Crazy

I adore my new school. People are nice, and teacher's are nice, and everyone is a little bit crazy...
But I'm afraid the glamour will wear off quickly and I'll just be at this little building full of crazy people.
I so do not want that to happen...

Understanding

Its an understatement to say that people fail at it.
I sometimes think that maybe if you scream what you mean into their ears obnoxiously, that maybe people will finally understand what you're saying.
That was just a bulrb from my current concerns on humanity.

But onto other things. My 16th birthday is in one week. I wonder, am I going to feel...different? I mean, sure its just a day like any other day, but its one of those days that people count down to for their entire lives. Sweet sixteen.
Personally, I think its alot of hocum. People are the same people they start as from the day they are born. People never really change, at least not as far as I've ever seen. They can convince people they've changed, but they just act differently. Its all an act. Always.

Repetition

It feels to me like I'm doing the same things day to day to day. I get up, go to school for two hours, go home, go on the computer for a little while, then eat, go on the computer again, exercise, shower, clean, eat dinner, chill, and go to bed. Then it restarts the next morning.

Have you ever felt like you couldn't keep up with your life? Well I'm the opposite. I need a life I can't keep up with...

Or a life period at that...

Love...

...Is not that bad...

Vacation x.x

I've been away from home for almost a week. we went to Rhode Island, Mystic Connecticut, and New York City. Then, we left from New York City, to visit my mum, where I am now. I am looking forward to going home though. Vacation is nice, but home is pure.

Where would we be?

Where would we be

If at night the sun shone down
And in day the moon beams drown
The fear of darkness we have
Where would we be?

Where would we be
If the world turned upside-down
And we tried not to drown
On the air.
Where would we be?

What would we find,
If we looked under the bed
Would it be a living dead.
If we faced our fears,
What would we find?

And would we mind?
Would we lose ourselves to the temptation
Of the darkness and devastation
That our own minds hold
Would we mind?

Could time stop
If you gave into your deepest lust...
Love, passion, a must.
Unable to be free of it...
Could time stop?

Where would we be
If all we could see
was the moon through the trees,
At day time...
Where would we be?

Chapter 1

It was the Sunday before my 21^st birthday, April 20^th, which was the upcoming Thursday. It showed windows viewing new beginnings for me, a new chapter of my life that overshadowed prior mistakes, and allowed me to be the person I knew I could be. Until then, my life was rather frivolous.

I had abandoned my early religious background, having been raised a good little catholic girl by a strict family. I suppose that had I followed that path, I wouldn’t be writing this. But, by the age of 15, I was the rebel in my perfect little family, with my perfect little parents. And my perfect older sister, who, at the age of 27 was working as a teacher in a catholic school in my home town, teaching innocent children why everything they’ve learned up until then was wrong. And my perfect twin brother, who, also 15, was born again and loving his faith.

And then, there was me, little Marie-Ellen, the blemish of the perfect Lamaharty family. My story starts three days before my sixteenth birthday. I had been counting down the days.

“Ellie!” my brother called out, his silly nickname for me. I had been once again caught smoking in our shared bedroom. He always yelled at me for it, but he would never tell our parents. He knew that if he did, I would tell them about the time that I walked in on him kissing a choir boy, the day that I found out that he was gay. And I was the only one (other than the choir boy) who knew. So we had a nice little deal.

“Oh chill,” I yelled over my shoulder to him, “I was putting it out.” I said, wiping the burning ashes on the window sill before tucking the half smoked cigarette behind my ear

“Ellie, those are going to be the death of you,” And then added, “and me too.” He walked over to me and pulled the cigarette from its hiding place behind my ear, hidden by my hair, and tucked it in his jacket pocket. Then he reached across in front of me, taking the rest of the pack.

“Hey! Give that back! I actually paid for those!” I yelled, jumping on him.

He responded coyly “No you didn’t. You haven’t paid for a pack since Jordan got a job at that gross little tobacco shop. He steals them for you,” he added “silly Ellie.”

I climbed off of him, then sat on my bed. “Fine, keep them. I’ll just get more from Jordan tomorrow. You can try to get me to stop, but those cigarettes are the only joy I have in life with this family.”

Logan sighed, saying “You’re just going to have to accept what family God gave you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but He’s testing you. Just like He’s testing me, giving me thoughts about…well you know.” He stood to leave, to go out to the car, leaving for his weekly Bible study. I think it was on Wednesdays.

