Sunday, August 30, 2009
So, I really, really should be asleep right now because I have to go running and then swimming at 6 a.m. tomorrow. I'm not a morning person. Joy.But, I'm too awake. And I'm in an incredibly "I love life" mood. Gah. It's crazy.
Chad Sugg is my new hero. He's a musician and he writes poetry. Everything he creates just makes me insanely happy inside.
I just took a huge ass splinter out of my finger. Yay.
Ugh. School starts in one day... Fuck. I don't want it to. Whatever. I love life. (:
Wow. I just reread that. I have serious ADD.
Here's a sort-of poem I wrote last night at two a.m. when I got back from BWW with Zac and Gabby. It's kind about normalcy and what the world has come to. I don't know. Some of it is made up. Like, my home life isn't usually as bad as it sounds here. A lot of it is metaphorical. Well yeah. Enjoy, give me feed back. (:
Normal
By Alex VanDehey.
But suddenly life just seems so horrendous
And I'm twisting in my skin to get out
Oh please god, just let me out
I let myself sink
into the peach fuzz of the backseat
Breathe,
breathe,
breathe.
Normal people don't do this.
I un-trap my tissue paper skin
from my clenched fingernails
And lose myself in the music
of the front seat conversation
They speak of normal things in normal voices
Music opinions, high school gossip, funny stories.
We pass a bus stop and I imagine leaving.
This town has my scars scraped all over it.
I don't like my scars
and I don't like this town.
I wonder if the would miss me, the front seat people.
Maybe for a month or two.
But I'm nothing worth remembering
And I'm okay with that.
And now I feel like Piggy,
Golding's imagined misfit,
ostracized and unwanted
by the front seat people.
They stop and I look
up at my looming house
Dark, empty, emanating upset.
At least to me.
Now I remember why I stay
with the blabbering front seat people.
They are normal.
My home's hateful quiet sobers me,
tells me to straighten up, stay strong,
simply go into battle mode
and all will be fine.
The bottle is spilt on the rug,
My mother's body consumes the sofa,
Daddy isn't home, of course.
The sounds of sex intrude my ears,
Crawling and clawing from my brother's room.
And my baby sister lies
with wide open, ghostly eyes,
an innocent witness
to the horrors of home.
My lips brush her forehead,
urging an attempt at sleep.
She pushes me away.
My heart shatters.
I step into my bare room,
shedding my clothing.
Naked and vulnerable,
I swallow the moons mechanically.
I think back to the perfect, normal, front seat people,
with nice houses, together families,
a steady income, decent grades,
family portraits, sports teams,
church-involved, above the influence...
It makes me sad to realize,
as I peer out my dingy window
at one neighbor with a bong
and another throwing plates,
that the normal front seat people
aren't normal at all.
But they should be.
Posted by Alex at 7:31 PM
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I miss him a lot. Is that weird? Yes. But who cares? It's how it is. And he said he thought about it daily... Harry Potter.... God I love that boy. And Sean. I wish I could see them both again.I feel like I'm in a dream state lately, not really connected to anyone. I like it. I'm floating above the world and oddly, nothing really seems real. Normally that might make me crazy but for some reason I'm enjoying it. Maybe it's being back in my old house so much. Too much blending of the past with the present. I don't know, probably not. I feel... and I know this sounds bad... But I feel like I felt the first time I got high. Kind of just floating, content and uncaring. I like it...
Posted by Alex at 5:58 PM
I joined the swim team. I hate it and I love it. I have a two hour practice (for the second time today) in half an hour. I'm so, so tired. I don't want to go. All the girls are really nice, but... I don't know. I feel awkward with them. There's no reason whatsoever for me to feel uncomfortable, but I do. Then again, I've always kind of been like that. Eh, whatever. It doesn't really matter.I've been teaching myself to play guitar. I'm in love. I can't stop practicing. It's just so fun, and I feel... I don't know. Cool, happy, at peace. My guitar is my baby. (:
So, Tyler said I have no standrds. That hurt. A lot. All because of stupid Josh H. and his car. It was only once and it was a long, long time ago. He just found out, and with his temper, he freaked. Luckily, Zac was much more understanding and comforting. I love Zac. But me and Tyler have been having issues since then, and it sucks. But it's not like we're fighting. More so, we're just not close. I used to always say, "I love you," before I hung up or got out of his car. Not anymore. He used to want to hang out with just me. Not anymore. We used to be best friends and I could tell him anything. Not anymore. But I surprisingly don't really care. What happens, happens. If Tyler's going to be a dick about something I did before we'd even met, so be it.
