I'm so often the topic of discussion.
"How's she doing today?"
"When is her next therapist appointment?"
"Do you think it'd be better too talk to her or just let her be?"
"I'm worried about her."
"How can I help her."
The most peculiar part is, I'm never a part of these discussions. Not that I particularly want to be, but even if I did, I wouldn't get the chance. I get a glance or a nod when I'm the topic of somebody else's discussion, but not an invitation. People talk about me all the time, just not to me. When they actually talk to me, it's more Let's pretend nothing ever happened, or it's Let's pretend like we are walking on egg shells, or maybe Let's over-analyze everything she says and assume it all has some deeper meaning.
Mostly, however, it's Let's give her the sad, puppy dog eyes and pretend like she's a lost child who desperately wants everyone's pity.
I'm practically expected to be depressed.
If I wasn't, no one would have anything to talk about.
-Beaskie
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Decision
I've decided what I want me and Flyer to be.
Best friends.
Someone to cuddle with. Someone to goof off with. Someone to support, and who will support me. Someone to spend lots of time with their family, and who will spend lots of time with mine. Someone to pretend like nothing is wrong with. Someone to cry with. Someone to tickle. Someone who I can protect. Someone who will protect me. Someone to kiss my forehead. Each others best friend. Each others go-to person.
Best friends.
Who maybe love each other.
But still, best friends.
Guess I should let him know this...or maybe he'll read it...but he doesn't really have a choice. I've decided on it and now there's no going back. This is important, I haven't decided on something this big for a long time.
And I think I need him.
And I think he needs me, too.
I wore his hat today.
-Beaskie
Best friends.
Someone to cuddle with. Someone to goof off with. Someone to support, and who will support me. Someone to spend lots of time with their family, and who will spend lots of time with mine. Someone to pretend like nothing is wrong with. Someone to cry with. Someone to tickle. Someone who I can protect. Someone who will protect me. Someone to kiss my forehead. Each others best friend. Each others go-to person.
Best friends.
Who maybe love each other.
But still, best friends.
Guess I should let him know this...or maybe he'll read it...but he doesn't really have a choice. I've decided on it and now there's no going back. This is important, I haven't decided on something this big for a long time.
And I think I need him.
And I think he needs me, too.
I wore his hat today.
-Beaskie
Tired
I'm about to take a dance class at a studio I've never been to before. I'm surrounded by incredibly talented faculty and students. I'm not intimidated, I should be excited.
But excitement takes so much energy...
I feel like I'm about to fall asleep. I haven't taken a class in a while, hopefully it'll bring some excitement, or emotion, or just anything really.
Dancing used to be my passion, my life, and now it's...it's part of that old me who I can't be anymore. If there's one part of me that I want to be able to keep more than anything, it's the dancer part. That's the one thing that has brought me true happiness. And I'm yearning for that feeling again.
-Beaskie
But excitement takes so much energy...
I feel like I'm about to fall asleep. I haven't taken a class in a while, hopefully it'll bring some excitement, or emotion, or just anything really.
Dancing used to be my passion, my life, and now it's...it's part of that old me who I can't be anymore. If there's one part of me that I want to be able to keep more than anything, it's the dancer part. That's the one thing that has brought me true happiness. And I'm yearning for that feeling again.
-Beaskie
Monday, February 25, 2013
Pieces
I went to a rock-climbing gym with my brother today. My hands are not happy with the new callouses, but it was a nice way to bond with him.
They were playing music while we were climbing, and I swear they took my iPod and played all the songs no one else has ever heard of, yet are my favorites. It's strange when someone plays a song you thought had reached your ears only. I immediately felt comfortable in that space, which hasn't been a common phenomenon in my life recently.
Walking in the subway station, next to the tracks, I saw the back of a person who looked similar to the boy. About 5'10", short brown hair, wearing similar clothing and standing in a similar fashion.
My immediate reaction was to push him infront of the oncoming train.
My second reaction was to scream and run.
My third reaction--and the only one I followed through on--was to mutter "Little bitch" under my breath and keep walking.
He's everywhere.
I don't say that meaning I see his face everywhere, like so many often do. I say "He's everywhere", meaning there is a piece of him in everyone. Commonly, the piece of him is anger. There is anger in my family, in Flyer, in my teachers, in my friends. That's their piece of him. There's those betraying and those being betrayed, who have never even known myself or the boy. Yet that's their piece of him. There's hate in the world, and that's the world's piece of the boy.
And then there's disgust, anger, remorse, hatred, repulsion, tears, distrust, fear, and depression in me.
That's my piece of the boy.
That's a piece of the boy that's in me.
And that's a piece of me that belongs to the boy.
I must get that piece back.
