tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5117459908661008982024-03-04T23:37:12.410-08:00Some kind of ParadiseI had a Once Upon A Time.
Truly, I did.
Now I'm looking for my
Happily Ever After.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.comBlogger365125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-23463203151139444692011-04-12T14:03:00.000-07:002011-04-12T14:03:26.926-07:00What Do You See?I have to wonder if you see them differently now.<br />
<br />
Now that you know.<br />
<br />
To assume that perhaps you don't believe it- that just doesn't fit. How could you not?<br />
<br />
So what do you think when you see them with their masks on, knowing that is what they wear- their masks they cling to with every fiber of their being. What<em> do</em> you see? Do you see the ties ending in a looping bow at the backs of their heads? Do you see the distortion between frames?<br />
<br />
I guess I'm asking,<br />
<br />
<em>Is what you see and what is real finally colliding? Or do doubts still linger?</em><br />
<br />
Cause they still linger for me. And I'll try not to hate you if you still have your doubts. But I guess I'm looking for someone who is sure. Who knows what's going on and doesn't think that maybe, perhaps, it's all in my mind.<br />
<br />
It might be too much to ask, still.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-20171295207970223992011-04-09T20:18:00.000-07:002011-04-09T20:18:50.395-07:00The Leaving ThingI hate the phrase, "Well, everyone feels that way."<br />
<br />
I didn't say they didn't. I was just explaining how I felt. I know others feel the same way. But it's not like you can really fit that in to a conversation without feeling like you're stating the obvious.<br />
<br />
I don't know what I'm getting at.<br />
<br />
I just... I get attached to people. And I hate it when they leave.<br />
<br />
And if I say that to anyone, they say "Well, duh. Everyone feels that way."<br />
<br />
But I'm just stating. Getting it out there. I don't want to start all over again. Please don't make me. But there's no choice.<br />
<br />
This is how life goes.<br />
<br />
It's for the best, really.<br />
<br />
Still sad, though. I could really use a person to talk to right now. Someone who knows my story, so I don't have to explain and back track to where all this relates.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-37781511001446846332011-04-07T21:59:00.000-07:002011-04-07T21:59:54.881-07:00Je suis une ananasI remember way back in grade 4 or 5, when we first started learning French, we watched this silly little french kid's show. <br />
<br />
I had already known one word in French since grade 2. "<i>Chat</i>." My brother taught me it by sound, so I always thought it was spelled "<i>Shat</i>" and would wonder why my teachers would mark it wrong. I'd use it whenever I could, only knowing that it meant cat and sounded so much cooler since no one else knew it. The same thing happened with multiplication and fractions- my brother would teach me the basics when he would learn them, and then I'd be so great at them for the first few lessons when we finally got to try them, and then later on... Well, I dropped French in grade 10 (the earliest I could) and I had to go down to college level math in grade 10, too. Funny how things turn out, huh?<br />
<br />
Well, the first whole sentence my class got to learn came from this silly show that starred a pineapple. I bet you can guess what the phrase was, especially if you remember watching it as well.<br />
<br />
"<i>Je suis un/une ananas!</i>"<br />
<br />
Oh what fun we had. We ran around for weeks calling ourselves a pineapple, our friends a pineapple, everyone a pineapple. Even before we learned to conjugate, we'd call other people pineapples by saying "<i>You suis un/une ananas!</i>" or "<i>You are an ananas!</i>" Phrases that would make many a French teacher cringe at the butchering of their beloved language.<br />
<br />
But us? We kids? We found it awesome.<br />
<br />
And it carried with us. We were all different, and everyone had been the brunt of a cruel joke, and everyone had been on the whacker end of it, through the years (very few people moved out, and very few people moved in, so until middle school (which was a huge shocker for all of us) we were all friends and enemies and knew each other's parents and sometimes grandparents). But no matter how long since that first lesson, if you said "<i>Je suis un/une ananas!</i>" or any of its conjugations, those from our grade way back then would smile, and we'd know.<br />
<br />
We could remember the shouts of glee from years past in that one moment.<br />
<br />
And sometimes, someone would respond, "<i>Non,<b> tu </b>as un/une ananas!</i>"<br />
<br />
And it was <i><u>on.</u></i>Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-48655917483910603472011-04-04T14:28:00.000-07:002011-04-04T14:28:29.543-07:00I WishToday's been a hard day.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'd do anything to stay at Terri's again.<br />
<br />
