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The tragedy I wish I was closer to is actually September 11. I donít have any relatives that lived in New York City at the time and I donít know anyone who died in the tragedy. I feel like itís farther away from me than it should be; I am American and my entire family is from New York, but we none of us lived in that area in 2001. I didnít cry over the tragedy; at the age of thirteen I might still have been too young to fully understand it, but I feel like I should have cried.
My personal 9/11 was April 20. Just the sound of the words 9/11 makes me think of some sort of siren or alarm going off. I always used to think jovially to myself, ďYou know they all called 911 on 9/11.Ē Perverse stupid high school humor that I feel bad about. April 20 is like 9/11 because I could hear the sirens and alarms in my head because I knew what I was doing was wrong and that it would change me, but felt almost as if I had done it beforeÖ like in a past life. It was surreal.
The things that make me want to give upÖ well, itís actually just one thing. Jamie. There are way too many times when I want to give up our relationship, because itís never going back to the way it used to be. We were so innocent, and now we are so dirty. Heís so busy all the time and when heís not busy with work, heís either with his friends or asleep. Is he cheating on me? I donít think so; itís the circumstances conspiring against us. This makes me want to give up, and I could go on forever.
I will not give up today because
- There is always tomorrow
- I have no reason to give up
- I have too much to live for, and too much good is going for me
- I have too many things to do
- There are people who depend upon me
- There are people who love me
- I will feel guilty if I give up on anything prematurely.
- Today deserves an equal chance
- God is watching over me and he will catch me if I fall.
- Today is the greatest day Iíve ever known
I am having feelings and thoughts about pretty much everything, but mostly the sex. If weíre going to talk about IMSADs, then the sex is the one that bothers me the most. Will he wait for me? Because Iím not going to let another April 20 happen as easily as I let the first one in. Thereís no way in hell I will stoop that low again. I feel that the sex is still a predominant issue and Operation 1 in 7 is working, but will it sustain us until Iím ready? Will it be broken in the near future?
Being cursed reminds me of the book Thinner by Stephen King. This really fat dude was cursed by a gypsy and he got thinner and thinner rapidly. Thatís all Iím going to tell of the plot, in case you have never read the book. I donít believe in curses, but I do believe that they are something you can do to yourself, kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you believe you are cursed, then you will be. I like to think of it in terms of the Wiccan religion, or something like that. I believe in prayers, not curses.
I donít see the daily happenings in my life as curses or blessings; I see them as choices I have to make in order to get where I want to be. Thatís hard because Iím not sure I even know where I want to be yet. I think of everything that happens in one day as things that can influence the outcome of other days or the lives of other people. Itís all relative to how you see the day; if you see the happenings as blessings, they will be good. If you see them as curses, theyíll be bad.
When I have a difficulty with a friend or a loved one, itís more than likely my boyfriend. All these little things about him annoy the hell out of me and I donít know why. Itís little ridiculous things, too. Heíll start acting immature in the middle of a mature discussion, and he canít stay on one topic for too long, or heíll get bored. When weíre walking around in a store, heíll try and be in a million places at once, and heís too restless. Iím getting tired of trying to keep up with him, and itís becoming difficult.
A recent conflict I had was with my boyfriend, about those same stupid things. This is actually a real conflict; weíve been dating for three years and we have not had sex yet. I am waiting until marriage. He wants to marry me. The question is why does he want to marry me? Is it to hurry up and get to the sex, or is it because he really wants to spend the rest of his life with me, a nagging Catholic girl? He claims to be agnostic, and Iím really not into that. I wish he would change sometimes.
In my dreams (not my daydreams, but my dreams at night) I am trying to get over my penis envy. No lie. My psyche is very sexually frustrated and all of that is getting into my subconscious and bleeding into my life while Iím awake. If it wasnít for the dreams, Iíd probably go insane. Iím trying to fulfill my basic needs in my dreams; sometimes, I dream that I am starving, but all the food goes to my brother or to someone else. I never get any food in the dream. Other times, I dream I am a whore.
