my heart

goes out to you, Florida. School shootings have become so common it breaks my heart. I’m not surprised to hear about these kinds of things on the news anymore, isn’t that sad? Is this the kind of world I would want to bring kids into?

First official day of being an adult, technically the second. These are my thoughts: gun laws need to change. But tweeting about it doesn’t do shit. Nor do instagram posts. I know most people are thinking along these lines, but HOW many times, how many people have to die, before someone takes action? Because more than 400 people have been shot in over 200 school shootings…what’s the number to get you to take action? Where’s the limit?

It’s not simple. Nothing ever is. Time’s up, not just for sexual assault.

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17

And on the last day of being seventeen, I wrote on my dads ancient computer from the early 2000s. It still has a monitor attached to it that sounds like a miniature airplane. The screen is big and considerably brighter than my future.

And on the last day of seventeen I told my Dad that I was disappointed in him. He steals from grocery stores. He just steals rolls of toilet paper or paper towels when we need them, sometimes fruit too. He’ll place it under the cart, “forget” to put it on the conveyor belt, talk up whoever the cashier is, and put our reusable bags over the whole thing to cover it. It makes me mad. We aren’t poor, this isn’t for our survival or anything. He can pay for it, he just doesn’t want to. I confronted him in the car and he replied with-“everybody has flaws.” Flaw: a mark, fault, or other imperfection that mars a substance or object. This isn’t a “flaw”, this is a choice to be cheap and seedy. I hate that. I like people who are honest. Who have respect. Who are mindful of the choices that the make, and how they are affecting those around them. I don’t always live up to my values, I’m ‘flawed’, but at least I’m trying. You won’t ever find me stealing anything from anyone. My Mom likes to tell me that my father cheats on his taxes. I wouldn’t be surprised.

I still love him, even if he’s dirt cheap. I still love him even if he’s not the most loving person, even when he’s hot headed, even when he doesn’t care, even though he is unsupportive and most of the time uncompassionate. Love is weird.

And on the last day of seventeen I got a 95% on my math test, I read “Their Eyes Were Watching God”, and listened to Lizzo- Truth Hurts and Simon and Garfunkel: El Condor Pasa (1970).

I bought cheesy candies for my boyfriend. Little rose gummies that say: LOVE YOU A BUNCH, little champagne gummy bears that say: CHEERS TO US, and little swedish fish that say: YOU’RE A CATCH.
And on the last day of seventeen, I tried to write a Shakespearean sonnet for AP Literature about growing up. I have to walk down to the library and return “The China Challenge: China’s Rising Power” (late).

And on the last day of being seventeen I read that T.H.U.G.L.I.F.E. really stands for The Hate You Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody.

 

 

2018

I take it back, the things I wrote last night. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea:

I AM:

Clinically depressed

 

I AM NOT:

Suicidal

 

Sure, it’s on my mind often. And most days it feels like a better alternative then going through the motions. But I don’t mean it. I know that life is going to get better. I believe that it will.

know what i don’t know

QUESTIONS:

  1. Is it supposed to feel good when you kiss someone?
  2. More specifically, SHOULD THERE BE SPARKS?
  3. If not, am I gay?
  4. Is it my depression?
  5. Or is it him?

 

FEELINGS:

“Loner” by Kali Uchis

Take me to Belgium. Leave me there with money, and at a hostel.

THOUGHTS:

None. Nothing.

Tonight was the kickoff for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society campaign I am once again a part of. So far we have $540 dollars, not bad for Day One. I invited my Mom and Steve, my Dad received an invitation but he wasn’t really invited. He told me he didn’t want to get involved. He said he did enough last year, because he donated a generous amount of money last year (because I asked him too as a birthday present). He DID help, in that sense. He also left me to pay for the things we needed in our events too. I get it, its MY campaign, it’s MY responsibility. I’m not an adult. I don’t have a job. I’m still a kid, I  need support.

Family are supposed to support you right?

Not in my family, and I’m not just talking about in this campaign

So anyways, I told him not to bother showing up. He seemed offended, but hey, he said himself: “I’m not getting involved, I did enough. This is your deal.”

Well fine. Then don’t expect any invitations to any fancy dinners or kickoff parties. You didn’t even bother showing up for the Grand Finale. Thank you for all your love and support. Especially in Cross Country and Track. Thank you for only showing up to one meet, in four years.

Mom and Steve didn’t care either, which is fine. They just cared about the food and complained about the noisy atmosphere. They aren’t going to support me either, I know it.