But I won't.<br />
<br />
I just remember the coyote, sleeping without fear, eating pizza, sitting on her couch. The memories hurt and they sting, and they're the memories I honestly thought wouldn't do this to me.<br />
<br />
I kind of feel heartbroken.<br />
<br />
I woke up today at 4am to a huge crash of thunder that shook the whole house and continued and continued and continued.<br />
<br />
I thought I was going to die. I hadn't heard thunder in so long, and in my disoriented state...<br />
<br />
I know my mind shot to the questions it always does when I wake up at such a time: Am I next? Is my mom coming after me? What will she say now? Will I feel like killing myself again?<br />
<br />
I don't want to fear my parents anymore. I didn't fear my parents at Terri's, and now it's blocked off to me.<br />
<br />
I wish... part of me wishes I never asked for her help. But I don't really mean that.<br />
<br />
I just wish it didn't turn out this way. I wish I knew why it did.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-33214130611738880292011-04-03T15:26:00.000-07:002011-04-03T18:51:21.898-07:00I can't take your pushes anymore."Where does this go?"<br />
<br />
"Um... I don't know."<br />
<br />
"Well, there's your mom, why don't you ask?"<br />
<br />
"... I'd rather not."<br />
<br />
-<br />
<br />
"Ask your mom about it."<br />
<br />
"Uhm... She's not in a very good mood so I'd rather not."<br />
<br />
"Oh."<br />
<br />
-<br />
<br />
"She's going too fast calling out the numbers! I can't keep up! Do something!"<br />
<br />
"No! I can't. I wish I could but I can't."<br />
<br />
"Why not? Just do it!"<br />
<br />
"Because it's just not worth it. She'll either snap at me for being a selfish, impatient bitch or she'll use it against me later."<br />
<br />
"How do you even know that if you won't go ask?"<br />
<br />
"Because I've been in similar situations before, and this is how it goes!"<br />
<br />
"Just do it! My god."<br />
<br />
"No! Don't even bring it up, or I could get in trouble."<br />
<br />
"Yeah right. You're overreacting."<br />
<br />
-<br />
<br />
All. Day. This, all day.<br />
<br />
Didn't you hear her snap on me for asking YOUR question about the types of soup?<br />
<br />
Didn't you see her throw a knife and two potatoes at the wall after Grandma commented on the knife she was using being too long (it was awkward to handle when you're peeling)?<br />
<br />
Don't you see her looking for someone to release her anger on?<br />
<br />
Don't you feel that tension?<br />
<br />
And if you don't, then can't you just believe me that it's safer to keep quiet, to let her do her thing, than to have to be a pariah in my own house? To be called every name in the book? To be punished by both parents when I have done nothing wrong?<br />
<br />
Haven't I told you enough stories? Won't you just finally<i> believe</i> me?<br />
<br />
Instead, you insist it's my fault. That this will all get better when I become better, or remove myself entirely. You insist that the stories I tell are exaggerations.<br />
<br />
I'm honestly tired of being your friend. Because that isn't what you are to me at all.<br />
<br />
I give up.<br />
<br />
And thanks, by the way. I asked you not to make a big deal about her calling too fast, and then you flung it in her face the<i> second you had a chance</i>. I told you. I<b> begged</b> you to<u> just let it go</u>. And now she's most likely going to project that opinion onto me, though I didn't say anything, and use it against me in an argument.<br />
<br />
I begged you to believe me, so many times. Each time, you pushed it away. I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to have to go through this again. But I'm stronger now, and if I want to keep healing, I can't have you around, doing this to me.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-66481646784219995732011-04-03T14:28:00.000-07:002011-04-03T14:28:41.218-07:00PassingsI have been to two funerals in my life. Both of them for people I hardly knew. My grandfather on my mother's side, who was abusive to his immediate family and intimidating and scary to me (my only memory of him from when I must have been 4 or 5 is a big man cloaked in shadows with my uncle Bill trailing behind him as he walks by me playing in the kitchen and disappearing down the stairs). My aunt's husband who was kind, but my mom disliked her sister and we never really saw them much.<br />
<br />
To think of it, they both died in cars. Not in car accidents, specifically, but at lights. I think my grandfather was in a car with my uncle Bill and had a heart attack while driving, and they might have been in a crash. My aunt's husband was at a stoplight and had a stroke or heart attack of some kind.<br />
<br />
I've always been kind of removed, you know? It's an uncomfortable feeling. You don't even know what you're feeling, or what you're supposed to feel.<br />
<br />
