I can't love people the way they love me, I don't even know why they love me in the first place, but I know I love them back and it's not my fault that I can't express it. I'm working on it; yes, but it can't just magically appear out of nowhere. I feel like everyone will leave me if I can't show interest or affection, yet I want those things shown toward me.
One piece of paper with a few little words on it, that's all.
You've been accepted to the Center School. News for incoming freshmen....."
There were definitely more words.
But those were the only ones I cared about.
Escaping from the dirty looks and whispered insults; the smug smiles on the faces of preps, jocks, dropouts and lowlifes of my second school might be the coward's way out, but either way, I was taking it and bombing away from the memories of that trash hole as fast as possible.
Three years seemed like thirty with a cafeteria full of crappy food and people judging, judging, judging themselves and others.
Every one of you know: all I do is complain about that dump, but honestly, I couldn't be happier.
I made it through my last year alongside seven and a half friends.
Now I'm sprouting up in an altogether different environment with par-zero people in my comfort zone.
Starting over should be great if you don't count the socializing, and I'm not going to miss a thing.
You hypothetically would have to think in order to come up with a language, right?
The idea of speaking must have been in existence before actual words; thought up by early people who needed something to express themselves and their instincts. The invention of language had to have come from somewhere....
more like what keeps me alive
-my best friend, who listens (a bit distantly) to (almost) everything I say and responds with goals for me.
-doing things with the aforementioned best friend.
-my family being (sufficiently) functional (at best) 74% of the time.
-doing things with my family.
-being (somewhat of) a role model for my little brother, or at least taking care of him (unless he's moody).
-the hope that someday things will get better.
-Fall Out Boy
-My Chemical Romance
-twenty one pilots
-Panic! At The Disco
-All Time Low
-Walk The Moon
-the feeling of being alone.
-the feeling of being in a group.
-the feeling of having a place.
-the feeling of feeling something.
this is long and important.
11.48 pm. age 10. day unknown.
fear swoops up and engulfs me, suddenly a solid and tangible thing that slams my body up and out of bed, head pounding like a wave crashing and i'm drowning and help...
i had traveled through the whole dark house for this. for her to be asleep.
"something's wrong. i can't sleep. something...something, i mean, it's...i'm freaking out and i wanna cry for no reason."
"it's okay sweetie, you're okay. i'll take you back to bed."
we walk silently through the house that doesn't seem so dark anymore. thank god she's so forgiving. other parents, no way. like my dad. he would never help me like that. the best he can do is stay out of it, and i want to keep it that way.
- - - -
12.53 pm. age 14. market day.
I cut myself off as my friends walk ahead of me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I decide it's useless to care. Walk tall, head up. Pretend you're fine.
"Hey," I say to my closest friend. Whatever. I'm a ghost.
"I'm going to a concert with my cousin in October and--"
"Ooo, which one?"
"Twenty one pilots."
"Ahhh! You know I'm going to Fall Out Boy also."
"Yeah, with my friend from school."
Whatever. It's not like I took her to a concert last year and she didn't thank me, or anything.
I don't say that, though.
I want to, but I don't. I'm shutting up, that number one rule in the book I read.
Why am I such a nerd.
We approach a large, bustling group of EW. People I know. Well, I know them, but of course they don't know I exist.
The quarterback-- eye roll.
Nasty girl-- yuck, no.
Her ex (actually, who knows what they're doing?)-- barf. I'll be expected to like him in high school.
The Californian-- oh. I didn't know he was here. But, overrated.
Basic crowd of worshipping friends-- stab me with a spork.
And the funny thing is?
Each one of my own friends goes off talking to one of them, leaving me a few feet away with a look of pure fear and disgust on my face.
Too bad no one is talking to me.
Because I'm not talking to any of them.
- - - -
4:16 pm. age 14. market day.
"There's the ringtone," my newest friend in a Dalek shirt says, pulling out his iPhone. My other newest friend smiles. In the last few hours I've discovered their love for Doctor Who, my love for the two of them, and our ability as a group to eat a pound of curly fries.
"How do you say it? Is it 'daahh-leks,' or 'da-lix?' Because I think 10 says it the first way and 11 says it the second way, but I don't know.."
For a supposedly popular girl, she's quite active in the fandom. And it's not like I didn't know either of them before. It's just now that we're all being introduced, now that the glue is gone. The glue, meaning the group of people we all were connected by. But now we're connected by ourselves. I look up at the sky.
I think they fixed me.
Did anyone else think of Supernatural?
The words "free will" mean only this to me now.
An angel, a freak, and a good soldier gone rogue: interpret them however suits you, unless you've watched the show.
I'm such trash...
"Free will" to me, means the opposite of its common definition. To have freedom you have to have limitations, but those limitations will always be pushed, no matter how hard you try to accommodate everyone. The people who can't settle for less are the ones who truly gain free will by rebelling. But did they bring freedom on themselves, or did something cause it? "Something" as in the circumstance they just got themselves out of. I think free will is a cause-and-effect cycle of thought which repeats and contradicts itself to no end, that created (will continue to create) life as we know it. Team Free Will for the win.