Thread: Dancing With Myself, and other things I shouldn't do...

Now there is nothing left to wish upon, except the passing cars. A cacophony of city lights, is drowning out the stars... I don't know why I'm taking the time to code this damn thing really. Maybe it's just that weird paranoia of not being a special snowflake in the sea of humanity. I guess that's just one of the many things that I do that makes no sense. shrugs Whatever. In any case, I'm realizing slowly that I need to get happier music. It's not good for manic depressives to constantly be listening to Nirvana and The Cure. But I guess that's something that only experience can teach a person. Ugh, people. Don't get me started on them. I never thought I was anti-social until I graduated and realized that I didn't mind dealing with people only over facebook. Didn't mind enough to the point, that when my friends mentioned going out of state to start college I didn't even bat an eye. I kinda wonder what got me like this sometimes. How I could be so removed, and not feel anything beyond what pierces my skin. Then of course I say this, then sob like a little bitch when I watch Old Yeller. Cause really, you have to be a heartless bastard to not cry at the end of that movie. I guess it's just awkward because, it's like there is this switch in me that goes from over emotional to heartless bitch and there is no in between. I guess I'm not making a whole lot of sense here. But whatever. It's your fault for reading this. I've never really had a hard time writing. I just have a hard time with other people reading what I write. I have literally filled at least a hundred notebooks cover to cover with poems, stories, and drawing since I was nine. For over half my life I have been in front of blank canvas and filled it up with things to detour my mind from the burning shit hole it's in, but as soon as someone takes an interest in it, it's hard to trust it anymore. Like it's broken somehow. I'm sure that there are pills for that, this is america after all... Speaking of pills, it's year three. Yeah, I started early. I first got into painkillers when I was thirteen. It was little things really. Tylenol3 and nyquil. Then by the time I was sixteen it was cocktails of oxycotin, anti-depressants, vicodin, and percoet . It's kind of sad really. You hear of people who are addicted to meth, cocaine, things like that. Serious things. And you are bitching because you got too familiar with the medicine cabinet. Luckily, I got clean before it got too serious. It wasn't even my family, not that I really expected them too. Not that they are neglecting or anything, but when you are failing school, looking more and more like a boy, and listening to louder and louder music--they don't really want to deal with you much anymore. I got clean because I finally broke up with my boyfriend, and well, spent a lovely 48 hours of hell with probably the only woman who ever truly loved me. My sister from another...mister? Nahh, my best friend B. Nothing shows you really love a person more than singing next to them while they hurl in your toilet over and over again, when they aren't talking about suicide. I don't think I ever met anyone quite like B. She is really one part mother and two parts friend. Someone who will make you chicken soup for you when your sick, and then laugh at you when you eat the three-day-old burrito from the back of the fridge. Just thinking about her makes me smile. When I came out to her about my bisexuality and gender fears she just shrugged and told me that she knew that from the first five minutes she knew me that being third grade. She's probably the only person I ever got unconditional acceptance from, and maybe that's what hurts so much currently. See, the thing about B. Is that she was never very lucky in personal relationships. Yeah, it was high school and all, but even by that standard B. Just never really tried to get anyone like most people. She was happy to lavish me with her presence and play cards and giggle about stupid stuff. I would be lying if I said I didn't have a crush on her at one point because of it. But of course, during our senior year she gets a boyfriend that lasts longer than two weeks. They have been together for only nine months and they talk about moving in and crap. I know I shouldn't be jealous but the feminist in me is just frothing at the mouth with some of the shit this guy does and says sometimes. Things like how he doesn't understand why someone like her would be single for so long not because she's beautiful in every sense of the word, but because of her tits And I get it, it's a joke, but when it comes up 35 conversations it just makes my eye twitch. But what am I suppose to do? Rant? She's in love and my duty is to be supportive. And I guess I am. From far away at my desk, looking for a job and thinking about whether or not it would actually be worth anything to try to get into a college. I just don't know if I should try, considering my transcript sucks balls Yay addiction! and I really have no money to waste. Plus the only thing I have ever had any talent, beyond theater which is the most depressing thing for a woman to enter is writing. Not to say I'm epic or anything, cause I'm not, but I know that I'm at least above mediocre when I want to be. And please, if Stephanie Meyer can get published, then so can I. Even if I have to write stupid misogynistic vampire bullshit. I can do that much at least. But I digress...this is getting awfully long and personal. I blame hiddenvet for giving me the idea that sweet, wonderful person he is. In any case, I guess I'll call it quits for now. I mean, I don't want to get too caught up in my own personal melodrama. ...This park bench is a lifeboat and the rest a big dark sea, and I'm just going to lie here, until something comes and finds me Ani DiFranco, Lifeboat