Then one of my friends' friends died. I knew him a little, mainly from playing cards in the library once with everyone. What was I supposed to say? Feel? I felt scared, lost... I think I cried a little but I didn't know if I was supposed to cry if I'd never really, truly known him.<br />
<br />
I've got a lot of uncles. Not all of them are really uncles. More like good friends of the family. I think we've got three or four. We had three or four. One of them got pushed out of the circle by my mother. <br />
<br />
One of them, my Uncle Ken, came from England. Has such a heavy English accent that half the time I can't even understand what he's saying.<br />
<br />
He was lying on the floor of his apartment for three days, unable to move. The Superintendent found him and called 911 today. He was sent to Mac and then his condition deteriorated and now he's heavily assisted by a breathing machine.<br />
<br />
His son can't fly over till the 22nd. That's 19 days away. I don't think anyone believes he'll survive that long.<br />
<br />
I wasn't ever really close to my uncle Ken. Or, perhaps I was when I was young, but not anymore. I remember once he got me a doll from England with wide eyes that blinked and moved depending on how you tilted the head. I believe that doll gave me nightmares. He also often brought back small double-decker buses painted red with real advertisements around them.<br />
<br />
We invited him over every Boxing Day, Christmas, and Christmas Eve, and we took him with us for Thanksgiving. He was invited over at other times too. But he was always a step removed from everything, and I wanted to include him but couldn't understand him with his accent, so I'd just make it worse.<br />
<br />
He was kind though. Always kind.<br />
<br />
I don't really know how to feel.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-91583420066450580142011-04-02T23:23:00.000-07:002011-04-02T23:23:02.522-07:00A Memory: Coffee, Pennies and Duct TapeYou know what I remember?<br />
<br />
The day before my friend's birthday.<br />
<br />
Me and M and S all went to get his present. It involved four of those large cans of Maxwell coffee grind, and 15$ in pennies.<br />
<br />
We had the bank tellers laughing at our intentions, but they exchanged the money happily.<br />
<br />
We carted it back to my house, or I think perhaps my brother picked us up. S went home, M stayed.<br />
<br />
We found a box. A huge box. Set it on my bed and taped all the seams. lined the inside with tin foil, scotch tape, and duct tape. Messed up a thousand times. We didn't know what we were doing exactly, just that we were doing it and we were making it up along the way.<br />
<br />
Grouped pennies together in ones, twos, threes, and sometimes fours and wrapped them in little pieces of siran wrap, because we were worried the copper would get into the coffee and make it toxic, or the copper would end up doing some weird coffee-oxidizing thing and mess everything up.<br />
<br />
Tossed the covered pennies into the bottom of the box. Opened all the cans of coffee, poured them out in the box, re-lidded them and wondered what to do. Fit them all in at the top, completely obscuring the sea of coffee grinds. Closed the box. Taped it up.<br />
<br />
But that wasn't enough.<br />
<br />
I forget all the layers. There was a layer of plain scotch tape. another layer, I think, of siran wrap and/or tin foil, and then an impressive double layer of heavy duty duct tape that made so much noise, my father told us to quiet down. Which only made us laugh louder.<br />
<br />
Said good bye, waved her off from my front porch. Stared at the box defiantly. Wondered where the heck I was going to put it.<br />
<br />
Got my brother to drive us to the party. Lugged the box in and down a deadly flight of stairs.<br />
<br />
The party sucked. I remember that. Awkward, because of a break up, and I found no point in Guitar Hero. Still don't, honestly. Or at least, no point for me. I rather dislike it.<br />
<br />
But the presents opening.<br />
<br />
He cheated, our friend. Took his pro exacto knife to the box and had it open in seconds. But we weren't done. He saw the cans. Laughed, said thank you, then picked one up. Empty. And beneath it, darkness.<br />
<br />
Laughter. Hanging off each other, Me and M and S could hardly stand up. The look on his face was priceless, though I can't remember it now. He picked up each one. "Well... at least I won't need to buy coffee for a while!" he joked. But that still wasn't all.<br />
<br />
We told him to dig. Dig like he'd never dug before, till he felt something. So he dug, and pulled out a poorly-designed sack half filled with coffee grinds despite our best efforts. Opened it up, saw the pennies.<br />
<br />
"There's about 14,997 in there. We think we lost about 3," we explained. "Good luck unwrapping them all and getting people to take it."<br />
<br />
For the next two months, M was volunteering at the school store. Our friend paid for everything he bought in rolls of 100 pennies.<br />
<br />
He told us the actual total. Something like 14,987 or so.<br />
<br />
