Mood: Pissed Off
Reading: Wildwood by Colin Meloy
Drinking: ice water
You have no fucking clue how happy I am that it's Friday because this week has been so terribly shitty, it's made me realize how happy I am to finally be in my last year of this hellhole called high school.
Okay, so first of all, for those of you that know me and see me everyday (which is very few here), you'd know that within the past couple weeks, I've been making some changes to myself. All of this specifically started the end of Spirit Week when I decided I had such little school spirit that on the last day when we were supposed to wear school colors, I was going to deck myself out in black and badass clothes. It wasn't until I was walking around school that day in my little black dress and Sally tights, though, that I realized how happy I felt dressed like that. My makeup was darker and I didn't look as innocent and naive as I always have. Quite honestly, it felt really, really great. So I've been dressing darker ever since. I recognize that the abrupt change probably makes me look like a wannabe, suddenly starting to wear black eyeshadow to school everyday and shit like that, but I could honestly care less right now. I have been feeling so much more confident and in control these last couple weeks that I think sticking with this is going to be one of the best personal decisions I've ever made. For the first time ever I feel like I'm no longer that innocent, naive little girl everyone thinks is nerdy and awkward that everyone thinks they can step all over. I still keep to myself and everything, I just don't look like a twelve year old prodigy misfit doing it anymore. For starters, I look older now which is a good thing. I actually look seventeen since back when my makeup routine pretty much consisted of a quick eyeliner job and some cheap mascara, the lack of makeup showed my baby face through and made me look like a little kid (the Disney shirts didn't help...DON'T WORRY, I STILL WEAR THE DISNEY SHIRTS, THOUGH.) But I think the most important aspect of these changes is that now I think people know not to mess with me, that I don't take shit and won't take shit anymore. I look tough and badass and like if anyone fucks with me, I'll gut them and hang them from a telephone pole with their intestines. It's a nice feeling, albeit probably terrifying. But after so many years of people thinking I'm naive and childish, it feels nice to be a little terrifying. People actually fear me. As they should.
Rest assured, though, this doesn't mean I won't be running rampant dressed up like a Disney princess anymore or anything. Far from it, actually. I still love Disney and princesses and frilly ballgowns and such as much as I always have, I just don't look like a little kid spazzing over them anymore. Instead, think Traci Hines, Hot Topic style vibes. I can still dress like a badass and squee over mermaids at the same time. And I feel like Traci Hines and the way she presents herself with the badass and the Disney princess simultaneously is one of my great inspirations here in this transition. Traci Hines and actually Alexa Poletti, as well. Basically, I'm striving to look killer while still loving Disney and animated movies and princesses and fairytales and childish shit like that. I feel very grateful that my friends have been pretty supportive in this change, too, since they don't treat me any differently than when I looked 12 (nor did they treat me poorly when I looked 12, which is always good). But that's not to say I haven't found criticism.
Don't worry, nobody's pretty much gone up to me and started bashing me for doing what I've done to myself. Far from it. But I've found criticism in other ways. Let's just say Wednesday was probably the most horrible, terrible, depressing, heartbreaking, angst-inducing day of my life. Practically, this entire week has been a bust. Monday night I had my very first college exam which I was panicking over the entire day (even though it actually wasn't as bad as I feared it'd be-- my professor let us use the textbook and I finished the thing in, like, twenty minutes so as soon as I was done, I was allowed to go home). But Tuesday was the end-all, be-all that sent me spiraling through the rest of the week.
