He finally admitted it.
That he can't do long distance. That he doesn't think he's what I'm looking for. That he doesn't know what he's doing with his life.
That makes two of us.
At least it's all out there now. I told him I was okay, and I was, but then I cried afterwards. I cried the entire next day, in fact. Literally. Almost non-stop. The whole darn day. That was my graduation day. And then the day after that. It all sucked, really.
It's also weird that it's over. We barely talk now. Not in a bad way, I don't think, but just...I guess this is what it was like before we were "more than friends?" It's been almost a year of us talking every single day and every single night....and now, nothing.
I've hidden away from facebook and social media until I'm more or less okay. A little worse for the wear, but I don't randomly get the urge to burst into tears at the thought that there will never be a Norah Nykole. Dangit. That was a really pretty name.
Also, I did fail organic chemistry. So now I'm going to take the course at a college in the city. It's just as far of a commute as to my alma mater, but at least I can use a Metrocard and pay $5.00 round trip instead of $19.50. Also, the school looks like Hogwarts.
Literally.
We got the keys to our new place today, and went over there to look at it. I've decided not to take the attic after all, since you have to go through the master bedroom to get to it. It is realllllly nice though. But the room that I'm going to take has the most amazing closet/cupboard space I've ever seen. It reaches to the ceiling. There's room for shoes. There are WINDOWS!
Sorry, but I'm a bit excited about windows. We've spent the past two years living in a basement, and I've spent the past one year with no sunlight at all coming into the tiny window in my bedroom.
Now I'm going to have TWO windows.
Zomg.
One teeny, tiny thing.
My room is pink. -____-
Pink.
Yes. Pink. *sigh*
A weird, rosy, can't-get-any-girlier pink.
I'm too lazy to paint it, though. If I could, I would do it a mint green. I'm loving green lately. Dangit! Why pink? All the bedrooms are pink, as a matter of fact. And so is the living room and dining room. But it's okay down there, just...not....upstairs.
Oh yes!
We have an upstairs. And two bathrooms. And an eat-in kitchen. And a finished basement, which I have yet to see.
But the lighting in the upstairs bathroom (which also has a window!!!!) is amazing. Like, perfect. Like, I'm going to have the most fun ever doing makeup in there, and hello, YouTube! It's the perfect lighting for making videos. Guess my channel will be making a comeback. =)
I wonder where we'll put the fish tank. And we have a lawn out front, with a little white cast iron picket fence, and some bushes under the window...I think one of them is a flowering bush.
I have seeds for marigolds, too, that I want to plant. I have this dream of planting them with my mom.
It's really happening. It's actually happening. We're really moving in there. We have the keys. The rent is paid.
Wow.
Thanks, God.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
pre-graduation funk
There's so much. That's what I keep saying. But it's true. There's really so much.
My mom got her first chemo treatment today - at least she did it. I'm proud of her for that.
Graduation is in two days, though, well, really only one day. Because it's Wednesday night, and I have to be there bright and early at 7am on Friday morning. Thursday, we'll be spending the entire day at the hospital, first for a blood transfusion and then for her (daily) radiation treatment.
Guess who has to drive her there?
I'm not complaining about that. Really, I'm not.
But I just won't have any time to prepare myself...I look like a bum right now. Unwashed hair, I haven't shaved in like, what? Two weeks?
I'm a shallow, horrid person, aren't I?
Sigh.
I don't even feel like going to the graduation ceremony. My brother might not even be able to come.
There's really no excitement in it for me.
I'm just bummed.
I want to scream until my throat is raw and I can't scream anymore. Then I want to collapse by the side of a river and just lie there.
Never have to get up.
My mom got her first chemo treatment today - at least she did it. I'm proud of her for that.
Graduation is in two days, though, well, really only one day. Because it's Wednesday night, and I have to be there bright and early at 7am on Friday morning. Thursday, we'll be spending the entire day at the hospital, first for a blood transfusion and then for her (daily) radiation treatment.
Guess who has to drive her there?
I'm not complaining about that. Really, I'm not.
But I just won't have any time to prepare myself...I look like a bum right now. Unwashed hair, I haven't shaved in like, what? Two weeks?
I'm a shallow, horrid person, aren't I?
Sigh.
I don't even feel like going to the graduation ceremony. My brother might not even be able to come.
There's really no excitement in it for me.
I'm just bummed.
I want to scream until my throat is raw and I can't scream anymore. Then I want to collapse by the side of a river and just lie there.
Never have to get up.
Monday, May 20, 2013
this isn't being written from my laptop
I'm on a public computer, which feels awkward, and the keys are stiff and stubborn so I keep having to backspace and retype half my sentences.
But I needed to get on here and say a few things.
One.
Nothing.
Two.
Confusion. But what else is new?
Three.
I might not graduate.
Four.
Does that mean I'm a failure?
