again

And again we revisit this subject.

I feel that relationships and social intricacies of relationships cause one’s insecurities to rear their ugly heads.

I don’t consider myself insecure. I enjoy myself, and I enjoy my own company. I like my features, and I’ve learned to love my body. I like my sense of humor, and I like the things I like. I say what I want, I do what I want. I like my aesthetic, and I enjoy being me. I love being me. I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.

But for the life of me, if I’m so confident in my own skin, why am I so insecure about letting someone into that world? It’s true, my world is a little different. I view it differently because of where I come from, who my parents are, my experiences, and so on. Everyone views the world a bit differently than others- no view is the same. But even so, my view can still be vastly different from others. My world is different, and I’m really afraid of showing someone that world. What if I show it to the wrong person? What if they shatter it from the inside, and I’ve got nothing left? What if they hate it, and I trap them in with me?

It’s not fair. Most people have bubbles for worlds. Their bubbles come together to create a stronger, bigger bubble. But mine is like a snowglobe. Seemingly a bubble, but I just cannot let you in. I have to keep you at arm’s length. I’ve got to be on a shelf as a knickknack that you refer to. You like it, or maybe you don’t, but you never interact with it.

I just cannot let you in. It’s like a panic button gets pressed when I see your face. And I start running around in my snowglobe, trying to break down the barrier. But fuck, I can’t. Why would I break my own world? It hurts me. It scares me. It feels like I’m drowning. I can’t swim. What is this? Why is it just you? Why the hell do you get to be the one? Fuck your light and all its shimmer.

Why can’t I let people into my world? What is it about my world that I deem so awesomely horrible that I cannot share it with anyone else? Do I truly hate myself?

I’m going to have to let it go. It hurts me. It pains me. Your light is aligned with my eyes, and I feel like it could possibly be just what I want. No, I know it’s what I want. You’re normal, with a bit of deviant shimmer that seems like fireworks to my retinas and I want it. I want to bathe in it.

But for some reason, some stupid reason. I can’t. Fear. Fear of what others think, and I am so fucking annoyed with myself for it. I hate it. It makes me want to cocoon, to go inside myself and fix it all. And forget you. Just forget your name, your smile, your eyes, everything I adore about you.

I want to forget. I want to forget so I can heal myself. So I can be ready for someone else.

Someone else? How can there possibly be someone else when I’ve waited this long just to have your light flashed in front of my eyes? And that’s the kicker! Which weighs more heavily in my mind- the fear of letting you into my world or the fear of never knowing your touch?

Fuck. I’m scared. This is unknown. I can’t sleep, dear love. I can’t eat or breathe or speak. My mouth is withering from disuse, and it’s all your fault. No, no love, I take it back. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. All the faults are mine, and they always have been.

If there were no one else in the room, just you and me. I could. I could talk to you. I could sing for you, and baby, I could fly. Dear love, why am I so afraid of other people and what they might think? I’m not afraid of you. I don’t think I ever could be. But I’m so afraid of others. I’m afraid of your friends. Your colleagues. Your family. Your peers. Your classmates. I’m afraid. If I let you in, I’d have to let them peek in. But no, love, I just can’t. People and I don’t mix on that level.

Fear is stupid. Fear is dumb. I want what I want and yet I don’t want you enough to conquer my fears. I want you, I do. In every possible way. But until I’m strong enough, less afraid… I don’t think I deserve you.

just a feeling

I don’t understand this feeling. Maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just too naïve.

The first time I wanted to be near someone this much- he died. For some reason, I still blame myself. The second time I wanted to be near someone this much- he left me with an illness in my body that took me years to get over. Even now I’ve still got scars.

This is the third time. They say the third time’s the charm, but I’m not so sure. I’m not sure because I don’t know what to do. I am driven- compelled, even- to action, but for the love of all that is holy, I just cannot. It’s the part I play. All the time. I don’t speak. I don’t smile. I don’t even glance. I’m sending you mixed messages because I’m scared.

Thoughts of you send lighting and fire down my nerves, you settle in my stomach like a storm over the sea. And I really don’t understand what that means. I’ve had baby crushes, it’s true. I’ve never wanted to obtain the person, to convey to them what I felt. Because I truly didn’t want them- I just loved how they were in some particular moment. And then it was gone- the rush of blood to the skull was gone. But you? You’re sending me to a place I’m uncomfortable with, that makes me sick and ill and screwed over. No one knows that. That I can’t breathe before I see you. That I shake. That I shiver. That my mind can’t seem to stomp you out of itself. You’re all I’m seeing- even when I close my eyes you’re in my periphery.

And yet when we talked, it was like a hot shower after a long day or a cool swim in a shallow pool. Refreshing and needed and so good. All those doubts fell away. All those anxieties and little worries- gone. Poof. What does that mean? Time moved so fast and yet so slow.

I can tell that you glow. I can tell that you shine. Your wavelength is resonating so I can hear it, and I hope I’m playing the right song back to you. I’ve always been able to take one look at a person and know. Well, I know.

