I read something I wrote a good while ago earlier this month. This was before I had a brief mania-induced period strike. Yeah, I still get small bouts of mania from time to time despite medication. Anyway, upon reading it I couldn’t help but shake my head. It was my last SS “entry”.

That entry was comprised of various parts rather than being written all at once. It was also focused solely on my my best friend at the time. I shake my head a bit over it out of amusement if anything… because boy did I sound like a nut job then. I’m pretty sure if He read it, there would be a very high likelihood of Him being rather disturbed. For all I know, my friend might have already read it, though. For all I know he already knew I was that way anyway. Whatever.

The thing about the entry is, I sound like a freaking stalker. Looking back, to some extent I might have been that  –  if not still have such tendencies inside me. Because of this, being shamed of the matter seems pointless. It is my nature and I understand why I did and would likely still do it: I am bloody inept at relations with humans.

In my last entry I wrote about my lacking ability to be a good friend. I suppose this sort of relates to it. While that was about only being able to be a good friend to one of a similar view of the importance of the relationship, I suppose this is about just how hard it is to actually even get to the point of making friends.

I never made a human friend in real life on my own merit before until I met him. All of my human friend before were introduced really. My first friend appeared when I was around four, I believe. I met her through my mom. Basically her mom and my mom were friends, so we were bound to meet and being of the same sex, we were bound to be urged to play together.

In all logical means, if it hadn’t been for our parents, I doubt we would have ever really been friends by chance. She was half a year younger than me and was an outgoing girl full of imagination. I was the quiet, shy girl who didn’t learn to talk until she was three. On our own, I doubt she’d have noted me much. On our own, I’m not sure I’d have been willing. In the end, I think we were an okay pair.

She was a good influence on me, I believe. While she was outgoing she was never forceful from what I recall. I’d just follow and let her take lead be it a made up game or a given activity. I was okay with being more outgoing with her. Her name was Jill.

Through Jill I met another girl later in kindergarten a year. I’m not sure if we ever would have hung out otherwise. Since she was my a friend of my first and only friend… I’d be her friend as well. I don’t remember us doing much together or anything, maybe we did… I know we all sat at the same table though. Her name was Denise.

A year later in first grade I met Denise’s twin sister. I mistook her fro Denise at first, of course, but soon was able to tell them apart. If I met them now after having seen neither for seven or so years, I’d likely be able to tell them apart if you stuck them side by side. They may have been identical, but I saw the subtle differences.

Anyway, because she was Denise’s sister and I had neither Jill nor Denise in that class, we eventually became friends. I might have gotten along with her best when it came to personalities at the time, really. Again, if she hadn’t been Denise’s sister and Denise hadn’t been Jill’s friend and Jill hadn’t been the daughter of my Mom’s friend… I really have no idea how I would have made out in the friend department on my own.

Well, anyway, after that, those three were my group. They were my main friends. Yeah, they gained other friends and a girl I’ve mentioned before on here named Mandi was a friend to mainly Brooke and Denise… I pretty much stuck to those three.

Third grade none of them were in my class, I believe. But then again, maybe Denise was… I think I remember her getting praised for being an “Accelerated Reader”. That was probably the year she was always hanging with Mandi. Jill and Brooke were elsewhere. I think Brooke found a friend in a girl named Jamie. I don’t remember her last name, but she had the same birthday as me. Overall, I didn’t see the three of them much.

In the end, that year I kind of became friends with a girl named Kristen. She was friends with a boy named Chance. Thinking back on it, I think she just kind of let me follow her. We rode the same bus to school. After that year we never really spoke again and I never knew what became of her after elementary. Chance, I never knew him much, but he disappeared after elementary as well. I found later that he moved due to bullying.

People might say I made friends on my own with those two, but I always have had a funny way of defining things. To me, the relationship I had with them isn’t what I consider similar to the sort of friendship I write of in this. Friendship to me is something stronger. I suppose in most likely terms they would have been “casual friends”. ‘Sort of like friends you make during a summer vacation out of town and likely never see again.

Fourth grade I was able to have Brooke in my class again. I think we rekindled our friendship again that year. Jill and Denise… I think Jill was busy playing soccer against boys that year and Denise was still mainly hanging with Mandi.

Somewhere in that time we all had a mutual friend in a girl named April though. April was again not a close friend. I think I only knew her for a year or two at best.

Transitioning school I don’t think I saw Brooke, Denise or Jill that much. I’m pretty sure I had Mandi during at least one class and tried to become better friends with her since she was good friends with Denise. That was how I learned to make friends apparently. I’d befriend the friends of my friends. Sadly, that doesn’t always work out. I never should have tried to be friends with Mandi.

Middle school I had one class with Jill before she moved. We weren’t extremely close anymore by then though. I don’t think I had any classes with Brooke or Denise that year. If I had any with Mandi, I don’t remember that either.

I should have understood that clinging onto our friendship was becoming futile by then. I didn’t though, because I thought of them as “real friends”. We had stopped being that around that time really.

I still tried to hang around Brooke and Denise, but I could no longer relate to them and they made their own friends. We had no classes together. I should have let them go, but as said… I had no idea how to make friends.

Making friends was a simple matter… Grow a single seed and then as it grows, follow on and continue to the ever reaching limbs. Well, apparently I couldn’t do that forever. A common beginning doesn’t mean a common end for everyone.

Thus, we are at seventh grade again. Particularly alone and undergoing some considerable mental and emotional problems… I guess it was inevitable I’d reach out to someone. I did that a bit on the Internet actually… I made a brief friend via the net here and there. No matter how deep or how personal you get with someone on the Internet, however… it tends to end soon enough. That, and you can never bring them with you to school. You can never actually touch or talk to them. You can never meet them and hang out. At least, not when they live all the way across the country you are in.

Therefore, yes… I eventually needed a human in real life to befriend. That human wound up being my best friend. That human went by the name Kyle.

Like how I figured with the previous three girls, I never noticed him. At least, I didn’t right away. I probably would have gone my whole seventh grade year (possibly the rest of my life) not knowing him if it hadn’t been for a strange work of fate… or something like that.

The teacher exchanged seats with the boy who sat next to me with him. Said boy was giving me troubles, so she picked Kyle of all people to sit down next to me. I didn’t notice him at all. I likely never would have really noticed him if he hadn’t taken the initiative. He took it because he apparently noticed me. He noticed me because I mentioned surfing the Internet and spending most of my time on the computer. Thank you for small miracles.

Kyle made me laugh. He made me laugh during a time I was forgetting how to smile. It was a dry laugh, but it was something. It was something for a child who no longer could smile with ease. It was something for a person who could no longer shed tears. It was something for those who are alone.

Slowly… I began to notice him without him doing something silly or making a witty remark. I liked his presence. I liked his intelligence. I liked his sarcasm. I liked him.

All of those I befriended in the past be it “real friendship”, “casual friendship” or “hopeless friendship” were all smart or at least worked hard at school. I’ve always liked the mature, the wise and the intelligent. A person doesn’t have to be all of those things, but yeah. Kyle seemed to have various ounces of all of those things.

Yes, in time, I looked forward to seeing him. He was a fine classmate, I thought. At that time, I believe I was wishing to become his friend.

I had no idea how to go about doing that though. We had no share acquaintances. I had no idea who any of his friends were, what his interests were, et cetera. All I knew was that I found him to be nice, smart, funny and interesting. It never occurred to me to simply ask him to be my friend. I’d never asked that before.

Without any prior knowledge to how to properly make friends, I went about the process slowly and… methodically. That is where the “stalking” came in. It was all rather logical in essence. At least, it seemed that way.