Five.
I have no idea where he and I stand, and I'm too afraid to ask.
We haven't spoken in two whole days (in the grand scheme of life, that's not a long time, I know). But I'm wondering if maybe he doesn't want to talk to me, and if he would feel obligated to reply in a cheery manner if I did text him. And then feel obligated to continue talking to me, or to ask me how I'm doing.
I don't want him to feel obligated.
I also want to ask him if he doesn't care about me ... for me... anymore, and if so, what triggered that. But what if he doesn't have an answer? Or worse, what if his answer is a question, asking me why I would ask that?
It seems to me like anything I could possibly ask him on the subject would make him feel cornered, because what guy likes being questioned about their feelings? Especially if they don't know themselves? I have a feeling he doesn't know anymore.
But then there is the teeny, tiny, remote possibility that this separation is doing the same thing to him as it's doing to me, and that he just won't say anything about it the same way I won't.
That's probably too much to hope for. We do live in a cruel world, after all.
I'm tired of living in the future and wishing for the future...but the present sucks balls. I'm this quivering mess of insecurity and complications. I don't want to need friends. I think, maybe, that I don't. I think that maybe, the effort we put out to live and be happy is useless.
I've been thinking a lot about mortality lately. It's kept me up at night. Probably has to do with seeing my mother lose even more weight...she's only 108 lbs now. Her shoulder blades jut out at sharp angles, and I can count each of the vertebrae in her spine without even having to trace them with my fingers. Her skin hangs around her thighs like ... like bags.
It hurts.
It's terrifying.
I lie awake at night with nightmares that I can't wake up from, strange waking dreams that I'll come home from school one day to find her cold body motionless in the bed. God forbid. But I can't get the thoughts out of my head. I picture what I would do, how I would react, the screams that would tear out of my throat. I would try CPR. I would call 911. I would grab her hand and cry my eyes out.
I just want her to get better.
Why the fck is cancer deadly? Why can't it just sit there and do nothing? How does it kill a person? What does it DO?
I can't sleep at night anymore. Apparently one week of night shifts has completely reversed my sleep schedule. So I lie there, unable to get comfortable, with these thoughts running through my mind. I hate them.
You know what sucks? What really sucks? The fact that we're all going to die.
All of us. Each and every one. One at a time. Sometimes two, some times thirty, sometimes a hundred or more at a time. But the end result is the same: the ones we love left behind to mourn. What's the point? Why be here if we're so transient...so easily disposable? One little slip and fall - a crack of the head on the pavement - gone.
Even me. I'm going to be gone one day. If Jesus doesn't come back first, I'll know what it feels like to cease to exist here...my skin will shrivel up and me, the real me, not this body but who I am on the inside, will go on to see whatever really lies beyond.
It's so strange.
And I hate that I can't escape it. I'm trapped inside this body suit, with fingers and hair and nails and skin and blood and muscles and ligaments... and it wants different things, but because it's all I know from birth, I can't separate what I (the real me) wants from what the body wants.
I'm pretty sure it's two different things. Yes. I'm pretty sure of that.
Sometimes I try to remind myself that the real me, the soul that thinks and feels, is someone else than the body it wears. The body I wear. This body is imperfect. Sometimes I think it's ugly. I wonder what my soul looks like. Is it a mist, like the woman said who wrote that book about the afterlife and hell? Or is it an orb of light like the little boy saw leaving his mother's body when she died?
I really do feel trapped. I wish I could detach myself from my body for short periods of time. But to leave it would mean leaving it to rot...
So strange. So, so strange this world we live in.
I don't think I'll ever understand it.
But I still want to know why.
But I needed to get on here and say a few things.
One.
Nothing.
Two.
Confusion. But what else is new?
Three.
I might not graduate.
Four.
Does that mean I'm a failure?
Five.
I have no idea where he and I stand, and I'm too afraid to ask.
We haven't spoken in two whole days (in the grand scheme of life, that's not a long time, I know). But I'm wondering if maybe he doesn't want to talk to me, and if he would feel obligated to reply in a cheery manner if I did text him. And then feel obligated to continue talking to me, or to ask me how I'm doing.
I don't want him to feel obligated.
I also want to ask him if he doesn't care about me ... for me... anymore, and if so, what triggered that. But what if he doesn't have an answer? Or worse, what if his answer is a question, asking me why I would ask that?
It seems to me like anything I could possibly ask him on the subject would make him feel cornered, because what guy likes being questioned about their feelings? Especially if they don't know themselves? I have a feeling he doesn't know anymore.
But then there is the teeny, tiny, remote possibility that this separation is doing the same thing to him as it's doing to me, and that he just won't say anything about it the same way I won't.
That's probably too much to hope for. We do live in a cruel world, after all.
