he feels we’re going to break up, it’s inevitable, and i knew it, but it made it hard to accept all the same. i’m not looking to marry him, but i’d hope that this is worth it in the end…. the book i was reading, it made me doubt a lot, it made me squirm inside and feel guilty and made me want to pick up that phone and tell him i’m sorry but i don’t think we should continue this relationship.

he… gave me advice on what to do if we do though… to pack up the memories, remember the good times, learn from the bad times… but move on. he said it was like having a friend pass away… you have to move on. i don’t know where he got this wisdom from.. but i’m grateful for him all the same. i guess it made me remember that we went into this knowing.. or expecting… that it wouldn’t be one of those 1-in-a-million relationships in high school (well.. half in high school.. half going to college) where we just stay together and marry each other. it was supposed to be a– i guess, learning experience? that sounds terrible. but i guess that’s what it is. it’s not always easy, it’s painful sometimes, and you make plenty of mistakes before you learn it right… but that’s what it is. you learn.

and i know… he said to trust God in this… He’ll get us through this. He’s our Rock. we’re not supposed to go through this alone.

sometimes it feels like he’s the older one… that he’s not a mere junior in high school, and sometimes i feel like i’m a simple middle school student, not a freshman in college… i wonder sometimes how he does it… and then sometimes i think i think that it’s not his words, but… someone else’s. someone working through both of us… who’s almighty and omnipotent and –and — forgiving. and that… He knows what’s going to happen to us.. but He’s not gonna force us to handle anything we can’t.. and to teach us through heartbreak and tragedy. . . i guess… i’m just… not able to trust enough . . .

“….the more I read your walls to walls the more I’m convinced u guys are pretty much just kinda GOING OUT ALREADY O_O…………wtfudgems?”

AHAHAHA! *faceplant* so embarrassing.

i think it’d be stupid to say that i’m “IN LOVE” with him but i know i care for him and love him as a friend/brother :]

yeah but still. i’m gonna wait for him until he’s more mature. he liked that one girl last winter, then this one over spring break and for both, he stopped liking them after a long break. -.-” he even told me about them all happy and giddy and stuff. the last one liked him back, but then he stopped liking her! so immature. i want him to genuinely like me, not just have some stupid “lol i like you too let’s go out” thing.

i don’t know.

he makes me happy.

friends just do that.

i just kind of wonder how he feels about me. or maybe i’m just dwelling on things left unsaid that will never be said because we lost the moment.

he said she couldn’t make it today so he didn’t go, and i’m wondering if this is a sign. he didn’t tell her today like i thought he would, and my heart didn’t break like i thought it would. i’m wondering that maybe this is my chance to tell him how i feel about him? but maybe it’s not. then again i’m not sure what kind of a twisted coincidence it might be that we’re both heading up to the same place but at different times. i could always call him to ask about when he’s next planning to talk to her. but i want to stay firm in the belief that i’m his closest buddy, and that maybe he won’t talk to her after all for the next couple of days because he’ll up north, and that i’m supposed to seize this chance…

but maybe it’s all just twisted logic anyway. what if i tell him and it’s not the right thing to do? how am i supposed to know? sometimes i kind of hope to tell him to mess him up with his girl and that he’ll be spinning with what i tell him that he can’t tell his girl and — oh, i don’t know. i’m a sick person.

still. maybe i should tell him. i was the one saying that you have to tell the person before it’s too late, but … under what circumstances is it best to tell someone? these are bad circumstances, but you can never be too sure….

LOVE SUCKS.

him:she went to watch a movie todayi don’t htink she really wants to watch one tomorrowbut we’ll just hang out ;Dand eat dinnerme: lol.-.-”7:17 PM him: lollhahawhat.would you be excited beyond imagination?

7:20 PM him: haha you’re so cute :D

she says, “don’t let the past haunt you” but that’s easier said than done.

she says, “you shouldn’t care what anyone else says” but i still do. [/scrap]

it’s a sunday morning and we’re walking together until i decide to grow some guts. the morning is perfect and inside i frown, but outwardly i don’t make a face. he takes the news and i wait.

