@Driftwood: Oh lord.. I just now noticed your previous post! I don’t know how I missed that. That’s embarrassing.

I’ve linked the digital piece above, I have a traditional acrylic paint piece in the works, and I can post that when it’s done, too. It’s fluorescent, which is unbelievably exciting. (I don’t know if I’ve previously mentioned that I bought florescent paints along with the canvases, but I did.)

I also don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I finally told mother about the charter school, which means my transfer might as well be written in stone. She’s excited and looking forward to it. I’m genuinely terrified. Like when you’re in the line for the scariest ride at the amusement park. Sorry, I’ve seemed to have amusement parks on the mind, these past few days.

Distance is a slow, slow process. I still blame myself for every inconvenience, and it’s going to take myself a while until I don’t.

Trying to see into my mother’s eyes is like looking into a murky pond. The reflection doesn’t help any. I have no idea what she thinks, and her actions don’t seem to say anything, when you put ignorance into the equation. I think she just thinks that I’m sad, but not sad enough to worry about. Respect isn’t something she’s heard of, really. Or maybe she respects me, in the way you’d respect a house cat. And that’s a bit distorted, since I’m not a house cat. “Approach” is a word I can’t really comprehend, for this situation. I’m not sure what all it would entail, if that makes any sense. It might be the simple fact that it’s 6am, and I’ve yet to rest.

Oh, it’s easily a small trait of an abuser. I’ve endured it so many times. I’m a bit upset that it was engraved into me at such a young age, and I can’t find a way out of it. Anything outside of a friendly jab feels unbearably awkward and unnatural.

Yeesh.. The election.. In the wise words of Obama, “No matter which candidate won, the sun will still come up tomorrow.” Or whatever he said. I don’t know. Again, it’s 6am. I’ve been typing since 3am. I should sleep, now. Also, my dearest apologies for not seeing that post the first time. I keep kicking myself for that. I really wasn’t ignoring you, y’know. How could I go on without a lil Drifty in my life? It’s 6am. I’ll stop harassing you now, for tonight.

–

Oh, my father. So, he’s kind of stopped bothering, for the season. My friend opened up the art kit he sent, and found a long, sloppy and awkwardly heartfelt letter. Stuff about how he loves me and such and such. I can’t really remember much of it, besides a few unfamiliar names. It also came with some little unsettling gifts. A pencil (I’m homeschooled) and halloween-themed earrings (my piercings closed up over a decade ago). Everything’s scattered on the floor, beneath other things. It’s comfortable to think about, or even look at. Not sure why I have such huge feelings of discomfort on the situation. I really wish I could just get myself to put up with this guy for a handful of hours per year, and then be done with it. No guilt eating away at me, afterwards. I’m still yet to bother log in to my main Facebook, even though he hasn’t bothered messaging since my birthday.

(God – my neck is killing me. I should really, really sleep now. G’night.)

Upsetting. I just wrote long, heartfelt replies to everyone, only for it to be deleted. Grumble, grumble. Let’s try this again.

@Anita: Thanks.

It was an alright time, very well-needed. She helped me clean up after the dogs, so I wouldn’t feel the wrath of mom’s boyfriend when he got home. He still yelled about how she closed the back door 5 minutes beforehand, because it was 50 degrees out and we were freezing. She also commented on how my lack of appetite concerns her, which made me feel special that she noticed and cared.

Time was cut short. Her father threw some sort of fit at home, and then she had some random church event to attend, Friday night. Been spending the actual weekend alone. Then I cut it even shorter. We were supposed to meet up at a mutual’s birthday party today, but I didn’t feel like it, so I canceled on them. I don’t get much sleep when she’s over. It might either be our love for coffee, or my relentless anxiety, if not both. 4am comes around, she’s fast asleep; I lay beside her, trembling.

@Zariah: Thanks for taking the time to read and reply, I really appreciate it.

Sorry to hear about your sister, but I’m glad to hear she’s doing better. I’ll take your suggestions into consideration.

My suicidal aren’t as serious as they are frantic/desperate. Things will, in fact, get better. I prefer the term “everything will pass” since it focuses on both the good and bad, and seems a bit more realistic.

Senses, I do appreciate those. There’s nothing like a deep inhale after baking holiday pastries, the laugh of a loved one, the satisfactory stare of a fresh art piece, the feel of a brand new fuzzy blanket or the lively taste of a strawberry. The little things.

@Driftwood: Driftwood! Where’ve you been, boy?

I believe you were ’bout to go on about my relationship with my mother, and how it could potentially improve, with time. Nothing’s stopping you, I await your wise words, mister.