“Three more days Logan…” I muttered under my breath, as he walked out of the room. He didn’t know it, but on the night of our shared birthday, I was planning on leaving with Jordan, my best friend/boyfriend, depending on what kind of mood we were in. I was sick of life with uncaring parents, and meaningless, forced church visits to try and, quoting my step-father, “Banish the evil within me.” I was tired of being the outcast in a family of religious freaks.

Since it was on my mind, I stood and pulled a half-packed bag out from under my bed. In it were a few pairs of clothes, a pair of sneakers, a container of makeup, including a stick of lipstick that belonged to my grandmother, and my favorite stuffed cat, named Livvy-Lou, which I’d gotten at birth from Nami, which was my name for my grandmother.

“Seems like I have everything.” I muttered to myself. I stuffed the bag back under my bed, and walking out of my room into the hallway. I closed the door quietly behind me, and then walked down the stairs. I found my father sitting at the kitchen table with his reading glasses on, going over some paper. Probably something about the church, I thought to myself, walking past him to the cupboard where I kept my vitamins. I opened the cupboard, suddenly aware of the fact my father was staring at me out of the corner of his eye. I got my vitamins out as quickly as possible, to try and get out of the room before he said anything to me. I was secretly terrified of being alone with him.

Technically, Frank was my step-father. But he’d been with my mother since she was pregnant for my brother and I. Up until we were twelve we thought he was our biological father, but our mother told us the truth once she thought we were old enough. But, he’d started to be different after we found out.

I looked up to see if he was looking at me still. He appeared to be looking back to his papers. He was large man, not heavy but tall, slightly muscular, and looked like someone capable of killing someone. He still had a full head of hair, but creases and wrinkles were visible along his eyes and lips. He had harsh brown eyes, rather thin, and vicious looking if he was angry. When I looked up again, I saw his eyes dart back to his papers. I knew what he was thinking. I walked briskly out of the room with my vitamin now taken.

“Marie, come here please.” He called out. But I was already out of the room and dashing up the stairs, into my room and closing the door behind me. Safe this time. I pulled my secret bag back out, and stuffed the bottle of vitamins I’d stolen from the kitchen into it. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and dashed to my door realizing I’d forgotten to lock it when I came in. However at that moment, I heard the van pull into the driveway. Frank heard it to, and walked back down the stairs without a word. Silently I whispered a thank you to a God I rarely believed in, but at times like this felt was looking out for me. My mother had just gotten home from bringing my brother to Bible study.

I looked up at my clock. One forty-two. I walked to my closet and pulled out my waitress outfit, for working at Louie’s Single Strand, a rock bar that played loud eighties music while drunk people tried to dance. Louie had been looking for young women he could doll up in short dresses to keep the attention of men in the bar. Legally, I was too young to work there. But Louie didn’t overly care about laws. I pulled off my t-shirt, pulling the short black dress over my head. It was tight across the top, and very low-cut, with red lace across my breasts and around the puffed sleeves that fell low on my shoulders. The bottom flared out, with plumes of red lace around the bottom, ending half way down my thighs. I tied the red belt around my lower waist, and then pulled my jeans off from underneath. Out of my top drawer came my fishnet stockings, with little red satin bows every few centimeters along my leg. I pulled them on slowly, making sure they stayed even on my legs. Then I pulled my shiny leather high heeled boots out of my closet, putting them on and zipping them up. They pinched my toes a bit, but I knew Louie wanted me to be as sexy as possible so I dealt with it. I couldn’t afford to lose this job. All the money was going towards leaving in three days. I walked over to my bag and pulled out Livvy-Lou, and hugged her close to my chest. She used to be a medium brown, but was now closer to a tan color, and wore a spring time dress made of cotton and lace, in soft pinks and greens, her tail flowing out through a hemmed hole in the back of the dress. I held her close to my face, smelling her. She still smelled just like Nami. I pulled her away from my face, staring at her big blue glass eyes.

