Again

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier.

I'm looking at a lot of my old friends, and I'm not getting it. I think we've all moved apart. I wish I could go back to when things just worked out fine. They just seemed to unfold. I know I'm living in a happy past, but I need to deal with this now. The questions are hard to answer though: Do I cut ties? Just be polite? Stay friends? Do nothing? I feel pathetic and low right now. I feel stagnant and lame. I feel like somebody threw me at the bottom of a scuzzy pond and everyone I know can see me. I don't know how to be. To be. Everything I want to say to him, does it even matter? Words used to matter, you know. Now it seems like they flow endlessly, but reach nobody. I'm waiting for him to tell me what he'll do so I'll do it, too, because I really don't know what to do about this. I wish I was stronger and could make those big decisions. For some reason I can't, but some things at least are changing coming up. AmeriCorps, looking for a band, playing music, open mics, therapy, running, a puppy maybe. Who knows? University of Dallas or something? I'm curious to see what can happen. As for today, I need goals. And I need to be scared. So let's see.

Don't Always Wanna Be Like This

There's something missing from the pews; I think it's you.

I want to remember this when I'm done with it. Some days I really feel like it'll never get better, no one will ever love me proper. Maybe I think no one can love me proper because, maybe that line's right: "We accept the love we think we deserve." Maybe that's why I'm chasing after Zach, who probably might quite possibly give a shit about me, when there's people who actually care so much for me, and something in me makes me turn against them. Why am I doing that, so naturally? I am usually one to follow my instincts, but now they are leading me down bad paths. I want to look back one day when I'm happy (that elusive word) and see what I've been through. I want to fight this, I want to be a fighter. It's like this inevitable cloud that comes down at just the most unexpected times.

Just a few days ago, I was having such a good day. I mean, it was a day when the cloud came back after 2 days of it being gone, so that disappointed me. I woke up way too late, there it was, and I knew it was going to be a hard day. I went to Barnes and Noble with my parents and we picked up some workbooks to help with the depression and anxiety. I was too embarrassed to go up and buy them myself, so my dad did it. It was hilarious, because the cashier asked him all these questions if he was okay, and looked at it him funny. I was laughing so hard when he told me. My dad even told me he hadn't hear me laugh so hard in a while. When I got back home, I started working on the workbooks, which was fun. For some reason, I was really craving a drink right then, so I went downstairs and got a bottle of sherry. At first, I just wanted to drink enough to be sleepy, but then I kept drinking and drinking until I drank a third of the whole bottle. By then I was out, and who know why, I went into my room and got out my razor. I don't even remember what prompted me to cut. I thought, I've been having a pretty good day, why am I doing this? I guess the alcohol made me not care, not think. I don't even remember most of it. I was just sawing away at my wrist, not using any caution like I usually do. I usually keep mid-wrist off limits to avoid hitting an artery, but I was just going everywhere. It's like I was trying to brutally murder that skin, as if something I hated within me was just beneath it. I remember I finally realized what was happening when I looked down and saw all the blood pricking up in little bubbly, cute drops on my wrist. I thought to myself, "Wow there's so much blood... Cool... It's so beautiful." I got a kleenex and used it up completely, like all the blood soaked through. Then I got another and the same happened. It was still bleeding, so I called Ryan and I e-mailed Robin. Once the bleeding stopped a bit, I kept doing it. I kept going, more cuts, not caring. I have about 30 new scars on my wrist from that night. I'm lucky I didn't hit an artery, because I was so numbed by alcohol that I couldn't feel any pain. I felt no pain at all, just kept hacking away. Then I told Ryan there was a lot of blood and he told me to go get a towel and hold it down. Robin called me but couldn't stay on for very long because she was running out of money, so we got on Skype and I showed her the towel and she told me it was a lot of blood and she was going to call the paramedics if I didn't tell my parents. The next morning, I got the towel, the blood was dried and brown, and I smelled it. I think I lost something, some innocence, a bit of hope, when I smelled my own tinny blood covering that towel. I didn't know it would be like that. I went to the bathroom and tried cleaning it out, running cold water over it and squeezing it out. The sink was filled with the red/brown liquid from the towel, and I lost something there, too. Seeing my own blood go down a drain. It covered my wrist and my hands from the night before. I could smell the tinniness, seeping into the air around me, and it made me sick. Not many smells make me sick, but the smell of my old blood did.

I don't know if I'm going to do it again or if I'm going to stop. I really can't tell. Before that night, I didn't think I would do it again, but I did.