(i’m not perfect but i try to be. around these kids i try to blend in, be just like these perfect kids where the worst thing they’ve done is lie to their parents that they were studying for that AP physics test. but it’s no use because inside i know i’m just a cheap imitation of them. cheap imitation cute kid who looks so innocent. but i’m not.

because i know what i’ve done and every day i regret it.)

he says, “dont let the past haunt you,” but it still does.

he says, “it’s okay, you’re not that person anymore” but addiction never dies. and he doesn’t even know what kind of addictions i’ve struggled because smoking a cigarette is the worst thing he thinks i’ve done.
but he doesn’t even know.

i thank him for his advice and i’m relieved that he doesn’t ostracize me. i guess he’s not supposed to because we’re friends but my stomach can’t help but flip and churn at his good reaction.

(it’s not like i’m some child molester and i’ve never murdered anyone, but there are things that are sick and stupid and never quite fade away. stupid things like how i used to cut myself and now the scars are here to stay. and every day it’s always the same, i can see the white lines running rigid bumps along my skin and i just can’t. and i know i’m sick because the rest of my perfect friends don’t get off on rape porn.)

he says, “just don’t give into temptation” but i know i will. addicts like me, we’re not born perfect and no matter how hard we try, we’ll never be able to let go. there’s this thing called recovery but i can’t even pretend like i could stick with it. i go to church every week and every time i’m there i’m reminded of how terrible i am, how unlike the rest of them i am.

he says, “you’re my friend and i care for you” but why is it that he doesn’t give a fuck about what i have to say? i could tell him that i shoot heroin and put my finger in the pencil sharpener for fun and he’d just laugh it off and move on and tell me about his perfect girl and how cute she is.

he says again, “you are my friend.” he’s trying to act like he doesn’t hate me, and i stare into his eyes looking for his repulsion at me. i was never very good at finding emotions, but i can see the fear in his eyes of me. i imagine that he’s thinking he doesn’t want to be like me, if he hangs around me enough and i’m like a virus.

i nod my head and apologize. “i didn’t mean to dump this all on you. i just had to let it out.” the fear dissapates then, so he nods back stiffly. and then the worst comes to worst.

“by the way, my girlfriend did the cutest thing yesterday…”

and all i can do is smile this fake smile with this nightmare running in my head over and over again.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you; then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life… You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” – Neil Gaiman

dear friend,

when i first met you, i wasn’t sure what to make of you. you were just an acquaintance of some friends, someone who awkwardly stepped into my life. it’s hard sometimes to remember how i met you. but somewhere in those murky memories, you stepped in — and you got stuck. but you fit — you carved a place in my heart for yourself and i in yours. we fit together. and we were meant to be. not in that mushy gushy romantic way, but in the way that two people who find each other are meant to be friends.

somewhere in between, i started to get to know you. like, really know you – past the jokes, the pick-up lines, the fights, the gossip… i glimpsed into who you were — your strengths, your weaknesses, your memories, your vices and your talents. and somewhere in between, i fell in love with you.

yeah, i know. i’m confused as to why, too. you might not think you’re amazing, but you are. the little things that you do, you don’t even know. dropping a line to ask how i am. those friendly hugs. the whispers and giggles during a lecture. just being there.

one day, you will be more than a friend. you will be an uncle. a father. a boyfriend. a husband. a lover. but most of all, you will be beloved.

but i could never be the one that you want. don’t ask… here’s to living in the moment — for all the heart break and all the heart happiness. i’m happy for you — i really am. but i know that if i had to be honest, some days i couldn’t be more bitter and hateful to you for hurting me like this. falling in love is the best and worst thing that could happen. i hate all this, and i love all this. i hate that my life has turned into one of those stupid, life-proven cliches of two kids who are best friends, and that one of them has fallen in love with the other, while the other remains oblivious and chasing other loves. but i love that we’re best friends; i cherish our friendship like no other.