-Beaskie
They were playing music while we were climbing, and I swear they took my iPod and played all the songs no one else has ever heard of, yet are my favorites. It's strange when someone plays a song you thought had reached your ears only. I immediately felt comfortable in that space, which hasn't been a common phenomenon in my life recently.
Walking in the subway station, next to the tracks, I saw the back of a person who looked similar to the boy. About 5'10", short brown hair, wearing similar clothing and standing in a similar fashion.
My immediate reaction was to push him infront of the oncoming train.
My second reaction was to scream and run.
My third reaction--and the only one I followed through on--was to mutter "Little bitch" under my breath and keep walking.
He's everywhere.
I don't say that meaning I see his face everywhere, like so many often do. I say "He's everywhere", meaning there is a piece of him in everyone. Commonly, the piece of him is anger. There is anger in my family, in Flyer, in my teachers, in my friends. That's their piece of him. There's those betraying and those being betrayed, who have never even known myself or the boy. Yet that's their piece of him. There's hate in the world, and that's the world's piece of the boy.
And then there's disgust, anger, remorse, hatred, repulsion, tears, distrust, fear, and depression in me.
That's my piece of the boy.
That's a piece of the boy that's in me.
And that's a piece of me that belongs to the boy.
I must get that piece back.
-Beaskie
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Make Me Breakfast
I want to stay here forever, so badly. I want to change my name and never speak if any of this again. I want to go to dance classes everyday of my life and live and breathe dance, music, art. I miss my friends and family dearly, but they know too much. It's old and sad and gray.
Flyer.
He misses me. I know he misses me. And I think I'm supposed to miss him too. I do. Ill probably miss him more once I see him. Sometimes I want him to just eat me up. Just eat me up so I could live inside of him. Just sit there on his brain or build a hammock in his lungs or lie down on his tongue. Watch the world go by through his eye sockets and feel the vibration as he speaks.
But would that infect him from the inside? Would my poison seep through my skin and into his? Or would he cleanse me, fix me, heal me?
Is that what love feels like?
One of my best friends hates me. Well, no, she loves me. But she should hate me. I have yet to confront her in this blog because she is such a huge topic, such a large part of my life. How can I put that in words? I miss her too. I think. I hope she is being taken care of.
This world is so funny. Things don't matter until they happen to you. Then suddenly it matters a great deal. Abusive relationships don't matter to people who aren't in them. Depression doesn't matter to people who don't have it. But once you're in it, once you get it, it matters to you for the rest of your life. And you think it's the most Important thing in the world. But there are so many other important things in the world that will never matter to you, while they matter to other people.
I think that's why the world is a circle.
-Beaskie
Flyer.
He misses me. I know he misses me. And I think I'm supposed to miss him too. I do. Ill probably miss him more once I see him. Sometimes I want him to just eat me up. Just eat me up so I could live inside of him. Just sit there on his brain or build a hammock in his lungs or lie down on his tongue. Watch the world go by through his eye sockets and feel the vibration as he speaks.
But would that infect him from the inside? Would my poison seep through my skin and into his? Or would he cleanse me, fix me, heal me?
Is that what love feels like?
One of my best friends hates me. Well, no, she loves me. But she should hate me. I have yet to confront her in this blog because she is such a huge topic, such a large part of my life. How can I put that in words? I miss her too. I think. I hope she is being taken care of.
This world is so funny. Things don't matter until they happen to you. Then suddenly it matters a great deal. Abusive relationships don't matter to people who aren't in them. Depression doesn't matter to people who don't have it. But once you're in it, once you get it, it matters to you for the rest of your life. And you think it's the most Important thing in the world. But there are so many other important things in the world that will never matter to you, while they matter to other people.
I think that's why the world is a circle.
-Beaskie
Sleepwalker
It's so difficult to be in society. To just have conversation. To remember how to make eye contact, or shake hands, or smile when something says something that fits into the category of "funny" or "nice".
It's scary out there in the world, outside my hotel room. I love New York and all it's people, yet when I'm forced to interact with those people, struggles appear.
I've always been an extremely social girl, never having problems with making friends. I could go up to anyone and spark a conversation easily. Depression changed that in me. Not only do I no longer possess that ability, but even if I did, I no longer desire to do so. Whether or not I have friends does not matter to me anymore. So I stop trying to make them.
I am a sleepwalker, with the incapacity to dream.
Everything is hazy, nothing seems clear or exact or defined. I don't remember conversations I had with people in passing, I barely even remember the ones I had yesterday.
I'm not present.
I'm not here, in the now, in the today, in present time. I'm back there somewhere, or at some point up there, or over there or under there or just there. But never here.
Not being in present time means missing everything that happens. Literally, everything. Sometimes I zone out so much I have no clue as to what happened in the past two minutes. I wasn't there, how should I know what happened?
How should I know what was said or what I said? I wasn't there. How should I know?