I'm tired of living in the future and wishing for the future...but the present sucks balls. I'm this quivering mess of insecurity and complications. I don't want to need friends. I think, maybe, that I don't. I think that maybe, the effort we put out to live and be happy is useless.
I've been thinking a lot about mortality lately. It's kept me up at night. Probably has to do with seeing my mother lose even more weight...she's only 108 lbs now. Her shoulder blades jut out at sharp angles, and I can count each of the vertebrae in her spine without even having to trace them with my fingers. Her skin hangs around her thighs like ... like bags.
It hurts.
It's terrifying.
I lie awake at night with nightmares that I can't wake up from, strange waking dreams that I'll come home from school one day to find her cold body motionless in the bed. God forbid. But I can't get the thoughts out of my head. I picture what I would do, how I would react, the screams that would tear out of my throat. I would try CPR. I would call 911. I would grab her hand and cry my eyes out.
I just want her to get better.
Why the fck is cancer deadly? Why can't it just sit there and do nothing? How does it kill a person? What does it DO?
I can't sleep at night anymore. Apparently one week of night shifts has completely reversed my sleep schedule. So I lie there, unable to get comfortable, with these thoughts running through my mind. I hate them.
You know what sucks? What really sucks? The fact that we're all going to die.
All of us. Each and every one. One at a time. Sometimes two, some times thirty, sometimes a hundred or more at a time. But the end result is the same: the ones we love left behind to mourn. What's the point? Why be here if we're so transient...so easily disposable? One little slip and fall - a crack of the head on the pavement - gone.
Even me. I'm going to be gone one day. If Jesus doesn't come back first, I'll know what it feels like to cease to exist here...my skin will shrivel up and me, the real me, not this body but who I am on the inside, will go on to see whatever really lies beyond.
It's so strange.
And I hate that I can't escape it. I'm trapped inside this body suit, with fingers and hair and nails and skin and blood and muscles and ligaments... and it wants different things, but because it's all I know from birth, I can't separate what I (the real me) wants from what the body wants.
I'm pretty sure it's two different things. Yes. I'm pretty sure of that.
Sometimes I try to remind myself that the real me, the soul that thinks and feels, is someone else than the body it wears. The body I wear. This body is imperfect. Sometimes I think it's ugly. I wonder what my soul looks like. Is it a mist, like the woman said who wrote that book about the afterlife and hell? Or is it an orb of light like the little boy saw leaving his mother's body when she died?
I really do feel trapped. I wish I could detach myself from my body for short periods of time. But to leave it would mean leaving it to rot...
So strange. So, so strange this world we live in.
I don't think I'll ever understand it.
But I still want to know why.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
some things I need
a capo for my guitar
my sketchbook and a few free hours
It's odd, how I picture myself. The way I want to reinvent myself.
I want to be the girl with the big, round glasses and the massive hair. The one with the stretched ears and the leg warmers and ballet slippers. The one who can't carry a tune but can play the guitar until it sings.
The one who sits in the grass and sketches, who climbs trees to read a book. Who paints her toenails but never her fingernails, because they'd just get chipped on the guitar strings.
The one with the hidden ink and silver, for her eyes alone; the one who writes to live and lives to write.
I want to get back to living in my own world.
But then I look at myself and see how imperfect I am...
my sketchbook and a few free hours
It's odd, how I picture myself. The way I want to reinvent myself.
I want to be the girl with the big, round glasses and the massive hair. The one with the stretched ears and the leg warmers and ballet slippers. The one who can't carry a tune but can play the guitar until it sings.
The one who sits in the grass and sketches, who climbs trees to read a book. Who paints her toenails but never her fingernails, because they'd just get chipped on the guitar strings.
The one with the hidden ink and silver, for her eyes alone; the one who writes to live and lives to write.
I want to get back to living in my own world.
But then I look at myself and see how imperfect I am...
Friday, May 10, 2013
tough days
Maybe I should be stronger.
I don't think I am. I don't think I'm strong enough.
Most days, it's all I can do to keep going...to put one foot in front of the other.
A lot of days, I don't even want to get out of bed.
But there's no escaping it...it's there whether I'm in bed or out, at school or at work, crying or trying to pull myself together.
My mom has cancer.
It's not something I could have ever pictured. Not in my worst nightmares.
Just...why?
I know people say "why" all the time, and they tell stories twenty years down the road about how they asked why, and God told them "why not?"
Well I don't want to know why not.
I want to know WHY. Why is it taking so long? Why does it hurt so bad? Why everything at once?
Just why?
I always want to know why. Did I do something to deserve this? If I did, I want to know what, so that I can have some measure of consolation. Some understanding. Insight.
I hate not understanding things.
I hate being stressed.
I hate being alone.
I hate the fact that I hate being alone.
I hate organic chemistry.
I hate cancer.
Some days I hate myself.
And then I hate myself for hating myself, because that means that I'm weak and needy and insecure.
