No Excuse.

I basically yelled at my e-learning teacher over e-mail.

I was stressed and angry and upset, and she was being extremely unhelpful and constantly made things either too vague (to the point where everyone did something completely different) or too complex (often after everyone had done the assignment, she'd fix the vagueness and make it so specific everyone had to change their work). I'd had enough. I wanted to quit.

I could make excuses all day. I could post some of my rants. I could tell you about how a girl who I'd been nothing but nice to had snapped at me today for very little reason. How my mom is sliding back into that spot where everything explodes. I could excuse, excuse, excuse myself.

But that doesn't make what I did right.

Immediately after I sent my final e-mail (in a long line of anger-filled replies to her unhelpful answers and ignorance of my pleas), I was determined to quit.

And she flipped.

Not flipped like my parents do when they blow up and get angry and attack me.

But flipped, as in switched. As in suddenly she was interested in what was going on and what homework I had from other classes and how stressed I was. And she got helpful.

A few things were sorted out, etc.

But I wasn't done.

Because I couldn't let this all be resolved without me saying that I was sorry.

So I apologized. I told her I was sorry, that I was stressed and angry but that was no excuse for yelling at her like I had, and that no one deserves to be yelled at. And I apologized again.

I meant every word.

And you know, those are two things that my parents never do. They never say they're sorry- they push it away, or act as if it's all over, nothing more needs to be said, or they buy or do something. But they never actually apologize.

And if you can't apologize, how can you mean a single word, let alone them all?

I didn't want to apologize at first- or a part of me didn't. The prideful part. The part that says "Why not just do what your parents do and brush it off?" But there was another part that knew that what I'd done was wrong, and made me see that I should, and had to, apologize.

I'm glad the better side won out.

Don't Just Be Curious.

I never said that I didn't want to talk about it.

It's just that no one has asked anything past "How's it going?"

Anyone can ask "How's it going?"

It takes someone who cares to push farther and say "There's something seriously wrong, what is it, because I care about you and I don't want you to hold this all inside. Please tell me what is really going on."

But perhaps I expect too much?


It's hard.

If everything goes as it should, if there is any right in this world, if everything is "righted," then my mom should be sued. Should be fined. Should have to pay so-much money. Because she is not blameless. She knew the unsafe practices going on and did nothing about them. Furthermore, she tried to hide them.

So if everything goes as it "should," good vs. evil and good wins... My mom should "suffer."

Simple. Except, no. If everything goes as it "should," good vs. evil, I will feel the brunt of it. I, who have done nothing, will be subject to the aftermath of it all. I will suffer abuse from my parents because of it.

I'm an advocate for doing the right thing. Fairness in all things.

And then this happens.

Maybe this is why the world isn't fair- because fairness can lead to unfair consequences, and unfairness can lead to fair consequences.

I don't know who to root for, so I'm just going to bury myself in blankets and wish for it all to be a terrible nightmare.

Burn It Down

Here it goes again.

The downfall.

That feeling when you're in the car and you drive up and down hills. Butterflies, but the deadly kind.


But this time, it's worse. Or it's a different brand of the same old bad.

I see everything falling to pieces already. I see the aftermath that I can't stand. I can see the slippery slope, the tears, the pain.

In part, because of a severed hand. An accident. Bad luck.

I'm terrified. But this is just the beginning.

I enjoyed the peace and happiness while it lasted. It's just hard to go from being on a high, seeing potential in everything, laughing and smiling and eating alright... To this. Seeing the brown grass and the winter-bare trees for what they are now, not what they'll be tomorrow. And being as messed up as before.

I just want to tear it all down now. Skip the suspense. The sooner it's all destroyed, the sooner we can fix it.

I'm not looking forward to the next month and a half. Because I think it will be that long until things turn back to normal. Unless everything really does go to hell.

Then it won't be normal for years.

I don't want to live through that.


You know, I used to believe a lot of things.

I used to believe that if you were a good person, good things would happen to you. Bad things would stay away.

I thought tomorrow was assured. Promises were kept. There's a happy ending at all of this.

Needless to say, I never ever thought that I'd hurt this much.

I didn't know that sometimes the worst thing that can happen is easier to get through than something "small."

I thought there would always be a way. That plans, if you made them, were laws. I thought that nothing could stop me.

I thought if a wall dared pop up in my way, I'd smash it down. I'd be like one of those heroes in books. I'd conquer everything with a slash of a sword or a wave of a wand.

But wall after wall after wall, and now all I can do is look at it, whisper "Oh," and turn around and try to find another path.

It is ever so tiring.

I didn't believe in bad things happening to me.

But that belief, held for years, came crashing down quite suddenly. And it still crumbles in my hand every time I try to grasp it.

I don't know what to do.

I'm going to go drown myself in chocolate.

You stop. But just for now. You promise yourself that you can continue on tomorrow. You say, "Not too long, my darling" to convince yourself not to grasp onto everything with a vise-like grip. So you let go. You breathe. You smile. You don't mind that it's temporarily gone, because soon it will be back. You'll be able to pick up your paintbrush, your pen, your bridle. You'll be able to return in not too long.

But then it slips from your fingers.

And you start to wonder why. Why you once felt so assured. Why it has been taken away. Why to every situation.

Even more, you wonder if you had any such grip on it in the first place.


I hate having the flu.

Second year in a row. I rarely got the flu before this.

My fever finally broke after three-four days, sometime between trying to go to the bathroom then not being able to get back because everything was tipping and I couldn't breathe (1:20 am) and my mom waking me up for the Advil (7:28 am). I got about 5 and a half hours of sleep, by the time I finally sank into oblivion. That's the most continuous sleep I've gotten since this started. Possibly the most sleep, period.

I'm going to go back to sleep, since nothing is on worth watching this early in the morning, and it's a day off from school.

Fake It or Make It.

I hate myself sometimes. I really do. I despise myself, I think I'm needy and selfish and stupid and I ruin lives. I ruin everything, really.

I try not to think this way, I really do. But it's hard.

I want to destroy everything with my hands before I can do it with just being me.

I hate the possibility of pity. I hate the possibility of obligation.

Do I stay honest and possibly put the person on the other end in an awkward position of answering, or do I lie. Keep it all inside.

I feel like I'll destroy it all either way.