-Beaskie
It's scary out there in the world, outside my hotel room. I love New York and all it's people, yet when I'm forced to interact with those people, struggles appear.
I've always been an extremely social girl, never having problems with making friends. I could go up to anyone and spark a conversation easily. Depression changed that in me. Not only do I no longer possess that ability, but even if I did, I no longer desire to do so. Whether or not I have friends does not matter to me anymore. So I stop trying to make them.
I am a sleepwalker, with the incapacity to dream.
Everything is hazy, nothing seems clear or exact or defined. I don't remember conversations I had with people in passing, I barely even remember the ones I had yesterday.
I'm not present.
I'm not here, in the now, in the today, in present time. I'm back there somewhere, or at some point up there, or over there or under there or just there. But never here.
Not being in present time means missing everything that happens. Literally, everything. Sometimes I zone out so much I have no clue as to what happened in the past two minutes. I wasn't there, how should I know what happened?
How should I know what was said or what I said? I wasn't there. How should I know?
-Beaskie
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Can't and Won't
I can't be who I was at home.
I can't be the girl who is president of dance, or captain of varsity song.
I can't be the history teacher's daughter.
I can't be the girl with straight A's.
I can't be the one always laughing.
I can't be the girl with her own sense of style.
I can't be the girl who comes to class on time every day.
I can't be the girl who has a hundred friends.
I can't be the one who teaches others how to flirt, or tells them what to wear on dates, or does their make-up.
I can't be the girl who is always there for her friends.
I can't be the girl who gets interviewed for the school newspaper.
I can't be the girl who delivers everyone hand-written Valentines.
I can't be the girl who I used to be.
I can't be the girl who I used to be.
I won't be the girl who I used to be.
She doesn't exist anymore, I'm someone new.
I'm someone new. I'm someone different.
I'm someone with so much hurt, so much pain, so much heaviness. I'm someone who can't lose the hurt, the pain, the heaviness, without losing her entire self and becoming someone new.
I'm someone new. I'm someone different.
I need a new life. I need it to live.
I need a new life to live. To live, I need a new life.
How am I supposed to return home if I am no longer who I was before I left?
People don't understand, people will ask questions, people will want who I am supposed to be.
You can't start at the beginning in a place where you're already in the middle.
I can't be the girl who I used to be.
I can't be who I was at home.
I won't be.
-Beaskie
I can't be the girl who is president of dance, or captain of varsity song.
I can't be the history teacher's daughter.
I can't be the girl with straight A's.
I can't be the one always laughing.
I can't be the girl with her own sense of style.
I can't be the girl who comes to class on time every day.
I can't be the girl who has a hundred friends.
I can't be the one who teaches others how to flirt, or tells them what to wear on dates, or does their make-up.
I can't be the girl who is always there for her friends.
I can't be the girl who gets interviewed for the school newspaper.
I can't be the girl who delivers everyone hand-written Valentines.
I can't be the girl who I used to be.
I can't be the girl who I used to be.
I won't be the girl who I used to be.
She doesn't exist anymore, I'm someone new.
I'm someone new. I'm someone different.
I'm someone with so much hurt, so much pain, so much heaviness. I'm someone who can't lose the hurt, the pain, the heaviness, without losing her entire self and becoming someone new.
I'm someone new. I'm someone different.
I need a new life. I need it to live.
I need a new life to live. To live, I need a new life.
How am I supposed to return home if I am no longer who I was before I left?
People don't understand, people will ask questions, people will want who I am supposed to be.
You can't start at the beginning in a place where you're already in the middle.
I can't be the girl who I used to be.
I can't be who I was at home.
I won't be.
-Beaskie
Home
I'm living a fantasy right now. I left school and went to New York with my dad.
I most definitely belong in New York, there's no doubt about it. I plan to go to NYU once I graduate and probably live here for a while after that. The dance world here is phenomenal. There's so many opportunities that don't exist at home in LA.
I belong here.
It's raining today. It's beautiful. There are two little circles on my red cheeks of chapped skin because of the ice wind. I love the weather so much.
There's so much good food here. Any tiny little place you duck into has it's own feel, vibe, taste, sound, smell. It's unique.
I want desperately to live in one of the zillion tiny apartments. I don't care where or how big it is or if I have room mates. I want to call one my own.
One day.
I wish it could be today. I don't want to go back. Ever. I can see all the sadness I've left at home. Home is a sad place. School is a sad place. The people there are old and sad and gray. I love them to death but that doesn't change anything. Here the people might be old, or sad, or gray, but at least I don't know them, and they don't know me. At home I know them, and they know me and that makes it all so old and so sad and so gray.
Every day I'm here I want to say it: "Can't I just stay?"
My older brother lives here. I could live with him. There's plenty of high schools in New York.
I wouldn't have to tell anyone what's happened. I could just pretend it never did.