Concept:
I want to be friends.
I know nothing about him.
Asking personal questions outright is rude.
Observe then.

Therefore, I observed. I’d pick out the simple things at first. He was right handed, he has brown hair, his name was Kyle. After that I’d notice things. He wrote his last name on his worksheet. He mentioned liking Garfield the Cat. His favorite color is green. He could quote Poe’s “The Raven”…

Thus throughout the year I slowly gathered the trivial information that I could. In all that time I had no idea we were actually becoming friends in the process. I just kept paying attention, picked up information and enjoyed the rare times I saw him.

It wasn’t until eighth grade did he actually confirm we were friends. Apparently he had thought we were such for a long time. I in turn never knew. I wanted to be his friend and at times thought of us as friends, but without the confirmation, I could have been just a mere acquaintance as far as he was concerned. Therefore, that day I guess we were both surprised. In my case, pleasantly.

I suppose my “stalking” eased after that. At the same time, he was my sole “real friend”. Yeah, I had some acquaintances. There was a girl named “Beth” he and I knew. I don’t really remember any others that year…

Ninth grade I had some fine acquaintances/casual friends. The majority of them wound up in art class. There was Billy, Kasei and to some extent Rebecca. There was also Jeff from the Library. Oddly he wound up with a crush on me. O.o… He never told me such plainly though and instead wrote me a note. I didn’t realize what he meant until later. (Again, I need literal, to the point, confirming words. My processing system is very black and white.)

Yeah, though…

Looking back and considering that nutty sounding entry I wrote before moving here… I’m still not sure if I have any experience in making a friend properly. Maybe if I ever meet a person who interests me the way Kyle had, I’ll know to simply say, “I enjoy your company. Would you mind being friends?” My past self, however…

I don’t fault her at all for going about things such a way. Maybe I am still that way to this day. I have no idea. It was an interesting discovery about myself, nonetheless.

“God apparently left out a few functions in this one.”

I haven’t written any entries about life lately, but it has been the same ol’ same ol’. The Christmas season played out as usual. Basically it grated on my sanity and I was looking forward to normalcy to return. We also were pretty tight on money this year, so very little gift giving. Fortunately for all of us, none of us care about getting gifts that much and rather expect nothing anyway.

January has been okay. Mom did hit low on her bank account and needed aid from me, so what would be considered a sizable amount in my books was given. She says she’ll try to pay me back as soon as possible, but I don’t really care. I told her she didn’t have to. How it will play out ultimately is undetermined.

Anyway… what did “inspire” to write is none of the above. If anything it was something I realized during my mom and my usual haircut trip. Basically it is this: I definitely make for a shoddy friend.

I’ve always had my morals when growing up. I had my views of right and wrong, good and bad when it came to many things. I always wanted to be a good friend.

I realize that I look at friendship in an almost idyllic way… perhaps as silly as how little girls dreaming of their prince charming or Mr. Right. I would take the promise of “Best Friends Forever” to the grave. I likely still would considering how I am wired. Friendships to more… those relationships are like precious gems to me, I think. One might ask, how does that make me a shoddy friend? Then if there are some bright people out there, they already know.

When I had a friend I would make a promise to myself to always be there for him or her when needed. I would be helpful, steadfast, loyal… I would be the best friend I could possibly be. I would always stick up for my friends, always be on their side… and if two of my friends were fighting, I’d do what I could to make them forgive and forget. I put my very soul into my friendships.

That was my downfall.

Friendship isn’t treasured to that extent by others. Maybe there are some out there who treasure their relationships to such an extent, but I have yet to find them. Because of this, I am bound to resent any friend I come to have who doesn’t take out friendship to the same level. Unappreciated, forgotten, unnoticeable.

It was my fault.

I told my mom at some point, “I really should have ended my friendship with them after elementary.”

I was too idealistic, though. I believed in our promises. We’d be best friends forever. I fought for years to keep the ties firm, but they wore away each passing year, month, week, day.

Preadolescence, beginning adolescence… almost everyone wants to fit in, find a niche, be cool… That is what my childhood friends searched for then. I never felt that way. I already had a place, a niche… I had it in them. That place wasn’t good enough anymore though.

I watched them get crushes on boy bands, pour over teen magazines and so forth in the beginning. None of that really interested me, but I didn’t shun it either. Nonetheless, they already were entering a world I didn’t understand. Still, they were them and that was all that mattered. A year passes, we’ve been separated quite a bit due to different classes. They met new people, made new friends… but at the same time they changed. Trying to be cool they stopped caring about homework, cursed and so forth. They bad mouthed the boy bands they coveted just a year or two before  and deny ever liking them. They make things I take quite seriously into jokes and I slowly become the person they turn to for advice when they have problems, but leave in the dust when they want someone fun.

End of middle school, beginning of high school… I don’t know at all them anymore. They take the side of those more influential because they are afraid for their reputations. They get into trouble, do drugs and try to be bad ass. They try to cheat off me – one time they harassed me via the phone one night so I had to unplug the phone line. One becomes a two-faced bitch who would make fun of me behind my back, laugh how I was a fag and denied it when I confronted her. Others were friends with Kennedy.

It was around that time the resentment surfaced finally. It was around that time I was being codependent. It was around that time the promise no longer existed on both sides.

Yes…

I definitely make for a shoddy friend when it comes to the majority. Because this world is made up of empty promises. I tried to keep a promise that never mattered to others and it near killed me. It didn’t kill me, because the promise no longer existed. It broke. It broke when my friends no longer were my friends other than in my head. It broke when I began to resent them and began to hate how they never cared to be good friends in return.

It took a long time to get over that… a couple of years or so, perhaps. Now, all I know is, I should have just quit trying way back when…
Despite all the pain and sorrow experienced due to those relationships, though… those pains are nothing compared to the pains I felt from the two most emotional, intellectual, spiritual relationships I have had in this life so far. I still love the two people. In various times of my life they have been my best friends. Because of that, they have caused the greatest of pain sometimes.

The second most painful would deal with the person who is still an active part in my life right now. She hurt me back when I was just beginning high school. On an outsider’s perspective, the entire things was plain silly. Looking back, we know it was a huge misunderstanding. Her reactions and her words hurt me terribly that day. I cried on my way to school. I cried in the library as I sat by my best friend at the time. I cried later on that weekend.

The most painful dealt with the very friend who sat with me in the library. I’d have to say he has hurt me most of all. That time is long ago now, but I know… he hurt me the most. I remember that night, crying to the person who had hurt me the second worst, I said,”I know I’ll make it though. If I could live before I met him, I can live without him again.”

To my great fortune we didn’t end on bleak terms. We don’t talk much anymore, but I know he’d there somewhere. Out of all of my ended friendships, he is my small glimmer of hope. The promise of friendship… He kept it. I think I might actually believe he always will keep it.

I really don’t know if I am really made for having friends. I really don’t. From what I have learned in life, such things are fleeting. It has been almost seven years since I moved and I still have made no friends. I have my acquaintances, my family and the lovely animals that make up our four-legged family. I find I am actually content with this really. If friendships are so fickle, I do not wish to deal with such. And yet, at the same time though… just to find one person who does care to such an extent… that would be beautiful.

I guess I’m just not a very hopeful person.

