the past. revisited.

"the future doesn't exist. all you have is the past, the present, and your memories. and doesn't that just suck?"

i'm in a weird place right now. all last night i tried not to think about being back in this room today, tried not to remember that i had to step back into the real world. but then i woke up and we were doing everything separate again, getting ready to leave to our different schools, different lives. i drove back in a fog... slightly reckless but it's not like that doesn't happen all the time. back and tired and teary eyed and i tried to sleep and not think of tomorrow, not think that i'll be here until thanksgiving and then dec 10th and then back in january and won't be free until may. i had two things to look forward to, to keep me going. one was this weekend, and the other was getting out of here at semester. now this weekend's gone, and i can't leave. and it's not like i ever get a choice, i should've known that by now... but at the same time i was still hoping...

everything just feels so much... worse now. and it's not, it's the same as it was a month ago or even last tuesday. classes are the same, homework's the same, same labs and tests, same routine. but now there's no out.

i started this in seventh grade: live for the weekend. because whatever happens during the week can temporarily fade away with sleep on the weekend. back then living till the weekend seemed like such a stretch, but the weekend would come, and i would sleep, maybe even without crying if i could distance myself from reality enough... and i would start another week. and that's how i survived seventh grade.

sure, i could say that it was the logical arguments i set up for myself: you can't be this miserable for the rest of your life. this is only temporary. you'll get friends. you'll find someone who understands. you'll get to a point where everything isn't so hard. because you have to. life always gets better, if even for just a moment. and you live for those moments don't you? you'd live for those moments... i was very persuasive, but at the same time i had this underlying feeling that i was just telling myself these things so i wouldn't have to bother with being ultimately misunderstood in suicide.

i was, and am, greatly misunderstood. which is my own fault, i know. if i actually said what i felt, said what i thought, said what i wanted... ah, but i learned early that people don't listen to me. when you don't listen, you'll never understand anything about another person.

and the funny thing is i could write a much better suicide note when i was in seventh grade than i ever could now. i don't think i've ever gone a year without mentally writing some sort of suicide note. back then i wanted to explain every single facet of my mind and my emotion, my motivation behind the act. i wanted them to be ripped apart by my words. i wanted them to realize that they ignored the wrong person. i wanted them to be so confused about life that they'd rethink everything. i wanted them to hurt. and what now? last time i thought on it (last week? the week before?) it was just emailing my best friends and telling them that i love them and i'm sorry... and then calling my boyfriend and just telling him that i love him. that's all. no explanation anymore. i've given up all desire to explain myself because no one listens anymore. when i was younger i figured i could make them listen. now i'm older and more resigned. my point was proven perfectly this last wednesday. people wonder why i have such low self esteem. it's from being basically told that i'm an idiot and don't know how to live my own life (not in so many words, or with that exact connotation, but i've been through it so many times that i get it perfectly by now). as perfect as i've tried to be to prove them wrong, to prove everyone wrong, i'm still seen as the stupid little girl who can't do anything for herself. and so ok then, if that's what you think, then that's how i'll be. i've always been a firm believer in the concept that if you're unjustly punished, might as well do something that the punishment could account for. and so yeah, i'm not eating, not drinking water, not walking, not getting out and doing anything social. it's kind of like my revenge. i've been doing it in one form or another for years now. as long as i can remember, actually. somewhere around summer junior to senior year it switched to cutting. but the problem with that one was that it actually worked, did it's job. one of those epiphany kind of moments. i don't remember how i stumbled onto it... only that i had been thinking about it for about 3 years but never done it due to the social stigma placed on cutters, among other things. i don't even remember why i finally did it. then again i can't remember much of anything over the years. and then i had to go and write that story for creative writing last semester. and then ooh look she's depressed and suicidal we must help her she's second in the class and we can't look bad if this gets out we must help her to make us look good! we must save her! i was too tired to argue with them. i was too tired to lie anymore the whole last year. i was pissed off as all hell because i was 18 and as such not a minor anymore, they didn't have to put me through that shit. but i understand why they did it. i flat out refused counseling. they were going to force me to go into therapy, because that's their policy. but, since it was the last quarter of school, time didn't allow them to carry out any disciplinary actions if i didn't get therapy. i planned it all well. yes, i planned it that way, just in case something went wrong (as it did) i'd have an out. i wouldn't have dared to turn in something like that any time before then, because of what they could force me to do. and no one wants to be known as the crazy person in the family... we never talk about such disfunction in my mother's family. and oh, is there tons. i don't blame them, i don't blame any of them, because i think i inherited a little more than just hair and skin color from my mother's side. i think i got the crazy gene. i can pick out a few people actually. but no one speaks of such things. no one talks about the obvious bipolar traits in certain people (not me... i still insist that i'm never high enough or reckless enough to be considered manic)...

it's funny how much you pick up by just listening and watching people. this is how i learn. i listen, and i watch. so much so that i feel much more comfortable listening to a person for hours on end and never saying a thing about myself. and, by listening to everything a person says, you also find out everything they don't say. i made a comment a few years ago that i would tell anyone anything they wanted to know about me, as long as they asked. they have to ask.

and, to my great relief at times, no one ever asks.

it makes things easier. i tend to alienate people unintentionally when i talk about myself, my life.

ha, another thing: i can't write when other people are in the room.

tired now.