This is such a strange feeling. I’m still a “kid”, but utterly on my own. I need to figure out how to pay off the rest of college, and thinking about living another four years at home with my Dad and going to San Diego State makes me want to blast music in the garage and start the car. I’ll sit in the garage. And I’ll wait for carbon monoxide to slowly kill me.  Because that house is empty. I am empty. I need to be full. I need to find people to fill me. I need to find love. I don’t have that at home.

My Mom only cares about Steve, Steve’s priority is my Mom. I know this. I know this. I’ll never forget hearing her say when I was ten years old: “Always put the spouse first, Katherine. Always. Even above children. That’s why your Dad’s and I’s marriage failed. He put you and your sister over me.” In my ten year old brain, I heard: I care more about my drunk driving, smoking, bum boyfriend then I do about you. 

And it was true.

Her priorties have always been this:

  1. Herself
  2. Money
  3. Looks
  4. Significant Other
  5. Children

I tell myself it doesn’t matter, but it does. Because if your parents can’t even love you, support you, care for you, then how can you do the same to yourself? They are supposed to love you.

 

Aren’t they?

faking bright

I could write.

Or I could just lay here, and stare at my ceiling.

I could do a lot of things. I could get on a plane. I could go for a run. I could dye my hair. I could kiss someone who isn’t my boyfriend. I could disappear. I really, really, really could. I could do a lot of things. That’s what keeps my mind spinning. I could do so much.

It’s like what Sylvia Plath wrote about in “The Bell Jar”. I’m under the fig tree with all of it’s fruits of possibilities  falling down around me, and I can’t catch a single one. I can’t taste it.  I can’t reach for it. I can’t make myself do it, or care, or want to. I don’t care. I don’t care. I wish I cared. I don’t.

Most days I don’t want to go outside, I don’t want to wake up. I make myself do these things. I’m functioning. That’s why my Dad doesn’t believe that I’m depressed. He doesn’t know how bad it is. No one really knows how bad it is. Everything hurts, and then when I’m not hurting, there’s nothing. I’m not sad, mad, frustrated, confused, happy; I fake everything. I make it so when I tell my friends: “I’m depressed” in that joking, silly tone, it doesn’t seem like a big deal and I convince myself that it isn’t till I get home, and I can’t make myself do my homework, or study, or think, or read, or do anything that I used to love to do. I just want to be swallowed and live inside of my computer or into a movie or a song or anywhere that isn’t here.

If I could I’d want to be eaten by the song “Sea Creatures” by SOAK, I’d disappear inside of the movie..I don’t know I love too many of them to pick one. You can put me in any book.

 

I’m so damn tired. There’s so much for me to tell. I have a boyfriend now. My first kiss was at his house watching “Stranger Things” and I felt nothing. There was no spark, it just happened. And then later that day we made out in the backseat of his best friend’s car. And every time he’s come over we end up just making out on my bed and my shirt gradually comes off and so does my bra and I let it happen and I don’t care. We move kind of quick, but we aren’t having sex. This sounds so bad but even when I’m with him I still feel so numb. Maybe I should break up with him. He told me he thinks he loves me, but then he told me that he falls in love easily so I know I’m not the first girl he has “loved” nor will I be the last. He used to like my best friend, who’s pretty, tall, blonde, has an amazing body, she’s funny, and everything I’m not. I like him, but I don’t love him. I didn’t say it back, and I don’t believe him either.

I just wanna take a bath/there’s a love letter in my chocolate bar

I remember absolutely nothing from my wisdom tooth extraction. I remember a group of dentists (or would you call them surgeons? dentist surgeons?) swarming over me as they put the IV in me, the nice lady dentist person told me I’d fall asleep pretty quick. I remember thinking i’m totally not gonna fall asleep. I don’t even nap. They took my phone and my music. And then after that, nada.

 

I don’t even remember ending up in a different chair or a different room but I do remember laughing my head off. My sister cried when she woke up from anesthetize. I laughed. I laughed in the car and a little bit on the couch at Mom and Steve’s place. I made my Mom promise to record me while I was all dopey on drugs, but of course she screwed up and didn’t do it. I wasn’t surprised. She’s late, she just forgot, she overslept, she didn’t know how to, she just didn’t feel like it, she would BUT-it’s the same excuse for anything.

So what have I done for the past 3 days , secluded from the world? All this time on my hands to do-I don’t know, maybe my college applications due next month?

I’ve been taking baths.

