February 27, 2006
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Hi,
It’s been emotional over in these parts the past two or three days. I
was not going to allow myself to cry, but last night, my heart said
otherwise. And I realized that it felt good to let out all that stress.
I am having a hard time. I mean, I am working and making money – but it
doesn’t feel like enough right now. I write more and more each day, but
that doesn’t feel justified either. I am hurt with the pain of missing
someone, the pain of knowing that you love someone but you can’t touch
them. I have tried to not litter people’s minds with my feelings of
this because I know no one wants to hear it. I try to keep it all in
because that’s the only way it seems to make okay. Telling other
people, or even showing them any signs of distress, only is combated
with how they are much worse off. I can’t stand keeping it in anymore.
I have had at least one dream a night for the past week or week and a
half with him in it. I wake up hoping that today will be the day. I go
to sleep hoping the next day will be. I plod through my day, holding
onto a string and hoping not to break at any second. I am trying to be
strong, I really am. I am so sick of pretending that everything is
perfect.To be completely honest, I feel completely and utterly alone. I feel
like that kid in high school who has no friends so they eat their lunch
in the bathroom because they are embarassed to eat in the cafeteria,
where they might be subject to rude remarks. In and out, every day
seems like this. I made the choice to take the semester off, and to
leave behind those people who are in Missouri. I know that I made that
choice. But, it’s like – I reach out and no one else is reaching back
(except for a select few). I try so hard to maintain relationships that
might be not be able to be maintained. I am trying my hardest to be
selfless. I am trying my best to be good enough – to be great enough,
even. I just want everything like they were last year. Last year was
good, at least the end of it was. I feel like so much has escaped from
my hands, right through my fingers. I grasp and there is nothing there
anymore. I don’t know what to feel and when to feel it.I want to be in his arms again. I miss him a lot, more than I let on. I
keep it to myself. I write it in the journal that only I see. I write
it in letters, in cards, on looseleaf paper that is filling my blue
binder. I write in between all these lines, begging someone to see it.
Is love enough? I feel myself question that so much as of late. I know
that it holds me up because I made the choice. But, in the end, will it
find itself still living in my heart and body and soul – will it caress
the biggest hurts and cover up the largest scars? I seriously am very
scared. Scared of life, of my future, of what will happen. I know
nothing is set in stone. I know that everything will find its place and
fall into it. Right?I find myself thinking back to high school. I hated it. I had a few
friends at the very end, maybe two – possibly three. I talk to maybe
two them of now. Maybe. All the rest of my friends just one day stopped
talking to me out of the blue. No explanation, no reason, nothing. I
still don’t know the reason. And I can feel myself still hurt from
that. No one had the guts to tell me what was so wrong with me that
they had to stop being my friend. These were the girls who said
“Friends Forever”, the people I thought I would be friends with for,
seriously, the rest of my life. I always wonder why. I will always
wonder why. And the one person who knows the reason won’t even tell me.
I’m over them doing that to me – but it would have been so much easier
to have that explanation. They prided themselves on being Catholics,
and in the end, they didn’t follow in the footsteps of God. There is
nothing wrong with me, right? I mean, I went off to school and have a
great best friend now… and I have a boyfriend that I love and he
loves me back. I mean, that’s good, right? I didn’t let them get me
that down. Except that I sometimes wonder that maybe I could have done
something different. But then I think about how things always happen
for a reason. I don’t know. I am not sure why I just thought about that
- but it just seems to go along with this whole hurting/pain theme.
They ruined my self-esteem. I see that now. I always had thought I was
a good person until that happened. I never knew that I was the type to
be completely abandoned by the people who claimed to love me. Now I am
ever so fearful of others doing the same thing.Tomorrow I will be better. In the end, I will be okay. Everything will
always be okay. But right now, I need someone to hold me and stroke my
head and tell me so. Or just someone to get my mind off of all this.
I’m sick of crying.Kate
Comments (4)
I will probably never meet you in my life, and I am very aware that I am five years younger than you, but I know exactly what you are talking about.
And I think you should tell those bitches that left you to fuck off and move on, because they’re retarded assholes that will never get what life is all about.
Life is all about God.
If greatness is what you aspire to, self-pity won’t get you there. I can relate about people from high school, though I’m a couple years further removed from that than you. I was part of a graduating class of 60 or so students, and by the end of senior year, everyone was sick of each other. A select few have managed to maintain their close friendships, but maybe that’s because they’d been together long before I knew any of them. The school where I spent my 4 years of high school went the whole span between Kindergarten to Senior, and I came in as a freshman…so I never felt the closeness that a lot of the kids who’d been there for the full ride did. In fact, some of them took all 4 years to warm up to me, a few were downright hostile. Many of them were also reckless and stupid, so nothing they did on the weekends really interested me enough to make a 40 minute drive just to hang out with them. I busied myself with other people and other things. I just got burned out with all of them and wanted to get the hell out, so I went to school here and moved on with my life. I’ve reconnected somewhat with many of them, if not just out of respect and curiosity. But my time with them is best left in the past. I have made so many close friends here that my relationships with the old high school gang pale in comparison, and while I think of some of them often, I don’t miss them much.
What I’m getting at is, you have to hang on to only the things and people in your past that really mean something to you. If you had a bad experience in high school and your friends turned on you, fuck ‘em. You’re probably better off without them. But remember the friends you have made in life that truly are important to you, and keep in touch with them. That goes for old friends back home, people at WWU, anybody. I know I’ll be sad as hell to leave so many great friends behind when I graduate, but I’ll keep in touch with them just as I have kept in touch with those who grduated ahead of me. You have to hang on to the good things of the past, and don’t let the bad things tie you down.
You are a WONDERFUL person, Kate. One of my very best friends. High school was a waste of time. When my cousin graduated and we were going into 9th grade, she pulled me aside and said, “Dessa, High school don’t mean shit. Don’t get all caught up in the drama. Go in, do the work, get good grades, and move on to college, because that’s what means the most. The years where you define yourself.” Granted, my cousin dropped out after a year because she was engaged and having a baby, but to this day, she still thinks that. And her main friends from High school are no longer there. She speaks to one that she grew up with, but that’s about it. And I’m pretty much the same. I talk, on a regular basis to about 1, maybe 3, people still. But you, Kelly, and my BSU friends I know will always be there. Because now we are mature enough to say “Friends Forever.”
I write poems, songs, and stories.
And I know it could change, but whatever I do end up doing, it will at least involve a lot of writing.