“Oh Nami, I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave me?” I set Livvy-Lou back in my bag gently, pulling out my makeup bag. I walk over to my mirror with it. I look at my face, makeup –less and plain at that moment in time. I hadn’t gone out at all, so hadn’t bothered to do anything with my hair or makeup. I pulled my black hair out of the braid I had it tied into, and let it fall across my shoulders, ending at the top of my shoulder blades, and wavy from being in the braid all day. I brushed it with an old porcelain brush with camel hair bristles, from India, that had also been Nami’s. I silently reminded myself to pack that, also. I pulled my contact-lens container out of my makeup case, and put in my brown and copper colored contacts, covering up my naturally green-grey eyes. Then I put on Nami’s old lipstick, a bright red from when she’d been my age, in blue crystal containment. It felt foreign and heavy on my lips, from being so aged, and it smelled of old lipstick, but it reminded me of Nami, and looked just the right shade for my very pale face. As I brushed my black hair, I thought of the a time I saw Nami. I had been eleven.

“Mari, don’t run so fast love. I would hate to see you fall in.” Nami yelled as we walked down the pier. I had run ahead to try and see the waves crashing on the end. However at her request, I slowed down and waited for her. She was using a walker, and didn’t move very quickly, so I walked back to her and held her sleeve as she walked.

“Nami, why do the waves get so high after storms?” I asked curiously, watching the wave’s crash against the rocks along the pier. She always had a unique way of explaining things.

“Well child,” she responded, “ after the storm, the fish are thankful to the heavens for returning evaporated water to them in the ocean. So they dance, and celebrate, and rejoice the return of their water. So the sea shakes with the ruckus of their huge ocean-wide celebration of the fish.”

I smile up at her, and she looks over at me, smiling and shutting her eyes with her smile. The edges of her lips and eyes wrinkle with deep crevices, like deep canyons. She runs her hand across the back of my hair, at that point still its natural color, a light brown, just like hers had been when she was young. It was now all white, and tied back into the bun she always had.

“Nami, why did daddy leave my mother before I was born?” I asked, hoping to finally get an answer to the question constantly troubling me, which no one would answer.

She looked at me troubled and responded “Because he fell out of love with your mother, and she’d fallen out of love with him.” And then she added “Love doesn’t always mean forever child.”

I looked down at my feet, and took Nami’s sleeve again. She stroked my hand with hers.

She said softly “Just remember, that even though hes gone, he loves you very much. Every time I talk to him, he asks me how you and little Logan are, and asks for pictures of the two of you, just so he can see you.”

“But why doesn’t he just come visit us?” I ask, hoping to get more answers.

She pauses to think, more of a way to word her answer than to think of the answer itself. “He’s not allowed to come see you, because he is sick and is in the hospital. And they don’t want you two little ones to get sick too.”

I nod in understanding, knowing that there was more, but things I would have to wait to learn.

“Come Mari, and we’ll walk back to the house.” Nami said, turning around in the direction of the beginning of the pier. I followed silently.

I shook my head, as if to get the thoughts out. I stood, pulling my long coat out of the closet and putting it on. When I wore it, you could only see my boots, so my parents couldn’t see my scant attire. I walked out of my room, grabbing my fedora and setting it on my head. I walk quietly down the stairs, hearing my parents arguing about me.

“I got another call from the school. She’s been skipping full days now, probably off with that little boyfriend of hers.” I hear my mother say disappointedly.

“I’ll talk to her later tonight. She’ll be leaving soon.” I hear Frank say in response.

At this point I walk by the door, and mutter a goodbye, and walk out just as quickly. I glance at my phone once I’m outside. Two o’clock on the dot, so I’m running on time. My shift starts at 2:30. I ran down the street. First one block, then a second. I hear a boy from my school whistling from his front porch as I run by. I flipped him off, annoyed by his immaturity. Now I’ve run down a third block, struggling to run in my heeled boots. I stop running, realizing suddenly that I have my bag on my back, the one with my things for running away in it.

“God damnit!” I say aloud, frustrated that I forgot to set it down. Knowing I don’t have enough time to bring it back without getting a ride from Frank, I continue running. I didn’t want to lose any pay.

I get there at 2:20, enough time to fix my hair before I start working. I walk to the back room, where I see Louie flirting with another bosomy waitress in a dress identical to mine, except without the lace, which I’d put on mine myself. She swatted him away without even looking up. She was taller than me, and wore the outfit without the fishnets or boots. Just flesh-tone stockings and heels. She smiles politely when I walk in. She’s a bit younger than my sister, maybe 25. I wave a hello to her, while walking over to my cubby with a mirror to fix my hair, then pull off my coat and hangs it up.