I watched Jaws, in the bathtub, which I wouldn’t really recommended. Then I watched Chicago. I’ve been living in this happy bubble (bath) where I’m neglecting the fact that I need to email my AP Lit teacher because he expects emails from his students all most everyday, I need to actually study the map of the U.S (hey-it isn’t my fault. The school system has failed me), there’s a midterm for UCSD Bio on Friday, I’m taking a test on “The Things They Carried” when I return from school, I still have to do all my math homework and yada yada. It’s really funny, because this is my last year of high school, and I’ve been messing up more than I ever had in school. Instead of doing my work I spend more time curled up in a ball. I daydream about college, but can’t get myself to actually apply or write a personal statement. I complain about not having enough time, and when I do I fail to rise to the occasion. Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe it’s because I’m depressed. Maybe I should eat the extra dark 77% chocolate bar in my bag with a love poem in it.

This is not the year to start getting involved with a boy. What’s the point? He wants to stay in our city, and I’m itching to leave. What’s the point of starting anything if in eight months (considering I don’t screw it up/ I have enough money to go/AKA if all goes according to plan) I’ll be busting outta there in Sacramento or San Francisco? One second I think he likes me, the next second I think he really likes my best friend. They hang out a lot,  I get jealous. Real, BURNING, jealousy but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to be that girl. That girl who’s 30 minutes away at her Mom’s fiancee’s house in bed, while her best friend is watching Stranger Things” with the guy who literally told this girl he liked her on Monday. He didn’t say because she was pretty, beautiful, smart, or funny, he said because she was kind and caring and sweet and knew just what to say to pick him up when he cuts himself down. I like that better than a guy thinking I’m pretty, but at the same time, my insecure ass wants him to say I’m pretty.

I wish that I wrote more. I should write everyday. Life is spinning by pretty quick. Being seventeen is a blur. All of a sudden all the pieces are coming together and it’s sink or swim.

 

 

 

i haven’t slept since school started

I shared a big plate of carne aside fries from Cotijas  with a boy.

I raced today, didn’t get a medal, but it didn’t matter.

I haven’t been sleeping, even though I’m really tired.

 

The boy we can call Bear. I don’t know what Bear see’s in me. He was into this completely gorgeous, blonde (now blue haired), big blue eyes, perfect skin, girl who moved away a while ago, but is coming home at the end of senior year. I look nothing like her. He’s so perfect. This isn’t going to work.  I’m not Hannah.

 

Running sucked and it didn’t. I tried for the first mile, then the last mile I just set my own slow pace. Recovery is a long process. I don’t know if I’ll ever be where I once was.

 

I wish I could sleep. I’d feel better. My head would be clearer. I’d look a lot better.

 

I’m so tired during the day, but at night I’m completely restless.

 

I haven’t been writing much. There’s so much more to say.

 

stop drinking coffee at 4 in the afternoon

my eyes are incredibly heavy and my body is impossibly awake. It’s only 1034 pm on a Tuesday, but externally I’m crashing. I killed it at practice today. I ran my heart out. I was right up there with the Varsity pack as we ran through sprinklers while our coach timed us for our 800s. My sports bra was inside out. I’m on my period. But I made it a point to intentionally pass Ryan and Ethan. I felt vengeful. Z and I once spontaneously showed up at Ethan’s house bearing jello just so we could say hi to his dog.

Z’s fantasy:

We show up at Ethan’s house. We get to pet his dog. We all play cards. We make jello. We all hang out.

What actually happened:

Ethan is on his phone giving us one word answers to questions we ask him like: “Yes.” “No.” “Fun.” “Yeah.” Z and I sit on the floor patting his dog and talking to it. We sit there for about 15 minutes in an uncomfortable silence; I give up trying to break the ice. Ethan says he has to go to a robotics meeting, so we leave. Ethan hops in his car and we watch him drive away. Z checks her phone a couple minutes later and SnapChat tells her he’s back at his house. Must have been a quick robotics meeting. 

  I haven’t run in four days; legs are the painfully good kind of sore.

There is this one song I’ve been listening to on repeat: Sea Creatures by SOAK. I’m in love. It’s been filling my summer mornings and nights. I listen to it when I walk the two pups down the street. They’re really dumb. Sammy always ends up peeing on Oscar because Oscar likes to smush himself right up beside him.

In six days I’ll be in San Francisco.

A couple days ago I went to the mall with a friend I haven’t hung out with in three years. So much has changed with the both of us, I don’t think we’ll ever be as close as we used to be. Too much time has passed.

I got home at midnight from a party. We were playing UNO. It was brilliant.