Others thought it was too cruel, but this was payback for a trick present on S earlier that month. Us four, we <i>got</i> it. We understood it. And we laughed the truest and the hardest at it. He got us back, of course, but that was part of the fun.<br />
<br />
It never happened again, but I like to think I'll always remember this memory.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-61018790212367775862011-04-01T20:04:00.000-07:002011-04-01T20:04:26.831-07:00The Things I'd Tell YouI want to tell you that I'm scared about the possibility of a fine to my mother. I'm scared of what's going to happen if it goes through. If I'm even going to survive that.<br />
<br />
I want to tell you that some days I don't eat. That I'm working on fixing it, but still there are days that I don't feel like I deserve it.<br />
<br />
I want to tell you that I'm scared of asking for your support, because I don't know what the cost is. And though I'd love to ask, to have someone hug me again, I just can't handle the downfall. The way you go when things look up for me, and the urgency isn't on anymore, and there's finally no pressure saying you have to do this. Only, "Do you <i>really</i> want to help her?"<br />
<br />
You won't ever say the truth. And I want to believe what you say with all my heart, but there it is.<br />
<br />
Because when I can finally stand strong, everyone seems to think I don't need support anymore.<br />
<br />
And I'm here wanting to tell you that you're wrong.<br />
<br />
But I can't bring myself to.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-29342208612530225132011-04-01T11:33:00.000-07:002011-04-01T11:33:13.647-07:00SpecialI guess it's kind of sad to say that I'd hate my father if he wasn't my father.<br />
<br />
But you know what's really sad?<br />
<br />
When I realize that I wouldn't hate him. Because if I wasn't his daughter, he wouldn't treat me as bad as he does.<br />
<br />
He doesn't treat anyone else like this.<br />
<br />
Should I take it as flattery? That I'm special?<br />
<br />
If this is what special is, special sucks.<br />
<br />
Special is also such a weird word. I mean, LOOK at it.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-91938709038967907652011-03-25T20:41:00.000-07:002011-03-25T20:41:43.676-07:00No Excuse.I basically yelled at my e-learning teacher over e-mail.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
But that doesn't make what I did right.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And she flipped.<br />
<br />
Not flipped like my parents do when they blow up and get angry and attack me.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
A few things were sorted out, etc.<br />
<br />
But I wasn't done.<br />
<br />
Because I couldn't let this all be resolved without me saying that I was sorry.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I meant every word.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And if you can't apologize, how can you mean a single word, let alone them all?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I'm glad the better side won out.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-29319013104106586152011-03-22T11:15:00.000-07:002011-03-22T11:15:18.455-07:00Don't Just Be Curious.I never said that I didn't want to talk about it.<br />
<br />
It's just that no one has asked anything past "How's it going?"<br />
<br />
Anyone can ask "How's it going?"<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
But perhaps I expect too much?Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-82989516173393215182011-03-20T10:33:00.000-07:002011-03-20T10:33:49.987-07:00NightmareIt's hard.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So if everything goes as it "should," good vs. evil and good wins... My mom should "suffer."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I'm an advocate for doing the right thing. Fairness in all things.<br />
<br />
And then this happens.<br />
<br />
Maybe this is why the world isn't fair- because fairness can lead to unfair consequences, and unfairness can lead to fair consequences.<br />
<br />
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.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-41214899129658663162011-03-19T21:13:00.000-07:002011-03-19T21:13:41.835-07:00Burn It DownHere it goes again.<br />
<br />
The downfall.<br />
<br />
That feeling when you're in the car and you drive up and down hills. Butterflies, but the deadly kind.<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
But this time, it's worse. Or it's a different brand of the same old bad.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
In part, because of a severed hand. An accident. Bad luck.<br />
<br />
I'm terrified. But this is just the beginning.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I just want to tear it all down now. Skip the suspense. The sooner it's all destroyed, the sooner we can fix it.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Then it won't be normal for years.<br />
<br />
