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High School - Blog Posts
My friends practicing flirting
"Hey, pretend to be pretty for a second."
"I'm gonna pretend i wanna kiss you for some reason."
"Make eye contact with me!"
You still sit in front of me in English class, and it kills me a little bit more every time I have to watch you read out loud. Passage by passage, word by word sentence by sentence.
I feel used.
I feel ashamed.
You meant so much to me yet you threw me away like I was disposable. Like I was garbage. Maybe that is all I am to you. Was it for the money? Was it because I let you use my cell phone? Was it because I made you look less pathetic in comparison? Ten fucking years and 5 calls to CPS yet once the summer ended it was like I didn't exist anymore. So yeah, sit with your annoying friends and complain about how shitty your life is. I for one, know about the lies, the exaggerations, the manipulations. Just last year you had practically convinced me that every little inconvenience was my fault.
Enjoy your friends, enjoy being popular, enjoy not having me around, the only person who didn't just have you around because of pity. I wish I could tell you right now just how I feel. I try not to cry about it but the tears run down my cheeks regardless. You were my best friend, my sister, my everything, but I was nothing. You used me up until I was nothing left, treated me like my depression and anxiety were nothing to you and wouldn't even apologize. Everytime I just wanted a second to myself you'd cry and make me feel bad like the child you are. I hope you feel this right now, the pain I feel every day because of you. Part of me still misses you, I'll see something funny on the Internet and wonder what you'd think. I'll draw a picture or write a song and wonder if you'd be proud of me.
Go fuck yourself.
I need everyone to reblog with a school doodle that ended up as something you're really proud of. I'll go first.
Dude I regret taking intro to business. Teacher showed a PowerPoint and look at this silly ass emoji
When you look up at the time on your phone and remember school exists
My LEAST FAVORITE type of question as a theatre kid is the ones that are obviously just meant to prove that others are doing something wrong.
"So do we put our hands like this or like this?" "This is the right way." "Okay, I thought so but I saw SOME PEOPLE doing it the other way and I was pretty sure that wasn't right"
I don't mean when it's like a clarifying thing that nobody is sure about and has never been specified before and everyone is doing something different or something you yourself are struggling with or unsure about.
But when it's entirely obvious that just a few people made a mistake and did the wrong thing and they seem to know it was wrong and will fix it next time... just why?
It pisses me off so much especially now after I've done performing stuff for a while because I remember the intense shame I would feel when a castmate would openly be criticizing a mistake that only I made, in the form of asking a question. I almost quit choir freshman year because the person who sat next to me did that so often and was so judgemental that I felt like I wasn't welcome at my current skill level (the same skill level that a lot of the choir was at).
Honestly, I'm a strong believer of letting the director/instructor point out mistakes and fix them, or asking for help with mistakes you made or things that you are unsure about. Be kind to people with less experience or there might be nobody left to continue once you graduate.
Somehow almost all my poems make people cry. So either I'm:
One: a bad poet but my stories are sad enough that I can make people cry through bad poetry
Two: a good poet with stories that are just kinda sad but can be manipulated with words into beautiful poems that make people cry
Three: a good poet with sad stories that are enhanced through poetry to make people cry
Or four: a bad poet with stories that aren't sad and people are just crying because they feel bad that I'd choose to read them bad poetry
Either way, every time I read a poem to an audience, it seems like at least one person will cry or tell me they almost cried and had to actively hold themselves back.
Don't know exactly what to make of this. My poems are usually about my bad life experiences though, so I guess that probably plays a role.
Confessions from an emotional abuse victim:
#5 Kind Gestures
After spending so much time with either the absence of kindness from others, or with kindness always being conditional, you tend to forget the feeling of having someone truly care about you and be kind to you.
Depending on the situation, my brain will go into one of two modes when being showed kindness. I will either immediately become paranoid and worry about what I will need to do to repay it, or just completely short circuit and become confused.
The urge to repay tends to come when it's someone I don't know very well being kind, or when I'm given compliments. I start to wonder how I'm supposed to make the miniscule amount of energy that they need to use to be nice worth it for them.
When I react with confusion, it's usually either with someone who I know well or it's a really big gesture that means a lot. After being treated horribly for so long and having my sense of self-worth chipped away at, I sometimes have trouble comprehending why someone believes I am worth caring about and going out of their way to be nice to me.
Most of the time for them it's just something casual and simple, that they just feel is good to do, but for me it's a whole new healing experience every time. Getting past my initial confusion is hard, but it's worth it because once I can accept it, it opens an amazing point of view and helps me truly understand the fact that I am worth caring about (which is something people tell me and I try to tell myself, but is still hard to fully grasp)
The kindness of all these new friends I've met since I started high school is one of the biggest things I have to thank for aiding my recovery. Whether they've helped me through hard moments, or have just been a good friend to talk to and hang out with, these people and their kind gestures mean so much to me.
Going over a year without suicidal thoughts brings a lot of awakenings. I am lovable, people can like me, although now I guess I have to plan for the future I never thought I could make it to. 13 year old me never gave a thought into high school classes, but now I'm being told to start thinking about what I want to do for college... It's so crazy to think that I've made it farther than I ever thought I would. And there's still more to look forward to. If you told 13 year old me that she makes it past 15, she'd probably break down at the thought of having to live that long. What she wouldn't think about is all the good things that have happened since.
I remember leaving my middle school for the last time, the best feeling ever. I remember going to summer camp. I remember going to my high school orientation and feeling hopeful for once. I remember the crash soon into the school year, yes, but I also remember how that led to the first moment of me feeling fully loved and accepted by my peers. I remember being comforted through a panic attack in the hallway at the Halloween dance. I remember my first audition at this school, I remember when I didn't get in. I remember trying again the next time and seeing my name on the cast email. I remember getting to be closer to all the people I had been admiring from afar all year. I remember all the fun outings, and the sleepovers, and the silly conversations that I get to have every morning. If 13 year old me knew I grew up, she'd think I'm still miserable. But now, even through the hardest times, I am loved and cared for.
Keep living yall. Things can work out.
Being like. Post-suicidal is so strange. Like hiiiii everybody im new I spent a good chunk of my life languishing and have like 3 or 4 lived experiences. But now I'm ready to fuck and party or whatever. Can we be friends. Im so happy to be here. Can we be friends
Did I have to rush my essay? Yes. Did I turn it in 10 minutes before midnight when it was due? Yes. Did I proofread it? No. Did I probably fuck it up at least a bit? Yeah. Did I get a good grade? We'll see.
But at least I didn't use AI. I wrote a good, genuine, shitty essay, instead of getting a program to write a shitty essay for me that would probably be easily flagged as AI.
WRITE SHITTY ESSAYS!!! A BAD GRADE FROM TRYING IS BETTER THAN A ZERO FROM GETTING CAUGHT USING AI!!!
I think I might soon be kicked out by another therapist for being treatment resistant. I'm just really forgetful and can't make choices... Also the curse of wanting to feel better but not wanting to change anything because change is scary.