If anyone knows how to disable comments on journals, I'd love to know too. I can't seem to find it anywhere with the new format.
Guys, I'm in such a BAD BAD BAD art block. I can't even focus on homework let alone a piece of art, so, yeah...
Please bear with my rant. I really need to let this out after holding it in so long, and my journal is too full. Why not implore strangers I figure?
I've lost the energy to do the things that made me, me. I've got little ambition besides making it through the day and coming home to do homework, maybe a run in between here and there.
I find myself listening to Christmas music and sad songs , honestly, thinking nostalgically of the way it was when I was little. Y'know, waking up early on Christmas morning, excited as all get out? Running down stairs screaming and yelling after waiting since 1:00a.m. to open presents (my family's rule was don't wake up the parents until 7:00a.m. lol). My older brother would get all us, me and my younger brother, on the bunks of his bunk bed and tell stories he'd made up on hte spot. The whole day was simply magical. Now? I sleep in, even though I don't really want to, and do reports on Christmas day, and spend little time with my family because they're always gone. We don't go look at lights very much anymore with hot chocolate in our mugs and in our big family car. We don't go up to visit family in other states very much anymore, and my cousins and I don't find the snow fort building and snowball fights nearly as fun anymore, since most of my cousins are older and have young kids now.
I want to be young again, when homework was easy, when school was fun, when stress was just a definition in the dictionary I liked to memorize, when I had faith in my faith, when I didn't ponder things that I shouldn't. When I didn't think about my birth parents constantly, wondering why they gave me up or what would have my life been like had they kept me. I know the logical reason for her giving me up for adoption; but did she do it willingly? Was is hard? Did she cry? Did she caress her stomach, thinking of me as an angel; or did she hide in shame, acknowledging the mistake of me? What bout my birth dad? Did he sue for an abortion, or did he plead to raise me? Which one do I look like most? Why do I have long light blonde curly hair? Why do I have huge feet? Why do I have my face shape? Why do I have my body shape? Do my quirks come from my mom, dad, or brain? Am I musically gifted because of my mom, or dad, or maybe another unknown relative? Why why why why why. I just want to know. I want to meet them, but I'm scared. What if my mom is a druggie and my dad locked behind steel bars? What if my mom wants to forget about me? Does she remember me willingly, or is March 30th a painful day? Does she think about me ever, wishing she kept me? Did she tell her family? Does she have any kids now? Or does she hate me, hate me for me, hate me for being alive. Does she wish I was never conceived, never birthed? If I were to show up at her porch, would she slam the door crying in shame and pain or embrace me lovingly? I don't know why these thoughts come, but they do. They shouldn't. I need to be grateful for what I have. I need to find my convictions in my faith again; the faith that never really made me whole in the first place. The faith that led me to my adoptive parents, that never helped me through dark days and even darker nights because I felt no answer to my clasped hands? I shouldn't be like this.
My friends and I grow apart, most of us go to different high schools, and my BFF and I rarely even talk to each other anymore. I feel like Best Friend is merely a title for the two who once were, I mean, we're still friends, but it's just not the same. I feel weird inside, thinking of all the things we've done together. All the hours we'd spend talking to each other, the crazy adventures we went on that almost ending up killing us; and now we barely speak for two minutes before finding an excuse to hang up or leave. I remember their birthdays clear as day, but they can't remember the month I was born in. I feel little animosity for this, considering we've all three been 'BFFs' for over 12 years. I just miss them. Miss the comfort of knowing you had someone to go to, someone to cry with and laugh heartily with. Someone to joke with and someone you rarely got mad at. Someone who you'd give your life for without a shadow of hesitation, giving them your heart if they but opened their palm. You thought the same things, gave each other those looks across the room when you know what trouble you've gotten yourselves into, or when their crush walks into the room. You spoke at the same time, your minds and hearts and even morals in sync. You'd sometimes just sit there together, knowing that being in each other's presence was like a slice of Christmas. You'd sit there sometimes, knowing exactly what was wrong after the "I'm fine," looking them in the eyes and raising your brows until they broke down sobbing on your shoulder as you comforted them. Knowing the sorrow behind their smiles, the love behind their anger, and the reason behind their silence. Secrets? What secrets. We were sisters, we told each other anything and everything. We were sisters. Now we're strangers. It's not fun being your own best friend.
I mean, I've got friends now. Of course! I'm a social butterfly; most of the time. I like being alone, that's when I think, and think, and think. Thinking you mean a lot, only to find out that I'm just one person of many that she talks to, and compared to the way she talks to other people, I'm just really nothing. She notices my deepest secret, but I'm so good at covering for myself I don't think she takes it seriously. I mean, sometimes I just want to tell everyone, get their sympathy, then have them know that I'm not always happy and bubbly and vivacious and bright and kind and cheering of others, lifting their boulders only to shoulder my mountains. I told someone once, her even, (a different thing) and instantly regretted it like I haven't regretted something in a long time. I wish I never said it. She probably thinks of me differently now. I want, no, crave the friendship she has with others, but don't say much. she means a lot to me and probably doesn't even know it. I mean, we've only got two more years together until she goes off to college and we never see each other again. I sure hope I get an invitation to like, her wedding and get to see her kids. We talk about the future so much together, although we both know neither of us are in each other's unfortunately. I mean, sometimes I feel like her very best friend, she rants to me so much and we spend tons of time together. We laugh a LOT, and then get serious with each other when needed. she tells me of her friend, our friend, that she tells everything to. Is it bad to want to be that friend? I want to know
her, see her, and still love her to freaking death like I do already.
Then again, I don't tell her my secret, the only one I have, so am I being fair? Guess not. But my life isn't tragic, nothing terribly bad has happened. Her life on the other hand... I just want to know her, so badly. I want her to know me
equally badly, but I know I'll regret it. I honestly just want someone I can rant to, my irregular and jumbled rants that don't make any sense because I'm not vocal about my feelings, I feel them. I can't put them into words so eloquently like she does. That's why I don't rant my rants to her, mainly. I feel like she hasn't got a clue what I'm saying and is just gonna think I'm weird or the story I'm trying to express will get messed up in her head. Not only that but she doesn't ever give me a chance to. She rants all day long about her daily issues while she's sitting on mine that I opened up again last night.
I ache for the days of these which I write, and these past couple months I've been thinking more than I should. Hurting, physically and mentally, more than I should. I draw and draw, pictures that nobody can see, late at night. I don't dare tell a soul, and my gallery grows. Pushing myself beyond the limit to feel real again. I'm so busy helping my friends with their own problems and convincing myself that I don't have any, that I've lost my reason to feel. After slashing at ghosts for so long, it feels good to cut something real.
But why? Nothing bad has ever happened in my life. Ever.