Holidays; Messy Rambling of Thoughts

I don't think people understand what holidays are like for me.
They almost always feel so...empty.
For example, I spent both Thanksgiving and Christmas at home, at one point alone while my mom and sister went out to a friend's house. I logged onto myspace and facebook far too many times to count, torturing myself by reading the status updates. Most of them saying things like:
"I love my family"
"My family is so funny"
"At Uncle Joe's or Aunt Yetta's house for dinner"
"Best [insert holiday here]"
"Lots of pictures to come; lots of fun!"
I wonder if they're really as happy as I imagine them to be. And then later when I look in pictures I wonder if they're just faking it.
Why can't holidays be the same for me? I can't really remember a Christmas, Easter, New Years or a Thanksgiving in which I felt content.
All I remember are mostly lonely nights, watching TV as others have fun or celebrate with family.
It makes me mad. Mad with a feeling of desperation, waiting for these days to be over and for friends to wind down from their "family time" so that I will have someone to talk to, to hang with...
My holiday's are lonely. Just me, my mother, my sister, my father. I should be content with that. So why can't I be? I re-read the status updates over and over again wondering what my family is missing, why I can't go ONE day of these without wanting to scream into my pillow...
Scream.
That's what I feel like doing.
Scream.
But I can't. Because I know that the only thing I'll get is my own echo.
It's just that empty.

Was the Sham Jesus or the Bible?

I've been kind of testy for a while. I've kind of wanted people to challenge me in a way, to vent anger coming from and unidentified source. I wish I knew where it is coming from, or what I can do to sooth it, but in a way... I don't want to sooth it. I want to focus on a target and hit it as many times as I can.
Right now it's Jesus.
Maybe the reason it's Jesus is because, guess what? It's nearly Christmas.
It just seems that as the day gets closer, the more stupid the story seems to be...

National Geographic. That's it. And, and Discovery, and History Channel. They're the things that hardcore Christians would say have "corrupted" my mind. And yet.
I've always had my doubts. Always.
These shows just seem to back me up. I mean, Jesus born in a manger? What, like a barn separated from the house? Uh. No. More than likely the manger sat under the "Inn", kind of like basement where the animals were kept.
And Jesus, a holy man? What do you think he did for those years in which he disappeared in the Bible? It's enough time to have a wife and kids.
The list of inaccuracies goes on and on.
Honestly, I find the REAL Jesus far more interesting than anything the bible might have said about him. They seem like such silly stories to me. He cast out a demon? He stopped a storm? He revived the dead?
Sham.
You know what is a REAL miracle?
That MILLIONS of people around the world are convinced that the Bible tells the all knowing, absolute truth and Jesus is the all divine son of God and have shaped him to be a man who has long golden locks and a long angelic face.
Come on, people. He was a Jew in Nazareth.
Lately, it's not even about religion anymore...not about what Jesus preached at all. In fact, lately it's about proving the other side wrong and sounding super hypocritical doing it.
"Everything in the bible is truth, goddammit!"
"Everything in that book is a lie! I hope Jesus takes pity on the stupid."
Really? I'm not trying to out Jesus. I'm trying to look at the 'hard proof', as some call it... Trying to look at the bible wondering why people have such strong faith in it.
I'm trying to get the reality of things. Because to me, the reality of how he grew up, of what his birthday REALLY was and what his life was spent like is more of a miracle, more of an interesting story, more MAGICAL than that which is written in the bible.
The book written by men SIXTY years after his death. SIXTY years. And even then certain gospels are left out because the group of men censoring what went into the bible decided that THEY would be the ones shaping this story/religion and left out key elements, key clues as to what his story truly was... or at least what THEY wanted it to be.
When I take a step back and look it, I wonder with grave concern, why I once believed so strongly in it, too.

I have a plan.

Imma hit Virginia first, then Pennsylvania, and then New York.
It's going to be amazing.
And almost life changing....
Definitely life changing.

September 11th.