–

So, I got an art piece done. Just a warning, it involves gore/dismemberment and a fair lack of clothing.
http://orig09.deviantart.net/02ed/f/2016/310/c/e/disassembled_by_capturingthebeauty-danjatr.jpg

I’ve once shown one of my similar pieces to a past teacher of mine, and she asked if I’m okay. (This one: http://orig02.deviantart.net/6021/f/2016/159/5/5/candy_craze_by_capturingthebeauty-da5fonb.jpg ) I’m alright, I think. I just really like candy and gore.

So, I was out with my friend. We like to stop at the local grocery store at 1am, in animal onesies. There’s housing for mentally ill people across the street. On our way back, there was a lady on the balcony of the housing screeching about how we’re devil children and continued on to threaten to kill us. This made me realize that a mental ward might be even more troublesome than this apartment. Not to mention my appearance, which already screams “pick on me”, even excluding my prized bear onesie.

Also, I was thinking about the skin picking thing. It happens even if I’m not really stressed. I spaced out whilst watching something, and now there’s blood running down my hand. Maybe gloves aren’t that bad of an idea.

@Anita: I don’t necessarily feel like I have to impress anyone. I don’t really intend to, most of the time.

Like with my relationship, I obviously want to be the best I can be, just for him. But I’m also not worrying about it too much, because well, everyone has flaws, and he’ll have to see mine eventually.

As for here, this is just naturally how I’ve grown to communicate. Even in my diary, I use thought-out sentences, and decently chunky vocabulary. I have a decent amount of fun with writing. To not use “lavish” words, makes me feel uncomfortable, in a sense. Like one of my few good attributes is stripped away from me. Or like I’m downgrading from 10 crayons to only 5. I’m not really trying to sound uppity, this is just what feels normal. Apologies if this comes off as defensive.

I’m assuming those questions were asked with the intent of receiving answers. What hurts me? Words. Better yet, selfish or harmful intentions, expressed by words. I’m scared of a few things, but there’s two main fears. The fear of wasting my life (either by being miserable for the entirety of it, or never experiencing much of anything), and the fear of seeing the few things I adore die.

What makes me sad? Again, two answers. One being people. People tend (not to generalize) to be selfish, ugly creatures, and I feel saddened at the reality of that, and sympathy for the other living things have to deal with us. The other answer is time. Everything passes by so fast, and every second that passes is lost into the oblivion. This saddens me because of all of the amazing knowledge and conversations that I was lucky enough to experience, but not enough to remember. This is partially why I keep a diary now, so I can always reminisce on old advice, conversations, stories, puns and thoughts.

What makes me hopeful? I don’t quite know how to answer this one; there’s not lot I draw hope from. I can only really think of my S.O. He reminds me that there’s still brilliant and creative people in the world, somewhere. And what I most desire – what I think most anyone desires – is success. Effortless success in anything I do would be wonderful, though unlikely. I crave a life filled with only experiences, stories and success. Another thing worth desiring, in my opinion, is a hug. Those aren’t something I receive often, but they put medicine to shame.

That’s as unshowy as I could write, and write comfortably. I feel like I knocked down every hurdle, though.

@anita: Thanks.

I can only try to treat myself better, though it’s obviously rather tough. Seemingly impossible. I like that walk idea, though. If I’m ever tense and able to leave my room, maybe I’ll go for a walk.

There’s 2 school counselors, for the virtual academy. I’ve never talked to either, and the thought of it makes me a little uncomfortable. I’m not sure what the sessions would look like, or if they even have sessions. It might just all be through email, and all of the emails I send/receive are also forwarded to my mom, just school policy. Plus, I’m not really sure if I can get much of any benefit out of counseling anymore.

Group therapy sounds terrifying, to be completely frank with you. It might make me more uncomfortable, than anything. I’d possibly even start lying to avoid awkward moments or embarrassment.

I almost feel like self-harm is always there with open arms for me. The embrace is not really a feeling I can find anywhere else, nor the availability of it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want change though, just so we’re clear.

@anita: Thank you for your concern.

There is no real sense of control to cutting, for me. It’s like a trance thing, or instinct, almost. I space out for a second, and the next thing I know, my ankles are burning and bleeding (I do the inner parts of my ankles because it’s very easy to hide, unlike wrists). Even the thought of trying to control it sounds impossible. The closest I can get to control is when I’m in public, and I nervously scratch the back of my hand. Again, my nails are pretty short, so I don’t get far. I would be a big girl and get rid of all of my sharp objects, but being an artist, I need supplies like pencils, and scissors.

Skin picking is much of the same; a trance. My entire body is at risk, but I try best to avoid my face, just because people have to see that on a daily basis. I actually started with my feet, but as time went on I’d go too deep and it made walking, for the following week, rather uncomfortable, so I don’t feel as compelled to pick there anymore. My fingertips are the worst area. I’ve heard online that the skin tends to grow back a lot rougher and thicker, over time (I could count every time I’ve gotten a paper cut, and each of them was well over 10 years ago).

