Our Cracking Bones Make Noise

Amanda was in a car accident.

This isn't new news. This happened two weeks ago today. I didn't write about it when it happened...I tried, but the words came out too stoic and I just couldn't find anything else to say.

Curiously, the week after it happened was one of the best weeks I've had in a long time. It isn't really logical, she was in the hospital and pretty badly injured, looking at a six-month recovery in another state. I shouldn't have had a good week. I shouldn't have been happy and riding high, but I was. I spent nearly everyday in the hospital room, just hanging out with a friend I was afraid I had lost, and every one was grateful and focused on the injured. It was nice. I felt good. I was there and I was wanted, and I could focus my energy on making Amanda comfortable and helping the family out in anyway I could. I could listen to people when they worried or needed to vent, I could be a shoulder to cry on, I could be a voice of reason. It was incredibly reassuring for me; I felt useful and good, and I liked it.

It didn't start out that way.

The car accident happened on a day in which I felt everything was finally getting back to normal. A few weeks earlier I had written a note to the other baristas at Seattle's Best, essentially berating them for not doing their jobs. To be fair, they weren't, and the note was fairly merited, if not a little irrational at the time it was written. I probably could have cooled down some. Waiting a while, busied myself with another task, before I wrote the letter. Although, I don't know that I would have cooled down all that much. I was so angry I was shaking, so angry I thought I would cry. I felt personally attacked by everyone around me, and though it wasn't true, it didn't help my composure. So, the letter came out a bit out of favor of the person it wasn't actually meant for. That person was Amanda. She was furious with me; uninvited me to her birthday, pretty much told me to go fuck myself. I explained to her why it was written the way it was and that I wasn't thinking of her or of Kirstie at the time it was written, but she was still angry. She was still angry that I was so angry, she was hurt by the sum of all my hurt, wrapped up in a mean little package.

But, she got over it. We talked, I explained; she talked, she expressed. She was open with me about her anger and we moved on. I was back on for her birthday, although she did tell me she didn't think I would be invited to the road trip pending Kirstie's anger (at a note that she wasn't even around to be targeted in). It bothered me that I was put on the side in favor of Kirstie, but I was working on getting over that too.

On the Friday before the accident, Amanda came in early and we got on just fine. She wanted to buy a dress and was in and out of the store looking for some feedback and someone to shop with her. Kirstie came in, fresh from her trip to New York, and she hugged me and behaved like there was nothing sour between us, so I was on the rise. She disappeared a little later, to the displeasure of Amanda who couldn't get a hold of her, but everything seemed fairly back on track. We were all planning to go on the trip to Springfield together for Amanda's birthday, we were all smiling and in pleasant moods, everything seemed right in the world, like pieces of a puzzle were back in place after a bigger, meaner kid had come by and tossed them about. And then on Saturday, at two-thirty in the morning, Amanda fell asleep at the wheel and rolled her car.

Of course, at two-in-the-morning, I was asleep.

I woke up on Saturday in a good mood, plans for the week nearly set, a good night's rest behind me, with every reason to smile. Until I opened Facebook and saw Kirstie's status: "Amanda rolled her car... Waiting by the phone isn't good enough for me. To the hospital I go."

I called Kirstie, no answer. I called Amanda, no answer. I text messaged both and received no response. My fear bled into anger, annoyance, and frustration--as it tends to. If Amanda were seriously injured, surely someone would have called? Unless, of course, no one wanted me around an injure or be-coma'd Amanda. That was the thought that stuck with me.

Why didn't I get a call? Why did I find out through Facebook?

Surely I am not the only one who would find learning a good friend was in a car accident over Facebook a bit disheartening. What kind of friendship did I have with these girls if I was left in the dark when they needed friendship and love most? Needless to say, I was hurt.

From psychology I know that many of the thoughts passing through my head at the time were irrational. Don't give me the shit that "it isn't about me," because the rational person inside of me wasn't worried about me; it was fully aware of the skewed perception of my overlaying thoughts. I was worried about Amanda; but also about my friendships, and about the fabric of everything I had in Oklahoma being ripped apart but the sudden realization that none of it was true. People can blame me for being selfish in that time, but sitting in the dark, alone in my room, staring at a Facebook status message that could literally be life-altering...well, I can only imagine what anyone else in my shoes would have been thinking, about themselves or otherwise.

I was terrified, of so many things, and terror tends to breed anger when mixed with misunderstanding and lack of communication.