I want to sleep.

I want chocolate.

Tomorrow is my permit test.

 

Reasons to never go outside: ever

Thursday I went to the movies with an odd number of people. Seven people. My friend Z hates odd numbers. I honestly didn’t think that she’d show.

I have another friend who I can always count on to be brutally honest. We were in my pool, resting our elbows on the blue tiles while our bodies dangled in the water, when I turned to her and said: “Hey, can I tell you something?”

“You’re bisexual.”

“WHAT.”

*************************************************************************************

After lots of deep thinking and self analysis I realized:

She’s right.

*************************************************************************************

But back to the point of this whole thing: it’s safer to stay inside on the computer than face the outside world with actual people.

I suck at hanging around large groups of people. ESPECIALLY if I am NOT close to you. If I’m not close to you, I’m just going to assume you hate me.

(what a whiny pessimistic teenager ^^^^^^^)

((you’re right))

Z, K, and I met up at Smashburger with two couples, and me being the quiet one-mostly stayed quiet. In situations like these I either feel really awkward and uncomfortable or I say something and get talked over because my voice is so soft. When I do talk: everything that comes out feels dumb and/or pointless or I start thinking lovely thoughts like:

WHY AM I ON PLANET EARTH !?

Yay anxiety and depression!

The movie was Spiderman. The highlight of the movie was Z and I having a popcorn war in the theater.

When everyone was leaving, I saw N look over at me a bit strangely. A sort of: what are ya doing here look or maybe it was more of a: I cannot figure this weird quiet girl out who only talks to people she knows really well and sort of blows off other people.

I’m not trying to be rude, mean, or exclusive-just when I reach out-I feel like there’s already a wall up there. Like the other person already assumes I’m a waste of time. I know so many people who do, so what’s one more?

I have some issues.

But let’s talk about tonight. Tonight I went to a concert. I went to go see my friend’s ban play. K and I were laying out on the grass on top of this big purple blanket I brought, taking little sips of a cappuccino even though it was 5 pm. Bear had been texting me earlier that day. I have to admit, I was kinda excited to see him. We aren’t really close, but I’ves always wanted to be close to him. He’s a really sweet empathetic guy.

Bear and SeSe showed up, but by that time our blanket was crowded with Meg and her brothers friends. SeSe and I are not really friends. He’s the funniest. Life of the party. That kind of guy, but every time I look at him I remember how in the 7th grade he turned to me one day and said:

“No one is going to remember you. You’re so quiet.”

Thanks, I know.

So it was kind of awkward. We couldn’t really talk to the much. The music was really loud ( we were sitting closet to the stage) plus our backs were to them since there wasn’t enough room for them to sit by us.

SeSe only talks to me really when there is no one else better around. See I know this, because I know him. He wants to talk and flirt with the pretty girls. And I’m not a pretty girl.

I always feel like the outsider in groups. I just never feel like I fully belong there, and secretly I know that other people are wondering what the heck I’m doing there. I ask myself the same thing a lot.

Dancing was fun, even if you are a white girl with zero rhythm.

I just wish I didn’t feel so alien in my own body.

A boy from my school was staring at me at the dance floor, but I don’t think it was meant in an attractive way. Like I said: no rhythm. Like I also said: not pretty. I was sunburned today on my face too.

Bear and I hardly talked too. When everyone was splitting up after the last song was played at 9:30 I just turned to him with a smile and said: “Bye.”

That was about it.

We talked a bit at Subway, but mostly K and I just talked to each other. Or Z. Or we kinda just listened in silence.

We’re both socially awkward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11:42 pm

 

I’m laying on the couch, downstairs.

I can’t sleep.

It’s 11:45 now.

I just snuck upstairs and made myself a cutie and peanut butter snack. I was extra quiet, and I did it all in the dark. I accidentally grabbed Dad’s peanut butter, Jiff, instead of my regular one. I knew it was Jiff by the smell. Sweet, sweet, chemically, plastic. I stealthily crept back in the cupboard in search of my all natural one.

We have a large glass window upstairs that pretty much covers our entire wall. I could see the slough from my house, my old middle school, tons of apartments all lit up like it was Christmas, Seaworld, the moon, I could see flashing colors of cars driving by; the world at night is a lot more colorful than it is during the day, or at least I think so. I felt oddly safe eating my cuties and peanut butter with a fork in the secret cover of complete darkness. It felt like I was the only person awake in the world right now. A lovely thought.

Hello friend

It’s me

Do you remember me?

 

It’s 12:06 am.