I look at her and say jokingly “We look like such sluts.” Then laugh, to let her know I’m kidding.

I feel Louie’s eyes burning into me, and I glare up at him, and he leaves. He’s old, older than Frank at lease, who’s 45. I can’t stand that swine, but I needed the job.

I walk out into the main bar, but no one is there yet, so I walk over and sit at a bar stool.

At some points I clean, or play around at the pool table with the other waitress, but the afternoon remains uninteresting as usual. No customers ever come in until around dinner time.

About two hours later, a few young men have come in and are looking around for someone to come get their orders. I walk over, holding a notepad, and recognize one of them as a young teacher from my school, who upon seeing me starts blushing profusely. I pretend to not notice him, and look around the table.

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” I say, avoiding the gaze of my young teacher, who has gone from being embarrassed to checking me out.

The response is from another of the group, saying that they’ll all have beers.

“Coming right up.” I respond. I go behind the bar counter and start grabbing them, then look up only to discover that the young teacher had followed me up to the bar.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be working somewhere like this?” he asks shyly, staring at my chest while he talks.

I lean over the counter so more of my cleavage shows, and look him in the eyes and say “I needed a job and Louie gave me one. Is that a problem?” I say, smiling politely.

He leans back a bit, wiping sweat off of his forehead and looking away from me. “N-no, s-s-sorry to have b-bothered you.” He managed to spit out before stumbling back to his table. I laugh to myself, bringing their beers to the table, then winking at him as I walk away.

If he’s not too nervous to talk to me now, I don’t know what I’ll do, I think to myself. Then laugh, realizing that all his buddies are slapping his back and laughing around him. They think he came up here to hit on me! I snort at the thought, and then go up to their table to see if they want any food. They don’t.

The rest of the night goes by uneventfully, until about ten, thirty minutes before the end of my shift, when the teacher walks back up to the bar where I’m, flirting with another customer, hoping for a good tip. I think to myself that he must’ve gotten his strife back. I walk around the bar, up to him, and wave to him to follow me so he can talk to me.

He looks me over and says “It isn’t right for a young girl your age to be working here. You’re only, what, fifteen?”

I respond “I’ll be sixteen in three days. And I’m working here because I need the money.”

He says back “It’s inappropriate and vulgar here. I’ll have to talk to someone about this.” He says, glancing over at his buddies back at the table.

I walk up closer to him, close enough he can smell my perfume, and make it look like I’m going to cry. I say softly “This job is the only way I have to pay for clothes and food for myself. My parents are so poor. Please don’t tell anybody…” I look down like I’m going to start crying. A single tear runs down my cheek.

He pulls me close and hugs me, whispering to me “Shhh…I won’t tell. Don’t worry. I’m so sorry. I just worry about young people like you being in a place like this.” And then walks away sadly. I turn to the mirror, and fix my makeup, laughing. He ate that up! I can’t believe that worked, I think to myself.

Chapter 2

I walk back into the house, quietly locking the door behind me, and then silently climbing the stairs to my room. My parents are asleep, but Logan is awake, reading in our room. He looks up, and then looks back down to his book. He says quietly “Welcome home.”

I snort, and mutter “Yeah, some home it is.” Then I lay on my bed, resting my head on the pillow.

He looks up at me, shaking his head and saying “You’ll just have to live with it. This is your home, and this is the family God has given to you.”

“God… I don’t know him. But everyone keeps asking me if I do. What’s up with that?” I respond coyly.

Logan rolls his eyes, saying “Is it just impossible for you to be a part of this family, and just accept what you’re fortunate enough to have?” I thought he was done, because he looked back down at his book, but he continued. “We have food to eat, a home to sleep in, and two loving parents. Mom loves you so much, and it hurts her to see you hate our family. And Frank loves you too.”

I snorted, and muttered under my breath. “Yeah…he loves me an awful lot.”

Logan frowned, getting up and sitting next to me on my bed, brushing my hair back and holding me close to him.

I looked up at him, and smiled, saying. “Well that was, indeed, very random Mr. Logan.”

He responded in the same sing-song voice. “Well of course Ms. Ellie. For whom would I be if I weren’t ridiculously random every chance I got?” Then we both fell back on my bed laughing. He held me in a close hug until we both fell asleep.

The next morning when I woke up, I chuckled softly at my snoring brother lying squished next to me on my bed. I shook him softly, whispering. “Logan…we have to get up for school.”