i know i shouldn’t be telling you this. i know, and i know time and time again that sometimes life isn’t fair; that hope can be a paralyzing and terrible thing… except that i can’t take this. it kills me every time you tell me how much she loves you, what adorable thing she’s done, and just how great this girl is. and i hate myself more every time i laugh at you, tell you that’s great, and all this other bullshit that i don’t mean. (i told you once that you say things you don’t mean, and now i have to apologize to you.) i hate myself for having this stupid hope that you won’t really be in love, that it’s just a stupid high school romance… that if i stick around you enough, you’ll turn to me and realize you really do love me.

i really am a stupid teenage girl.

sincerely,
me

“i’m a suspect, i’m a traitor…. because tonight, the world turned in me.”

well, not really. but i’m a traitor to myself. haha. actually, it’s pretty ridiculous. i’m sabotaging my own love life! it’s just this stupid psychological condition that i’m sure persists in everyone (no matter how mean they might be) when my “love interest” (wow, cheesy much?) has a crush on another girl and i am stupidly egging him on in his pursuit.

case in point:

boy: likes girl
girl: maybe? likes boy (not sure, since all info is gathered from boy)
me: likes boy

boy: (to me) so, i like this girl.. and i think she likes me back
me: for serious?! dude, go you! when are you gonna ask her out?
boy: eh… i don’t know how i should tell her. we’re gonna see a movie on monday though.
me: OMG! you should tell her after you guys see the movie! it’s just you two? LOL IT’S TOTALLY A DATE.
boy: UM NO >.> okay yeah.. hey can you give me some advice on girls?
blah blah etc.

ahaha. it’s so messed up. we’re very close friends (can’t go a day without talking to each other either online or on the phone), and i have a massive crush on him. we’re even going to prom together (as friends, of course). but, i refuse to tell him how i feel because it would…

1. cause awkward turtle level 3
2. destroy our friendship (he is very attracted to this girl)
3. there is no chance of him reciprocating at this point

the thing is, we’re best friends. and he tells me that he’s attracted to this girl (in his grade, mind you — i guess guys just like girls their own age and not older woman? sigh) who isn’t exactly the prettiest, fashionable girl but rather to her personality. she is outgoing, nice, pure of heart… attributes that i will never have as a reserved, sarcastic, cynical person. and i was telling him – “ask her out! tell her how you feel! and don’t feel like you have to jump into a relationship. if you two like each other.. man, that’s like the best feeling in the world and you could live with that until you’re ready for a relationship.”

why do i sabotage myself? because i am an idiot.

LOLOLO wow my life is turning into some kind of romantic drama or something. hahaha this is pretty lame.

I think this is the first time I will ever try to talk, in all the gory details, about my back surgery. I don’t know if I would be able to say this in person, nor do I think I will ever want to.

You know, I guess it’s true what they say about friends… how “Unless you have the deepest, most intimate bond with someone, none of your friends will ever really understand you when you explain your joys and difficulties to them. Either they’re so wrapped up in their own lives, or they just prescribe certain stereotypes to who you are and your problems…so that they can give you the expected answer with very little thought.”

Coming to a new town, you know, it’s so easy to leave the past behind and create a new image for yourself. I guess I’ve done that, you know? Since my older brother has left for college, I no longer live in his shadow. In my old town, when I met older people, they always knew my brother… Like, “oh, you’re his sister?” It was all right — he didn’t really set any standards, but he had a reputation, I guess. He was big, buff, and kind of intimidating… But still. It was a shadow. And now I no longer live in that.

And when I was in 6th grade, I had back surgery (scoliosis – curvature of the spine. If it’s untreated, I’d turn out like my mom with an uneven back/ribcage and it causes a lot of pain later on). It was a big thing, and I mean, I was scared… But I had the support of my church and youth group. So I got through it okay. They implanted a titanium rod on my spine in order to fix the curvature (it was about 50-60 degrees, I think). I can bend now – the rod grows with the muscles of my back.

But man.. The hardest parts were before the surgery and after it. Going in for blood tests… They take this knife mechanism and cut you to test how long it takes for you to stop bleeding (39 seconds). I still have the scar from it — it’s a staple like scar, very prominent especially since the rest of my skin is smooth.