Wow. Eight years and we’re already forgetting what we stand for. Good job, guys. At least we made it eight years, right? Now it’s just downhill from here. I’m so fucking proud

.…

No, really.I woke up today and expected to hear “Meet Me in the Stairwell” like I was used to. They have played it almost every year, and every year I sit and listen through it. This year there was none. I wasn’t surprised. The station had gotten a lot of criticism since not all listeners are Christian and they were some how offended by this.
But then we got to school. I expected two minutes of silence or some sort of prayer/saying about this day. Hmm. That was odd. There was no moment of silence for this.
Did we forget today, Harris? Well you really fucked up our school’s patriotism there, if I do say so myself. Then there are the teachers.Did you have something so important that you couldn’t mention it? Hmm? Wait, what? OH! You had to give a test…right, right. Perfectly understandable. Sorry for doubting your consideration of our nation.
Actually, the only classes that brought it up where those that were SUPPOSED to bring it up: US Government and Contemporary Issues. Honestly, I am grateful that you did.After a day of, what I felt, national neglect, I got home expecting to see programs on certain channels about it. But apparently I was wrong again.Honestly, now: Am I the only one who is pissed about this?
Can I ask you something, America? Why does it take something like the World Trade Center, The Pentagon, and Flight 93 for us to all come together? Why does it take something so drastic? Why only then can we, as Luis said, forget our differences, our color, our cultures, our FEARS and come together as a nation? And mostly, why after eight years, do we push it aside as if it were nothing? It’s ONE. FUCKING. DAY. OF. THE. YEAR. Can you respect it just this one mother fucking day? Can you NOT laugh as you see bodies flying out the buildings? Can you NOT make jokes about terrorism or how Bush was a dumb ass president? Does that even MATTER?
What’s it going to take? Are we going to wait until this happens again? Or are we just waiting for the day that we get Sep. 11th off to go cook a burger on a grill and eventually totally forget about what really went on?
Grow the fuck up, America.
Have respect for those who are gone. For those who were innocent and maybe even those who weren’t so innocent. But they were human beings. [In case you were unaware, you and I are human beings too.] Have respect for those who are actually out there fighting to keep this from happening again. Have respect for those who became heroes on that day, for those who lost loved ones, for those children that never got to pass their grade. Have respect for that stranger that would have held your hand and tried to pull you out of the fire…Stop criticizing everything----if you sat your ass down and realized you were running the WHOLE country, you would be a little scared and wary of what to do too. Guys, grow some balls and quit acting like it’s a fucking joke. Girls, get a damn clue.
This is a day for mourning, for realizing what this country is about. This is a day that should NOT just be shoved into text books. It’s a day when we need to remember why we’re here. Why we’re in America and why we live in the land of the free and the home of the brave. It’s a very damn good day that’s worth mentioning in class.

Then I Turned to Summer and Waved Goodbye...

I feel as if I've only come back from a one-week break to school. I feel like I've returned only to pick up the pieces and continue trying to survive on until graduation day. I feel as if nothing has really changed. Which, it hasn't. And because of this, I feel depressed.
As we walked around the school yesterday, I could already see my school year before my eyes.
And I. Did. Not. Like. It. At all.
God, if I have to go another year biting my tounge, keeping myself from doing what I want to do and always being the one to walk behind, I will chop someone's head off. If I continue to walk in someone's shadow and acting like a scared kid when I'm already a fucking senior, I will have to bust up someone's face. If my senior year I stay in the back bleachers and wonder why I feel so miserable then I will know that I am destined to fail at life.
Although I felt generally happy when I got home yesterday---after seeing my friends after two months---I suddenly felt very lonely, very afraid. I know for sure that if things are going to be different this year I'm gonna have to do some cutting, pasting, some talking, some action. Tomorrow will have to be very different from yesterday. Yesterday I walked into my homeroom, sat with the emo/band kids who I'm always used to sitting next to and I realized I use them as a comforting shield, a group I knew I could easily blend into if I tried. The thing is, I stood out the most.
Why had I always been afraid to face people who intimidate me? Was it fear of rejection? Why did I always move myself to the back of the group and shove someone else to the front? Why?
Because I was too lazy too try. I'd come home, listen to 'Chente and wish we had beer in the house so I could get drunk and sing along tunelessly to his music---music I could barely relate to expect for the passion and desperation in his voice.
I understand one thing now, however. Summer is over for us here in Tennesse. Maybe not for the rest of the world who might return to school in ANOTHER MONTH, but for us... especially for me, my time is up. I want to say something for those of you who are fortunate enough to have another month left:

Time moves fast. Don't waste it. Go for whatever you want. Be careful. Realize
that life can quickly snatch the carpet from under you. And for absolutely no
reason should you let yourself be influenced by those who hurt you.

Deevoss; Good or Bad?

