I'm sitting here at the University, waiting for an appointment; looking for a plane ticket. Currently, I only have $120 to my name, and the ripped black jeans and New Port Beach t-shirt on my back. It's a strange feeling really, thinking about what I'm planning on doing.

   I wonder how they feel.. I wonder what they're thinking.. I wonder if it's easier, if it's simpler, if it's better. I wonder if they think about me. If they're wondering if I'm safe.

   Last night my friend and I slept in a parking lot with sleeping bags. We talked into the night, sharing our fears, our hopes. I think people think it's fun. They think it's cool, or funny, or whatever. Sometimes it is, to be honest. But sometimes I let myself think a little too much about it and it comes again, the numbness. I wake up in the morning, not  knowing if I'm going going to be able to shower. Not knowing where I'm going to sleep. Not knowing if I'll be found. Sometimes it's a good feeling, to not know. Other times it scares me. I've been with my friend everyday for a week now. I'm not tired of her, I hope she's not tired of me.
    Sometimes I  watch her do something and think, she doesn't have to do this. She didn't have to take me in. She didn't have to help me. I went to a different friend when it started, and then suddenly the roles changed. I asked her for a ride maybe, or she asked me to lunch, and then we just stayed together.
I sit back a reflect on the things we've experienced. I think about all the things that could have gone differently. How many problems could have been avoided, or ignored. I don't know I ended up here, on the campus, with this hair, with my problems. I don't know how I'm going to act or be when I return to this same place in the fall.

   I don't know where my relationship will be with my parents. I don't know if I'll see my Sweetie girl again. I don't know if I'll be able to call her and not be afraid. I don't know if I'll cry when my friend moves to a different city. I don't know, I don't know anything.

   But I think I know, at least I hope, that it'll be fine. I hope that I'm not making a mistake by running. I hope someday I get to go home and feel welcome. I hope that Sweetie will sleep with me every night and not fear that the approaching footsteps are going to take her away. I hope that I'll call her and she'll be happy, really, truly, happy. And I hope that I remember that this good bye is temporal.
  I love my family. I don't want anyone to think different. I just need to love myself right now. I know I'm not crazy. I know that I'll be okay. And even if I was crazy, I'd be okay.  It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. I'll be okay. It's okay.

i'm not shit. as much as i would like to be.

A cop came to my house last night. My parents were trying to scare me. I think it's interesting how certain events play out in our lives. Yesterday I was crying, asking my savior why all of these terrible things were happening to me when I've done my part; when I've taken accountability for my faults, when I've tried to put my past behind me. My parents didn't trust me, they didn't believe me, they didn't love me. And yet here I stood in my home almost lifeless, watching them go out of their way for my siblings. Doing their homework with them, throwing multiple going away parties, playing with their hair, laughing over problems, etc. I don't understand. I didn't understand.

I'm not stupid.
I'm not ungrateful.
I'm just tired.

Last night I told my dad I was going to cut my wrists. Granted I was being dramatic as hell, and pissed out of my mind, but when the words left my mouth.. he laughed. He laughed. The tips of his mouth curled up and he bore his crooked teeth, even squinting his eyes a little. I want to hate him so much.
I'm not ignorant. I know I'm a pain in the ass. I really do. And I honestly try not to be. But there are somethings you forgive, but don't forget. I obviously have a lot to work on. I'm still young. I'm still very stubborn, I'm still trying to get mine, but I'm no bitch. Not on purpose anyway. They called the cops to scare me. They called for them to take me away as a punishment. As a consequence for my behavior. But when authority came, they didn't expect what played out. They didn't see it coming. I sure as hell didn't see it coming.. When the man in uniform stepped into the room and told me I wasn't an idiot I couldn't help but cry. I hate it when I do that. Only in front of people though. I hate it when I cry. I hate that I let myself get so hurt. That regardless of all the walls I've built up, I can still get shot down in a matter of minutes.

"you're going to do fine, I don't doubt that. you're better than all of this."

I love my family. I get a little sad when I say that, but I do. I'm not going to sit here and give the "woe is me" shit, because I don't' believe in that.
I don't have the best self-esteem, and I'm not as nice as I used to be to people.
I don't believe in myself and I have a lot of anxiety. And as much as I would love to say that it's all my parents fault that I'm such a mess, I can't.
I've always been a very self aware person, almost to a fault, so I don't like making excuses because I know how stupid I sound even before the words come out of my mouth.
I kind of hate that my self esteem was raised by a cop ironically called upon to discipline me. I hate that I have to be told constantly to be the adult when I get into fights with my parents. I hate that I've given up so many opportunities because of my family. And I hate that the only thing that keeps me going is a future that's so incredibly far away.

I wish I could sit here and say I was hopeful.. I wish I could be strong when it came down to dealing with my family. I wish I was stronger in my religion. In my faith to a greater power, and my faith in myself. But the reality is, I'm just going through the motions. I'm sitting here watching my divorced parents share hot chocolate. I'm sitting here watching my privileged siblings get praised for being assholes. And I'm sitting here having cops tell me I live in a shit hole, but that doesn't make me shit. I hate writing it down almost as much as I hate saying it out loud. But I'm feeling it again. The feeling that comes with going through the motions. The feeling that comes with disconnecting yourself emotionally. The numbness:

-There's a goose egg on my forehead.
-There's a trail of scratches on my arm.
-There's a grant with my name on it.
-There's an acceptance letter that feels like a trap.
-There's a band I want to hear play.
-There's a boy who I want to text.
Ha, even after all this shit I can still manage to think about boys.
 Holy shit, what the hell is my problem?

awful sound

I hate this feeling. I hate letting myself get so upset. So disappointed. You make me want to do so many bad things. So many bad things that I hope will hurt you, but I know will hurt me more. 