I don't want to live through that.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-62390657828007250552011-03-18T17:59:00.000-07:002011-03-18T17:59:48.452-07:00WallsYou know, I used to believe a lot of things.<br />
<br />
I used to believe that if you were a good person, good things would happen to you. Bad things would stay away.<br />
<br />
I thought tomorrow was assured. Promises were kept. There's a happy ending at all of this.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I never ever thought that I'd hurt this much.<br />
<br />
I didn't know that sometimes the worst thing that can happen is easier to get through than something "small."<br />
<br />
I thought there would always be a way. That plans, if you made them, were laws. I thought that nothing could stop me.<br />
<br />
I thought if a wall<i> dared</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It is ever so tiring.<br />
<br />
I didn't believe in bad things happening to me.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I don't know what to do.</i>Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-27083142406894596032011-03-18T16:30:00.000-07:002011-03-18T16:30:48.129-07:00I'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.<br />
<br />
But then it slips from your fingers.<br />
<br />
And you start to wonder why. Why you once felt so assured. Why it has been taken away. Why to every situation.<br />
<br />
Even more, you wonder if you had any such grip on it in the first place.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-49698555660101679712011-03-04T05:07:00.000-08:002011-03-04T05:07:12.626-08:00FluI hate having the flu.<br />
<br />
Second year in a row. I rarely got the flu before this.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-37176576733080763812011-03-01T10:35:00.000-08:002011-03-01T10:35:57.862-08:00Fake 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.<br />
<br />
I try not to think this way, I really do. But it's hard.<br />
<br />
I want to destroy everything with my hands before I can do it with just being me.<br />
<br />
I hate the possibility of pity. I hate the possibility of obligation.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'll destroy it all either way.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-78191429987860947692011-02-27T18:20:00.000-08:002011-02-27T18:20:17.648-08:00Dust Yourself OffYou know what is so heart-lifting at the same time it crushes you so completely?<br />
<br />
Heading to the Sage Camp Friday, I sit beside a woman and chatting with her between long periods of silence, as we'd never even seen each other before. All of the sudden, I get a text. I think it's from Jenni as I've been freaking out to her for the past hour and a half. But no. I see my barn's name. It's Terri.<br />
<br />
(I keep it as the professional name for possible excuse purposes, if you wanted to know.)<br />
<br />
I'm hit with what else I could be doing instead of heading to an unknown location and unknown everything. I could have asked to stay at her place. I could be at home now, alone for my parents would have headed down to the cottage. I could be getting ready to muck out stalls the next day.<br />
<br />
Why is Terri texting me? And here it is, word for word:<br />
<br />
<i>"Good luck with your weekend retreat! Hope it goes well!"</i><br />
<br />
And all I can think of now is how this person who isn't related to me, has no reason to care about where I am or what I'm doing or even how I am doing, <i>does</i> care. While my own flesh and blood don't honestly give a damn to know, and if they did, there would be war. Furthermore, Terri remembered. I talked to her about it all of twice, once two weeks ago, and once the week before that.<br />
<br />
I felt lonely and grateful and wanted and hated all at once.<br />
<br />
I said something like thanks and told her I was nervous, and she replied with:<br />
<br />
<i>"Don't be nervous just be your pleasant polite self!" [sic]</i><br />
<br />
Which makes me a little more confident and happy because she knows what my parents say- pleasant and polite are the last words they'd use to describe me though I try so hard. <br />
<br />
It broke me apart and held me together at the same time. Weird how that can happen, huh?Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-56022871612054422962011-02-25T11:53:00.000-08:002011-02-25T11:53:58.088-08:00Pieces of the ImpossibleI don't think you understand how badly I want to go back there. It feels like a place I belong. But it's so far away. So far, it's impossible to stay.<br />
<br />
Part of a dream. A piece of a wish.<br />
<br />
Oh, if I could. If I could.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-35059314572675619202011-02-18T14:53:00.000-08:002011-02-18T14:53:28.601-08:00Strength, ComfortTruth is, since the night I broke, I've been coasting.<br />
<br />
Or, that's how I see it. In a way.<br />
<br />
You don't know how strong you really are until being strong is the only thing left.<br />
<br />
And I haven't really had to be as strong as I've had to be in the past. But I know that this lull, this support, it all can't last.<br />