I guess I’m in a slight brooding mood tonight. It is likely due to reading and semi editing some stories I like. The stories are written by someone whose first language isn’t English. She did well translating them from German though, but sometimes things don’t flow correctly or simply are hard to make sense of. I left all the British spellings though.
Reading them again, I cannot help but remember my adolescence again. Around that time I read a lot. I got into the Internet long before my peers and found some bits of hope on it. Those bits of hope were from stories. The stories I am reading/editing were some of the stories I read during that hard time in my life. They gave me hope because they showed me I was not alone.
The main characters were usual very troubled, outcasts or the like. They dealt with cruel peers, hard situations and so forth. They found a place to belong in the end though… they always found a happy ending, or the beginning of a better future.
While in the middle of reading/editing the third story so far, I stopped to take a quick shower. At that time I remembered a girl who was a real bitch towards me in middle school. I address her simply as Kennedy. I never knew what her deal was when it came to me, but I know she could b cruel to those who considered her a friend. Maybe it was her nature. It was a sad nature, though… having to hurt and belittle others to make herself feel better. That is my theory anyway.
I remember her accusing me of being homosexual. I remember what caused that accusation. We were in the same PE class one year. Basketball was the activity of the day. Most of the girls hung back despite we were in a line. They were chatting and being annoying as far as I was concerned, so I pushed past them to participate. Someone didn’t like that, said I cut in line. I rolled my eyes and made a comment about not caring about the boys like they did. More or less, I wasn’t boy crazy nor was I afraid to play against them.
Well, later on at the side of the bleachers Kennedy approached me and asked if I was a lesbian. I eyed her unamused and replied flatly, “No, I’m a loner.” Well, being the genius that she is, she replied, “You are a lesbian!” I rolled my eyes and replied, “No, I just don’t like most people.”
I suppose that is what started it all.
I never really minded her. She wasn’t really on my radar. I actually saw her as, “Oh, her… she’s okay.” Boy, was I wrong.
She was friends with two girls I had hung out with all through elementary. One night I was on the computer and one of those girls contacted me on messenger. Pretty soon, I realized it wasn’t one of them, but someone simply using her handle while she was away from the computer.
I guess it was my fault. I should have left the moment it started to get ugly. I wanted to know who it was, though. I wanted to know the true face of my attacker. It was cowardly to cyber-bully me using a friend’s handle. After enduring endless insults she finally told em who she was. It was Kennedy.
I don’t really recall what she said to me that night… Well, I know there were a lot of comments about me being a sick faggot and such… but if logic proves correctly, I’m pretty sure she likely told me to die or that people like me should be dead. I assume this because that night I did consider killing myself. I was thirteen at most.
That consideration wasn’t just because of her attacking me that night, though. No, I suffered from depression since I was twelve, maybe even a year earlier than that. My friends from elementary school were drifting away, peers were becoming superficial and mean, cliques and fads went over my head. Basically, I fit nowhere.
I lived that night, though.
I broke down during first period. We had the same math class then. It might have been the next day or whenever school began again because for all I know she could have attacked me during the week or the weekend. It wasn’t an emotional break down. It was a physical one.
I never knew what they were until that spring or maybe even that summer… maybe it was a year later. I had them plenty when little though. We found out they were panic attacks after I had the worst one I ever experienced in my life.
Well, I had one that morning. I had to leave the classroom. I might have even gone home that day because of its severity.
It was probably one of those girls who told me that Kennedy thought I had to leave the classroom because of what she did to me the night before over chat. To this day that pisses me off. It doesn’t annoy me as much as it did back then, but it is still annoying to know a thirteen year old girl felt smug and proud of herself because she thought she scared someone from being in the same classroom as her. Bullshit.
Like all the boys who made my life hell at that time, her stupid words wouldn’t scare me off and if she did have the nerve to approach me I would have either punched her in the spine or kicked hr hard in the shin. In fact, I think it would have been nice to have done so to her. I never got the chance since she never confronted me face to face, though.
To this day, I also never understood how those two girls who had been my friends in elementary could be friends with her. I do not remember which of them it was, but one of them endured a cruel birthday prank from Kennedy. Despite crying to me about it, she still stayed friends with her. I guess belonging with a clique was more important than coming back to me and actually being friends.
I really should have given up on them back then. I was too loyal and had too strong of morals though. In the very last years I became resentful of them. I’m rather ashamed of that, but that is what I got for clinging onto a promise that meant nothing to them and yet everything to me.
There are plenty of other times. There are plenty of other people. People like Kennedy, people who weren’t as bad as Kennedy, but I have no interest in searching for those times. I had no interest in having memories of her pop up in my brain… They did however and so I write.
I hate how closed minded some people can be. I hate how people can say things so carelessly. I hate how people never stop to think. I hate the fact that I probably am guilty of those things but have never been aware of it.
I doubt it would have ever helped, but sometimes I wonder if they would have done things differently if they had known.

I didn’t like boys (I didn’t like most girls either.)
Would it have helped if I told them that boys would hit me, throw things at me and call me names?
I walked funny.
Would it have helped if I told them one of my legs is shorter than the other, but I never realized it until many years later?
They asked me why I wasn’t pretty like my older sister. Why was I ugly?
Would it have helped if I told them  that even though both my sister and I are of the same ethnicity, but were adopted from different families?
Why was I so weird?
Would it have helped if I told them if I told you that I am bi-polar, have Aspergers and an audio processing disorder but never knew these things until I was finally out of school?

Would they have even listened? I doubt it.
There were many other things going on. Things at home… but I don’t feel like writing about that either.
The world is just full of ignorant, stupid people.

Still, there is that small bit of hope. There are others out there who know the exact same pain. Sometimes it is the same amount you are feeling, sometimes it is less, sometimes it is more. That is what I learned from those stories I read.