October 8th officially marked six months since me and le Crushboy met but the depression ended up swinging by a day early. All day Tuesday I was angsty and aggravated. I didn't want to do anything or go anywhere but I had class again that night. And art class this past week had to have been the worst experience imaginable. First off, we had this homework assignment to pick five objects that describe ourselves and mean something to us and make an objective self portrait with them. I was terrified of what people would say about mine and think about mine considering every week with our homework, we pin them up on the whiteboard and do a class critique. Every other week I've been fine, not really saying much even though I know it's gonna hurt my grade and shit, but this week I was just so terrified. People had to guess what my objects meant and what I was trying to say about myself and everything before I had to sit there and explain the correct answers. The five objects I decided to choose were my copy of Wildwood by Colin Meloy (which I still haven't finished yet-- I've got about 100 pages left), my Mickey Mouse ears, my earbuds, this old little heart-shaped box I've had since I was a kid, and my little Pascal figurine. My book was to symbolize my love for writing and my aspiration to be an author while it also had a deeper meaning regarding it's condition. By now, it's gotten pretty worn from going in and out of my backpack every day for the past couple months but I think that just means it's well-loved. But I decided to emphasize it's worn properties as a homage to all the shit I've gone through in the past year and a half. The Mickey Mouse ears were to symbolize my love for Disney and how important it is to me as well as how I cling to my childhood. The earbuds were because I love music and am a good listener, the heart-shaped box represented how important an aspect the prospect of love is in my love and my love for Nirvana because of the song "Heart-Shaped Box", and lastly, the Pascal was for my love of Tangled and because, like a chameleon, I blend into the background A LOT. I was just so nervous because, unlike all the other times, these objects symbolize me and I was so scared what people were going to say, I started feeling the onset of an anxiety attack. It didn't help we took our fifteen minute break before getting around to mine, either. And if the anxiety wasn't bad enough, just being in the environment of that art classroom was torture. Just knowing that pretty much exactly six months prior, le Crushboy and my Elsa were in there, him giving her my number for me and shit like that. I couldn't help but keep picturing him sitting across the room with his sketchbook, making comments during the critiques and scrolling through his phone on the breaks. It was absolute torture. And it really didn't get any better. By the time we got around to critique my artwork, the very first words that came out of my professor's mouth, "Oh no, not Disney. That's another one: never do anything Disney". It was so insanely discouraging how much she hated Disney and I know I am not Disney but it's so special to me, I felt victimized. I felt like I could feel her eyes boring a hole through my flesh when I had to explain the meaning behind my objects to the rest of the class. I'm pretty positive the only positive comments I got during that critique (or at least those that I remember) was one girl saying I did a really good job drawing Mickey on my ears and pondered whether it had something to do with wanting to be a Disney animator, another girl seemed happy I put Pascal in there and was the only person in the class who got the Nirvana reference (even before I explained it), and the girl who sits next to me was like "Oh my god, that was so deep" when I explained the meanings behind the objects. I was so pissed off at myself the rest of the night, though, because I felt so horrible about the objection from my professor, terrified it would negatively affect my grade. I know once the class critique was finished, I should've felt relieved and everything-- I mean, the tension had been lifted. I did my part. I listened to people criticize my work and explained the meaning behind it (which, I swear, was the most talking I had ever done in that class, I'm sure of it). So then why did I still feel so shitty? It was true that I started getting a little headache before slurping down a quick bowl of ramen before class that night but I didn't think it would get any worse. Unfortunately, it did. I was having one of those days where you feel antsy, there's a throbbing in your head, and every so often you get an intense pang of nausea where you feel like you're about to throw up across the table. Yeah, not fun. I wanted so badly to just up and go home from class but I didn't want to risk an absence because in college, you only get three strikes before you're out and automatically fail a class. So I powered through. It was tough as shit and there were multiple instances where I didn't think I was going to make it but I powered through. I wish I could say I went straight to bed as soon as I got home but unfortunately, that's not the case, either. I was so depressed over the le Crushboy thing that I ended up staying up until 3am listening to Blink182's "What Went Wrong?" on repeat for an hour and a half and breaking down every ten minutes when the commercial for his workplace came on. Which brings us to Wednesday.
Wednesday I woke up so freaking depressed. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to put pants on. I didn't want to put my contacts in. I was actually contemplating just going to school in my pajamas. I actually just ended up throwing on my Jack hoodie and a pair of jeans, leaving my hair a mess, and doing my now-usual dark makeup. And I trudged off to school. Legitimately trudged. I was so depressed. So, so, so depressed. When I saw my one friend on the way to 2nd period, she said she hoped that my day would get better. She fucking jinxed it. It was bad. I have never been so pissed off at everyone in my 2nd period before. My English teacher made us do this writing assignment where we had to describe a person in the class and it was bad enough I didn't want to deal with people that day at all, but I don't even have any friends in my English class. My social anxiety got the best of me when we were told to look around the room, target a person, and zone in on them so we'd have a good idea of how to describe them. We had ten minutes. I panicked my ass off for five of those minutes until I just puked out a half-assed description of myself. After we finished writing, we passed our papers to the front because for the first time ever we were turning in a quickwrite assignment so I thought I was off the hook considering my teacher said we would have to read them aloud and guess who we wrote about it and that was the last thing I wanted to do (well, actually, the assignment as a whole was the last thing I wanted to do but the reading them aloud was a very, very, very close second). So after that we did our work and whatnot and I thought I was finally out of the woods until the teacher stopped us and walked to the front of the room...with our papers in hand. And then began hell.