So, I went to the gym....I went to the gym and used my anger and frustration as fuel. It worked for the duration of my workout, but when I got home my attitude was once again diminishing into a sulking, slouched beast weighed down by hurt. That's when Raye called.

He told me about the accident, about her parents' wishes that she have few visitors in the first day out of surgery, about calling Kirstie because Kirstie had called Amanda when she'd flipped her car. I just listened quietly, let it sink in what had happened to my friend. I told Raye to let me know when I could come by, but ultimately decided to keep my distance.

I called Kirstie and left a message, simply stating that I had heard and was there if she needed to talk. Then I sat and stared at the wall for a while until the urge to feel something else overwhelmed me and I turned on an episode of Monty Python and tried to laugh it out. It's my mantra, I might as well've put it to use.

Kirstie called and spoke to me for less than two minutes. Essentially, she'd called Sam instead of me, probably because Sam is a closer friend of her's than I am, but the excuse was that he was a closer friend of Amanda's, and I wasn't really buying it. She hung up to call Sam, and I finally just asked, via text, why I didn't get called.

"It's not about you."

You're right. But, I don't think she would have been feeling the same if it had been the other way, if I had let her know from my Facebook status message. I know I would have never done that, no matter how malicious I was feeling toward her. I would have called her the moment I heard. I know that about myself, so maybe I can't understand it when that isn't the way other people work. Needless to say, I was feeling dejected. Someone I considered a very good friend was in a severe accident, and all of our friends where essentially telling me to stay away. I just don't know how I was supposed to feel. I wanted to be scared for Amanda, but I didn't have nearly enough information to know how bad it was. I went uninformed and unfocused. I felt like I wasn't a friend; I felt like I was nobody; I felt like I wasn't worthy of concern for someone I loved. I felt bad.

Sunday morning I caught Raye on Facebook and said I'd be by on Monday, because I had to work and I had to go to the gym and I just didn't think I'd have time. I felt deeply guilty and selfish. I knew it was a little bitchy of me, but I was feeling dejected and expecting several people to be there; I didn't want to be in the way, or feel like I was in the way, which I think is worse. So, I was going to stay away. I'm so glad I didn't.

I skipped the gym and hopped in the car. I grabbed caffeine for Raye and myself and brought Amanda a cup even though I thought she may not really need coffee. Coffee is a comfort, coffee makes us feel normal and successful and together...so I take coffee to people whom I don't know what to say. Coffee speaks volumes, and having brought something always makes us feel like we're doing something right, something to help, even if really all we're doing is caffeinating the severely injured.

Raye was the only person there when I walked in and Amanda was truly glad to see me. I started to get over it right that second, my attention settled on my friend, my desire to overcome bad feelings stronger than my anger. I just wanted to be there for my friend. To see what had happened, to understand what was happening, to assist in any way I can with whatever knowledge I have. So I sat next to her, and Raye left us alone, and Amanda and I chatted as she received morphine and fought off infection. Kirstie wasn't there. I don't know where she was. I was expecting her to be there, I was expecting to feel all kinds of unwanted, hurt feelings, I was expecting to realize this wasn't truly part of my story, just an anecdote, a name drop somewhere in my memoirs and a motivation to move on. I was expecting this situation to hardly include me and for it to mean nothing more for me than "I didn't come here to make friends...." I shouldn't have expected anything other than to see my friend, and my attitude changed right-fucking-there.

Hospitals have this effect on me; they make me want to work harder and do better and they motivated me to do something with my life. I love to be in hospitals, love to look at X-Rays and talk to patients and understand situations and diagnoses. I love the science and the humanity and even the florescent lighting and small spaces. I knew going to the hospital in itself was going to heal me just a little, if only until I walked into the room where Amanda lay. What I didn't expect was for the situation, for the broken bones and the smell of sanitizer and the gravity of reality, to heal me. I didn't expect that a girl with a cracked fibula and busted ankle, lying in a hospital bed, the farthest thing from helpless anyone can be, would heal me. I probably should have seen that coming. But we never see it coming.