Well, it is late Monday night and I have woken up from a four thirty to five hour nap. Since my last entry late Saturday evening I’ve been sleeping a lot of course. After my entry I got up, brushed my teeth and settled down in bed. Mom was staying up to watch some television and it was engaging enough that I stayed up with her. Around ten thirty or perhaps eleven, I cannot recall clearly, we went to sleep.
I got up again around five in the morning. Since my whole weekend mainly consisted of sleeping and being awake only to get nutrients and participate during the wedding related events, I had little time to myself. I checked some websites and then began to read. I read until eight thirty. Getting up I began to put most of my things away since during that time my mom had woken, did her yoga and likely a few various other things.
With only a few things left over like my teeth care supplies, we eventually went downstairs to eat breakfast at the grill we ate at our first meal there. It was a rather big breakfast we had, but most of the meals I had that weekend were big. I’m sure the meals helped my energy levels as did the endless sleep related collapsing.
We headed back up to our rented room then, I brushed my teeth and began to pack the rest of what few things I had left. I helped my mom with packing some of her things since she brings too much stuff by habit. Then it was a matter of time for my dad to arrive. I think he showed up around ten to ten thirty. So, we got to moving our luggage down to the parking lot and soon loading everything into the car. We left after that and headed for home.
Mom and I slept the trip back just like how we slept the entire trip there. My case was understandable since I got less sleep than her last night. Anyway, I woke upon our arrival home. My first priority was to find my cat. After a long search I found him under a bed. He was a bit leery of us, even me, but I couldn’t blame him so I let him be. Once things settled down he’d be okay.
I then began unpacking my things and my parents soon headed off to retrieve their dogs from the kennel they stayed at. I took that time to get my stuff in order, give the cats some wet food and eventually collapse again. I slept until around ten thirty that night.
Getting up, I took a shower and had a small dinner of Ramen. I decided to watch a few shows on the television and after being up for about three hours I hit the bed again. I’m not certain as to when I woke up again. Maybe it was ten? Maybe it was eleven?
Well, I ate a light breakfast consisting of a peanut butter sandwich. My body was still exhausted so I did what little chores I could manage. I then checked my email and various things before checking into my bank account. That was a troublesome endeavor.
I had tried to check it the night before but there were difficulties. Our bank merged, converted… something with another bank while we were gone. Therefore lots of things changed and had to be reaffirmed. Well, this time it was being a bit kinder and with my mother’s assistance I finally got it to work. I think the main problems the night before was because my debit card hadn’t been fully renewed yet. We called the bank to activated it mid afternoon the day before, so maybe that had something to do with it.
Anyway, with that squared away I again worked on putting order to some things in regards to my room. My cat was back to his usual self and I was still exhausted. I decided to rest on my bed for a while until my mom was ready to leave.
Since we were gone since Friday we hadn’t done our grocery shopping, therefore it was our duty to get that done today. After my mom got her bank account in order and checked her email we headed out. Grocery shopping was pretty much the same as usual for me despite my mom did some things that made it a bit frustrating, like wandering off… but we got the job done.
After that we picked up medicine and stopped by Wendy’s. Mom wanted a frosty and I was thirsty as well as in need of a quick snack to pick me up since I had a dizzy spell at the store. We headed home after that.
After unpacking groceries mom readied herself lunch and I ate my fries and drank my soda. We then went to the “cat/sewing room” to watch some television just to catch up on shows we didn’t see while gone. After two shows I was getting tired and went to take a nap. Mo got a page about a prescription she had dropped off when we went to get meds earlier. The rest of my day was spent sleeping after that.
I took a shower before starting this and started cooking some pasta in the middle. Eating now, I guess I’ll take a break before I move onto looking back on significant events during the wedding that weren’t addressed in my previous entry.
(Paused at 10:21 PM. Resumed 10:50 PM)
Okay… Well, despite the entire trip has exhausted me and revived some issues of mine, I will say there were some things learned. The some of the following might have been addressed in my previous post, but since I wrote that while I was semi-brain-dead  it doesn’t matter.
One thing I have established during the rehearsal dinner was that I seem to have a soft spot for the elderly. In a more elaborated sense, I find them easier to talk to and feel at ease with. A part of me wonders if it is because I seem to be like an elderly person despite my youth. There are those with old souls and I might be one of them, but usually when I say I am like an elder person, I mean it by mannerisms and such. I might be wrong on that, but it just feels that way at times.
Another thing learned is that while I still tend to feel like a different species, an alien in a small isolated world watching those I will never understand… I do not become as depressed about this knowledge as I would have when younger. I suppose it is because I know my nature better than I used to. I know I will never be a part of that world and even if I was included it would never have the significance I see it to have in reality when it regards me. I experience things differently. Just being at the wedding is proof of that.
Despite I was there physically to be a part of it… on an emotional, mental and spiritual way, I was still unable to experience the feelings and thoughts everyone else was. At the dinner I saw people being friendly, telling stories and bonding. Most of the conversations I couldn’t join in on since I was never there or was unable to remember – my memory is particularly poor. Therefore I was mainly silent and listened. I could only pick up bits of the conversations though. I did smile at times, find some things amusing, but again there was that distance. I realize now that even when I am included, I will never have the true connection. It is sad, but it is how I am apparently.
There were other instances of feeling quite misplaced, but I think the point is addressed well enough. Now there are some things that I learned that is less on an introspective level and more like a personal history enlightened. I write it for the memory since remembering on my own is rather futile.
After arriving to where the wedding was to take place my family encountered my grandmother, now brother’s neighbor. After catching up it was soon just her and me talking. She tried to refresh my memory about things in the past, but I sadly do not recall. Then again I was likely a toddler at best in regards to the memories she spoke of.
Apparently my fondness for the elderly was proven yet again because she relayed to me about how whenever the rest of the family left to do things like go to the movies, the mall or do errands I always insisted on staying home with my grandmother. This amused me and made me smile. I remember none of that but it is nice to know that while I remember no particular bond with my grandmother, I apparently had one.
Another thing she noted was that back when we lived up in Alaska when she visited us I would have nothing to do with her and only wanted to be with her daughter. Then in all irony, when we were down here I wanted nothing to do with her daughter and only wanted to be around her. What was up with me back then, I have no idea. It is interesting as well as amusing to know, though.
The last story she told me was how my sister, cousin and I would hang around her home at times when we were little. Apparently my sister and cousin would help her husband make soup often. She claimed I helped, but my mother thinks it is unlikely considering my age. I likely watched at best. Still, it was said that if my parents and grandparents couldn’t find us, it likely meant we were over there.
Well, I believe I’ve written down the main things I wanted to remember or found significant. It is 11:09 now. I still feel rather awake so I suppose I’ll stay up a bit longer.
For notes, My sister’s birthday is tomorrow and I have a dentist appointment on Wednesday. Other than Thanksgiving, I don’t think there are any other plans or events occurring this month. Thank god.