The other person in my dreams is usually Jamie or Justin. As of now, itís Thomas and I still do not know why. The other personís dream is not to be with me. When I dream of sex, itís me pushing the guy down and forcing him to give it to me. Not the other way around; sometimes I get the guyís pleasure or feedback, and most of the time I donít. It depends on whether or not I know itís a dream. Recently, the guy knows itís me heís fucking and he likes it, but other times, heís apathetic.
The four things I care about most are my family, my religion, my schoolwork, and my writing. And my boyfriend. Actually thatís five things, but they are my priorities. I guess I might as well include my boyfriend with my family, because I feel like heís practically family. We may get married soon, we may not. I donít want to, but wherever the Holy Spirit takes me, that is where I shall go. I think my schoolwork is actually my top priority; because if I have school, I got to school before anything else. I try my best. Itíll benefit.
My religion is a warm shower to cleanse me, my family is my safety net, my schoolwork is my plane ticket to the future, and my writing is my magnum opus. Those arenít very good metaphors, but Iíve been poetic enough for one day. Jamie can be the keeper of perspective. Technically he is third keeper, after my family and after God. Keepers all hold the perspective. That sounds like a line from a Sword of Truth novel. I know that my religion cleanses me because I feel better and more moral for having a religion in the first place.
A secret is a secret! Come on, people! Donít go telling everyoneís secrets all over creation! Thatís the best way to lose a friend; by telling their secrets to the whole world! That is what I think of when the word Ďsecretsí comes to mind. Betrayal. I have lots of secrets, but Iíve never told anyone hardly any. Jamie knows a lot of them, but I feel that I can trust him, along with Cindy, who knows a few. I have been betrayed by people I thought were friends in the past, mostly because of secrets they could not keep.
Jamie once said he wanted to read my mind. If he did, heíd find out about all the shitty things Iíve been thinking about him lately. His heart would be broken, and it would all be because of his own curiosity. I donít think he would want to read my mind anymore than I would want to read his. Who knows what nasty, perverted shit heís been thinking. If he or if anyone else knew that, theyíd be like WHAT?? His parents donít have a clue that Iím babysitting him all the time. I think I have officially lost patience.
The thing that would surprise those closest to me is probably the fact that Iím confused more than 80% of the time. Iím not confused in school or with schoolwork, but Iím frustrated because I canít see the future. Right now, Iíve got the Know, but Iím not sure that I want it anymore. Iím not sure on anything, and I wish I had some concrete answers so Iíd quit being so confused. The thing that bothers me the most is that Iím afraid to fail and make the wrong decisions and fuck up my whole life. Is it normal?
I feel so fat. I look at myself in the mirror and I see this humungous fat bitch. My butt is flabby, my legs are flabby, and my thighs rub together when I walk. No wonder no guys find me attractiveÖ I am so ugly and disgusting compared to the blond goddesses that rule my high school. At the rate Iím going, I will be a forty year old, overweight virgin. I would give anything just to lose this weight. I am currently on a diet, but I get so tempted to break it! Being fat is just not fair.
A happy little secret is something I carry around whenever I am in love. Around this timeÖ five years ago, I was carrying around a few happy little secrets because I thought the TBs were falling in love with me. I let those thoughts buoy me up throughout the day, and so remained blissful, in a state of feelings you get from imagining hypothetical or idealistic images of people. None of the love was real, but it was a beautiful secret because it kept me alive and gave me a reason to go to that shithole school in the morning.
I donít know a secret that everyone knows. If everyone knows it, then itís not a secret anymore, right? I guess the secret everyone knows is the Holocaust. It was supposed to be this big huge secret that only the perpetrators knew about, but in reality, everyone knew. They deluded themselves into believing that the extermination camps were really sausage factories. They knew that people were dying there daily, but they did not reveal the secret, to keep their lives. The Nazis thought they had everyone fooled, but the only ones they were fooling were themselves. Thatís the sad reality.
My mom was diagnosed with cancer in the summer of 2006. She had breast cancer and decided to undergo a mastectomy rather than go through chemotherapy. She was strong and pulled through, but when I first found out she was sick, it was like I knew it would happen. I seriously had this intuition about it. I think I might have been reading a book about it or something, and the next day my dad comes up to me and tells me the news. While reading the book, I was wondering, what if something like that happened to my mom?