Ugh. I must go. I'm off to run two miles and swim 1600. Joy.
Posted by Alex at 12:26 PM
Saturday, August 22, 2009
I realize that all my posts are extremely negative and depressing, so I feel the need to tell you that I actually am fairly happy. It's just that the only time I ever really feel like writing is when I'm upset, because it's an awesome way to vent. So, yeah. There.Posted by Alex at 4:26 PM
Sometimes when the voices won't shut up, I go into my own little head world. I press on my eyes and see lights and I mumble words. Sometimes, I realize what I'm saying. And it scares the shit out of me.But now I hear them, and I see their habits, and I'm really not sure which is worse. We're not stable people.
I hate being here. I feel horrible about it, but it's true. That's why I like being with my friends. When I'm with them, the voices leave me alone. I don't have to watch my, for lack of a better word, "family" fall apart.
I hate my house. The other day I found a bunch of cardboard boxes and started packing everything in my room up. Then I realized I'm stuck here another three years. The boxes and garbage bags are strewn around my room, staring at me and telling me to hurry up, hurry up, grow up, get out.
As soon as I get a job, I'm cutting myself off. I'll by my own car, my own clothes, my own gas. I don't even want to eat their food; I'll buy my own. Being dependent on them makes me feel like I'm trapped, owned. I hate it so much here. I love my "family", but they're so messed up and I feel so suffocated. I jsut want to live my own life. I'm tired of them tying me down!
I caught myself doing patterns yesterday. I'm scared I'm crazy too.
Posted by Alex at 4:05 PM
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Posted by Alex at 9:02 PM
I know they're bad for me. But I don't really care. I love them. I love the way M. punches metal signs and brick walls with his metal hands and is so incredibley easy-going. I love how P. teaches me how to fight and always treats me special. I love how K. has conversations with herself and doesn't care if I'm quiet or weird or me. I love how R. quotes movies constantly and gives those looks. And I know where they've all been... All but K. and me. Honestly, I don't care. I feel accepted and at home with them. Everything is just so kicked-back and perfect. Well, no, not perfect. We're just a handful of kids sitting in a garage trying to find a moment of peace in the messed up world. And yeah, we've done things that messed it up more in that garage. But we always go back to it. And I know that it's not considered right, but I don't see why. We're happy there. And it's odd how it ended up, really. Three boys, two girls, and R.'s lady of the week. I wonder what will come of it, and if anything does come of it, who will be with who. Legality and pain and regret and fear and hate and inhibitions all just melt away in the garage. It's my "happy place". I know plenty of people who would be upset about it, but I don't care. I love them and I love our place. It's ours and the world can't penetrate.
Posted by Alex at 7:37 PM
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
I love Tyler. I would love for him to be mine and me to be his.But he would never understand "it". Actually, he probably would. But it scares the shit out of me to even consider telling him. It was the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I would love to just deny that I'm scarred by it, but that's not possible. Sex is normal. It is. But it got so distorted for me; I don't know what to think.
I don't know what it's like to look at him after and feel loved. I don't know what it's like to have the bravery to say "stop". I don't know what it's like to be okay just laying there, or to not cry after, or to not hate every second of it. I don't know what it's like to feel pleasure or to feel close to someone. I just feel used, dirty, miserable, numb. Part of me knows I'm crazy, but I still feel like it's just the price I have to pay.
How could they say that to me? I was eight. They taught me everything, and everything they taught was twisted. It wasn't fair, the way I learned. But life's not fair.
I cannot be with Tyler. Relationships involve sex and I can't tell him my feelings on that. And it wouldn't be fair to him.
I guess "they" were right...
Posted by Alex at 7:17 PM
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The entanglements of scars make it so hard to run away, slapping a vulgar label across my skin. They won't fall into a hush like I would love so much; no, they scream and scream, alleging me for being to grotesquely obese, for being much much too greedy and egotistic, for being foolish, for never learning, for being a slut, a whore, a tramp, for having no self-respect, for actually thinking I deserve even the slightest bit of sympathy when I deserve nothing, for making innumerable mistakes, for causing others pain, for everything I've ever done wrong. The voices ebb and floe. Sometimes they're bearable. Sometimes, they almost disappear. But often, they rip through my veins like a stampede, trampling my heart and brain and stomach and lunges, my tongue, my eyes, my ears, my hands. But mostly my wrists. They pool in my wrists and pulse, having a private rave to drown out my logic. Their songs have one chorus, one beat, one rhythm: worthlessworthlessworthless, worthlessworthlessworthless, worthless fucking piece of shit!The only way to shut them up is bleed them out. But I'm not allowed to do that anymore. The almighty braless bitch says it's wrong to open myself up. But my mother's rare tears let me know that I don't deserve it. That's what enables me to stay sane with their mutterings caged inside of me. Because while the voices excruciate, my mommy's crying eradicates.