Well… the wedding is finally over. Friday morning I woke around five and left my room at five thirty. I ate breakfast and cleaned up as much as I could. Making sure everything I needed was ready, I then made sure the cats had enough food and water left to last at least two and a half to three days. During this my parents left a little after eight to take the dogs to a kennel. Waiting on them I eventually decided to rest in bed again since I had only received about… three hours of sleep the night before.
They returned around nine thirty. Mom woke me up, we packed the car and were out by nine fifty. Mom and I wound up sleeping the whole trip while dad drove. I don’t quite remember when we got into the city but it was maybe around noon. We then went to the hotel.
It seems my dad had spent enough money for only one room instead of two. By the price he thought he had gotten two rooms, but that was not the case. Therefore, Mom and I took the one already booked and he with my brother took a cheaper hotel room at a hotel opposite us while a mall was the separator.
We waited a while until we knew my brother was near to go downstairs to eat lunch. The restaurant in the hotel was a grill place. We ordered while waiting since it would take my brother about ten minutes until he could arrive. I had ordered a pizza since it was the only thing on the menu I’d eat with no problem.
Well, my brother arrived only to note he wasn’t very hungry, so after looking at the menu I offered to split my pizza with him since I likely wouldn’t eat all of it. It was settled since it was pepperoni. The pizza was okay. They made it have a slightly spicy sauce that didn’t interest me greatly, however. I like my frozen pizzas baked in the oven for a while just fine.
We separated after that, my dad and brother heading to their hotel and my mother and me to our room. I collapsed soon enough and I am not sure what my mom did. Anyway, she woke me up from my nap and I got dressed as did she. Dad and my brother showed up and all together we used the family car to go to the rehearsal.
I suppose I could go all into it, but my mind doesn’t want to so whatever. We met my to-be-sister-in-law’s friends and family. We waited around for the stragglers to show up. I mainly watched as everyone got the procession down and typically wondered why I was there again. When I say there, I didn’t mean the rehearsal, but the wedding in general. I paid no role and was pretty much like an unnecessary accessory just added in really. Yeah, yeah… my reason to be there was for my eldest brother to join and witness him on a day of pivotal value in his entire life. I just wonder if my being there was truly important though.
Yes, yes – this is about the bride and groom, not you. I know that. At the same time, however… would it have been at all significant if I hadn’t been there? I suppose it would be since I am his youngest sister and we had a good relationship as children. I suppose it would be since I get along with the bride just fine. In all logical sense, however, I contributed nothing. Well, I guess I contributed a sense of moral support… Whatever.
Well, after the rehearsal Dad and my brother dropped us off at our hotel. I collapsed again.  Mom mapped out a way to find a tea shop and a place that could sell her a hair brush since she forgot to bring hers. She got back at five thirty and woke me up. We got ready, Dad and my brother showed up and when we were all ready we left for the rehearsal dinner.
The restaurant was Italian. We arrived around the same time the wedding committee with my eldest brother and his bride-to-be did. We all entered to the reserved room. There were the bride-to-be’s grandmother and an old friend of my brother who was to be his Best Man. Apparently my brother had been his Best Man in turn when he got married. He is in the army, so he flew all the way in from England and had arrived in the US just ten minutes before he found the restaurant. Others to arrive was another of my brothers’ childhood friends, the bride-to-be’s god parents and various others. I pretty much just stuck by my mom. Though some of my brothers’ childhood friends were there, I never really knew them. Again, I wondered why I was even there and simply thought about how I wanted to be home.
The dinner was nice… I could eat something from every course. As for the socializing… well, as said, I didn’t really know anyone. So I mainly just stared off, listened to others despite half the conversation was lost on me… and I mainly just wanted to be home. My being there again seemed utterly pointless. I had nothing to contribute in the conversation, had no memories others discussed about and really related to little. Oh, well.
When the bride-to-be’s father asked me how I was doing, I could only shrug. He was a nice fellow. He brought along his fiancée and she seemed nice. I liked the grandmother despite we spoke briefly. I realized I always seem to have most ease with the well functioning elderly. I loved my great aunt Lillian and I found a fondness for the bride-to-be’s grandmother. I don’t remember my own grandmother too well, though.
Not much really needs to be said for the dinner I guess. The bride-to-be’s godmother sang a song, people thanked my parents for the dinner and I got a gander of the bill and wondered about chipping in despite I can only offer little. We left around nine or so.
Once my mother and I got showers we both pretty much collapsed. It was ten thirty. Mom fell asleep quickly. It took me a while but I slept well. I dreamed of my cats. I woke around six thirty and opened up the blinds to semi-wake my mom and to make sure the room was no longer black as ink. I went back to sleep after that for safety measures.
I woke again around ten thirty. Mom had been well up since then and I just made sure I kept up my “retain as much energy as possible” plan. Dad and my brother showed up and we all decided to eat an early lunch. After having trouble deciding on a place we stopped by an Italian restaurant since we were running short on time – my brother was a groomsman and needed to get to the place early to help set things up and the like.
It was okay. Again, like the pizza I ate for lunch the day before, it wasn’t quite my style. The sauce was a bit strong for me and I thought the price was ridiculous. Everything here is priced ridiculously. That is one of the things I dislike about traditional weddings.
Well, after eating we split up again. I caught in maybe an hour of sleep after that and was woken up just in time to get dressed.  Dad arrived, got dressed in our hotel room and then the three of us headed to the wedding grounds.
Waiting around in the parking lot were all the groomsmen and my eldest brother all dressed up. Greetings were said and then we entered the reception room. There we ran into my deceased grandmother’s next door neighbor who has been my eldest brother’s next door neighbor for some years now. She tried to refresh my memory on some things, but it was like hearing a book for the first time for me. It refreshed nothing. I just lack a decent ability to recall things from the past. It was pleasant and enlightening, though.
I later saw my mother’s cousin Patty and her husband as well as my “Aunt” Karen, another of my mom’s cousins, and her son, Justin, and daughter, Ashley, with their respective spouses and children. In that I met said children for the first time. All of them are still babies. Justin and his wife have two children – I believe they are both boys. Ashley and her husband have a baby girl. I’m not really a baby person, but I liked them. I like kids and babies on a more “look at them” level. On a baby-sit, interact like mad level… not so much.
Well, I eventually sat down, already tiring just from the little interaction, I was the only one in the from row of the groom’s side. My parents were to sit on the bride’s side since they led the procession. My sister of course wasn’t there and my brother was a groomsman. So, yeah… I was alone on the front row. Great. I survived, of course, but… yeah.
The procession occurred, the bride was beautiful and I was quite happy for them. I just still didn’t understand my being there. Well, it didn’t feel as bad as at the rehearsal dinner. At the dinner I had felt that old feeling again: On the inside looking out.
When the ceremony was over the guests went to the concession and I just hung around my parents until they entered to mingle with Patty and her husband. They were soon called for pictures. I was told I wouldn’t be needed so I made very small talk with my mother’s relations. Then the bride came and told me I was supposed to go to the picture taking too while she went to get her grandmother. I joined in just a few pictures, did a couple of plastered smiles that dropped as soon as the camera flashed and some of my regular, small smiles that wind up not looking like smiles when I actually see them in pictures or mirrors.
When the groom’s family was no longer needed Mom, Dad, my brother and I joined the other guests. There were finger foods. We ate little. Dad mainly drank wine. I think I was about the same way as I was at the rehearsal… I sat quietly, listened, stared off and on occasion made a sound.
When the speeches were made I clapped, laughed and listened. I smiled on occasion and so forth.  I will not say it was mechanical, but I cannot say it was full of life either. I found some things touching, some things cute, some things funny, some things boring… so on. I just know… I still am very alien to most humans. I admitted such to my mom as well as that I sometimes cannot even relate to my own family. She seemed to understand.
Well, we left around six I think. We couldn’t find the bride to say goodbye, but we bid farewell to my eldest brother. We headed to the hotel and got dressed into our regular clothes. Mom wanted to go back to the tea place she had encountered earlier and we ate dinner there. Like all the restaurants, minus the one we ate at for the rehearsal dinner, I thought the food could have been better and it was ridiculously priced.
With full stomachs we headed back to the hotel. Dad dropped Mom and me off and went on to his hotel. My brother, who stayed behind with the groomsmen plans to hang out with them tonight I believe.
For once I’ve stayed up. Checking a few sites that I try to check regularly, I now got down to writing this. I’m sure I am leaving a lot of things out, but thinking clearly isn’t really a strong suit right now. I think I am done with this now. Yes.

A conversation/debate I had during the weekend with a casual net friend:

~Nyxity
You must absolutely hate the wings I draw then. O.o…

‘Think you’d critique my gallery?

—–

*Tawadi
I was hoping this would stand in for critiques…
Aside from duct-tape wings, your art is fine. Better than most of the people this is aimed at.
The dragon bit is mostly aimed at people who do stuff like this [link] I love this person to pieces, but some of the refs drive me mad.

—–

~Nyxity
Heh, my case is similar to when people look for typing errors. Well, except that while I miss all of my mistakes, I usually miss the ones in other people’s works as well. 😛

I wike my duct-tape wings. :{

😛

—–

*Tawadi
Well maybe now youll notice them, both in your own and in others art.

Just dont try to tell me your people are flying away on those or Ill hit you with something. Probably a pillow.

—–

~Nyxity
If anything, the wings are usually just for the symbolism. That and sort of like navigators. For example: Cats’ tails. They can’t be used to hang upside down with like say certain monkeys. They can, however, be used as feelers, balance aids, emotional state indicators and such.
Besides, with angels and devils… they are supposed to be like spirits, ghosts and so forth. They have no corporeal form or at least not a heavy form like humans and most animals… they should fly just fine without wings… or float in any case. 😛
So yeah, if you see one of my ghosts, angels, devils or dragons flying… it isn’t because of the wings. They just use those to tell wind speed, direction and so forth. 😀

—–

*Tawadi
I give up on angels. No one wants to put muscles the size of 10gal drums on something thats supposed to be dainty and beautiful (though if a hummingbird were the size of a human thats what itd be like…)

“But but they use their magic to fly!!!” Then why do they have wings at all?