He grumbled something illegible, and then tried to roll over to face the other way but wound up rolling onto the floor. He sat up abruptly, blushing dark red.

I laughed, helping him up so he was sitting on the bed. He looked at me with a curious look on his face. I looked over at him, wondering why he was looking at me the way he was. Then I looked down at my clothes, realizing that I had never changed the night before and was still wearing my waitressing uniform. Logan knew what kind of a place I worked in, but had never actually seen me in my costume. I got up, and walked into my closet, closing the door behind me. I pulled off my dress and stockings. At some point the night before, I had kicked off my boots. I pulled on a bright red shirt, with one three-quarter length sleeve that was a dark red, and the other side just a strap. I fished through my clothes a bit more, finding a very pleated black-denim skirt. It ended half way up my thighs, though it used to be down past my knees. My parents bought it for me because they wanted me to have something formal and “appropriate” to wear back to school on my first day this year. The day before, I ripped the skirt short, without hemming it, so the bottom would tatter a little. Then sewed lace underneath, also very pleated, so it was a few layers of lace and about an inch longer than the skirt itself, then added a black belt with a wide loop to the top, sewing it in place. It very quickly became a favorite.

I pulled it on, then pulling on my knee high, belted, platform-heeled boots, belting the six belts into place. Then, from behind the closet door, right in front of me, I pulled on my shiny leather jacket with red hems and red satin ribbon around the collar and sleeves. I walked out of the closet, looking at myself in the mirror, then deciding against the jacket, pulling it off and tossing it back in the closet. I walked over to the mirror, putting on cover-up to make the dark rings under my eyes less visible, and then put on a thick dark line of eye-liner. Then mascara and blush, making my very pale face look more and more like that of a porcelain doll. I put on dark red lipstick, looking at my clear, china doll-like face, and wondering how I could have myself so real, and yet still look so fake. It was beyond my comprehension.

Logan had already gotten dressed and headed downstairs, and I was close behind. I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail, and then ran down the stairs, grabbing a half bagel off of Logan’s plate. He glared up at me, and I grinned, holding the bagel in my teeth like a leopard having just caught its prey. He continued to glare, in response to which I thrashed my head back and forth with the bagel still in my teeth, gnawing at it like an animal. He couldn’t keep the glare up anymore and broke out laughing.

At this moment our mom walked in, first looking at Logan, who was laughing so hard he was practically choking on the other half of the bagel that I didn’t take, then to me, still holding the bagel in my teeth, with messy hair and butter on my face from thrashing my head back and forth. She shrugged, half smiling; the basic equivalent of “I don’t want to know.” At this, Logan, who had finally stopped laughing, practically choked once again on the bite of bagel he had just taken, once again laughing again.

I grinned at my mother. She looked over at me and said “You know, you have some butter in your hair.” She chuckled softly, walking towards the sink, rinsing off the apple she had just pulled out of the fridge.

Everyone says I look just like her, but no one knows what my father looks like, so how can they know? She has sandy brown hair, short and framing her face, the same color as my natural color. Ironic that both her and Nami had the same color hair, even though they weren’t related. They didn’t even like each other. Nami hated my mother, for leaving my father.

As much as I was frustrated at him for leaving us, I still desperately wanted him in my life. After all, he was my dad.

All of a sudden, while I was lost in my train of thought, I feel my half bagel pulled from my mouth. I see Logan, smiling teasingly, dangling it in front of my face. I lunge forward, trying to snatch it with my teeth. This evolves into a full throttle tug-o-war over it. I end up with half of the half, and eat it as quickly as possible, before its reduced to an eighth of a bagel.

This is indeed all I have so far in my story.

SANITY!!!

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT STUFF??? CAN I HAVE SOME???

Love...Again...