Maybe if I pretend it never happened long enough, it'll all just go away. I could pretend forever, and eventually pretend would become reality and I could start again. I could make new friends who didn't always look at me with old eyes and learn from teachers who didn't talk to me with sad voices and see places that weren't always tinted with gray.
Home is old. Home is sad. Home is gray.
The old and sad and gray has followed me here a little bit. But if I'm here long enough, would it fade? Would it disappear? Would it cease to exist?
There's only one way to find out.
-Beaskie
I most definitely belong in New York, there's no doubt about it. I plan to go to NYU once I graduate and probably live here for a while after that. The dance world here is phenomenal. There's so many opportunities that don't exist at home in LA.
I belong here.
It's raining today. It's beautiful. There are two little circles on my red cheeks of chapped skin because of the ice wind. I love the weather so much.
There's so much good food here. Any tiny little place you duck into has it's own feel, vibe, taste, sound, smell. It's unique.
I want desperately to live in one of the zillion tiny apartments. I don't care where or how big it is or if I have room mates. I want to call one my own.
One day.
I wish it could be today. I don't want to go back. Ever. I can see all the sadness I've left at home. Home is a sad place. School is a sad place. The people there are old and sad and gray. I love them to death but that doesn't change anything. Here the people might be old, or sad, or gray, but at least I don't know them, and they don't know me. At home I know them, and they know me and that makes it all so old and so sad and so gray.
Every day I'm here I want to say it: "Can't I just stay?"
My older brother lives here. I could live with him. There's plenty of high schools in New York.
I wouldn't have to tell anyone what's happened. I could just pretend it never did.
Maybe if I pretend it never happened long enough, it'll all just go away. I could pretend forever, and eventually pretend would become reality and I could start again. I could make new friends who didn't always look at me with old eyes and learn from teachers who didn't talk to me with sad voices and see places that weren't always tinted with gray.
Home is old. Home is sad. Home is gray.
The old and sad and gray has followed me here a little bit. But if I'm here long enough, would it fade? Would it disappear? Would it cease to exist?
There's only one way to find out.
-Beaskie
Family
Father. Mother. Daughter. Sister.
Father is worried about Mother and Mother is worried about Daughter and Daughter can't worry about anything and Sister is young.
Father listens as Mother cries and Daughter exists while Mother cries and Mother cries and Sister is young.
Father hugs Daughter and Mother hugs Daughter and Daughter is part of the furniture so Father and Mother are really hugging each other and Sister is young.
Father talks to daughter and Mother talks to Daughter and Daughter does not have ears so Father and Mother are really talking to each other and Sister is young.
Sister is young.
Sister is young.
Sister is young and Sister knows not. Sister knows not so Sister has bliss. Sister is young and Sister has bliss.
Daughter is young too. But Daughter does not have bliss.
Daughter is young but Daughter does not know not so Daughter is sad and Daughter does not have bliss like Sister has bliss.
Daughter is young but Daughter is sad.
Can there be no not knowing not and bliss?
Or is it only knowing not that has bliss?
Can there be no knowing not and sad?
Or is it only not knowing not that has sad?
Daughter has not knowing not. And Daughter is sad.
And Mother is sad. And Father is sad.
And Sister will always be young.
-Beaskie
Friday, February 22, 2013
Reactions
When an event occurs--such as a break-in or a court date or what have you--my immediate reaction is "Okay how do I deal with this?". My immediate reaction is "Why isn't it stopping?". My immediate reaction is "How do I keep myself from committing suicide?". My immediate reaction is "Holy shit."
My immediate reaction is not, however, "Okay I need to go tell all of my friends and family and explain it to the world and talk about it a lot and make sure that everyone knows what's going on."
I'm sorry if I don't tell every person every detail. I'm sorry if I don't tell anyone at all. Telling people doesn't always help--sometimes it does, but not always. And if I know that telling people won't help, then I'm not going to go spreading the word. Talking takes energy. Listening takes energy. Digesting questions and formulating responses takes energy. Energy is a non-renewable resource that is running dangerously low. I cannot waste energy. I will not waste energy. I have none to waste.
It't not personal, it's not by choice, it's not anything. It's just the way it is.
My best friend (different one from the last post) (let's call her Ducky) went to college this year. Last year we were inseparable, this year we are thousands of miles apart. I want her to be here through all of this, considering she was with me through most of my relationship with the boy. I don't always tell her everything that happens, simply because of what I just explained: it takes energy, of which I have none.
I'm going to visit her soon, maybe she'll forgive me for not always keeping her up to date. I love her more than anything and I wish she would understand what's really going on in my life.
Sorry if this post was boring to most of you...if there even is a "most of you"...
Like I said, this is a blog of a depressed 16 year old girl; be my guest to read but I still make no promises of happiness.