—–

~Nyxity
Navigators and aids, as said. Penguins and other birds with wings and yet are unable to fly. So why do they have wings? They use them as propellers in water.

I am down with the angels using magic though. The only things that uses magic to fly are fairies, pixies and such. 😛

—–

*Tawadi
Yes, propellers. Not navigators.

I theyre ethereal beings then why do they have wiiiiiiiiiings?!?!? >.< -illogic drives me mad-

—–

~Nyxity
Okay then, if using small wings, one could position them various ways to ease direction a bit, feel wind speed and pressure, tell where the wind is coming from on a more sensitive scale, keep the body more balanced… In turn, using those allows one to make judgements about their flight current. What would that be called if not navigation aids?
‘Not saying they are used for actual lift off or gliding, mind you. Heaven forbid.

—–

*Tawadi
If an ethereal creature with no material substance exists, and uses magic to fly, wind wouldnt be of concern. Why would it care about direction, speed, etc of something that doesnt affect it?

—–

~Nyxity
One, I’m not talking about beings that uses magic to fly. Two, just because it isn’t of material substance on our standard doesn’t mean it lacks substance. Thus, such things can affect it. Simple concept: angel/demon/ghost/spirit/whatever semi equals oxygen. Oxygen semi equals Helium. Though you cannot feel or see them on your own, they are there. They have no real material feel to them, but they do have substance. In tern they can be affected by certain things like weather. Wind, stillness, etc. In turn, air is moved when it is windy. It has no real choice in where it goes. Say an ethereal being is somewhat affected in a similar aspect. With wings, it can navigate where it ends up and make use of different winds directions, weather and so forth.
You seem to think I speak of one, things that fly using wings for the lift off and gliding aspect as well as something that is composed of absolutely nothing – which in turn would just be nothing in itself.

—–

*Tawadi
Ive never heard of angels being blown away by sudden breezes (wouldnt that make chapels interesting?), but I get the argument. If the magic is strong enough to create lift, wouldnt it also be strong enough to provide stability without having useless feathery appendages waving about?

—–

~Nyxity
Why do you keep bringing up magic? Screw magic. That is the lazy person’s excuse – an easy way out.

—–

*Tawadi
Because Im half asleep and forgot what we were arguing about?

—–

~Nyxity
*Snerks* Silly. Also we are debating about – I don’t think we are being hostile. Get some rest then you silly human.

—–

*Tawadi
-mumbles incoherently and drags self off to bed- Good night. XP

It was all started over a tutorial she wrote about drawing. It had been a long time since I really held a debate with a person. Exhausting, but rather enjoyable. I do have my various “reasons” for certain things that make no sense physically in our world/reality, though. I don’t necessarily think them out, but I do know what components make things work in my drawings – at least the fantasy ones.

I never mentioned it in the debate, but drawings of a certain character of mine has those “duct-tape wings” are made for flying. Despite they look like angel wings they are also made to act like a shield. This character is a goddess, so certain aspects that deny the physical laws of humans take place. Her wings are indeed like birds in the back that they are light, but they are also like metal in terms of bone structure. Titanium to be close. While they are used for flight, they are also used like shields during battle. Thus, despite they are so strong, they are also incredibly light.
The same works with a similar character who instead has wings that are more bat-like. They are translucent, but it more like a bullet proof glass sort of concept only it is quite bendable. Again they are very light and strong, and though the bone that is used happens to be quite thinly muscled, the muscles are sinewy and serve their purpose to mechanize the wings.The real muscle that allows the wings not to break off is in the back and shoulder muscles instead, thus causing the wings to flap like how one flaps a fan.
While I doubt those who do draw “duct-tape wings” actually put that much thought into their drawings/characters, I do believe mine at least serve their purpose. The main problem is that these things seem hardly necessary to write down when all I am doing is showing a picture. Well, whatever.

I watched a Criminal Minds episode with my mother tonight. It was about schizophrenic man plagued by his hallucinations to kill. At the end of the show one finds out he didn’t just develop it after a traumatic event from his childhood, but that he had it since he was born likely.
My mom and I know a lot about mental illnesses. She knows them due to her line of work. Me? It is a combination of being mentally ill, hearing information from her and just researching it on my own.
Well, in any case, often we can pity cases. I can relate to some cases be it minimum or greatly. Well, while many who know little about schizophrenia might have found the episode weird – particularly the ending… my mom and I just found it tragic.
Those kind of episodes we wind up talking about. Somewhere in the conversation I said something along the lines of, “I know how that is!” My mom had commented how at a young age usually when little kids see things, they have no idea what is going on so nothing is ever really done about it. (Or at least it was something along those lines.)
I might have mentioned on here before about how I saw things when little. While I never thought of them as real – well, okay sometimes I considered the possibility – many children likely would mistake hallucinations they see as real. Plenty of adults do even.
I find it really sad for kids who have schizophrenia. When at that age a lot of signs regarding mental illnesses are dismissed. I know a lot of signs in my case (bipolar II) were dismissed as me being just a kid. The suffering for a schizophreniac, though… apply that to a child. Such a harsh thing. Many would likely overlook the signs. Kid talking to himself and seeing people who aren’t there? Oh, he has an imaginary friend!
Oi.
Yeah though… it is amazing the things we miss. It isn’t until recently my mom and I believe I was bipolar even as a small child. Things I often did at school when older that caused trouble… it was all because I couldn’t express myself anymore.
As a child, you get away with certain things. Then, when you reach a certain age, you are expected to behave and mature. Well, that just added on more stress for me.
I was a very odd child, looking back on things. While I’ve always been introverted, a bit lone wolf and such… I’d have my really wild moments. I’d have this uncontrollable energy at times. At recess I could get rid of it by suddenly breaking out in a run for no reason whatsoever. If someone gave my troubles, I could do something about it. I always had troubles with guys… even when in kindergarten. Back then, when they annoyed me I could go after them. I could chase them and try to beat them – they were always faster though. When nervous I could chat like mad, become loud and only get a light scolding.
Then when middle school hit… I no longer could get rid of my stress. Sure, at times I did without meaning to, but that always landed me into trouble – one time I even got a detention. Seriously though, it is bloody hard trying to keep still when a burst of mania hits.
I confided with my mom recently that overall, I was in hell back then. Living in such a situation is torture. I had stressors all around, but I couldn’t do anything to fight back. I couldn’t yell, scream, jump up out of my desk and make a run for it… anything. When boys picked on me I couldn’t jump at them, chase them and hopefully at some point beat the crap out of them. I couldn’t do anything. It was like I was a shaken champagne bottle but even when filled up with bubbles I couldn’t even make the top pop off. Then after enough happened… the bottle would break.
There were other things noted… like how my mind developed like a person on drugs. We never quite got into that clearly, but I have determined one thing… I would have been a perfect candidate for the sort who falls into high drug use. My mom thinks… if I had become a druggie, there would have been no hope for me. There is even a likelihood I wouldn’t even be alive today.
Why didn’t I ever fall into such temptations? I have high morals, I have certain expectations in myself, I’m paranoid and I hate things that are required tastes. I guess I had the winning combination.
There was also something noted about brain development. I think it was along the lines of how drug abusers have extremely stunted brain development… and if they never get off them between the ages of teenage-dom to twenty-five… they have no chances of their brain ever being able to grow in regards to learning new things and retaining it. With how my brain works, my stress apparently has a similar effect. I stopped have so many stressors around the time I moved down here… so I have had a chance to have my brain develop as it should. If I had continued college or carried out the things that lead me to dark places… I’d likely be stunted for the rest of my life. That is what I gather anyway. As said, I’m not quite clear on it all.