He started reading them aloud, keeping the names of both the writer and the projected victim anonymous, and we had to guess who was being described. And it was all fun and games until they got to me. Not the description I wrote, thank God, but something possibly worse: someone's description of me. I knew it was supposed to be me immediately. The beginning was pretty neutral, saying how I'm always quiet, almost silent and dutifully take notes and shit but then things just went downhill. They said things like I give off a "don't talk to me" vibe and gave an ugly description of the baggy clothes on my body and my dark, curly hair and the way I held my arm in with a fist covering my mouth when we had to survey the room "like I was afraid to take up space". That's really all I remember from the description, though there was quite a bit more. I had never felt so incredibly humiliated in my entire life. Fortunately, the girl who sits behind me (whose name I don't know but she was in my English class last year) probably caught on that it was supposed to be about me and when the entire class was silent when it was time to guess who was being described, she was the one who piped up and suggested we not guess on that one because it was so mean. And the entire class came to a general consensus on that and we moved on. But quite frankly, I have not moved on. I have never hated the majority of my English class so much before. The only part of that description I approved of was the "don't talk to me" vibe because fuck yeah I don't want you socialist assholes talking to me. Unless you are the girl sitting behind me who stuck up for me and covered my ass from another round of public humiliation, I do not want you to bother me. Of course, it doesn't help that the majority of the people in my English class are stupid ass popular people and there's one girl who I've got a fair history with from back in middle school there, a popular bitch who stole my now ex-best friend, whose boyfriend is in the same class and I have to see them together every single day. Just...fuck my life. So as if I wasn't already feeling depressed and unloved and unwanted and not wanting to be there, I had to hear some asshole's description of my apparent ugliness and dark attitude. And what's worse is that because the descriptions written were kept anonymous when read aloud, I have no freaking clue who wrote it. So I can't track the bitch down, gut him, hang him from a telephone pole with his own intestines, and act like I had nothing to do with it. Either way, though, the fact that that happened on top of the depression over le Crushboy just made the entire day one of the worst I've ever had to endure. I shoved everyone away for the rest of the day, I rushed out of school after fourth period like there was a bombing going on behind me, and as soon as I got home, I tore the super fluffy blanket off my bed, cocooned on the couch, and absolutely cried my eyes out until I fell asleep. And I slept until about 6pm, so a good five hours. Of course, apparently while I was asleep my mom told my dad everything that happened with the English assignment and my dad was pissed as fuck-- so pissed, he was about to straight-up call the principal and cuss him out about it. And apparently because by 9pm that night, I was still depressed, my mom suddenly felt the need to schedule an appointment with a therapist because she called me a basketcase. Because I had a shitty couple days and was still depressed over it. Sorry mom but newsflash, I am not as optimistic as you are. In fact, I grow more cynical every fucking day! So big whoop-dee-doo! Don't get on my case, bitch! I hate how she says she understands when she really doesn't because she said she understood I was upset and she said she knew how I felt with being depressed and all but if she knew how I felt, she wouldn't have been pressuring me to be happy again like I can flick some magic fucking switch and automatically be all rainbows and butterflies and cotton candy. So after she made me start crying again out of pure frustration, I screamed at her and made her sit down, shut up, and listen because I was tired of her giving me crap and assuming things and after I explained everything to her, poured my fucking guts out, she fortunately finally understood. I hate yelling at her and stuff but it felt good taking action for myself because I am so tired of taking everyone's shit, including when my mother treats me like being depressed is a simply cured emotion and not a mental state and when she assumes she knows and understands when she doesn't. I know I'm a bitch for it but quite frankly, right now, I do not care because I am taking care of myself. I am done letting everyone else's shit pile up on top of me and letting people get away with it. If I have to look terrifying to warn people I am a force to be reckoned with, so be it. Bring on the dark makeup and smug glare because I am done. I am 100% done.