I wish I had some sort of control. I truly do.

@Anita: I was raised with the only form of affection being playfully picking on someone, so it takes me a little effort to hold back, because not everyone will accept it as affection. That, and I just have a painfully difficult time simply verbally expressing affection to people. It feels abnormal.

Also, another update, he’s been released from the hospital. I feel like sending a card now would be a little pointless now, especially since it’d take another 2 to 3 days to get over there. And I have no idea what I’d draw.

He seems really relaxed, and just in a better state of mind, compared to the last few days. Hopefully it stays this way. I don’t think our friendship is at risk of dying out anymore, but I do have another one that’s a bit iffy. Maybe I’ll ramble about that one, soon.

I’ve gone so off-topic from the initial first topic. Raaah.

So, both mother and her boyfriend came home together earlier today, from wherever. He threw his usual tantrum (a little less extreme than usual, because there was no indirect screaming towards me) and she didn’t bat an eye. She didn’t even tell him to calm down. At one point, there was a slightly loud sound, like someone purposefully dropping a vacuum onto the floor, and it genuinely made me jump. She completely ignored it. Even came in and gave me a little breakfast (at 3pm) whilst it all was happening. Not much of any words exchanged, not even a hint at an apology. It just sucks that she chooses to normalize that sort of behavior, when it has such a destructive effect on me, both mentally and physically. Not much else has been happening. It’s just the overthinking that’s been killing me, lately. The endless pity thoughts of something along the lines of “boohoo, why do I have to endure this?” or “if I just die now, I don’t have to endure the next 2 years”. Both of which are overdramatic and don’t have much reasoning to them. It’s hard to locate my common sense, sometimes.

I read a nonfiction short story of a depressed schizophrenic going to a mental ward. I hate that it made me consider the thought of going, for a little while. Though a week away from here would be absolute paradise, I’m not sure if that’s where I’d want the destination to be at. And most of them are very low on funds, and I’d hate to take up a bed there, when someone else could need it more (because I don’t have it that bad, I’m not seeing things and I can still function relatively normally in public, besides previously mentioned anxiety problems. But on the other hand, I am still a threat to myself, and it’d be nice to go more than a week without harming myself, in some way).

@Anita: Thanks.

I use S.O. because “boyfriend” has always felt a little amateur to me. I used to use the term “mate”, (short for “soulmate”, because that sounds ridiculously cheesy) but not many people outside of certain websites understood that I wasn’t referring to a friend. I take this relationship a bit seriously.

I understand. I used to be really bad with honesty, and gave too little or too much. I’m still slowly trying to maintain my self-respect by holding back unnecessary details in conversation, but also making sure I’m not building friendships off of blatant lies, like I have before. I can’t help but think of the dead friendships where I fully trusted them, and now everything I’ve ever told them is probably scattered elsewhere, in the world. But I do understand, filters are a very good thing to have.

—

A little update on my friend. He replied, about an hour ago. He hasn’t been purposely ignoring me, but in the hospital for some mental health issues. I can’t help but feel guilty for as selfish and upset as I have been over his lack of replies. I didn’t express it directly to him very often, though. There’s still no telling where this friendship is going, which worries me. I just want him to be alright.

@Anita: It is truly a high price. But not a price my mom seems to consider a price at all. Many years ago, I’ve even brought up this concept to her, but she completely disregarded it. I told her that we’re basically being paid to endure being treated poorly, and she essentially said “you’re wrong”, and walked out of my room. Or something like that. I can’t really remember, since it’s been so long, and I’ve been subconsciously trying to block out these past few years.

Sorry for my 3 day late reply, by the way. I really don’t have much of any excuse there.

@Driftwood: Welcome back.

I agree on the “too soon” thing, completely. One of my online friends, one that I’ve known for years, is about to turn 19 in a few months. She’s essentially in a twister of anxiety, and constantly on about how nervous she is for her future. She’s going to college soon, but only because her mother wants to. And she chose radiology only for the money. I hate saying this about other people (and you might be able to assume why, by the parent post) but I feel like she doesn’t really have any aspirations. The only things she’s ever doing are gaming, watching certain shows and talking to people about those certain shows. And she seems happy, like that. She says she only wants enough to make ends meet, when living alone, as she plans to. I just don’t want her to end up miserable her entire life like my mother, whom is also only working a boring job just for the money. I don’t think people consider how much of their time is spent working, and why they should choose wisely. Or at least explore every possible option. It’s like answering a multi-choice quiz question, but only reading and choosing A. What ’bout B and C?