<br />
So do I stand up and be stronger, be more like that person I was when I had to be, so I'm ready for the fall? Or should I enjoy this little comfort for as long as it lasts?Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-41206963804266658892011-02-12T19:29:00.000-08:002011-02-12T19:30:58.810-08:00Your Lost Right<b>No.</b><br />
<br />
You don't get to know where I've been all day.<br />
<br />
You don't get to know where I've gone for the night.<br />
<br />
You don't get to know how I feel or how I'm holding up, if ever you ask.<br />
<br />
You don't<i> get</i> to know.<br />
<br />
Because as far as I am concerned, you cut all right to know what's going on when you told me you<i> don't care</i> what goes on anymore.<br />
<br />
So yeah.<br />
<br />
It's none of your<i> damn </i>business.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-17692372535601047772011-02-12T18:30:00.000-08:002011-02-12T18:30:56.455-08:00Stats<i>I froze until I couldn't feel my ears</i>: 4 <i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Stalls I mucked: </i>10<br />
<i>Times I swear I sprained my wrists all over again:</i> 6<br />
<i>Of my candy stash that Paul ate, thinking they were Terri's: </i>1/2<br />
<i>Allergic reaction to the hay: </i>1 immediate, 1 delayed.<br />
<i>Pieces of straw blown down my shirt: </i>too many to count.<br />
<i>Times I realized that white boots aren't the greatest to wear while mucking out stalls:</i> 7<br />
<i>Cursed the cold both outwardly and inwardly: </i>25+<br />
<i>Sank so deep in the snow it went over the tops of my boots (which are quite tall): </i>3<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Paperwork that I got done:</i> 0<i><br />
</i><i><br />
</i><br />
<i>+Took a bus I've never taken before in the middle of the dark to a place I didn't know the location of.</i><br />
<i>+I'm kind of in a lot of pain right now...</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Times I got told I'm a life saver: </i>3<br />
<i>Times I overheard someone telling someone else I was a life saver:</i> 2<br />
<i>Times I got told I was doing a good job: </i>3<br />
<i>Times I heard "thank you": </i>10+<br />
<i>Times I smiled:</i> I think I rarely stopped smiling<i>.</i><br />
<i>People I talked to that I normally wouldn't: </i>5<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>+Got to eat pizza with Terri.</i><br />
<i>+Learned that Terri loves talk shows and Self-Help shows/books.</i><br />
<i>+Learned more about Terri's family, like how her grandpa used to make computer programs for himself (to do taxes and more) from scratch, even though computers were a new thing when he was 80.</i><br />
<i>+Got to hang out with Brianna and Gizmo (Terri's and Paul's dogs)</i><br />
<i>+Slept pretty well for not being in my own bed. Slept better than I often do, actually.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Times I nearly hyperventilated waiting for this weekend: </i>Several times, every day.<br />
<i>Times I nearly backed out:</i> 15+<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>How glad I am I didn't back out? </i>You can't even imagine. <br />
<br />
The best weekend I've had in a long long time.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-84127437016438981862011-02-11T09:23:00.000-08:002011-02-11T09:23:45.272-08:00PityI hate it when people do things for me because they feel obligated to. Such obligations breed resentment, and I don't want to be a source of that. And I know it's their choice, but don't I get a choice in the matter? Don't I get the choice of whether someone eventually hates me and leaves me, or letting that obligation go and keeping everything together?<br />
<br />
It kind of seems, right now, like everything I touch turns into ash.<br />
<br />
I don't want to destroy any more ties. I don't want to make those who I care for the most hate me.<br />
<br />
Is the answer, then, to keep away? Keep a safe distance? Don't let anyone get too close or know too much?Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-49964801170772326762011-02-08T16:17:00.000-08:002011-02-08T16:17:47.608-08:00AnxietyOnly one near-panic attack today.<br />
<br />
It's getting better, finally.<br />
<br />
I really don't want another panic attack. I don't know if you can even imagine how much I don't want to have another. Not here, not where no one cares and no one knows and no one listens, where there's only people who bring it all about.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-511745990866100898.post-72455489239066743302011-02-08T11:06:00.000-08:002011-02-08T11:06:01.159-08:00ChoicesSometimes, even when everything is falling apart around you, and there's a dark thing chasing you through the streets, you just don't want to run anymore. You don't want to hear the noise your shoes make as they pound the pavement. That's when you have to decide what to do- keep running, hide, or stop and face it all.Ammietia (a girl you once knew)http://www.blogger.com/profile/14161491597399249940noreply@blogger.com0