-Beaskie
My immediate reaction is not, however, "Okay I need to go tell all of my friends and family and explain it to the world and talk about it a lot and make sure that everyone knows what's going on."
I'm sorry if I don't tell every person every detail. I'm sorry if I don't tell anyone at all. Telling people doesn't always help--sometimes it does, but not always. And if I know that telling people won't help, then I'm not going to go spreading the word. Talking takes energy. Listening takes energy. Digesting questions and formulating responses takes energy. Energy is a non-renewable resource that is running dangerously low. I cannot waste energy. I will not waste energy. I have none to waste.
It't not personal, it's not by choice, it's not anything. It's just the way it is.
My best friend (different one from the last post) (let's call her Ducky) went to college this year. Last year we were inseparable, this year we are thousands of miles apart. I want her to be here through all of this, considering she was with me through most of my relationship with the boy. I don't always tell her everything that happens, simply because of what I just explained: it takes energy, of which I have none.
I'm going to visit her soon, maybe she'll forgive me for not always keeping her up to date. I love her more than anything and I wish she would understand what's really going on in my life.
Sorry if this post was boring to most of you...if there even is a "most of you"...
Like I said, this is a blog of a depressed 16 year old girl; be my guest to read but I still make no promises of happiness.
-Beaskie
For Those Who Know Who Beaskie Is
For anyone reading this who knows me, or knows about this, or has maybe heard my name or seen my face or whatever it may be, please don't bring up anything I've said in here in conversation.
It's anonymous for a reason.
-Beaskie
It's anonymous for a reason.
-Beaskie
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Feelings
I mentioned before that I had had a one night stand with Flyer's best friend.
Yeah...I don't really do that...
Like, ever.
He called me in the middle of a Saturday night after a party and asked if I was doing anything the next day. I told him I had to do homework all day, which led to his disappointment, seeing as he was going back to Maryland on Monday. I jokingly mentioned that I wasn't doing anything at the moment, and the next thing I knew, he was driving up to my house.
I had always thought this guy was cute, and we had talked on and off for a few years. I never thought that he actually liked me, so when he kissed me, well, you can imagine how flattering it was.
One thing led to another, and at one point I had to make a choice. Let it go all the way, or stop it where it was.
I decided to let it go because a thought crossed my mind: feeling.
Any and all feeling had been absent in my life for quite some time, and I thought that maybe, if I was lucky, going all the way with this guy who was leaving the next day might possibly evoke some feeling. And I was desperate for feeling.
Mind you, I didn't exactly know what type of feeling it could evoke--and I didn't care. Just the idea of feeling something was enough to convince me to go against all my morals and guidelines I had set for myself. I might feel good, happy, regretful, slutty, tired. I didn't care, I just wanted to feel.
Unfortunately, sleeping with this guy did nothing of the sort. It caused tremendous problems with one of my best friends, who I'm sure still resents me for it--even if she won't admit it. It deeply hurt Flyer--who won't admit it either, but again, I'm sure of it.
And I didn't feel anything.
-Beaskie
Yeah...I don't really do that...
Like, ever.
He called me in the middle of a Saturday night after a party and asked if I was doing anything the next day. I told him I had to do homework all day, which led to his disappointment, seeing as he was going back to Maryland on Monday. I jokingly mentioned that I wasn't doing anything at the moment, and the next thing I knew, he was driving up to my house.
I had always thought this guy was cute, and we had talked on and off for a few years. I never thought that he actually liked me, so when he kissed me, well, you can imagine how flattering it was.
One thing led to another, and at one point I had to make a choice. Let it go all the way, or stop it where it was.
I decided to let it go because a thought crossed my mind: feeling.
Any and all feeling had been absent in my life for quite some time, and I thought that maybe, if I was lucky, going all the way with this guy who was leaving the next day might possibly evoke some feeling. And I was desperate for feeling.
Mind you, I didn't exactly know what type of feeling it could evoke--and I didn't care. Just the idea of feeling something was enough to convince me to go against all my morals and guidelines I had set for myself. I might feel good, happy, regretful, slutty, tired. I didn't care, I just wanted to feel.
Unfortunately, sleeping with this guy did nothing of the sort. It caused tremendous problems with one of my best friends, who I'm sure still resents me for it--even if she won't admit it. It deeply hurt Flyer--who won't admit it either, but again, I'm sure of it.
And I didn't feel anything.
-Beaskie
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Indestructible
In my mind, I'm not hopeless. Hopeless means an absence of hope. An absence of something means that you were familiar with it prior to losing it.
Hope is a foreign concept to me. As is happiness, as is love.
I know I love my family, and my friends. I know I love to dance. I know I love these things, I just don't feel it anymore.
I've reconnected with an ex-boyfriend of mine. Let's call him Flyer.