A journal excerpt from 1 year ago:
"How many people have asked about what love is? I myself ask often, because the concept has never truly affected me, but once. And even with that single experience, it is but an emotion, in more of a complexity, nothing more. A sugar is the simple form of a starch, as an emotions are the simple form of love. Love isn't an emotion, but a combination of all emotions, and it comes in more forms than any of the emotions could. But, even with that knowledge, there's still so much about love that's impossible to understand. Perhaps love doesn't exist, but its just a sheet thrown over the darkness to cover up what isn't good. Its a made up emotion that, though it doesn't really exist, it can make us feel better. Therefore, as good things and feelings come back, we refer to it as "love" because imaginary love represented goodness in the bad times. So, eventually, through generations, love becomes an actual emotion, or complex emotion, but not of its own. all it really is is the other good emotions we have, given a label and made into one thing. And so, people use "love"to their advantage, using it an excuse for stupid idiotic things we do. As as it evolves, we evolve with it, and it becomes something sacred. If it were an object, we would likely worship it on an alter. But, being merely an artificially invented complex emotion, we hold it sacred. No one would ever rip it apart as I'm doing, because it represents that which is good, that which assists in our day to day life when we have problems we can't handle on our own. It is but the golden idol, a religious aspect of sorts, put there to make us feel better about our often seemingly aimless existence. As scholars look at religion and worship, we make up an object to worship, because the idea that we are all alone, on our owns scares us so much. I myself believe in a God, but I do not believe in love, for in this case, I am on the scholars side. "Love" is but a pointless illusion to make us be able to deal with that which we believe we couldn't on our own."

The Present

I wish today would end, and tomorrow would come
For the first half of tomorrow, I will wish it was today again.
For the second half, I will wish it was the next day.

1. Rarely does a moment ever come where someone is completely content with the present.
   
2. We all wish the past could come and kiss us again.
   
3. Likewise, we all wish the future could come and spread news of beautiful, wonderful things to come.

Maybe someday (Oh the irony...) we'll all be able to be happy with what we have when we have it. Maybe we'll have no regrets and no anxiousness over the future............

As if.

Ignorance.

Funny how the word ignore falls right into the word ignorance. Ignorant people ignoring those trying to be polite and to have a good time. But no, the have to be ignorant. Lets hope that people will someday learn that their ignorance, and appreciatedness are equal mirror images, and that maybe if they learn to stop being so ignorant, people will like them more and appreciate them more. Not that I'm one to talk, for my ability to ignore ignorance is low, so perhaps I'm the bitch. Not my fault I don't want to be around ignorant people...

People

Alicia. Tia. Jackie. Melanie. Jake.
All people who I really miss.
Missing people is lame.

Love...

How many people have asked what being in love is? I myself ask often, because the concept has never truely effected me, but once. I think that in actuality we have no idea. Because we physically can't know. We all have a different opinion, because there is no fact. Theres absolutely no way to know what love really is. We just have to trust our intuition, and hope that our conscience feels the right way. For me, love has always ended sadly and I can't find a way to recover from that. I just cross my fingers and hope that one day I might really find someone who can fall in love with me.
I wish someone could see past where I've been, and what I've done to see that I'm not a bad person.
To see that I'm a beautiful, loving, caring person...
Not just a freak like everyone treats me like I am.
Wish me luck...

Changes

Its been a while.
Things have changed.
LIFE has changed
I guess things always do change when you leave something behind, and look back at it much later... or even a few days later.
No matter if its days or weeks, things do change.
I sort of hate it, because if things stayed the same then we wouldn't have to face challenges or hurt other people...or be hurt by other people. We wouldn't ever have to see anyone suffer. We wouldn't have to watch ourselves get older and be able to be hurt by more things; boys, school, family, even life itself is painful sometimes.
However, without the pain, the good times wouldn't ever come either. So I suppose that we can't live without it.
Change runs through our blood, and makes us who we are. Without it, we would just be lump of insignificant rock that just sits by and watches the world change but never does (metaphor: fail. Rocks do too change)
We have to learn that for every moment we love, we also cry. That for every moment we cry, we find peace, and for every moment we find peace we find loss also.
Learn to embrace the change and then maybe someday the world will change...
For the better