I stayed as late as I could and went everyday after that (excluding Tuesday, because she had her second surgery, and she wasn't out by the time I had to work). I brought coffee and food, Eddie Izzard DVDs and even a stuffed bear that sings a Beatles song. But, what I really did was sit next to her, talk when she wanted to talk, watch TV and just be there for the hard parts and the silly ones. I watched her be strong when most of us would be depressed wrecks. I listened to her determination. I felt her gratitude at my presence and my own love for my friend growing with each passing hour of nurses stopping by, VACs sucking at her wounds, medication dripping into veins, and ortho techs in and out with machines meant for exercising otherwise stagnant muscles. Just to be next to her made me better, filled me with hope at her survival of this situation, of her growing physical and emotional strength. It made me better, knowing that I could be there, and it wasn't unnoticed. Raye, myself, her mother and father, we spent the most time in that room; knowing we were there helped her, gave her patience and reassurance, made her feel loved and so she returned it. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to have loved and be loved in return." I guess that's why it felt so good. I guess that's why it was so healing. I can't really explain it any better than that. I can't really put it into words. I knew I was loved, I knew my being there, my rationality and my humor, my desire to just chill, I knew that was appreciated. And I appreciated the opportunity. It made me better.

I know now, after all of it, that my relationship with Amanda is strong. I love her very much, I love who she is and the fun we have, I love what she thinks and how rational she is. I love just knowing she's my friend. No, I didn't come to Oklahoma to make friends for life. I didn't come to do anything but do what needed to be done so I could leave again. But, if I get Amanda's friendship out of it, it's a happy coincidence in my book. A very happy coincidence.

As far as Kirstie goes...that's another just as long story.

Kirstie hadn't been to the hospital much, and I could tell it was bothering both Amanda and Raye. It was bothering me too, since she basically declared herself Amanda's Borders Bestie, and then she just wasn't there. We felt like she was different since returning from New York, and I personally wasn't to impressed by her new behavior. Mostly, I was still a bit hurt by her actions toward me. I told myself it was silly to think she was purposefully cutting me out of the whole situation, but I didn't think I was wrong either. You see, she and Amanda had given us these nicknames a few months earlier, and frankly I wasn't too interested in being given a nickname, I was just interested in being me for once. But, I smiled and went along with it, even though I felt it was more a thing between the two of them than me. It was like an invite into a club I wasn't actually welcome into...that's sort of how it felt, being given a nickname essentially because they wanted something more out of their group than maybe I could give. But, the inclusion was nice, so I just let them play.

Well...apparently the inclusion was temporary, because the nickname I was assigned was reassigned shortly there after. The thing that is upsetting isn't the reassignment of the name. It wasn't a name a particularly wanted in the first place. I truly was just happy being Rachel. For the first time, I felt like I was being accepted for being Rachel...I didn't want to be somebody else. What hurt is that it was hidden from me. Maybe because Kirstie thought it would hurt my feelings to know I was no-longer than person in her eyes--a person who isn't actually me to begin with--or maybe she really was just trying to cut me out. I don't know. What I know is this: she covered it up. I figured it out anyway; I mean, it wasn't like she was terribly secretive about it. She just was never open about it. Add to it the fact that after the letter I wrote, she was angry with me, the feeling of love I once thought I felt from her was strained if not disjointed. I think she was detaching from me. And, that's okay. What isn't okay is just cutting somebody out when you've told them you'll be there, no matter the shit they give or how much they push away. What isn't okay is closing off. What isn't okay is not communicating. Sam can have the nickname. Sam can be the bestie. I never had delusions that Kirstie was my best friend. All I wanted were people around me that could be supportive and fun. The kind of people whom, with their spontaneity and joy towards life, could help me capture my will to live and help me move forward from this precipice I've been walking for years now. Instead, I got hurt when I probably shouldn't have gotten hurt. I've been abandoned--many, many times. It hurts like hell and it's my worst fear, but I can cope with it...I can grow from it--I must grow from it. I must overcome it and realize that people don't abandon you because of you; most of the time, people abandon because of people. I think I am starting to get that.

So, no, I didn't move back to Oklahoma to make friends for life. To make besties who would stick it out with me to the bitter end. If it happens, than I will take it and the feeling I get when I go away--as I know I will--with a grain of salt. If it doesn't, that isn't the worst thing that could happen. I will make friends everywhere I go. Not all of them--no, certainly, most of the--are going to be lifers. But they come when they are needed, they heal as they are meant to, and I go off better; hopefully they do too.