I just want to remember. I'm a fucking fighter, and it sucks a lot of the time to have to fight so hard to get what other people have naturally. Don't know why I was made this way, but it's real and I guess something beautiful is going to come of it. It doesn't feel like that now a lot of the time, right now I just want to be past this, if I ever can be, but I have to fight through it. As much as that sucks. Oh, well. I guess I learned the phrase, "Life's not fair" very well. So who can love me proper, with my scars and problems and complexes and crazy, unusual thoughts? With my lack of social grace, my awkwardness, my ability to say the right thing at the wrong time, or vice versa? With my anxiety and desire to be so wonderful for him? I wish it was you, Zach, but maybe it won't be. I don't know if you're strong enough for me. I am for you, but I'm scared, just like how you once were. How'd it get like this? I don't think you care. I'll find out soon. So scared, love.

They Could Take or Leave You

So they took you.
And they left you.

Love that line.

I wrote a song tonight and I think it speaks pretty well what I've been trying to write in lyrics for a while. It's called "I Saw You".

It starts out with kind of a demand for things to be like they once were. It's kind of weird, like wanting even the bad things about a person again because you miss them so much. Then the next verse is about the person, how they're looking at who they used to be and they're disappointed. I guess it's a love song where nobody can be happy.

[There's still those little stupid, meaningless moments about you that I remember. I remember when I got to Christina's house on that morning so we could all drive down to South Padre and you were sitting there with a grey beanie on, and you just looked so sweet.]

Then I go into the chorus, yay. The chorus is not really a true chorus, because the words change each time, but the tune stays the same. But basically each time it's sung, it's about a different moment where I saw him. Like saw, seeing something real about a person, a minute where something just hits you and you know you won't forget that. The first one is about that time we were in the closet after we said we'd stop acting like we were dating and we were looking at his old class notebooks. I looked up and he was standing close and looked like he wanted to kiss me. I end it with "Shoulda done it." Like something should have been done, maybe it'd be different now.

Next verse is about what happens after you break up. You have to avoid places, which sucks, because those same places used to bring so much joy. Then I talk more about those places (they're so important!) and how we'd hide there from the real world, making up our own problems and stories until we had to come back out again, strong enough to face reality.

Now two more choruses, two more moments I saw you.

I remember how I went to your show and you played that song; I was trying so hard to figure out if it was about me, because that was important. I was thinking that if you just looked at me and smiled or gave some sign, I could know. But you didn't. Later I realized that you wrote me nice songs, but they meant more to me than they did to you, because (let's not fool ourselves; we all know:) I loved you a lot more. You wrote them and you'd teach them to me, but I think they made more sense when I sang them, because to me, it meant something completely crazy beautiful. Then I say, I shoulda known. I shoulda known then, and I shoulda done it, kept you. I also say that I shouldn't have let you let me go. Because I don't know if I truly let you go, but I let you let me go. I saw what was happening and let it happen, because I thought you'd be happy that way.

Then there's one of my favorite moments, that night out back on the trampoline when Claire de Lune was blasting on the speakers. It felt surreal to be jumping around under the stars with that song, and I remember how we were laughing, and I'd seen you laugh before, but you were laughing really hard because I was jumping and running away funny. I loved that laugh, it was the best one I'd heard from you. It made me so happy just to see you smiling and laughing, and it made me even happier that I was the one making you smile. At that moment, I thought maybe you could love me. But you couldn't. I realized I should have stayed behind and not left town, because I hated where I went and I also lost you, which oddly I regret.

So that's that.

Jane Be Jane

I know that might drive them away. 

There's a lot I wish I could say to people. I don't know. It always turns out that the people I wish would stick around don't, and I'm left with the people who really care but I just can't seem to care about. I know I'm in a worst place right now. It's the baddest it's been, and it's subtle. It's not like an acute sadness, but that slow, lazy one that wraps around your dreams and your goals and makes it hard to even read a book. It makes it nearly impossible to go out in public without feeling completely anxious and horrified. That's how I feel. Anxious, horrified, worried, upset, sad, lonely, ALONE. Worst. So much I want to say. I know I could say it. I will do the absolute worst thing and post it on the Internet. Because I don't care.