I hate needles… Seeing them changing the IVs every day, taking the needles out and putting in new ones… It’s horrible. And my wrists and hands – I hate looking at them, because there’s still the scars of the holes from the needles. There’s 3 of them – one on each side of my wrists and a largely faded one on the back of my left hand. The holes… are just disturbing to look at.

Physical therapy … it was terrible. It wasn’t that the nurses were unkind, but just having to get up at all, to walk when it’s so hard to be lifted out of your bed because the pain in your back is tremendous… It brought me to tears many times. Yup, I’m a wuss. But I was 12. I remember going home from the hospital, and climbing into the car… I had to climb in sideways, careful not to let my back touch and explode in pain. I had to sleep on the couch for a while on my side… Taking showers, I couldn’t let the shower nozzle and the hot water pound on my developing scar.

I remember the cards that my class sent me (they’re lost, now.. We’ve moved twice since I was in 6th grade). I remember the visits, the prayers, the gossip… I remember – I had long hair before the surgery, and I had to have it cut short because it would be a long term stay and taking care of long hair would have been bothersome. To this day, I still keep my hair neck-length. I still look back on the whole ordeal with nostalgia, and I don’t know if I’ve moved on.

But now, living in this new town where people haven’t heard any of the gossip about me… Where my friends really don’t know my background at all, is strange… I’m glad they hadn’t heard things about my middle school years. I’m most thankful for that. All the same, though… Is the realization that, when I tell people I cannot do certain physical activities, I’m met with cynicism and confusion as to why. It used to stand that if I said I could not do this, the person would back off. (“The surgery girl,” I suppose, may have been a nickname they used in their minds.) But now… I guess, I’m angry that my friends don’t understand why my spine isn’t in as good a condition as theirs. Why I’m not athletic. I had always been a sickly child, too. And it’s strange then, to explain to them that I had surgery as a child. And then they have a certain look in their eyes, and say, “oh.” Sometimes it’s hard to read; I can’t tell if they are shutting themselves away from me, or if they just don’t want to hear any more…

Worst of all, though, is changing during P.E. I always change with my back facing the wall, instead of facing the wall myself. I do this in hopes that my back will not be as obvious. There is a long white scar, red around the edges where the skin has not fully healed, where you can see the incision. The skin along it is bumpy, where you can feel the scar. There is nothing else on my entire body that I am most self conscious about. When people slap me or touch me on the back, I freeze up. My muscles just automatically contract and I cannot stand to be touched there. I have not dared to wear a swimsuit in years, because I dreaded the exposure my back would get from the low cut that seeps down to the base of the spine on something like that. And yet, sometimes people still see it. Sometimes people ask to see it, with a sick curiosity that penetrates into my fear. There are scars on me that I am ashamed of. But unlike most people, my biggest scar is also physical and every morning I glance at it, with a mixture of sadness and disgust.

I’m so mad at my father sometimes. My memories of my dad in my teenage years are fragmented. The only times that he isn’t at church for some Bible study, fellowship, class, or whatever, he comes home and he yells at us. It’s the most infuriating thing ever. I can’t stand it. He yells at me for staying on the laptop too long, he yells at me for not packing fast enough, he yells at me for not doing the dishes, he yells at me for snapping at my brother (which only gets me angrier), he yells at me all the freakin’ time. He yells at everyone in our family. He even storms into our rooms sometimes to yell at us for something we didn’t do right. He takes it out on my big brother, younger brother, mother, everyone. The only time he isn’t yelling at us is when he’s done yelling and he’s sitting on the couch seething.

Sometimes I’m so angry that he’s always shouting at the top of his lungs. Our house is small, so the noise carries easily. The worst thing is that it’s usually something ridiculously stupid, and some small thing just irritates him and he goes into a big long argument with my mother. I find it so hard to believe that he can go to church with a smile on his face, being a very sociable person during Sunday service and Friday night fellowship, and at home he comes to argue with us. It makes me hate him, even. I can’t find the strength to empathize with him, can’t find the strength to love him since he’s my father… I just give up. I just need to vent.