Flyer and I went out my freshman year--his sophomore year--for around 2 months, and then totally lost touch, until now. I reconnected with him mainly because I had a one night stand with his best friend. I used to regret that, but if I hadn't done it, maybe Flyer and I wouldn't be whatever we are now. In his blog, he said that he loved me, though he hasn't said it to my face. That's probably because any time he gets anywhere close to saying it, I flip out.
I find myself wanting desperately to tell him I love him, or to hear him say it to me. I might want it to be said because I don't know what love is. I thought I did once, and it turned into hell. I might want it to be said because I'm used to that--the whole "I love you" thing--for I used to give that phrase away. Or maybe I want it to be said because it's true.
But hell, I slept with his best friend! Who knows what other types of damage I could do to him?! He tells me over and over that it would take a lot to hurt him, that he'd be ok, that it'd be worth it.
People are fragile. Especially when they're in love, And I'm scared to death of hurting him.
I, on the other hand, am a different story.
I know I can't be hurt.
Dark is the absence of light. But if light didn't exist, neither would dark. Death is the absence of life, but if life were to disappear, so would death. Ugly cannot exist without beauty, hate cannot exist without kindness. Hurt is the absence of love, of happy, of being well. Since none of those exist for me, neither does hurt.
But this inability to be hurt does not result in indestructibility. Being indestructible entails keeping the love, the happy, the being well, while releasing the hurt.
No, I am not indestructible.
I'm numb.
There's no existence of dark or light, death or life, ugly or beauty, hate or kindness, hurt or happy, or love, or being well. There is just being.
And even that, sometimes, is a challenge.
I must learn how to be, before the dark and the light can return. I must learn how to be, before there can be any life, beauty, kindness, love, happy, or being well. I must learn how to be, before any death, ugly, hate, or hurt will return.
Until then, I struggle to be.
-Beaskie
Hope is a foreign concept to me. As is happiness, as is love.
I know I love my family, and my friends. I know I love to dance. I know I love these things, I just don't feel it anymore.
I've reconnected with an ex-boyfriend of mine. Let's call him Flyer.
Flyer and I went out my freshman year--his sophomore year--for around 2 months, and then totally lost touch, until now. I reconnected with him mainly because I had a one night stand with his best friend. I used to regret that, but if I hadn't done it, maybe Flyer and I wouldn't be whatever we are now. In his blog, he said that he loved me, though he hasn't said it to my face. That's probably because any time he gets anywhere close to saying it, I flip out.
I find myself wanting desperately to tell him I love him, or to hear him say it to me. I might want it to be said because I don't know what love is. I thought I did once, and it turned into hell. I might want it to be said because I'm used to that--the whole "I love you" thing--for I used to give that phrase away. Or maybe I want it to be said because it's true.
But hell, I slept with his best friend! Who knows what other types of damage I could do to him?! He tells me over and over that it would take a lot to hurt him, that he'd be ok, that it'd be worth it.
People are fragile. Especially when they're in love, And I'm scared to death of hurting him.
I, on the other hand, am a different story.
I know I can't be hurt.
Dark is the absence of light. But if light didn't exist, neither would dark. Death is the absence of life, but if life were to disappear, so would death. Ugly cannot exist without beauty, hate cannot exist without kindness. Hurt is the absence of love, of happy, of being well. Since none of those exist for me, neither does hurt.
But this inability to be hurt does not result in indestructibility. Being indestructible entails keeping the love, the happy, the being well, while releasing the hurt.
No, I am not indestructible.
I'm numb.
There's no existence of dark or light, death or life, ugly or beauty, hate or kindness, hurt or happy, or love, or being well. There is just being.
And even that, sometimes, is a challenge.
I must learn how to be, before the dark and the light can return. I must learn how to be, before there can be any life, beauty, kindness, love, happy, or being well. I must learn how to be, before any death, ugly, hate, or hurt will return.
Until then, I struggle to be.
-Beaskie
An Explanation
I'm not quite sure how to start this thing. And I guess by saying that, I've started.
Well, here we go.
On January 7th, 2012, a boy asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes. This boy knew that the previous relationship I had been in was an abusive one. Abusive in many ways--verbal, mental, physical--but mainly sexual. I was almost raped.
So I go into this relationship, thinking that this boy will treat me better, this boy will treat me right, this boy will make me happy and smile and feel loved and so I said yes. And for around 4 months it was great--mostly. We had lots in common, he supported me as I healed from an ACL tear and attempted to return to my passion: dance. I supported him in his dream of becoming a professional baseball player. Every now and then there would be a fight, a mishap, an episode, but nothing to the extent of concern.
Slowly but surely, all trust he might have ever had for me diminished. For no particular reason, just because. And he became absolutely convinced that I had, or was currently, or was going to cheat on him.
And as I'm sure many of us can attest to, a relationship lacking trust is a relationship lacking sanity.