I have learned this: that I don't want to love unless they want to love, that I don't want to work on friendship unless they want to work on friendship. I know that there are some things about me that aren't perfect, I know that I get too hurt too easily. But, I also know that if I don't start finding people who want to be my friends, who want to be friends with Rachel, as she is, than I will never find the right people I need in my life. Let alone the kind of people I want to love and to know. So, if you don't want to be my friend, I don't want to be yours. Just say it, and I will move on. Yeah, it might hurt me a little, but everything hurts me a little, it's just part of who I am. I get over it, I move on, and I find someone else who wants everything I want. I find someone like Amanda, or like Raye. I impress people by being the true friend, the loyalist I am. I can be that for you, but only if you're willing to do the same. Only if you're willing to be open. Only if you want me too.

So as far as it goes, Kirstie, friendship, life...I'm done looking out for the life-changers, the things that will make me, the friends of a lifetime. Things will come when they come. Changes will happen because that is the nature of change. I am open to anything. Any body. Any idea.

I am focusing on the people I know love me, am allowing myself to be open and kind to the people around me, and am worrying only about those things that only I can change. I will get my weight off, I will do everything I said I would, and I will move on...it's already happening...I can feel it.

I want to be good, I want to be kind, I want to be smart, I want to be better.

I'm getting to be everything I ever wanted to be. I'm actually going to get there.

We're Breakable--But, I'm Not Breaking Anymore

Always Late with the News

I've been an absolutely terrible memoir writer. I think the point of this blog thing was so I would write at least a few times a week. Look at me not doing that. Not doing that at all....

So much has happened. If March was a month of movement, than April is a month of battling the urge to stand still. So many things, strange and far too real, have happened already, and I know I should be writing it all down as it happens, but I just can't focus my brain.

This means I am going to have to start back tracking, going to have to start telling a story. Suck, right? And here I am, a writer, not too happy about telling a story. Um...I think that was the point, dear.

It's good, though. So many monumental things have happened, things that have both shown me my strength and will work to show me my stamina. If I can make it through these next few months, if I can battle and come out victorious, then I truly have accomplished something--I have become that person I am so ready to be.

A few things I am going to start writing about, probably essay-ish style, trying to link things and create circular thoughts, make sense of what has happened recently with what was holding me back in the past. Really make a life like mine coherent and...well, memoir-like. That is my goal as far as writing goes, to get better at the analyzing part and get on paper all those things that have happened in a beautiful, creative, intelligent way. I think I can, and I also see it as a huge fucking prospect that is really, really scary.

So, here are those few things:

Friendship--how they come back into our lives, how we track them down, how we hold on to them, my history with friendship, and the friends I have. I think each will really need their own little post because each is a story in itself. I don't know how this is going to work, but I think I'd better just stick to chronological.

Money--my debt, how I feel about my debt, finances, getting control only to lose control than release that maybe I'm in more control than I thought...it's a bit of a mess, I know.

My Job--Starbucks, Borders, my career choice, the navy.

Family--siblings, each their own little bit I think, and my mother.  My father is his own thing I have yet to confront.

Outside Sources--therapy, celebrities, television and literature...you know, those things.

It's kind of a vague checklist, but I suppose I have to get into detail in the essays/posts, so I might as well be vague now. Keep the surprise, yes?

I don't know how I am going to do it anymore. But, I have been told not to worry how, but to think on the completed outcome, and see it for what it is. The how will work itself out. So I've been told.

I start tomorrow. Tonight I am going to bed. Tonight I am exhausted from this week.  I think I will talk about it tomorrow....

I had a good week last week. It was nice, I felt great. Suddenly on Monday I came crashing down. Don't know how this happened, but it did. I should probably write about that to begin with.

This is going to suck. It is going to be a lot of work. But, I think it's something I need to do, something I need to work on, something I need to face and fess up to...I need to analyze my life. Wasn't that the point of this all? I need to move forward.

My Life is a Work in Progress

Drinking Coffee, Eating Cookie, Thinking About Fish

Even though I am not really in the mood, it's this or I read more of my self-help book.  Today, I chose this.

I just want to say, really fast, that the new season of Doctor Who, and the new Doctor--Mr. Matt Smith--are going to be great.  Great writing, great monsters/bad guys/aliens, great new TARDIS.  I don't like the new theme, but, what can you do?  Hum it the way it used to be while the new credits roll?  You'd better believe I will.  I'll miss David, Ten being my Doctor through and through, but Matt Smith is going to be fantastic.  Steven Moffatt is going to be fantastic.  This season is going to be good.  I can feel it.

