@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.

@Anita: Thank you.

I always feel rushed to reply, just because I don’t want to keep everyone waiting on me. And when I type a dumpster-worth of words, I always want them to be a little entertaining, just so anyone who bothers reading them doesn’t feel like they’ve wasted their time, completely. Though, deep down, I know no one would get upset over my slow replies or boring, endless writing. It’s just an unrealistic fear (there’s a better term for it, but it’s just not coming to mind, right now).

I’m not sure if I actually used the term “better”, as the website we initially talked on has been shut down, since. I’m pretty sure I tried to lay him down as gently as possible, and might’ve just told him “I found someone else, can we still be friends?” In which he, 14 at the time, overreacted and told me “no”, and spammed his feed with suicide threats. There’s no way I could’ve been more gentle with it; it was going to be ugly, no matter what happened. I’ve never had a good breakup.

At first I was trying to make it seem like his nocturnal sleep schedule was too much for me (if someone threatened to break up with me just because my sleep schedule was having an off-day, then I’d just simply let them go because they’re really not dedicated, at that point). But he wasn’t having it. I told him everything felt a little too awkward for me, and he was still overflowing with promises to change. So I had to tell him what was actually going on. I’m a big fan of being honest, anyways.

I remember trying so hard to wait for the right day and time, too. S.O. and I didn’t have an initial start date, because we were both dating someone else at the time. But we confessed feelings on the 27th of one month, and then finally got eachother to let our past partners go, around the 11th of the next month. There was a time of juggling, and fighting an inner battle. It felt awful. But my S.O. was understanding, and told me to take my time with figuring everything out. I’ll forever be grateful for having him.

@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: I’m always trying my hardest to be as nice as possible to him, and to burden him as little as possible. I told him I that understood his absence, and to get some rest, since his phone was going to die, anyways.

Sadly, he lives 1k+ miles away from me, so visiting is a little out of question. Though, him and I have been talking about meeting in person one day, for ages. It’s just that the trip would be a little costly, since it’s out of country. And I don’t have his address on hand to send a card, as much as I wish I did. I used to, but I’ve lost it since. I might be able to find it again, though. I have a large set of blank cards sitting around, so maybe I’ll draw something cutesy on one, and dig for his address, through old messages.

@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.

It’ll take time, but I do want to change. And you’re right, the only way I can is with practice.

Just a little warning, this next part is a little gross and uncomfortable to read.

I currently have 3 main ways of self harm. Cutting, compulsive skin picking and starving, when I can. I recently just relapsed with cutting. I was clean for about a month, and the breakdown of my friend kind of overwhelmed me. Cutting is a strange one, because I feel like the urge is almost uncontrollable. It’s like being at an amusement park, and trying to walk past the big rollercoaster. I’ve been telling myself that I want my scars to face as quickly as possible, but there’s something telling me to go deeper, and that the scars are almost appealing.

With compulsive skin picking, there’s a name for it that I can’t remember, I’ve been doing it ever since I can remember. It only gets worse over the years, though. If I let myself, I’ll stay up for hours doing nothing but scanning myself for scabs and dead skin, as gross as that is. I usually pick at my hands until they bleed, or until the pain makes me feel faint. I wouldn’t necessarily address this as a form of self-injury, but it is. Mom’s noticed my bloody finger tips. She used to do it too (out of minor anxiety), and that’s where I learned about it, but she’s stopped. She told me “try not to do that” and that I’ll grow out of it. I, personally, don’t think I will. I start freaking out whenever I see any imperfections on my skin, and that includes my cut scabs. Letting them heal properly is a pain. I’ve contemplated wearing gloves, but I don’t want to be asked about it. Since I also pick at my fingernails, I have a harder time picking at my skin, so I have a designated pair of tweezers I use for picking. I freak out when I lose those tweezers (like I currently have). I have scars all up and down my body (at least 40, I tried to count before) from compulsive picking at various of little things, like bug bites, or blisters.

As far as starving goes, I only do it when I can. Mom doesn’t let me get away with much, just because she usually cooks dinner regularly. Sometimes, I’ll just tell her I feel sick, and maybe to make me something small to leave in the fridge that night. At that point, I’ll either give in and eat it or throw it away. It isn’t hard to do without an appetite. I’m not sure why I do this one. I’m genuinely pretty content with my weight. I just seem to enjoy that frail feeling of “emptiness”, or maybe it’s the sympathy that comes with it. I haven’t done this one too horribly much, recently. Especially on weekends, since she makes breakfast and checks in on me constantly. I’ve considered taking this to the extreme before, to get mom’s attention, but I don’t have that kind of determination. Plus, again, I currently enjoy my size, and I don’t think I’m willing to give that up to be cold and (even more) tired all the time.

I just see myself as a threat, because I never know what’s next. I feel like I’m holding the troublemaker inside me on a leash, and it only tugs harder and harder.

@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.