Once we were at the point of fighting every night--rather, me fighting for him every night, I desperately asked him what on earth would make him trust me again, and he promptly answered "Sex." So I did what any desperate, blinded, so-called "in love" teenage girl would do--I had sex with him. And much to my surprise--though when I look back on it now, I laugh at my naive shock--it didn't work. The trust was still absent, and still causing immense problems between me and this boy who was supposed to make me happy.
So at this point we had been together for around 11 months, him coming into my house around 1 am almost every night to have sex with me and then leave without saying a word, and wake me up with a text in the morning saying something along the lines of "So who was over at your house after I left, whore", therefore instigating another classic battle between him and I, continuing a vicious cycle.
I was an angry, hateful, insane person. I cried constantly, while putting on a brave face for the world. I screamed at night and started cutting myself. This boy had driven me insane. This boy made me feel like a slut, a whore, a bitch, an insert-any-and-all-derogatory-slurs-here. I cut myself because I believed him, I believed I was all those things, though I had never done anything to result in any of those horrific names suiting me. I believed him because I thought I was madly in love with him, and I thought he was going to marry me. I loved him and believed him and hated myself.
I tried to break up with him a few times--once I could finally see his malicious, manipulative ways--but wasn't strong enough to stick it out. I was trapped, and he was in control. Complete, utter, total control.
Sorry for the rant, but here comes the good part.
After 11 months of sheer hell, and about 3 or 4 months of constant badgering from my family and friends to end the madness, I got the strength from who-knows-where to break up with him, and stick to it.
The night I broke up with him, he slept on my front porch all night while continuously calling me for 8 hours straight.
The following few weeks he texted me and called me nonstop, alternating from desperate pleas to threats to kill either himself or me.
On December 12th, he texted me a quote from a journal that I write to my beloved, deceased grandmother. A journal that sits in my bedside table at home and was never shown to him.
On December 14th, one of my friends showed me strange, cryptic text messages about this boy coming from my phone that I had never sent, but were time-stamped after I had fallen asleep. I realized then that at that point, he had broken into my house twice--once during the day to read my journal, and the second in the middle of the night, to stand over me as I slept while using my phone to text my friend.
I snapped.
We got the police in on it--filed reports and took finger prints from the windows where he broke in--but they told us that we didn't have much of a chance for a restraining order. So we just stuck with the police reports and hoped he wouldn't try again.
I went through about two months of him creating numerous fake facebook accounts and fake numbers to try and reach me from (every time to remind me that I'm a "skank", and to try to find out who I had been sleeping with--which, of course, was no one). By this point I had been in therapy for quite some time.
I was cheering for my high school basketball game at the high school where he had graduated from the year before, and he showed up. The feeling inside my gut that arose instantly after I caught sight of him was indescribable. Here is this person who tormented me for almost a year, abusing my mind and body, causing me to physically harm myself, wouldn't leave me alone and had broken into my house twice, showing up for a basketball game he knew I would be at, pretending everything was perfectly fine. I wanted to throw up, scream, tear his face off and run away as fast as I could all at the same time. It was horrific--even thinking about it now brings on nausea.
Around mid-February, he tried to contact me through another fake facebook account. I figured out it was him and told him to never contact me again, for I was planning on getting a restraining order against him. I came home that night to two shattered windows--the same windows he had broken into the first time.
My dad set up security cameras, and I got a temporary restraining order with a court date to have a hearing as to whether or not I could get a permanent one. I continued going to therapy, was put on Prosac, and aroused plenty of concern from friends and family when I stood three inches from an oncoming train, wishing it had hit me.
Last Sunday, I got a call from the police department, informing me that this boy had been arrested, along with three of his friends, for conspiracy of a home invasion--my home. He was bailed out by his not-too-happy parents, and has a court date of his own. The best thing he can hope for is a couple years of probation and community service, with jail as a possibility. He has also admitted everything to the police.
I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him more than the boyfriend I had before him--the one who almost raped me. I hate him more than anything in this world. He has caused so much fear, so much pain, so much torment, in me and those close to me. And I'm a total mess. As I mentioned before, I'm on an anti-depressant and have been extremely suicidal. I guess this blog is going to be about what it's like to be depressed at 16. I'll try to be as honest as I can. If you want to read this, be my guest, but I won't promise that it'll make you happy. And I'm sorry if it makes you sad.
-Beaskie
Well, here we go.
On January 7th, 2012, a boy asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes. This boy knew that the previous relationship I had been in was an abusive one. Abusive in many ways--verbal, mental, physical--but mainly sexual. I was almost raped.
So I go into this relationship, thinking that this boy will treat me better, this boy will treat me right, this boy will make me happy and smile and feel loved and so I said yes. And for around 4 months it was great--mostly. We had lots in common, he supported me as I healed from an ACL tear and attempted to return to my passion: dance. I supported him in his dream of becoming a professional baseball player. Every now and then there would be a fight, a mishap, an episode, but nothing to the extent of concern.