It's a vicious cycle.
When I was younger I had a video cassette called The Feel Better Friends. It was a bunch of sing-along songs that my cousins bought me when I had the flu, to cheer me up. There's a song on there that talks about the weather being cloudy outside, but how it can still be sunny on the inside of you.
I'm finding that the opposite is true, too.
It can be a bright, sunny, warm day outside, and the inside of me can be as cold and numb and dead as winter.
I think I'm going to have to start lying about how I feel. Nobody's going to want to be around somebody who is bummed all the time and only talks about their problems. Why should I bring anyone else down with me?
Because misery loves company, that's why.
But I won't do that. I have to pretend to be strong. What was it my journalism professor said? Fake it till you make it. I don't know if I'll make it, but watch how good I'll fake it. That last bit was from a Hot Chelle Rae song....
I got off the phone with my mom a little while ago and she was admonishing me to make sure I make use of all the available resources for chemistry tutoring while I'm on campus.
Then she made me promise her that I'll try my hardest.
The problem is, I've lost all will to care. I mean, now I have to try, because I promised her, but I have three goddang F's in a row, already. Today was the last day of class, and I have an F on each and every midterm we took this semester.
What's the point of trying?
I mean, maybe I'll have enough points in the class to get a D, which is all I need, but really, how can that happen with three F's?
And that was the only class I needed to graduate.
Granted, it looks like I'll be getting A's in my journalism classes, but I'm SO tired of trying with chemistry. I don't understand it. And the stupid teachers want us stupid students to teach our stupid selves and each other, and the stupid students, all they do is memorize crap. And when I ask them WHY something has to be done a certain way, they can't tell me.
Go to the professor, and he sympathizes with my situation and then tells me that he won't give me extra help. So why the fck would you talk about coming to office hours? What office hours?
I hate him. I hate all of this.
I think I hate everything right now.
Maybe I'm depressed. Who cares?
I don't.
I don't think I am. I don't think I'm strong enough.
Most days, it's all I can do to keep going...to put one foot in front of the other.
A lot of days, I don't even want to get out of bed.
But there's no escaping it...it's there whether I'm in bed or out, at school or at work, crying or trying to pull myself together.
My mom has cancer.
It's not something I could have ever pictured. Not in my worst nightmares.
Just...why?
I know people say "why" all the time, and they tell stories twenty years down the road about how they asked why, and God told them "why not?"
Well I don't want to know why not.
I want to know WHY. Why is it taking so long? Why does it hurt so bad? Why everything at once?
Just why?
I always want to know why. Did I do something to deserve this? If I did, I want to know what, so that I can have some measure of consolation. Some understanding. Insight.
I hate not understanding things.
I hate being stressed.
I hate being alone.
I hate the fact that I hate being alone.
I hate organic chemistry.
I hate cancer.
Some days I hate myself.
And then I hate myself for hating myself, because that means that I'm weak and needy and insecure.
It's a vicious cycle.
When I was younger I had a video cassette called The Feel Better Friends. It was a bunch of sing-along songs that my cousins bought me when I had the flu, to cheer me up. There's a song on there that talks about the weather being cloudy outside, but how it can still be sunny on the inside of you.
I'm finding that the opposite is true, too.
It can be a bright, sunny, warm day outside, and the inside of me can be as cold and numb and dead as winter.
I think I'm going to have to start lying about how I feel. Nobody's going to want to be around somebody who is bummed all the time and only talks about their problems. Why should I bring anyone else down with me?
Because misery loves company, that's why.
But I won't do that. I have to pretend to be strong. What was it my journalism professor said? Fake it till you make it. I don't know if I'll make it, but watch how good I'll fake it. That last bit was from a Hot Chelle Rae song....
I got off the phone with my mom a little while ago and she was admonishing me to make sure I make use of all the available resources for chemistry tutoring while I'm on campus.
Then she made me promise her that I'll try my hardest.
The problem is, I've lost all will to care. I mean, now I have to try, because I promised her, but I have three goddang F's in a row, already. Today was the last day of class, and I have an F on each and every midterm we took this semester.
What's the point of trying?
I mean, maybe I'll have enough points in the class to get a D, which is all I need, but really, how can that happen with three F's?
And that was the only class I needed to graduate.
Granted, it looks like I'll be getting A's in my journalism classes, but I'm SO tired of trying with chemistry. I don't understand it. And the stupid teachers want us stupid students to teach our stupid selves and each other, and the stupid students, all they do is memorize crap. And when I ask them WHY something has to be done a certain way, they can't tell me.
Go to the professor, and he sympathizes with my situation and then tells me that he won't give me extra help. So why the fck would you talk about coming to office hours? What office hours?
I hate him. I hate all of this.
I think I hate everything right now.
Maybe I'm depressed. Who cares?
I don't.
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