to beat them even if only by a few points.
It was a very emotionally draining day. And although I was very depressed I fell asleep quick. I find that I have gained comfort in the whispering community on YouTube. When I was going through the whole ordeal over the summer they kept me sane. And now in this time they are keeping me sane again. I think the whole thing with Jude was much more complex and hurtful than it should have been because he drug it out so long. It was the “never knowing what was going on or what was coming next”. It was very hard. And now it’s very clear to me what is going on and what needs to be done. I won’t wait for something else insane and worse to happen to me. Somehow some way I will become a butterfly and fly away from all this destruction.
End Day 42
Last night when my world was crashing down for the millionth time in the last 5 months I was closing my eyes to sleep and I thought of Jesus. I don’t know why I thought about Jesus. I was trying to find something to make this hurt go away and my mind transported back to those times when I was in Sunday school and they used to tell me how Jesus loved me so much that he died for me. Now. I don’t give a fuck if you’re reading this and you don’t believe in Jesus. That’s fine. That’s completely fine. I have no problem with other people not believing in Jesus because I would not want someone telling me that my ideas and my beliefs weren’t true or not real. But if you have something ugly to say about what I’m saying right now, shut your fucking mouth or I’ll do it for you. This is my blog and I’m going to talk about what I want.
For some reason thinking about Jesus helped me fall asleep. I said a few words to him in my moment of half awake delirium and then I was out cold. The thing was that I awoke the next morning feeling better than I had in days. Which was odd. Because judging on last night…I was expecting to wake up feeling like my guts were coming out. But I got ready for church. Dad MAKES me go to church. It’s one of those things you just don’t fight because it’s not worth expelling the energy. I didn’t expect to enjoy church. On the way over to church I listened to angry songs about women who got left by their men and now they’re pissed. Some examples of this would be P!nk’s “So What” and Miranda Lambert’s “White Liar” and Taylor Swift’s “Tell Me Why”. I was enjoying thoughts of getting hot one day and showing Jude up and getting a sexier boyfriend. All of things that won’t happen because I’m not a mean spiteful bitch that writes these kind of songs.
When I got to church for some reason I wanted to participate in the service. I went and got communion this time, I did sing and I wrote notes down about the pastor’s sermon. What was very odd to me was that the sermon was about marriage. And that’s a sore spot for both my dad and me. My dad is losing the person he was married to for 35 years and I am losing the person I thought I was going to marry. But I kept an open mind about it and I realized that the pastor was talking about all the things that a husband and a marriage should entail. And it made me realize that with Jude those things were never going to happen. It wasn’t like….a sermon about “CHRISTIAN” marriages but a sermon about GOOD marriages. And that’s what struck me was that with Jude I wouldn’t have a good marriage. Not unless Jude was heavily medicated to maintain ONE personality and not eleven. Which if he was interested in that I could indeed supply that kind of medication after I graduate. Heh. Anyway, the pastor told a story about a little boy that went on the Johnny Carson show and was asked, “Do you go to Sunday School?” The boy told him yes and he asked the boy what he learned in Sunday school this past week. The boy told him that he learned about how Jesus turned the water into wine at the wedding. And the man asked him, “what do you think this means?” The boy said, “It means don’t forget to invite Jesus to the wedding” And of course the congregation laughed because the little boy was referring to the literal act of Jesus turning water into wine and how cool that is.
But it made sense to me in another way. I didn’t take it like “You must go to church every Sunday and you and your husband need to be fire and brimstone Christians and pop out little fire and brimstone Christians” but more like….we need to exemplify what Jesus taught in our marriage. Whether or not you believe in Jesus as the son of God he WAS a real person and he did teach lessons. And the Ten Commandments really, give or take one or two really apply to EVERYONE no matter what faith. And you need to bring that into your marriage to be able to be happy. If one member is a complete selfish asshole and only thinks of themselves, well then you’re not going to have a good marriage because that’s not the right thing to do! And from my point of view, I want a man that exemplifies Jesus’ teachings of being a good person and giving to others. That’s what I WANT and what I NEED. And that sermon helped me understand that. I need to invite Jesus to my wedding.
After church dad and I went to the football game. Dad has been a Saints season ticket holder since their conception as a team. Yes. My dad IS that old and OLDER. Haha! And I took interest in going to the games with him and now when I am in town, my dad and I go to the game. That’s our ritual and happy fun time with each other. As we were driving down the Causeway, Louisiana’s pride, The Longest Bridge IN THE WORLD, there were THOUSANDS of Monarch butterflies! I was completely in awe of them and there were SO many. My dad kept trying not to hit them. And it reminded me of something. A long time ago when I was still in high school I used to frequent PJ’s Coffeehouse because my family didn’t have internet at the house and I needed to do my homework. Well there in the Hwy. 190 PJ’s Coffeehouse in Covington there is a rack of inspirational greeting cards. They really are beautiful cards and have such nice and unique sayings on them. Well the summer after my first year of college I went home and I got a bunch of these cards. I sent them to my friends but, there was one that I kept for myself. It was a plain card, just dark blue with white writing that had the quote:
“And just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”
I thought that quote was so much like me. I have always been a butterfly. I have always been an ever-changing person, constantly getting stronger and improving. And while other people are becoming worse, I have gotten better. I think that’s because I was born on rock bottom. Well I kept that card on my bulletin board for a LONG time and pretty much forgot about it.
Well after this whole thing happened with Jude, I really thought the world was over. A lot of times I resorted to the idea of killing myself and ending my life. To this day I still think about it and it takes every bit of strength in me to not act on it. But as we were driving and I was seeing ALL these butterflies I couldn’t help but think about that quote. I’m thinking about getting that tattooed on me somewhere. It also made me cry a little because a few days ago Lanie had likened Angelle, the girl who died, to a monarch butterfly. She told me that after Angelle had died and everyone had learned the news, she said there had been one lone monarch circling the school courtyard as if it was protecting the girls and the perimeter. Lanie said she thought that was Angelle looking over them. So I got very emotional seeing that.
The game was another heart-stopper. The Saints really know how to send you into cardiac arrest. The whole second half I think I cried, cursed and jumped up in extreme elation all in 1 hour. My dad and I were physically clinging to each other the last 10 minutes of the game. I was being petty and wanted the Saints to win because they were playing the Carolina Panthers and anyone who knows anything about my life knows that Jude is from South Carolina. AND I know that they are based out of NORTH Carolina but they are still related! They share a name and thus to me it is the same thing. It felt good to beat them even if only by a few points.
It was a very emotionally draining day. And although I was very depressed I fell asleep quick. I find that I have gained comfort in the whispering community on YouTube. When I was going through the whole ordeal over the summer they kept me sane. And now in this time they are keeping me sane again. I think the whole thing with Jude was much more complex and hurtful than it should have been because he drug it out so long. It was the “never knowing what was going on or what was coming next”. It was very hard. And now it’s very clear to me what is going on and what needs to be done. I won’t wait for something else insane and worse to happen to me. Somehow some way I will become a butterfly and fly away from all this destruction.
End Day 42
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