Monday, January 15, 2007

Let's slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful

Let's make memories ___________ Backroom Leave your memory Remember me Message me My memories

...Crap. Let's make today my general rant off against existance day, shall we? So where do I start? First, my personal life. I've been having all the wrong thoughts lately and things I thought I'd left behind forever are all of a sudden bubbling back to the surface. And now I'm giving myself shit because I can't believe I let myself forget it all. I can't believe I moved on; moreover, I can't believe I wanted to move on. A year or so ago my greatest wish was for things to change. Jesus, what was I thinking? The grass is always greener on the other side; I'd give anything to have what I had then. I think. Really, I have no clue. God, I just wish there was so much I didn't do. I wish I had the security I had then regardless of everything else. Every little dream I have is making me reconsider everything, and it leads me to wonder, am I this desperate? And then there's my family. We'll be moving back in with my stepdad shortly and I know everyone's not going to get along. Oh, my brother won't be joining us, of course, that would be too explosive and he's too much of a coward to withstand it. He'll be living with my dad, and they'll probably move to San Luis Obispo if my dad gets a job there. So great, the only two of my family members I can stand will be 7 hours away and I'll be left with the two nutcases. I'm just so sick of how my family acts-- how we look like the ideal family, yet below the surface we're as dysfunctional as dysfunctional can be. Let's go through the wringer, shall we? We've got the mother who plays favorites, who never follows through on her promises (I think she's had 3 glasses of wine already tonight), who would sell her soul--and her heart-- for a couple extra dollars, who pressures her reluctant kids to have the life she could never have. The stepdad, the paranoid obsessive compulsive who can go from wallflower to authoritarian as fast as a Mustang goes from 0 to 60. The son, the typical troubled and "misunderstood" teen, the testosterone-fueled delinquent who never pauses to consider what impact his actions have on everyone around him, who more than likely smokes, drinks, and I really don't care what else. The daughter, the progidy, the good child who lives a life no one could have guessed, who's clinically depressed and befriended the razor's edge for no better reason than curiosity. The puppet, the wind-up doll, who knows she'll never meet anyone's expectations but plays along anyway, who never offers an opinion of her own and shies away from family fallouts just so she can keep being the family favorite. And I wonder, am I this desperate? And my grades are dropping, and I feel sick all the time, and I don't act the same around my friends anyone. But they just don't worry about it when I act the way I do. As far as they're concerned, I'll get over it in a matter of days and go back to being the cheery, spastic one I am. They figure, 'just let her be, she'll get over it.' Au contraire, alone I can dull the pain, yes, but I can't cure it. I want to be worried about. I want to be fawned over, I want to be held and told everything's going to be alright even if it won't... I want that so badly that I don't think I care anymore who it is that gives that to me, so long as someone can. And that leaves me to wonder, am I this desperate?

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