I am an alien on this Earth. I am humanoid. Everything about me would suggest a complete Earthling. That isn’t so, however. I tick differently than others. Upon growing up, I didn’t feel comfortable in my skin. I saw myself as a regular human and thus tried to be one. I acted upon logic rather than my heart. I was miserable.
Later in life I was able to live how I believe is my true nature. There no longer was the need of calculating, observing and need to try to like everyone else. I was free. I was happy and comfortable with myself finally.

Not many people seem to get that, particularly my head doctor. She sees me as human as her and perhaps would consider my feelings about myself to be negative, hindering and so forth. In all reality, when she encourages me to expand my horizons, search my potentials and the like… she sends me right back to how I was before. I will go along with it. It is my rational side that allows such. I fall back to putting the feelings of others over mine.
I can convince myself with thoughts that there is a positive possibility. Change is necessary for growth and discoveries. I know not the future or what can wait for me there and by staying still, I might never find a happiness greater than the one I posses now.
The problem is, my heart holds no interest in that. My heart only allows these mental arguments to persuade because my heart wishes to please others. It doesn’t overcome my true feelings though.

When younger I thought I was quite a logical, philosophical individual. I hated my emotions and ignored them. I didn’t like to think myself as sensitive or fragile in that aspect. If I allowed such, I’d never make it. Not in this world.
I know better now that it wasn’t hate, however. It was fear and desperation. If I had given into my emotions, allowed them to be truly expressed… I would cause troubles. I’d be crying all the time, worrying or bothering. I would be weak because I just couldn’t handle what everyone else were able to do so easily. My feelings can be hurt as easily as a bubble can pop by seemingly nothing due to its utter fragility.
I am different. I realize this and embrace it. I am at peace when able to live how my emotions wish to. When unable to… I feel trapped.
When I step out of my natural state and try to be like the people about me… it is like before. Breaking down, crying, suddenly disappearing to hide is not acceptable behavior. I must cope. I must endure. I cannot fall into myself or rescue myself. I can only shield and try to make it inch by inch.

First there is pain. I do not allow myself to cry though. No one else about me would cry and feel devastated by such a little thing. Since feelings will only lead to that, I become logical. My mind becomes persuasive and I struggle desperately against a raging tidal wave of emotions. I try to listen to my mind as it controls everything. Most people can control their emotions if they really try. I’ve always tried my damnedest.
Despite such a desperate obstacle, I continue on. The rest of me shuts down. I close off enough so I will not weep. I become rigid and silent. I put all my effort to keep the flood from engulfing me completely. I shut off my heart a bit to keep what control I have in me.
Once I’ve managed to dwindle the flood to a stream, I’ll become mechanical. I am guarded suddenly, because if I am not, the flood can resurface quite quickly. So I carry on, talking to myself, rationalizing with all my might to keep calm. In that I become detached as well, because if I do not do that pain will take a sudden spike again.
And thus, in such a state, a simple doll… I walk among the normal. It is the only way I can survive otherwise. Unlike all the other fish who require water to live… Water simply makes me drown.
That is what it is. I am not dramatizing, I am not fantasizing. It is simply how things are. It is not fear of what could happen that keeps me at distance. It is experience time and time again. No matter how much I can convince myself otherwise with my mind… My heart knows the truth. Inside I know the truth.

For me, pain is the most likely scenario. I don’t expect it every time. I know better. I just know with how I am wired I have a higher chance of that over joy. I know because like how my senses can be rather sensitive on a physical level, my emotions are more so.
To go against my emotions, to sway myself with logic for others… I am that fish who cannot live in water submerging herself to please others. I’ll choke and gasp, but I have managed to hold my breath and find few precious air bubbles often enough so I do not die.
But to do such relentlessly again like how I did in my past… I don’t think I’d be able to survive living like that again. I really don’t.

It isn’t only that, however. To continue such a thing, I would lose myself. I’ve lost myself before. I know that to do as my head doctor asks of me will lead to such a devastating place again. To live like others, I lose myself. I lose my true feelings. I am merely a doll trying to be like all the real boys and girls around me. She doesn’t realize this. If to hear these thoughts, she’d likely think it preposterous. I know myself quite well though. I do not care what one might say about not knowing everything due to the inability to see from the outside. I know enough.
I suppose what I am getting at here is… I do I believe I will die. My soul will die. It was near death once before. I almost lost it completely, but it cried out with its last breath. after all this time it is now revived to its fullest. I don’t want my soul to go through that again. I don’t want parts of it ripped away piece by piece. I don’t want my heart to be stabbed slowly over and over to the point that I fear to be myself and lose my soul.

So yes… a part of me will always fight this… subtly. I don’t fight it with full force… I have not reached such a strength yet. It is stronger than before, though, because before I never would have made a peep to the doctor or my mother. I fight it because in a sense it is a matter of life and death. Because what I wish to keep alive is my true self… my identity, my feelings, my wants, my desires.
Once upon a time I would never consider such. That was because I feared it would make me selfish, putting my wants before those I loved. Now though… now… I think it is okay to. It is okay to because I am protecting a life. I am protecting my life for once. Now that I have found a better world… a world I never saw possible in my bleak youth… I want to keep it.
I’m not strong enough to demand, to truly fight the wants of others… but I have hope… I have hope that one day they will see. They will see this is just me. It will always be me… and they will accept it. They will finally accept it.

Like Van Gogh is quoted, “I wish they would only take me as I am.”

Ah… Wynne… if only you realized your wish to see my potentials only hurt me more than help. Each time I undergo such trials, it makes me take a step back rather than a step forward. You just don’t seem to understand that.