In other news, today I heard from Gap that they wanted to sue me, so I agreed to give them $200 a month.  I am honestly more annoyed that they are bothering with my $600 debt, an amount they make from one card-holder's interest.  I will pay off the debt, thank you for making me, truthfully, but really?  Is this what they are wasting their time and money on?  Me?  I am sure someone owes more than me somewhere in this world.  It's GE Money, they probably have people who owe them tens of thousands.  And here I am with my little $600.  Oy, I say, to all of these stupid people in the credit world.  You'll get your goddamn $600, I'll pay you, I'll have to; but know this: you're a big lad, but you've got no brain, so shut your fucking face.

I was a bit sick to my stomach when they wanted me to pay them $230 every two weeks.  I told them they were crazy, and they knocked it down.  I have gotten a job that will cover my ass and help me save, so it's time I pay off somebody, but at first it made me a little scared to think about giving away $200 a month.  I shortly came to my senses.  I had been doing my thing where I write down the money I make and all of my expenses and what I could have if I did this or that, over and over again.  I tore out the page, crumbled it up, and told my brain (and my stomach) to shut it.  I can handle the money, I can be shrewd, and I don't need to lecture myself and preach day after day on how to do it.  It just needs to happen.  I need to be happy about this, because guess what?  I'll have them paid off in three months.  I could re-open an account with them and use it when I have the money for clothes to rebuild my score.  This is not a bad thing.  This is a progressive thing, a step forward thing, a see-how-it-can-work-out-and-you-can-learn thing.  A grow-up thing.

A grow-up thing.

Speaking of growing-up, or sizing down, I'm at 204 and ready to make it 195.  I took a lot of time off from the gym because of a wicked sunburn to my face, upper arms, and chest, and after having worked out with a sunburn yesterday and today, I am glad I did.  Turns out, when you have a layer of burnt, dead skin still on top of the layer of new, raw skin, and you sweat, you get weird little bubbles all over.  Full of sweat.  And then you have to scrub in the shower, which removes the burnt, dead skin before the new, raw skin is quite ready to see the world, leaving your shoulders and chest feeling like owie.  All night last night, but better today.

Sleeping with the burn has been a pain in my ass, but I am doing okay otherwise.  My face is tanned unevenly, but what can you do?

Anyway...I don't know what to talk about anymore.  So, there's that.

I Have Nothing Cute to Say

I Wasn't Expecting the Spanish Inquisition

I'm all hopped up on caffeine and anxiety.  The update I have to post is extremely long, but I am going to make myself post it, I may just do it over a couple of entries the next few days. I am making myself, no matter what. I am making myself.

Right now, I don't know what to say. I just saw the psychologist and I am not sure how I am feeling. I honestly want to curl into a ball and sob, but then I feel this lightness underneath, this little glimmer of hope, something I haven't felt before, and it's nice. It's hard to feel it, though, for all it's worth when I am shaking and aching with anxiety over the whole thing. I thought therapy was supposed to make you feel better, but I suppose the whole admittance of the problem doesn't necessarily make one warm and fuzzy. I don't know how I am supposed to be feeling, if I am supposed to be joyful or sad. I know that I am going to go back. I know that I am going to make an honest effort. I know that I am tired and worn and sick of myself the way that I am. But I don't know how I feel right now. I feel like crying.

All and all, March was a pivotal month. Several things happened, good and bad, and all of them need to go here and into the book. It certainly will be a chapter of it's own, but this second as I sit down to think about it, I can't think of anything to write. Isn't that scary?

I don't know about my friends, if I've still got them or not. I haven't really spoken to any of them in a while.  I don't know about my family, if our relationships are developing or we just don't care anymore.  I don't know about myself.  I do know that I am suddenly, for no other reason than because, on the right track.  Isn't that scary, too?

Whatever these past few months have been, whatever this year will be, I know that this is certainly important, that this is a moment to be noted and advantage to be taken.  I can feel it, just around the corner, a newer, better me. A happier me if just because I am in control and am capable and believe it for the first time. It is there, but it isn't going to come to me, I still have to reach for it, and reaching is still sometimes hard. But I am upping my game, I am set on pushing myself, I am determined to out-do what's been done. I am tired of being fat, of being scared, of being stupid. I am getting stronger, getting smarter, and getting better. I am tired of caring when it isn't necessary, and tired of wishing I couldn't care. Mostly, I am tired of being sad about nothing and hurt by nobody. I am tired of feeling trapped in my shell, fat and uncomfortable and lazy, and am ready to be everything I could be if I tried. I'm ready to try.