Dear _________,
I'm so sorry. I'm so confused. I'm so horrible. You said you would never give up on me, and I guess I was just pushing you away to prove you wrong. I do that. I push people away hard, just to see who will come back for more, for me. It doesn't get better, trust me. There's not much for  you to stick around for, but I'm trying to appreciate it. I can't internalize love right now, but I think you're one of the only people on this Earth that knows me and still loves me. How do you do that? I think right now I'm trying to still push you away. I want everyone gone, sometimes. I want to be completely alone so, maybe just so I can die. I can't do that now, because people are depending on me. I don't understand you, and I don't love you.
Dear _________,
I'm sorry for being the meanest I can be to you. I hope you find courage to change and relish in the fact that I am doing horribly. I wasn't mad at you, I was mad at somebody else, but I loved him in a weird way that wouldn't allow me to get mad at him. Now I am, but I feel very bad about it. Feel rested knowing that I am hurting now, too. Come visit me.
Dear _________,
Just give up. I know you want to. Sometimes I feel like you're all I've got, and you're sick of that. Hey, you will never get it, will you? You don't know permanent pain, that kind you just live with. You wake up with it, always, sleep, always, in your day. The paranoia and the anxiety. You don't know it. You don't know what it's like for happiness to feel like an impossibility, for it to be an unsure feeling. When I'm happy, I don't understand that feeling, because it's been so rare. I've never known long-time joy. Doesn't stick around. So you shouldn't either.
Dear _______,
Fuck you. Fuck you. You're going through something, I know it, and I still miss that I couldn't have been your friend. Get over it, right? I need to face you. You don't care and it kills me still. You ran away from me, like I did from everyone else. I can't become you, but I know I am. Please die, but please come say anything to me.
Dear _______,
You're a kid. Grow up and learn how to love somebody. If I ever get very bad, I hope you think it's all your fault and I hope you feel miserable because of me. I hope you can't sleep because of me. But me? To you? Me to you is just a number. Just a name you think of when you think of groups. You couldn't love me, and I get that. But what sucks is that I tried so hard to be good for you. I never do that. I did it for you, and you threw me away. Thanks for teaching me that love and caring are the most useless things in the world. Thanks for changing my life in the most negative way possible.

Today I hate everyone.

I Said Goodbye to that Window and now I'm Saying Goodbye to this One

I will probably never fall in love again.

I know it's crazy but I still love you. Or maybe I just miss you. Last night I asked Robin what made her want to be friends with me when she first met me and she said something along the lines of, "You actually wanted to get to know people, you wanted to know what made people who they are. And that's so, so rare. I haven't found that in many people. You weren't afraid to do weird stuff like go for long walks and explore and try on the stupidest clothes at Urban Outfitters. You weren't afraid to do the stuff that's fun just because it's weird." I said, "I was pretty cool, wasn't I?"
Then I started drinking. I stopped caring. Well you stopped talking to me. You'll never know anything really. I know you'll never fight for me, but I don't know why.
Nobody on earth actually knows anything about me. It's sad, but I feel more alone than ever as I get older. More and more. With each year, I can make friends and I can laugh with them and lay in the grass with someone and hold your hand, but I know that I'm always going to be alone. It's those parts of me that are always buried from your face, no matter how much I want you to know me, there's something there. You can either respect that or fear it. Not both.
Last night I sat on a ledge by the road with Robin. She's the worst person in the world for me to be around, because we don't like to eat and we like to be sad. But I sat on that ledge with her, not drinking my dumb smoothie, her drinking some coffee concoction, and there was this warm breeze I had lost. It's warm now, and it's like myself coming back to me in the air. I forgot how nice it was to feel warmth. I forget who I was, that aloof, serious, talkative, lovely girl that Zach wanted to talk to, that brooding, sullen, sweet, funny girl that Jenna hated to love, that odd, fakely outgoing, frightened girl that Robin felt safe with, that girl that was me. I'm having to leave a part of myself behind and accept that I'm not meant to be another girl. I'm not meant to be Helen or Lauren or Jeannette or Cassie, I'm meant to be me. How constricting. But that's the person that these people I used to love fell in love with. I forget how to be her. I feel like I've just run away from home and I'm lost in my new land and I regret it, but I can't afford a plane ticket home. I feel I did that time when I buried my stuffed animal in the volleyball court, so sure I'd find it later, only to dig everywhere and go home without it. I push everyone away. Friday night Robin tells me she'll never give up on me and I should try, and Saturday night I don't eat and I get wasted. One day I support Jenna and the next I tell her I need time alone. I push everyone away. But the worst thing  I've done is push myself away. I feel so, so, so utterly alone, and it's not bad. I'm starting from Block 0. Here I am, with nobody knowing me, not Robin not my parents nobody, and you left me Zach, and I pushed Jenna away. But I'm me. I'm here. I'm working on it.
I'm going to leave this university. I absolutely hate it. I hate who I've become here, and I hate my friends. I thought to myself, if I were to have a party to celebrate graduation, I'd want to celebrate it with Jenna and Kyle and Zack and Ryan and Lauren and Adrian and Cella, not Jeannette and Celeste and Robin and Monica. I feel bad because Robin's tried so hard for me, but it's impossible. She'll probably read this all one day, but we'll never be friends again, and that's for the best. I'm meant to be best friends with Jenna. I'm meant to be surrounded by good things, or else you see what happens.
So I'm leaving and I won't come back to visit. I hate it. I'm actually extremely excited to leave. Every time I pack, I get a little more happy. I find excuses to pack more. Every time I look at my pile of luggage and boxed up stuff, I feel a little more free. I don't care if I have to take a gap year, I'm not coming back. I'm going to get a job, buy some nice things, meet some new people. It's time to grow up, Bianca. You can't hang off of your friends anymore. Sure, they're nice. But they've moved on. Do the same.

Somebody come kill me, please.