"i am my mother's only one"

I had to write an extended metaphor for my English class. I didn't think it'd be possible because there's tons of crap happening right now and I can't seem to focus on a damn thing, but surprisingly enough I actually did the assignment and it really opened my eyes. Which is ironic, because it was supposed to be about a time when out eyes were "opened". Anyways, in the end, I cried really hard reading it. I think it helped me see again, what kind of a family I come from. And how much there is to learn from the people we live with. There are two things I know for sure, right now in this moment:

1. I will always, for as long as I live have room for progression.
2. I love my mother, exponentially so, regardless of everything.  

Also, this is the paper I wrote:

“i am my mother’s only one”

It hurt, looking at Her hurt. Her smile felt like a giant hot air balloon had exploded in my chest. The curled tips of her mouth made me cry. She stood there in silence. Her mind drifting like the sea. I longed to comfort Her, to pull Her out of Her black hole of void justifications and neglect, but there She remained. Calm and immovable. I couldn’t comprehend it at the time; She was sobbing one minute and laughing the next, and it killed me. I felt She was unreachable, unlovable. She was stubborn, and ignorant, but I didn’t understand. That was Her home. That was Her refuge. Like a pool She could submerge herself in and be alone, at peace. Underneath the waterline She was in the womb again. Holding herself in fetal position, on her own ground, untouchable with no one to confuse Her thoughts. But then I’d come. Blowing the whistle of perverted reality into Her ears. Forcing Her to understand. Forcing Her to change. Day after day I’d pull Her out of the glassy waters, and day after day She’d beg to return.. but I was so sure of Her immaturity. So convinced of Her lack of progression. And I, truly believed She had chosen to be incompetent. So firmly I believed, until the day Her mother came.

The woman paraded herself in like the prized pig at the county fair, batting her blue mascara draped lashes at the family, “love me,” they seemed to say,” love me and no one else, forever.” And then I felt it again. The large painful rush of the hot air balloon in my chest. My soul cracked like a sheet of glass being dropped from the 23rd story of her ego. I turned away from this beast of a woman, and looked for Her.. my mother, to see what She would do. Would She start sobbing? Would She burst into laughter? I counted moons searching until suddenly I felt Her hover to me from behind, like a fog. She didn’t speak, and She didn’t cry, or laugh. Instead She enveloped me into her mist, and carried me down into Her pool. To Her placid waters, and my heart sank like an anchor to the bottom. In that moment, I felt Her refuge. I felt Her harmony. I wanted to apologize, to thank Her, but the words were restrained at the curve of my lips as if by a glass wall. She held me and saw the words through the clear border. Her face was rested. It was hopeful, and we floated there, together in tranquility. In Her pool, surrounded by  the coagulated dysfunctionality of our own flesh and blood. And in the midst of the peace within chaos, She forgave me.

Talents

Mastered the skill of crying without ruining my makeup. Never been more proud of myself. 

Through the Valley

Today I fought with my mother about something I can't remember, and I didn't go to school. Instead I ran up the canyon with my dog. It was misty, it had rained all night and the air was fresh. For the first time in a while, I felt myself at peace. I wasn't cold, or in any pain. There was music in my ears and smile on my face. For a moment I stopped and watch my dog observe the trail. She walked to both sides, smelled the brush. Smelled the air. Ran ahead, ran back. Looked at me for approval to move forward, then darted off again. 

I wondered what had changed, within myself that is. 

When had I stopped observing? 

When I had stopped smelling the air? 

Feeling the earth?

Being at peace?

Two nights ago I saw a boy I used to love. His presence affected me more than I had liked. And I was torn between allowing myself to be upset, or trying to ignore my feelings. In the end I had given the whole situation much more attention than it deserved. 

Someone once told me that you should never apologize for your feelings. Sometimes this mentality gets me into trouble, but sometimes it saves me. Lately though, I've been finding that, my feelings are not, bad, necessarily. But they're.. Nonexistent. And so a new idea formed into my head. 

"Should you apologize for not feeling..anything?" 

Today though, I think I got my answer. You're always feeling. Something. Regardless of how cold you've become, regardless of how distant you've made yourself. We are human. It's in our nature to feel. If only we could just register, and comprehend, what exactly it is we are feeling. Only then would we feel at peace, and remain in peace. Then would we see a piece of our past, and accept the progression. I don't mean to say, you have to be okay with whatever is happening. But just, recognize that perhaps you can't control it. And you don't need too.

 Sweetie in action. 

the cold

i'll never know what happened between us. it's such a crying shame. when i think about it for long enough, i can feel the lump in my throat again. it grows bigger and bigger, then sinks to my stomach. i curl my legs up and wrap my arms around them. i close my eyes. picture you laying next to me, like you used to. one of your arms goes around me, bringing me closer into you. the other, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear then traces my jaw line with the side of your thumb.
i don't understand. my eyes open and you're gone. i lay in a sad memory that i refuse to let go. i'm ashamed. i'm embarrassed. i'm broken. but you are too. but we don't see that. when we lock eyes through the crowded halls, it's hate. it's pain. i want to run to you, i want you hold you. to ask you about your day, to tell you that i've missed you. but you hold my gaze for another second, you seem almost regretful, then you walk away. it's different every time. but i've grown familiar to the unpredictable. and you become friends with the cold.
i know the solution. it's simple really. but you, are anything but. i used to know you. i used to hold you when you cried. i used to hear your heart ache. but now it seems that you barely have a pulse. it feels like i'm watching you die. watching you create more and more distance from others that had nothing to do with you and i. it hurts. knowing we weren't any different from the others. perhaps there never was any true love. perhaps you just played a role in my head, and not my heart. and perhaps, i was nothing more than a "thing" to you. but if that's the case, then why won't you leave my heart?