Today I experienced a familiar feeling and from that I learned a new thing about something that has always been me. I saw my head doctor back in January on the twenty-eighth. In the end she and my mother spoke of potential and eventually it was decided that I should try to get out more. Despite my always leery feelings about the matter, I decided to appease them as usual. Most of me knows that if it does have a negative effect, the matter will be put away for a long while.  Then, there is the vague positive, perhaps hopeful side – despite it is mainly run by logic as well – that maybe something positive will come of it. It was the former as usual.
The feeling I experienced was of being in school again. The thing I learned was that I am emotionally sensitive to words and actions of others as I am physically sensitive to various stimuli. I am mentally, physically and emotionally intense. It doesn’t matter the age or gender. It doesn’t matter if I can rationalize the situation, tell myself the likely true scenario… the emotions are there and despite my great efforts, they cannot be ignored.
I almost cried in class. I wanted to get up and leave. I didn’t though. I did that back in school, but that was after going through this process over and over again to the point of a break. By habit I kept myself strong. I would carry out what I came to do. I would not cry, I would not run, I would finish the class and then I would go home. I fulfilled that.
It reminded me of my youth though. In the past I would have been irritable and possibly lash out. Back then I didn’t know how to cry. Well, I know how to now. I kept my tears back, though. Thinking on that, I am sure that is how it all started… my inability to cry back then. I had to be strong. I had to be able to handle what was going around me like everyone else. In the end, I broke substantially.
This is why I avoid such situations… I am sure I will always wind up in the same situation in the end. Why? Because it is how I am wired. I will always be sensitive. In order to not make a fuss, a ruckus, a scene… I keep it all in. I try to act normal. In the end though, the very things I want to do at the time do come out, but by then they are like the genie in the bottle. They come out in an overflowing burst. They are like an erupting volcano and very bad things happen.
Today I saw the beginning of that small build up. It was over a little thing. I could see it was a little thing. For my mind and my heart however, the pain, humiliation, indignation, frustration and anger could not be soothed by rational thoughts, logic and explanations.
When working against something that is difficult, I tend to berate myself and the work. It is a habit I’ve possessed since little and still possess now. I suppose in my case it is a sort of reverse psychology. If I say such things, I won’t truly be disappointed if it doesn’t work out as hoped. Then there is the concept of how drill sergeants yell and berate their cadets.
The teacher didn’t know me and thus wouldn’t understand me. I know that. I’d only see her for one day. I know that. This wasn’t a class that was being graded. I know that. I just work my own way.
She teased me about expecting to suddenly be a master artist from that simple beginner’s class. That affronted me greatly. I never expected such a thing. She made a comment about my having to yet learn that valuable lesson more or less. This being said to the other four women taking the class her were pretty much as old as the teacher or older. They had kids and possible even grandkids.
That angered, hurt and humiliated me. I wanted to know what gave her the right to judge me so. Yes, I was well younger than half their age, but that didn’t mean I was so naïve, so ignorant, so immature…
Then after something regarding my comments over my progress she teased again and told me to “dwell on it” as though I were a troublesome child who had a valuable lesson to learn about art.
Perhaps one would say I am naïve, ignorant or immature. I likely am that quite a bit. However, I think she could have had the decency not to insult me to offhandedly. I would have appreciated it greatly if she didn’t make it a lighthearted joke that amused the others.
By the end of that, my emotions were in turmoil. Tears prickled in my eyes and truthfully I fought over just standing and leaving right there without a word to get a hold of myself. One might say I was being immature right then. Well, whatever…
I stayed though. The class cost a decent amount of my monthly paycheck, my mom bought the supplies for me and I was going to finish what I started. So, after working and getting a handle on myself, I reduced myself to the occasionally sniffles and just focused on getting the assignments over with. I wondered if any of them noticed a change in mood about the air that surrounded me. I doubted it with how they acted.
Before that I made comments, rambled things… but by then… I figured, “Why bother?” I wasn’t an equal in their eyes. I was only going to see them that one class. Thus, I was silent, no nonsense and merely did things rather mechanically by then.
I eased up near the end of the class. I would try again, but on a more distant level. I made vague conversation with one lady. I found she was a fellow “hermit”. She didn’t seem to care for the watercolor medium either. Small chat was fine.
After that I asked the teacher to do a repeat example on the lesson I was muttering the most about as it was difficult or very displeasing to me. Then I stayed to hear the women talk for a while before departing. I felt I did enough for the rest of the session despite the poor results of the middle part. I decided I had no intentions to ever do another painting class under her again, however.
In all of that, I learned… It doesn’t matter who the person is. The age, the gender, the ethnicity, whatever… it doesn’t matter. I’ll always be sensitive. I am sure there are ways of therapy for coping… but I do my own coping. Coping only eases. It doesn’t get rid of.
I have another class in March. My mother says I don’t have to go. I’m sure I could get my money back too if I were to withdraw. I’ll go though. It was decided. I’ll stick to it. It is a different class and will have a different teacher. I doubt I’ll be working with any one near my age, though. I’ll see how I do. Perhaps I’ll enjoy it to some extent. If it turns out like today’s… well, I’ll survive it and know I tried. I always try and will continue to even if there is pain… because pain is always inevitable… just as happiness is.

Well, Sunday I wound up being in one of my fogged dispositions. My brother and his girlfriend came as noted. We had an okay dinner, but I was really out of it so by the time it was over and the food had settled, I hit the bed. Monday to Wednesday are really a blur by now.
Thursday my parents and I went to the mall for hair cuts. We left around nine, got there around eleven and ate at a Denny’s restaurant. After that we went in. Mom and I had appointments at twelve. When I was through, my dad and I wandered. We ran a look out for a certain toy my mom was interested in getting for her new puppy. We didn’t find it, so we continued a more languid wandering. We hit the bookstore for a while. Dad bought me a smoothie afterward and we checked a Brookstone store to see if there was anything my eldest brother might like.
After that we checked in on mom. She was done and so headed to a candle store. She made a purchase or two and then we headed off to the pet stores again for her to look at something. After making two purchases there, we decided to head back home. We got back at five and after settling back down, dad ordered Chinese. The evening ended rather normal, other than that my mom was able to stay up late since it was her first day of winter vacation.
Friday is a blur to me… I believe I got up, fed the cats, did some chores, ate breakfast and wound up falling asleep again at some point. Then noon time came around and I heard whining. Yep, I woke up to the arrival of the new puppy. He whined most of the afternoon away. I think I either hid out or I slept some more due to the likely headache he caused me. Fortunately, he quieted down more once night arrived since he was getting used to the change by then.
I don’t remember the weekend, but I’m sure it went the same as usual minus the new puppy to tend to. He would whine like mad when put into his kennel at night and then around twelve to one he wakes up and whines to be let out. Thing is, I’m not getting the worst of it in that scenario. My parents are in the room with him when he does that. I’m on the other side of the house and simply hear him.
Well, he’s settling in. The other dogs are having some problems with him at times still and my mother’s other dog sulked and growled a lot in the beginning… they are lightening up on him a bit and my dad’s dog has shown a great deal of maturity and patience. It just makes a person proud of him.
My cat is green to all of this. He is the second youngest pet we have and unlike the other cats, he has never experienced the bringing home of a new baby pet. So… for the longest time he has been hiding out in my room and sleeping the day in here. I like it, but it does worry me since there is no litter box in here and he doesn’t get as much water since he prefers to drink from a faucet rather than a bowl. Well, fortunately on Tuesday he decided to venture out more.
Today was a busy day. We went on a shopping expedition in a small town made for shopping. It was my parents and me. We hit my mom’s usual shop sights and a few that she doesn’t always go to but likes to check out and then at lunch at a German-themed restaurant. After doing a few more stops after that, we headed home.
Upon reaching home, I hit the bed though. I had a headache since eight and was just out of it… so… yeah. I woke up around five, got up and did some chores. The rest of the evening was typical… made something to eat, watched shows with mom and did some more chores…
Mom took her older dog to the vet today while I napped. He has one bad ear infection going on and will need surgery. A specialist will be contacted, if I am not mistaken. He’s on antibiotics right now I believe. Said meds cost one hundred ten bucks. I hope her dog getting some sort of infection that requires surgery later doesn’t become a tradition for this time of year in later years. Actually, it kind of reminds me of how I always got the flu on Christmas Eve or the ungodly hours of the morning on Christmas Day when little…
Anyway, now I’m here… Typing away…
Oh… yeah… since my last entry my trichotillomania has acted up again. I think I’ve pulled out more hair than ever before this past week. My mom asks if it is the puppy or if it is because she’s been home… I tell her I have no idea. Consciously I am just fine. Subconsciously, I don’t know. I figure it is a subconscious thing, anyway. Some people have dreams… Me… I cut or pull my hair out… I think the hair tends to come first… cutting is usually a far into it sort of thing.
Am I worried? Not really. Some day my hair might not grow back in that area though. That’d suck. I told Mom if that happens some point in the future, I might have to get the bald spot tattooed in black ink. She noted a wig. I’m using my hat for the moment.
Hmm… if not mistaken the day after tomorrow I’ll be seeing Mrs. Wynne. The hair pulling thing will likely become a topic of discussion. Oh, well. After that my mom and dad will have to go to a work related Christmas gathering. The weekend should be the usual… and… I’ll be another year older come next week. Funny thing is, my mom is going back on that day. I wonder if she planned it that way. I’ve teased her on that in any case.