I don't know what else to talk about right now, because there is a lot to discuss. The fantastic thing is, things have actually happened that allow me to discuss certain aspects of my life and my childhood, I just have to do some analyzing.  I think, though, I'll save analyzing for tomorrow, and just enjoy the high I am starting to feel at realizing I am finally on the right track.  

I want to be unforgettable, and I feel like I am moving toward making an impression. I don't want to analyze right now. Right now, I want to reach out to the people who still remember me from long ago, and I want to feel like I am alive.  Does that sound really, truly strange? It does to me, but guess what, it's what I want to do.  Old friends, memories of times when I felt happy, even if I didn't know whether or not I actually was. People who remember me when I was good, and who remember me when I was bad, and who want to see the change and the growth.  I want to hear from those people, chat about life, feel forgiven and forgive.  That is the feeling that I have, other than wanting to cry--which happens a lot anyway. I want to be surrounded by people who didn't forget me when I forgot myself.

What a weird post.  I bit erratic.  Too much Python?

Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition!

I am a Loony in a Loony Bin

I have so much to fucking write about, it's sick.

I did want to post a teeny update with some things for the booky book.

First of all, I already have four chapters planned.

"Chapter One" the first month, ish, is going to be called "Fuck my Life, Eddie" for many reasons.

"Chapter Two" is going to be called "When Mitt Romney Became John Cleese" and is curiously not about that at all, but it is about reinvention, in a way.

One chapter is currently out of my head and I can't put a finger on what I was going to call it.

And then one about friendship and redeeming qualities is going to be about my search for a very old, very distant friend and how I have changed and how friends have truly shaped me to be who I am, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's that for today, because there are four miles waiting for me to walk them and a high speed and an incline.

PS, I am at 207 pounds.

The Loony Bin is My Life

I Lick the Gun when I'm Done

I'm in Dallas.  With my sister.  What a shocker...seriously.

I very much need to make an update and write many things down. I think that I will do that, but after this trip. Trouble is, I felt that I needed this trip quite a lot, but it has now drained my pocketbook.  So, I am going to spend next week at home saving on gas.

I think it will be another good thing, though, because I can get things in order.

I did take some steps I can mention without a whole long, literate post.

I got myself health insurance.  It is for part-time employees, so it may not be the most comprehensive, but it is fucking better than nothing. AND, it included part-time dental/vision.  Thing is, I can't find any literature on what that entails. Probably one visit a year, which is fine. A dental check-up for them to tell me I have shit for teeth and a vision check-up for them to tell me my eyes have gotten a bit worse--gasp--here's a new scrip for contacts--yay!  And then a trip to the doctor who will give me a new inhaler, just in case, a new scrip for my favorite allergy medication, and possibly something for my acne.  Because I am nearly twenty-two and I still have acne.

I got a bank account.  It's there.  It's soon to be empty thanks to Dallas and having to pay for an extra tank of gas to get back and froth from Stillwater.  But, I have one, and I am not going to regret getting it either.

I filed my taxes, but I didn't.  Because I need my annual income whatever from last year, and I lost the flash drive all that info was on. So, I have to wait until I can pay twenty bucks to see last years W-2 from Old Navy--which I have to get to file last years state taxes--and I can add it up and e-file. That will be next Friday. Stupid.

Otherwise, I am in Dallas, and I am not going to regret it. Went to see dead people yesterday--the best part, sickeningly, were the fetuses.  Fetal bone growth displays, where they highlighted the bones of the little babies and made their skin transparent so we could see said highlighted bone, was the absolute coolest. If you get a chance, go see Bodies, whenever it is in your city/the city you are in.  It is very cool, and informative, and mostly very cool.  Made me want to get back into school, too, so that I might one day get to touch the bones instead of just go see them in an exhibit.

Today, the aquarium, which better not be expensive, and then something else she no doubt will want to do that will cost money that I won't have.

Ah well, it's nice to be in a city and to not have to worry about work or anything but walking around and enjoying the absolutely lovely weather.

The transit system here, P.S., is way fucking cool.  I am such a rapid transit nerd.

Also, thanks to Chetara, for putting the song the title and following lines are from into my brain.