In regards to my own future – it’s unpredictable; as unpredictable as trying to predict the precise degree and side a building block would land at and on, when lunged across a room by a blind man. Preferably, a room filled with small dogs. Not for any particular reason, other than the fact that the thought of a room stuffed with corgis, and one single blind man, is horribly amusing. My life may even be a little more unpredictable than that, as I can see some winner (“winner” is a term being used loosely, here) attempting to make some calculations that could roughly predict how the said block would land. I’m getting a bit off-track. The future is just this looming, dark presence that hangs over me, constantly. Though, I only focus on the tragedies to come, and not the good things.

If I have to get a poorly-painted, dusty and dingy Easter basket-worth of crappy jobs to hold me over, so be it. I’ll at least feel a little better for both being freed of the current situation (despite the downfalls of whatever the upcoming situation may be) and for being productive, for once. Getting a job, and maintaining one, would be a huge achievement for me (obviously, since I’m still sixteen year old, somewhere, deep down inside). One inspiring thing that keeps me excited is something I found through a youtube interview, of one of my favorite singers. He said the worst job he had to endure, before officially becoming a singer, was a janitor at a vet. Had to deal with dog corpses, on the daily. But where he is now, makes up for it. If the future holds something wonderful for me, then I think it’s worth the journey. I just hope I can find something that’ll keep me interested for more than 2 months. (Also, when you mentioned ‘The Great Escape‘, Gwen Stefani’s ‘The Sweet Escape’ came to mind first. I know, I know, all hope is lost for the youth of America.)

I’m really scared that I’ll decline/hide from any opportunity of pursuing something artistic. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it here before or not, (and I’d really rather not take the time to go back and check, just to pass it anyway) but I’ve been doubted of my creative abilities making it anywhere. That’s why I really want something stable to hold me over, while I try to get something up and running. I’ve even considered doing what my mother did a decade ago – getting a receptionist job, and spending the plethora of spare time creating and selling art. It’s still not a terrible idea, personally. Answering/making a few phone calls a day is something I could do. My only problem (currently, anyways) would be sacrificing my visual expressions of individuality to become more suitable for something professional. I have a bit of an obsession with colorful, neon clothing, hair and makeup. I love turning heads when I go places. And the compliments. Muting myself 5 days a week, like I used to in public school, might make me a bit upset. Even currently, I’m upset because I have to dye my hair back to black soon, just because it’s so damaged and needs time to grow back to health.

Charter school is still in my sight. Both of my irl friends are advocating the idea, for the sake of my lacking social skills.

My mom? Closer to? I feel like I couldn’t be any farther from her. It’s like we’re drifting more by day. Saw the joke opportunity there, and took it. I’m not sorry.

—
Speaking of friends, I’ve been troubled lately. I’m gonna ramble about that a bit, if no one minds. One of my only close online friends is also my most recent ex. We only dated for a few weeks to a month, or so. I told him I met someone better, and then we didn’t talk for a few months. He came back into the picture, later. He still has feelings for me, though it’s been nearly 2 years (will be, in February). I’ve moved on to bigger and better things, and I’m very solid and content with where I am, relationship-wise. But there’s something about my ex that makes him enjoyable to be around, as a friend. His intelligence and humor meet up with mine in a satisfying way. But our breakup was the worst thing that happened to that 16 year old, and he just can’t move on, emotionally.

A girl came along in his life, and she’s kind of a distraction from me, which is great. I’m really rooting for him to get on with his life and such. Whatever. But I feel like she’s taking my spot of being a close friend, more than anything.

I’ve been spending so much time alone, lately. All of my friends are always busy with their own lives, but that one guy’s absence, the one just mentioned, is the most upsetting. We used to talk for 8 hours straight every day, just a week ago. I asked him how he’s doing this morning, and I’m still yet to get a reply. I know if I send another message, I’ll not only come across as desperate, but I’ll only get some half-assed reply, that’ll push me away for a few hours more. It’s usually something about the girl he’s been putting all his time into. I feel like our friendship is a shrinking handful of sand that I just can’t keep in my grasp, because it keeps falling through my fingers. Him being around me makes him sad, but it makes me happy; and him not being around me makes me sad. It makes me so upset. I’ve nearly always been on the fighting side of a friendship that’s drifting apart, and it hurts, every time. There’s the different stages. You have the slowed replies, awkward 5 minute conversations, a few days without conversation, which turns into a few weeks, months and years. And after that, you have the emotional perspective, on how you view that person. They go from an inseparable best friend, to a close friend, to a friend, to a total stranger, all over again. It’s just painful, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to sit through it again. It’s like walking a short path covered in glass shards repetitively, whilst barefoot. At one point, the agony becomes too much, and it gets difficult to continue. Or having the same nightmare over and over. Why even try to sleep? Why even bother with making new friends?

Also, art. I bought 4 stretched canvases today, and an array of neon paints. I’m not allowing myself to start anything; not before I finish my current digital piece, though. With how it’s going, I think it’ll only take me one or two more hours. Maybe I’ll post the final product here, just so I can flaunt my art about, and fish for compliments.