I knew a little girl with eight years of age [three years younger than me] who told me a secret. She made me promise not to tell anyone because she didn't want anyone to know and in a low, sad little voice she said, "My pawents are getting a deevoss." I can still hear how she replaced her r's with either a w or just took it out of the word itself. Maybe that's why I remember it so vividly.
At that time I sort of thought, "No big deal. It does sound sad... But they will be OK." Even though I was older I definitely did not understand what she was going through. This girl, this little twig, big eyes, big teeth, always smiling----a perfect copy of a younger Hilary Swank, what with her hair always tucked behind her ears---- was going through more than I could imagine.
"I cwied when they told me. My mom said it's cause they fight a lot. She said we're going to move out and go live with my Gwanny."
They did. Although they often returned every other weekend; time with their dad, you see. I'd see them on their play-set outside my window. My sister would get excited and go talk to them. Then the father sold the house and now a new family occupies it.
For a while I never really thought about her again. Why would I? I too was having family troubles. Not until today, six years later, do I remember what she had said. Things are a little different, however. With us, we have a restraining order, the divorce papers are in and instead of only being together nine years, my parents have been together for almost two decades. I'm not sure if she had it easier, although I imagined so. I imagine her parents where clean, cut and straight to the point. They were willing and asking where to sign.
My parents---my dad, not so much. It's this whole thing with men like him. Afraid of letting go what they have grown to know as a routine. Afraid of change even if currently there is severe friction in the marriage. The false idea that family means a man and a woman living together with their children, happy or not, seems to be imprinted in his mind. I think that even though my mother has signed up for the 'single mom of two' title, it's my dad who is going to have trouble adjusting.
Lately, he seems like a beaten old lion; he's asking about my mom, knowing he shouldn't. He says he loves her, he's sorry, he just wants to be a family again. He says he stays up at night, he thinks too much, he's making himself go insane by just being alone in that room in my uncle's house. I imagine he must be going through hell. But he also seems to be in denial. Like he'll be able to talk to my mom and convice her to take the order off. That we will be together and happy again.
All I can say is, I love him with all my fucking heart, but I would throw myself under a bus before we went back to the way we used to live. It just seems...like we should have done this a long time ago and saved everyone a lot of heart ache.
Now I see my mom smile, she laughs, the anxiety attacks are done. She no longer cries every night, she doesn't do spontanious and scary stuff. She stopped drinking, she's always optimistic, she's learning to care about herself and raise her esteem. She's learning how to be a better mother, she's going to therapy groups, to lawyers, seeking a new life.
Of course we aren't completely happy. Of course we are still stressed, us three living alone, of course we still cry at times but it's better than it used to be. And it will be better this way.
I just hope my dad will realize this. We aren't saying we want him out of our lives. We aren't saying we hate him or that we don't want to see him ever again. I hope he knows that we still love him with all of our hearts; he is our dad. He is my Daddy. I hope he understands that he always will be. But I hope he understands that it's time for a new life. Not just for us, but for him, too.

Mirrors, Mirrors, On My Walls

I have an obsession with mirrors. When you walk into my room, you see three basic things on my walls: things I drew, collages, and mirrors. I never used to have mirrors. I was always afraid of what I would see. But there came a point where I decided that I had to see it. In fact, I had to check in on it every once in a while.
Every once in a while turned into every day.
Every day turned into ALL THE TIME.
Eventually, I couldn't stop.
At school I used to be obsessed with going into the bathroom and checking my reflection (even if I was never pleased with anything I saw). The point was to make sure my face wasn't as disfigured as I pictured it would be when I compared myself to other girls. Unfortunately, it was pointless at times. Sometimes there would be a prettier girl (blond, brown streaks in her hair, amazing curls, beautiful face, make up) and I would just walk out of there, completely intimidated. I would feel like a piece of crap. And yet my obsession continues.
At home, I still sit for in front of a mirror trying to see what I can change and what I can't do anything about. I pick at every flaw, but I also try to tell myself that it could be worse.
Conceited, right?
I like to tell myself that I'm far from it. Truth is that I'm not so sure myself. The boundaries lie far beyond my comprehension, so if I make a bitchy 'i'm so better than you' gesture, I'm not meaning to be that awful. I'm only meaning to prove to my reflections in my room that I'm actually worth something.
I recently heard a song a few days ago that completely captured my heart. I didn't know who it was by, because, well, I'm naive that way. But I realized it was by Never Shout Never; internet legacy. Of course it was beautiful, of course it stole my soul away. The oh-so-famous NSN sang it. And I used to think he was just a wanna-be.
On The Bright Side seems to target my obsession with mirrors. But it also lets me see, yes, "the bright side".