'Cause I Know the Revenge is Sweet

Week of Ups and Downs

My best friend lost her V-card, my sister asked me to go on a fun trip to Dallas, I made an appointment with a psychologist, and I just had a fantastic work-out at the gym without a single sign of asthma.  I clearly have a lot to talk about, and a big post is coming up; but, right this second, I need a shower like a dirty dog and maybe a sandwich just as badly.

So, keep eyes and...well, eyes peeled for an update coming to a blogger near you. 

Definitive, to Say the Least

And the World Spins Madly On

I am about to call all of the companies to whom I owe money.  The last people I ever want to talk to are bill collectors, but I have to change my address and get my statements so that I can start the process of paying them off.  My biggest, most paralyzing fear in this world is my debt, and how terrified I am that I have fucked it up forever, fucked myself over beyond repair.  I'm twenty-one years old, and that is honestly my fear.

I have to keep telling  myself that they can't hurt me.  They really can't do anything to me, not for debt.  I don't even owe that much.  It's the fear of failure, of disappointment, of people looking at me like I am incapable and a loser.  And it is the fear that I will never, under any circumstances, truly overcome.  But, they can't hurt me, not more than I have already hurt myself.

So, I am going to get myself together and stop irrationally crying over this.  I am going to soothe myself, so that my heart will stop palpitating like it does every time I think of money.  I am going to chill out, stop shaking, and speak confidently.  They can't hurt me, not more than I've already hurt myself.  It isn't hurting me to trying and help myself.

There is something wrong with me, on the inside.  There must be something wrong.  How can I take a situation about someone else and make it about me? But, my feelings have been hurt, and absolutely no one has regard for the hurt I feel when we're busy focusing on someone else.  It isn't about me, so I don't get to be comforted, and I just have to believe that when I am finally allowed to be, these people will be there for me.  By all accounts, by all my memory, they won't be.  I have the hardest time believing that anyone will.  Part of me doesn't want to believe.  I want to kill that part of me.  That part that believes something will always go wrong.  That part that always tells me, in a whisper at the back of my heart, that everything will fall through.  And everything does, because I listen to it instead of to everything else that tells me it won't.  Everything else, that tells me to believe, to have faith, and things will come through.  I think I am being realistic by believing that tiny voice, but really, I am killing myself one pessimistic thought at a time.

I can't help everyone else when they are falling apart, because I already am.  I can't be there the way I should, so I feel bad, I feel hurt.  I feel pain and I believe they will walk away, they will forget I exist.  I listen to the little voice making me sad, and my friends follow through; they forget me, that don't care, because I can't see anything but the little voice.  I see what it says, not what they do.

I don't want to give up, not on myself and not on my plans, but if I believe everyone else already has--never did anything but--than that's all I will see and that's all that will happen.  I have spent my life giving up before I start.  I have spent my whole life listening to that little voice.  Where did it come from?  What is it's name?  Why has it been here all of this time?  What happened to me?  What have I done?  How did this happen?  What did this to me?

The problem is: we're focusing on someone else who is falling apart, for good reason.  But, I am left with this question myself.  I don't know how to understand it, and everyone in my life is too busy falling apart themselves to help me as I crumble after years of listing to this voice.  And, it isn't just today, it isn't just right now.  Everyone is always falling apart around me.  My mother, my friends, anyone I should be able to hold on to.  All of them and more have at one time abandoned me.  I have never been allowed to "fall apart."  I have never been allowed to focus on me.  No one else has focused on me.  I don't know what to do.  How to deal.  I don't think I can fix myself on my own, but no one is in my life who isn't falling to pieces and my health keeps falling through the cracks.  I have to ask, what about me, but no body wants to answer; I am made to feel selfish.  Everyone is too busy asking that about themselves.  I am told to accept that, because that is all being human is in this world, there isn't one person who is not thinking of only themselves.  I just need one person on my side.  I need one person to remember me.  To not fall apart on me while I am trying to put myself together again.

And for that, I am selfish, like everyone before me, and everyone after.  But I'm the only one feeling like a piece of shit for wondering what's wrong with me while everyone around me is worried about themselves.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I want to help us both, but I don't know that I can.

I'll Move Out of the Way for You

Okay, so here's the deal: I don't like to be tossed about.

And, yet, it happens at least once a week, if not much more often.

I don't like to be led on, I don't like to be lied to, and I don't like to be treated like a second rate individual when I am the one pulling your ass out of every bad situation you get yourself into.  I don't like to be toyed with, but I find I am everyone's favorite play-thing.

I am always there when people need me, and when they don't, I get left behind.