As for the current change, I've found that of my four real friend I really only have two, Ethan and Alexa. They're a couple now and to be honest, the awkwardness took ALOT of getting used to. Lol
But I think things are ok now.
I care more about them than anyone, because they're the only people in the world who stuck by me through everything happening in my life, how fucked up I was, and what kind of things I did to people and said to people to make THEM hate ME... instead of just hating them.
But those two never hated me. Tia and Jackie turned out to be a bit...less agreeable.
Starting from the beginning:
At lunch one day about two months ago I'll approximate, Tia decided it was a good day to hate me. She basically told me that Jackie never liked me, that in actuality no one did, and that she hated me and nobody wanted me there.
Due to this I wound up storming out of the school, walking 3 or 4 blocks down to a bus stop, crashing there while bawling my eyes out and trying to slit my wrists. I called my mom during my walk, and she talked to me the whole time. I eventually agreed to let her call the police, who came and found me there, bleeding and broken like a child. The police man was kind. He called an ambulance, and they took me to Rochester General Hospital.
It was like torture upon walking through the doors. The last time I had been there was when my grandfather was put into a nursing home, never to return to us again. Hes still alive...but not truly living.
They lead me to children and adolescent emergency department, where I sat on a gurney, terrified of what would happen when my father got there. And then he was there. (it felt like I'd waited there for hours, but I later found out it had only been about 10 minute. you lose a sense of time when you're crazy...) I exploded crying just upon seeing him. He was supportive and loving and all I needed. he was a rock for me to cling onto.
I sat on that gurney for another 4 hours at least, then I was told that I needed to be moved from the emergency ward, temporarily to the mental ward.
I was there almost 15 minutes.
Those were by far the worst 15 minutes of my life.
Every second was a new terrifying agony of a small off-white walled room, covered in pencil markings from the people there before me. They decided it would be best for me to be put in a partial out-patient program. Basically I spent a few hours there every day for group therapy.
I made it through one day of partial.
On my second day, I had another breakdown.
I decided I really truly did want to die. I won't go into details...
I spent 6 hours in PsychED (psychiatric emergency department) And they concluded that I, after all this, truly needed alot more help than any outpatient program could give me.
I was officially admitted as an inpatient Tuesday, June 15th, 2010, 9:51 p.m.
The people there were all so unique.
There was Aaron, who upon seeing me that first night waved excitedly, for some reason being VERY happy to see me, this person he'd never before met.
Then there was his roomy Max. He got discharged the next morning. I saw him again much later though.
Then there was Shannon. She shouldn't have been discharged yet but was one day before me.
Dana, a great girl, who for some reason they felt wasn't sane enough to go into the real world, though I thought she was.
There was Brett, who was, in every meaning of the word, Awesome. He told me the night I came in that he was probably getting discharged the next day. Then he said that every day for the rest of the time I spent there. He was still there when I left. He said I had a beautiful voice.
There was also Ben. He was put in the same night as me. I think he had anger issues...
There was another girl...I think her name was Crystal. Every time I said "I love you" Randomly to her, she said "I love you as well", completely without hesitating.
And lastly was Elaina, my room mate. I just adored her.

The time I spent there was revolutionary. I never thought I could be so...trapped. I wasn't allowed to touch anyone. Nobody...
I'm a hugging kinda gal!!!
So when the two people I love more than anyone in the world showed up (Alexa and Ethan) I was very touchy and cuddly, and REFUSED to stop clinging.
Anywho, the fact that they came and visited me there in that place meant more to me than anything ever has. I love them so much.
I was so lonely, that when I saw a pile of Ethan's hair sitting on the floor in our tiny cafeteria later that evening, that I walked over to it, and stumbled to the ground and stared at it. Everyone thought I had merely fallen. But I was so lonely, and those few strands of hair were my only connection to the outside world, I was forced to go back to my seat, and by the next day the hairs were gone, likely swept away by a janitor or such...I think I was still a little crazy that night...
I got discharged after one straight week of arts and crafts, lame musical therapy, and some of the most interesting people I'd ever meet.
I was released back into partial June 22nd, 2010,at 10:35a.m.
Ironically, upon stumbling back into partial, I found that Max was also there. Only to be discharged two days later. I really don't think I'll EVER get to know that guy...
I was officially released back into the real world, exactly one week ago as of 15 hours and 13 minutes from now. July 2nd, 2010, 1:00 p.m
I am now officially an outpatient set to have my first outpatient therapy meeting tomorrow at the exact 7 day anniversary of my discharge.
1:00 p.m...
Changes have happened in these past 4 months since I posted. Many many changes. And now I've discovered a new me. So I hope...a better me?

Dancing the Dance of Sociablity...

Perhaps we're all just students, however it seems that some of us are students, whereas others are insolents, immature cretins who don't allow us to have self existence. I myself am a student (to the best of my ablity) and am trying to live my life amongst the idiots...

Lifes rough...

Hmm...

Since Monday falls on a Tuesday this Wednesday, our regular Thursday meeting will be held on Friday this Saturday, because Sunday is a holiday.