A miracle is supposed to be an act of God. Miracles do happen, and I believe that with faith in God, your life can consist of miracle after miracle. Itís all in how you view things. Anything wonderful that happens in your life, or a prayer that has been answeredÖ those are all miracles. A miracle can be something out of the ordinary. But we should never pray directly for a miracle. God doesnít work like that; heíll answer your prayer in a way that was completely unexpected, and you can consider that a miracle. Thatís the way He works.
I have already written about what I have never said. Itís all in my journal. Most of that stuff I have never said, and will never dare to say in front of anyone. Itís eye opening and embarrassing and hair-raising and sexyÖ itís just too much. If someone who thought they knew me well, like Jamie or my parents read all that stuff, theyíd either be appalled or disgusted or surprised. I can be a pretty nasty person at times and my journal is testament to that. It also shows the softer side of me that I barely ever reveal.
The awful stuff was probably the times dad blew up at me because of Jamie, and the times Jamie blew up at me because of the shyness and the anger, and because he was stressed out. The times when the jealousy kicked my ass, the times the anger kicked his ass; all those times were the worst; the most awful. A time in seventh grade when I didnít pay for my bowling. A time in eighth grade when I instigated the tragedies upon Craig. A time in ninth grade when I met Kevin and started falling for him; many others.
Being left out is hard. When I was a little girl, I always felt left out, even when I was invited to birthday parties and stuff like that. I felt like the odd one. My dad said he came to pick me up from a birthday party when I was seven, and all the other little girls were hitting the piŮata, and I was standing there alone, not doing anything. I remember that birthday party vaguely, and how I felt like I did not fit in. I had just moved from New York, and felt like the only non-redneck there.
Being in the dark is interestingÖ my new story is going to be about darkness, even more so than the two I wrote before it. You know how some authors have a recurring theme that runs through all their novelsÖ that is how I am going to be, and darkness is my theme. There are two different kinds of darkness; the darkness within oneís own soul and the darkness of night, or a physical darkness. My story is going to deal with both kinds of darkness and how they relate to the human mind and what people do at night.
Justin doesnít have a clue how much I miss him. We were talking about stem-changing verbs in Spanish today, and one of those verbs was volver, which means ďto returnĒ. Justin and I used to have a little inside joke dealing with that verb. Two years later, he goes away to the air force, and I wonder when and if he will ever return to North Carolina permanently, or at least for a visit longer than ten days. I keep remembering how we used to walk together and what all our little inside jokes used to beÖ such good memories.
The person who will live in my room ten years from nowÖ I hope it wonít be me. Nobody will live in my room, except for the cat because I donít think my parents are going to sell the house unless I get accepted to one of the Mountain Colleges. Then they will move to follow me and I donít really want that to happen. I need my own life, and being alone will be better for me in the long run. I really donít want to be living in the same house ten years from now. Iíll be married.
I do not feel crowded often. I am not the claustrophobic type. I remember a time in elementary school when we were so small, the bus driver could fit three of us in one seat. Or, if the kids were really little, like in kindergarten, four could fit in one seat. That was being crowded, especially when your seat mates were squirming around and trying to shove you out. That happened a lot when you sat on the outside, closer to the aisle. I always tried to grab the window seat, mostly because I liked to look out the window.
The house I live in now used to be painted this lavender color, but now itís kind of an off-white. Itís a one story house, and relatively nice and cozy, but my mother rarely puts the heat on except at night, but the a/c is always on in the summer. My house is literally surrounded by trees. You canít see it in the summer and in the end of spring. The only thing you see is the driveway and the mailbox. I like it like that; itís private and our next door neighbor doesnít live six feet away from us.
I have a lot of favorite places. Tengo muchas lugares favoritas. My most favorite is my room, and my favorite after that is possibly the library, and then Jamieís house. I do not really have a favorite restaurant; there are too many. ButÖ my most favorite place of all I have mentioned many times before; the Seven Place. My heart literally belongs there forever, as with the rest of me and my childish innocence that still remains from the lost year. The death of my love resides there, and my humble beginnings as the creator of my own intricate madness.
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