I have done my fair share of bitching about this in the past, people using and abusing me, and I continue to stay on stand-by, I continue to listen, to offer a shoulder, to help out in every way I can.  And I continue to get dumped on.

The problem is, I don't want to be unreliable, or labeled as such.  I don't want to be seen as a cold-hearted bitch or uncaring or unkind.  I want people to rely on me, but I often find people I cannot rely on.

Take my best friends in high school, one of which would go on to abandon me for my brother.  I was always there to soothe the ache for them, but when I needed someone, or when I planned something to make them better, they left me hanging.  One great example is my stupid-ass ex-friend Michelle, the one who thought she was going to marry my brother.  They broke-up one weekend--for the hundredth time, I'm sure--and I, still under her manipulation and thinking my brother was an ass, offered to drive to her city ninety miles away to spend the night and make it better if just for a few days.  Already on my way, I gave her a call to see how she was, and she cancelled.  I sat on the side of the road, trying to talk her out of cancelling, out of staying home alone, but she was already convinced I didn't need to come.  And there I was, prepared to drive an hour and looking forward to seeing someone I hadn't in a while, on the side of the road being told to turn around.  I was furious, but more than that, I was disappointed in myself for believing it was actually going to happen.  That I was actually going to drive the hour, meet her for dinner, hang out bad-mouthing boys, and spend the night on her spare bed.  I thought my problem was that I was an idiot; I am starting to think I am too desperate for something I can't quite put my finger on.

When I had a tarot card reading, one of the cards was to tell me how people saw me.  It said they saw me as unreliable; if I were to make travel plans with them, they would cancel.  I have to agree; but, I have to question as well, because it seems inconsistent.  I have spent the better part of the past few years trying to be anything but unreliable.  I have tried to be there for every bad thing, and have been scolded by it.  And I continue to be there, to go out of my way, even when I know I will eventually be overlooked, because I don't want to seem that way: unreliable.  Maybe my sister or my father put it in my head that I was, or maybe I have just always thought it myself, but it is the last thing I have ever wanted to be.  I don't want to be stupid, I don't want to be cruel, I don't want to be ugly, and I want to be reliable.  I want to be the person you can count on.  I want someone to count on me.

So I push hard to maintain that title, and usually what comes of it is this: your boyfriend becomes more important than me.  He does something truly shitty, and I come around to help out, and once he's back, even without offering apology or sincere regret, you run back to him and continue with your little charade that he loves you and everything will be alright.  I think if I honestly thought the boyfriends they run back to did love them, I wouldn't mind, but usually I am clever enough to realize they don't.  Ironically, of course, you will break up with him, and who will be there to hold you when you cry?  Me.  Because I am a sucker for the needy, and really all I need is to be needed.

And then, when we make plans, when we decide to travel and to road-trip and to do things that people our age are supposed to do, my friends cop-out at the last minute, and leave me hanging high and dry.  I wonder why I haven't ever done anything, it's because everyone bails on me, and I can't foot the bill myself.  And I am afraid to go by myself, but maybe I shouldn't be...maybe I should just keep on going.  Get in the car and drive wherever we were going myself, and then maybe I won't be unreliable.

I don't really know what the problem is.  I think it is that I am a pushover and allow myself to be walked on because I have severe abandonment issues.  I need to learn how to say no, and I need to learn how to not care if I have to.

I don't think I should stop being there for people.  I don't think I should just go away and not help when I am needed.  But, I am dead-tired of being walked on.  Of having plans changed because you let yourself sleep-on it and be swayed.  Some jack-ass treats you like shit, and I allow you to turn around and treat me that way, because you love him, even though he won't ever love you.  I will love you, and you won't ever love me. Not the way I need it.

My mother says I have to draw they right people to me.  I have to be the person I want to get to know, and I have to draw that time of person to me.  I have to learn to weed out the bad, to see them for what they are.  The problem is, that I fall in love too easily, and they aren't necessarily bad friends...when they want to be.

Whatever happened to chicks before dicks?

Whatever happened to loyalty?

Whatever happened to keeping plans with friends, because friends are the families we pick, not the one's we've been stuck with?

Whatever happened to being decent people?

I guess I don't have room to talk.  I guess I can't really be considered a "decent" person.  I guess that is my ultimate downfall.

You draw to you what you project.  I am needy and self-loathing.  Just look at my friends.

I'll Move Out of the Way for Her, Too