Homesick At Home...

For quite some time, I've had two homes. One with my mother in a town I spent most of my life in, the other with my father, in a town that, though I didn't live in it until recently, I had always considered my home. So no matter where I go...I'm always rather sad because I'm homesick for where I'm not. So how am I supposed to ever be content in a home unless I make both places not my home, and find a new home?

Oceanic Euphoria...

All my life, I've had a special fascination with the ocean. Its my passion. However I'd never actually seen it before. However, on a road trip through Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island, which occured (and I'm still on atm) this weekend, I saw the ocean for the first time in my life. Not only that, but I almost killed my feet, walking into the freezing cold, month of March ocean water. But even in the freezing cold, I happily sat on a big wet rock along a small peir for nearly an hour, getting lightly splashed with each wave against the rocks. And I'd never been more content.
Its always been said that nothing in the world is perfect. But my soul was at the happiest it could ever be, and as each wave swept across the rock, I drifted mor and more into sheer contentment and thought to myself "If nothing in the world is perfect, this has to be the closest it'll ever ever get."
For once in my life, I really felt like I had a purpose. To most people in the world, the ocean is really pretty, and its a nice thing to see, but for me its more. Its been one of the most signifigant thin gsy in my life since as far back as I can remember. And sitting on that rock, the cool mist breezing past me and the taste on salt on my lips, I felt for the fist time in my life...right. I felt like this was where I belonged and where I wanted to be. I'd trade every happy moment of my life, for just a few fleeting seconds of that. I saw all my future flash past my eyes, and I knew that this was going to be a part of it. I wanted nothing more than to just be there, with the water at arms reach. And as the moments fleeted by and I waited for my dad to come back for me, I had the sad realization that it would kill me to leave it behind. This, after all, was my destiny. The ocean breeze, took me like arms in a gentle embrace, each splash of the water a delicate caress across my cheek. It was the most signifigant moments of my life.
And as I left that place, I felt my soul wither back to its regular null, and I saw the waves less and less the more I walked away. But I'll hold the memory of that near perfection in my mind forever.

The Smoldering Wreckage Of Everything Else...

I wonder sometimes if some things that have happened to me were for the best, no matter how painful. Alot has happened to me in the past year and a half, and I wonder sometimes if I really am the same person I used to be. I've always said that people never really change, and that opinion of mine hasn't changed either. However its like things around me have changed so much that I can't help but think that, maybe, I myself really have changed.

Hello World

Two days in a row, I think its a new record... I actually remembered to come back here.
I've been thinking alot lately about the theorized apocolypse of 2012. Being someone whos a bit paranoid myself, I don't like to think about the world ending. However its helpful to look to the future while learning from the present, and maybe forseeing what will come next. For me, I see a constant struggle, battling myself for power over my own life. Hopefully it won't be too painful a struggle.

Back With a New Way...

Well, I'm 15 now, loves. Things have changed an awful lot in a year and a half. Chrisykins became just Christine, and life is holding me there. I chose to abandon this blog because of emotional issues on my part. Now I'm back and hopefully here to stay.
When I got this blog in the first place, it was merely ment to be a way to keep in touch with my two best friends. I've really only ever had two best friends. One I still talk to sometimes, the other now hates me over what I consider to be a misunderstanding. I still hope that one day things will be fixed between her and I but I don't epect to ever get that... This blog is now to show just what and who I am now.
I dwell from Irondequoit, New York. I'm an ex-Watertonian with high hopes of never being a Watertonian again. I left behind everyone and everything I loved, including my own mother, to start a new life here, and try to prove to the world that I am me, and no one else. As I proved very well in my earlier entries (a year and a half ago approximately) I was very crowd-copy prone. I wanted to be just like everyone else, just like everybody did. I broke from the never ending circle of cliche and copy and discovered myself anew.
Today, I don't live for the latest look or the most popular thing. I live for myself, my parents, my sister and her family, and my four close friends, Alexa, Ethan, Tia, and Jackie. I realize that if you aren't living for what really matters to you, then whats the point in living at all?
I considered getting a new blog, but why not just continue here and show that I have changed and that I am not the pretend person I used to try be.
Reading my old entries, i can just sense how immature i was. At the time I thought I really was mature but looking back I feel that my maturity now well concludes that I was wrong. Hopefully I'm actually right about my maturity now...