Posted by Alex at 4:58 PM
Monday, August 10, 2009
I'm actually not that upset. I just kind of have this, wtf? feeling. I got quite a good angry painting out of it last night.It's a beautiful day and I should go outside. I have exactly two weeks left of summer. It scares the crap out of me. I really, really do not want to go back. It makes me feel sick and anxious to think about it.
I'm trying to find a place for comfort. Is it guitar? Painting? Writing? Music? Photography? A person? I pray it's not a person.
I keep telling myself I don't care but it hurts so badly.
I miss when we were so innocent and we knew nothing of sex and drugs and hate and pain. Life was easy and worry free, when we didn't have to think about hurting or being hurt. We didn't know the evil the world is capable of.
I can't stop crying. They were right and I hate it. I'm terrified.
Posted by Alex at 7:44 AM
Him: Can I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer.Me: Okay.
Him: Are you a virgin?
Me: ... Well, no.
Him: Oh.
Me: Yeah.
Him: Um I have to go eat. Bye.
-Click-
-_-
Posted by Alex at 7:08 AM
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Currently, life's good. (:I got back from Camp MOSH yesterday. It was really amazing. There was this little boy named Steven at the house we were volunteering at. He was just so sweet and loved helping us. He was beaming the whole time. Then one day, he apparently overheard someone say it was hot. So he rode his bike to a gas station and bought us all Popsicles with his own money. He's nine. It was just so endearing. Steven has had a really hard life and he's just a wonderful little boy.
Then there was Sean. God, I'm tearing up just thinking of him. I love him and I've only known him for five days. I remember the first time I noticed him. He was leaning against a wall in the cafeteria waiting in line for food staring at the ceiling like he was way away from here. He looked innocent. Then someone said something to him and he instantly toughened up, went back to his gangster persona. The way I got to go back to his tent was when he offered me a Monster. We sat and talked and drowned out the country music playing at the school with Linkin Park. I found out he was a crack baby. He told me about his life, I told him about mine. It was almost too easy, opening up to him. He smoked, I smoked. Yeah, I smoked. Four cigarettes. Now I'm done. Then there was the things he did behind my back; threatened a guy who liked me because he was afraid I'd stop talking to him, sobbed by himself because he was convinced no one loved him, burned himself and took some Ritalin to shut up the noise inside his head. I can completely relate to him and he makes me want to cry and laugh all at once. He wrapped his sweatshirt around me without me even asking. The thing that captured my attention the most, though, was that he acted like such a hard ass when really he's incredibly vulnerable. If I would have never gotten to know him, I would probably think he's just some asshole poser. But really, he's one of the most amazing and inspirational people ever. I never got to say goodbye to him, though; he got extremely sick and had to go home in the middle of the night. I don't think I'll ever see him again, and it crushes me. I'm now considering becoming a psychologist because of Sean. I want to help people like him. He deserves it... He deserves help. I miss him so much.
-------------
(We're lying in the grass, skipping praise and worship, and his hand is next to mine. I'm tying pieces of grass in knots.)
Him: What are you thinking?
Me: -giggle-
Him: What? Tell me, please?
Me: Well, I'm thinking about you and me. And about what I ate after Warped Tour. And I have Bohemian Rhapsody stuck in my head.
Him: Oh god. -laughs a lot- You're awesome.
Me: Thank you. -grins-
-long comfortable silence-
Him: I want to say what I'm thinking but it would be totally weird and it would ruin everything. I mean, I'm such a freak and you're-
Me: Just say it then. I won't care.
Him: -sighs- Okay, well, you know in Harry Potter when...
And he proceeds to relay a Harry Potter scene when Harry is thinking of how easy it is to grab that golden flying ball thing out of the air but he had such a hard time just grabbing this girl's hand and that's kinda how he feels now...
My heart melted.