"You're only as tall as your heart will let you be. And you're only as small as
the world will make you seem. When the going gets rough and you feel like you may
fall just look on the brightside - you're roughly six feet tall."

Maybe it's because it's what I need to hear everyday, or because it's new and everyone loves it, but I know that this song is probably going to be played many times a day for me.

Ugly Truth about Fairy Tales

I'm
losing my faith in humanity,
Period.
Or no---wait. I'm not losing my faith in humanity. Just in my ability to believe in fairy tales. Day after day I get more reason to believe that happily-ever-after endings don't exsist. What is it going to take to actually find something real? I hate watching the news. 90% is bad. Sometimes, maybe by a miracle, I hear a story that sort of makes me feel better...which is then followed by news that someone was run over a truck.
Huh.
Funny.
My parents are the perfect example that 'forever and always' usually means 'until we drive everyone in our family to the brink of severe depression'. It's odd, because, I used to think otherwise, you know? And then when life suddenly changed, (even if it was for the better) I understood that happiness is not something you find around the corner. I also understood that people tend to lie when they're afraid of losing everything. That it doesn't matter who they hurt. I understood that for some, just being with them for a long period of time was expected to keep them happy. And here I was, thinking that love actually meant both had to work for it.
Stupid, stupid me.
Then there's the matter of friends. Little by little I'm thinning out those who aren't best for me. Some of them have no fucking clue what real friendship is. It's not "she's my best friend but we don't really talk at all". It's not "oh lets hang out once a year". I mean, what the hell is that? And then there's the real friends. The ones you tend to treat like shit, but they're always with you when you need them. The ones you're totally comfortable being really silly with. The one's you can be completely spontanious with and know that if you decide to sit down infront of Walmart's book section to read, they will too. I still have faith that those do exist.
Rarely. Uber sigh.
Sometimes at night, I cry because I'm not sleepy and I have nothing else to do and the thought of texting someone just seems lame cuz, what's the point? And other times I cry because the simplest thing repeatedly scream that fairytales ARE. NOT. REAL.
What simple things, you may ask?
1. my mother and father
2. jon and kate
3. the fact that "angel at the fence" is a fake
4. that me and my sister fight so much
5. that rudy had to die
6. the sufferage of immigrants
7. that "she got pregnant and her bf left her" seems to be a new trend.
8. that you need to have an adult to enter Chuck E. Cheese
9. that Santa Clause is not real
10. and that God just seems to be a concept that people rely on when they're desperate for answers that aren't there.

Extraordinary Ordinary Names

Hi. My name is Wendy.
And I’m ordinary.
Like most teenagers you’d
know.
And like most ordinary teenagers named Wendy that you’d know, I live a boring life.

Kill me.
Unfortunately, I do believe that ordinary names do give ordinary expectation of a person. You know, maybe for some people it might be fine. I know it was fine for me for a while. (Thank you, self-image.) But after you wake up and realize that you aren’t designed as a drone to copy the rest of society, it’s very disappointing to realize that most of your life has, in fact, been that way. This is why I sometimes wish that my name weren’t so ordinary. Maybe It would motivate me to become a little more intereting.
Maybe if I had a name like Markeesha.
Or Guenevieve.
Elayna.
Patricksta??
Frederina.
Whendi. (i like it.)
Olivya.
And I'm already side-tracked...
OK, let’s start at the lowest point in life, shall we? The bottom. The pits. The slums, the projects, the ‘ghetto’ areas of your self esteem. In other words: my middle school year and freshman year. God, that was hell. It wasn’t until freshman year was almost over that I started getting a clue. And even when it did happen, I still knew nothing of how to treat myself. But it was a step up, you know?
Eventually it lead me here, to a few days from beginning Senior year.

(to get this clear, i have no cool pics so i borrow from google!)
Now, I look back at myself and almost laugh at how lost I was. How desperate I was to be accepted. How afraid I was to be rejected.
But I don’t laugh.
I cry.
I cry because I’ve wasted so much time trying to be everyone’s best friend and I had such low self esteem that just a smile from someone I considered better than me would make my entire week. Week, my friends, week. It really was sad.
Now, I can't seem to understand why I waited so long. Maybe it was the household oppression that my dad enforced... or the fact that I was hopelessly depressed in middle school. Whatever the reason, I’ve learned much from those mistakes, even if it did take time for me to learn them.
My last school year is almost here. And then I’m off to make up my life from little building blocks of past life experiences.

And I would like to begin in a not-so-boring way.

As Henry Selick said, “I love to bring
the most ordinary things to life in the most extraordinary way.”