Feeling like...

I'm on the outside yet again.

Is it me? Or is it them?

I don't know, and I can't let it get to me.

I must just focus on other things, more important.

Getting things done - books, writing, eating, sleeping, working.

But I confess, that at the moment, all I want to do is nothing at all.

So how can I possibly be hurt by the things that others do, when I do it too.

This is something which I must remember, something which I must learn and move on from.

Until next time. School starts on Monday, things are theoretically going smoothly and well, though they aren't.

Ta for now.

The Last Letter

When reflecting on this past day, I am reminded of a story I wrote once. It was called The Last Letter.

More than the story itself, what I had wanted to convey when I wrote it was my own physical ailments that I was experiencing at the time. I attributed it to my backpack straps pinching nerves in my shoulders. I would get random spasms of pain from my nerves, in my neck, shoulder, head. Anywhere it could hit, it did. It was like something was stabbing my temple, and I usually ducked my head to try to get away from it. Often, it made me flinch when I had such a spasm. In my story, these happened to my character, and she was dying. This last week, I have had the same such nerve chaos that I was experiencing nearly two years ago. 

It is painful, to say the least. Horrible headaches - like sharp jabs at my temples, base of my head, neck, shoulders, and lately - lower abdomen. 

Now that I look at it, I believe the origin to be more caused by stress and lack of sleep than backpack straps. Not a fun picture to assess. Maybe my body reacts badly to such things anymore. It had too rough a time in high school - perhaps I should have treated it better. My wrist was throbbing all day today, and again, I believe it is how I have treated it in the past. My past will forever haunt me, it seems.

Bruises come, and fade, but do not completely go. They still hurt, and you can still see their imprints on my legs. Except for the recent burn on my wrist, I seem to scar more than I ever properly heal. Perhaps this is a statement on my life.

I don't mean to complain my way through this blog. It seems that's all I have done the past few posts. I apologize. Life isn't all horrible. I simply like to dwell on my disappointments sometimes. And when I do so, it helps me to think, and analyze myself more than I would if all I spoke of were good things.

I am getting along with my grandparents far better than I ever have before - and that is a fact I am quite happy to acknowledge. I have written at least 12 or 13 pages on my book in the past month, and that is more than I can say for the past year. That too makes me happy. I survived one year of college - and that amazes me. I still have friends to talk to (though I often feel alone more than anything else) and that is a comforting thought, when I can remember it. I have those who love me, and would help me if I need it, and that is something one should never forget.

But so often I get mired down in the icky details of life, the sludge that makes a murky haven in my words and thoughts.

I am at least moderately healthy. And except for the few bumps I have hit along the road in the past couple weeks, I am in a good place with those in my life. Some things can never be fixed, and other things must be accepted or be allowed to ruin you. 

Perhaps, with the events of this summer, I will learn better. Hindsight makes sages of us all. But if only the lessons are absorbed, perhaps they might help me along this road, and around the potholes and puddles.

Philosophical I wax tonight, it would seem. Perhaps in my dreams the words I have written will penetrate deep enough to be understood and absorbed and wielded with the purpose they were intended for.

Until then, and for now. Good night.

Door Mat. Walk all over me, please.

I feel like I'm living in the same house as my brother - the paranoia about my own things, and about leaving the house and putting my things in a more vulnerable position.

Not only that, through the words of a future in-law, I now feel supremely unwelcome.

The charity case. Who doesn't deserve shit because she doesn't do shit. Especially because I'm not family.

I cannot wait for the next week to pass. I want to leave. I wish I could. The sooner the better.

I'll have to find a different place for next Christmas break and summer. Make some extra money so I can afford the dorms over the holidays, or something. I'll sleep on the floor of my grandmother's basement if I can find no other option. But this - this won't be repeated.

I can't stand this, my limit has been broken. I feel like I have been both reverted back to my childhood self-and belittled in the most supreme way. There is no self worth here anymore.

I must become independent this year, as best I can, so I won't have to endure this kind of humiliation again.

Oh the Irony.

This Aching Empty
I do not mind the waiting
The silence, or the lonely
The thing I mind, as you will find
Is living without you.

My thoughts are mine alone, you see
My time - free to command.
But emptiness is hard to breathe -
This living without you.

The bed is not the problem
I sprawl, I twist, I turn alone
But when the sleep eludes me, love
I find this just won't do.
___

You can't imagine how unbearable it is to be so far apart. I never imagined it would be like this. Sigh.

Scholarships....or lack thereof.

Ugh.

It's a quarter past midnight, and boy am I exhausted. I attempted to fall asleep around ten, but after an hour of not falling asleep, I decided to get onto my computer and search, search, search, agonizingly search for writing scholarships.

One hour later. And guess what?

Still found nothing.

What was it my step-dad said to me? "You just type it into google and you'll find hundreds of them, all you have to do is look. It's not that difficult." Why doesn't he just try it?

Sigh.

I'm tired. I'm annoyed. I'm empty handed.

Thought I'd share. Maybe if I'd done this in high school, as a high school student - I would've been eligible for a hell of a lot more. Now that I'm in college, you have to attend a certain college or be (no offense meant or implied) black or hispanic or latino or native american or whatnot. One white female who goes to a dinky little private college in a highly stereotyped farmland of a state, well, doesn't exactly stand much of a chance for finding a scholarship.

Unfortunately, the best and only one I have ever come across was the Haynes Foundation Valedictorian scholarship only offered to valedictorians in my state, and probably only offered at my college. And you know what? It wasn't even that much. But I guess even the little things help.

I'd love it if I could find more of those little things.

Sadly, however, even my fantastic searching abilities uncover zip.

Until whenever, I'm going to attempt to sleep yet again.