Slowly but surely, all trust he might have ever had for me diminished. For no particular reason, just because. And he became absolutely convinced that I had, or was currently, or was going to cheat on him.
And as I'm sure many of us can attest to, a relationship lacking trust is a relationship lacking sanity.
Once we were at the point of fighting every night--rather, me fighting for him every night, I desperately asked him what on earth would make him trust me again, and he promptly answered "Sex." So I did what any desperate, blinded, so-called "in love" teenage girl would do--I had sex with him. And much to my surprise--though when I look back on it now, I laugh at my naive shock--it didn't work. The trust was still absent, and still causing immense problems between me and this boy who was supposed to make me happy.
So at this point we had been together for around 11 months, him coming into my house around 1 am almost every night to have sex with me and then leave without saying a word, and wake me up with a text in the morning saying something along the lines of "So who was over at your house after I left, whore", therefore instigating another classic battle between him and I, continuing a vicious cycle.
I was an angry, hateful, insane person. I cried constantly, while putting on a brave face for the world. I screamed at night and started cutting myself. This boy had driven me insane. This boy made me feel like a slut, a whore, a bitch, an insert-any-and-all-derogatory-slurs-here. I cut myself because I believed him, I believed I was all those things, though I had never done anything to result in any of those horrific names suiting me. I believed him because I thought I was madly in love with him, and I thought he was going to marry me. I loved him and believed him and hated myself.
I tried to break up with him a few times--once I could finally see his malicious, manipulative ways--but wasn't strong enough to stick it out. I was trapped, and he was in control. Complete, utter, total control.
Sorry for the rant, but here comes the good part.
After 11 months of sheer hell, and about 3 or 4 months of constant badgering from my family and friends to end the madness, I got the strength from who-knows-where to break up with him, and stick to it.
The night I broke up with him, he slept on my front porch all night while continuously calling me for 8 hours straight.
The following few weeks he texted me and called me nonstop, alternating from desperate pleas to threats to kill either himself or me.
On December 12th, he texted me a quote from a journal that I write to my beloved, deceased grandmother. A journal that sits in my bedside table at home and was never shown to him.
On December 14th, one of my friends showed me strange, cryptic text messages about this boy coming from my phone that I had never sent, but were time-stamped after I had fallen asleep. I realized then that at that point, he had broken into my house twice--once during the day to read my journal, and the second in the middle of the night, to stand over me as I slept while using my phone to text my friend.
I snapped.
We got the police in on it--filed reports and took finger prints from the windows where he broke in--but they told us that we didn't have much of a chance for a restraining order. So we just stuck with the police reports and hoped he wouldn't try again.
I went through about two months of him creating numerous fake facebook accounts and fake numbers to try and reach me from (every time to remind me that I'm a "skank", and to try to find out who I had been sleeping with--which, of course, was no one). By this point I had been in therapy for quite some time.
I was cheering for my high school basketball game at the high school where he had graduated from the year before, and he showed up. The feeling inside my gut that arose instantly after I caught sight of him was indescribable. Here is this person who tormented me for almost a year, abusing my mind and body, causing me to physically harm myself, wouldn't leave me alone and had broken into my house twice, showing up for a basketball game he knew I would be at, pretending everything was perfectly fine. I wanted to throw up, scream, tear his face off and run away as fast as I could all at the same time. It was horrific--even thinking about it now brings on nausea.
Around mid-February, he tried to contact me through another fake facebook account. I figured out it was him and told him to never contact me again, for I was planning on getting a restraining order against him. I came home that night to two shattered windows--the same windows he had broken into the first time.
My dad set up security cameras, and I got a temporary restraining order with a court date to have a hearing as to whether or not I could get a permanent one. I continued going to therapy, was put on Prosac, and aroused plenty of concern from friends and family when I stood three inches from an oncoming train, wishing it had hit me.
Last Sunday, I got a call from the police department, informing me that this boy had been arrested, along with three of his friends, for conspiracy of a home invasion--my home. He was bailed out by his not-too-happy parents, and has a court date of his own. The best thing he can hope for is a couple years of probation and community service, with jail as a possibility. He has also admitted everything to the police.
I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him more than the boyfriend I had before him--the one who almost raped me. I hate him more than anything in this world. He has caused so much fear, so much pain, so much torment, in me and those close to me. And I'm a total mess. As I mentioned before, I'm on an anti-depressant and have been extremely suicidal. I guess this blog is going to be about what it's like to be depressed at 16. I'll try to be as honest as I can. If you want to read this, be my guest, but I won't promise that it'll make you happy. And I'm sorry if it makes you sad.
-Beaskie
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