I’m crying because I’m silly. I don’t know how to say this. And no one ever really wants to know what’s beneath the beating of one’s heart. You don’t want to know. And I’m sad about that. Or maybe you do. But I’m still sad about it. Because my fears have always held me back. I can’t unchain myself because it’s easy. It’s easy to sit here shackled, not exploring. I’m a caged bird- I sing, I appear happy. But I do wonder what’s beyond my bars.

I’m crying because I’m screaming it to you. I’m screaming it, and I want this. I really do. But I guess I don’t want it enough, because I’m not telling you this from my mouth. You’re shining to me. You really are. The shine isn’t fading. The sun still seems brighter if you’re there.

How do I know that this is true? That this isn’t one of those other baby crushes?

There’s two categories of those baby things, and you fall into neither. People I want to obtain and become, and people I want to just simply love.

I don’t want to become you. And I don’t want to simply love you. I want to have you. Have you. I want you to breathe life into me, make me feel what I’ve wanted to feel for so long. I thought I was broken. And I know you could make me realize that I don’t need to be fixed. I’m attracted to you and what your shine is. And I need it. I never thought I could want someone for their body, but I do. I don’t find the thought of you appalling- I welcome it. Which is a strange thing. For me.

Your hair. Your arms. Your mouth. Your eyes. Your smile. I’d like to touch you, to taste you. I want your body, yes, but I also want your heart, your mind, your soul. I’m burning for you. I touch myself in place of you and, damn, it’s embarrassing to admit, even if no one will see this. I just want to be in your company. No matter how long it takes- it’s all I want. Is that silly? Is that love? What makes me tick that makes me feel this way about you, just you? And the other two, they didn’t make me feel like this. This is bad. This is terrible. It’s sickening.

I’ve asked others what I should do, but they don’t get it. They don’t understand how hard it is for me to even look in your direction, to say hello. It’s hard because you’re full of possibilities. It’s hard because in an instant, it could fall apart, and the sparks I feel between us could fizzle and fade. It’s hard because I don’t understand, and you probably do. It’s hard because I don’t know what to do, and you probably do. It’s hard because I don’t know what you’re thinking, and you do.

I’m asking for help, but I’m just so pissed off that the answers I need are ones that reside within me. I know what to do. And what holds me back is fear. Of failure, rejection. Not hurt. You could hurt me, after the fact, and I’d be fine. But to know that you never saw my shine, that my song never reached your ears, that would kill me. My wavelength doesn’t resonate with just anyone, and I’m really afraid that includes you.

So I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid that I’ll let that fear keep me from what I want yet again. I can make all the excuses I want. But in the end it’s just me.

I pray that you’ll say hi. That you’ll smile on the stairway. That you’ll hold open doors for me again and pass me the attendance. I pray that we’ll have another conversation. Maybe over coffee. I pray that you like nice music, and that you love films. I pray that you’ll tell me we’ll take it slow. And I pray that you take my hand. I pray that this burning feeling I’ve got quenches, and that my body bathes in the waters of your life. I pray that you’ll send me pretty letters and pictures while I send you funny videos and brownies. I pray that things actually happen instead of staying stagnant.

I pray that I’m actually strong enough to do what I want and not give a damn what others think, including you.

thoughts that probably won't make sense

It's strange how nights like these I wish I was the type of person to toss a few shots back. And simply escape the reality that I have to live with every day.

There are things in my life that I am powerless to rectify, or that I haven't found a feasible solution to them yet. I am not the type of person to do stupid things because of how powerless I feel, and I know I cope with it by escaping into whatever TV show/ movie/ story. I also don't know what it is that prevents me from bursting into tears at the mere sight of things that are nagging at my emotions.

I don't think I'm a particularly "strong" person. Maybe I've learned to just give up control of those things and take back control of other things I've let go by the wayside.

There are certain moments that I wish I could just tweak a bit. And I'm not dwelling on the past. I just know the point in which things failed. And I'm trying to learn from that.

At some point, I had to literally yell at my father in order to make him understand the gravity of his actions on several occasions. People don't understand the gravity of their actions. And they never will.

I know that if my mother hadn't started her doctoral degree, my home life wouldn't be in the disarray that it is.

I know certain things would not have happened, and while I don't know how I would've turned out, I know my father and sister would be different people.

I don't understand how it doesn't make you stay up at night, vomit, or sob to yourself that things have turned out this way. I don't understand how you can ignore your unease, how you can go to work every day, how you can look at us all the same way. I don't understand how you've resigned to your flesh and blood being addicted to drugs and cutting.

And you! You! How do you see us and believe in that moment, you understand everything? You aren't using your eyes. Do you see her skin? Do you see the blood, the sores, the scars? If you did, you wouldn't push the questions, ask things you have no right to know.

And you! You who stood by and let it all unfold. You, caught up in your own problems, couldn't even see the knives, the blades, and the metal scattered around her room. You actually deluded yourself into a reality that simply wasn't true. And how dare you decide later to give a damn, after the damage had been done.

I don't understand any of you. When I'm away, when I'm in college, I have to separate myself from all of you. I have to place a barrier so that I can succeed in my life.

I'm coming to the realization that there are simply some people that you cannot take with you, even if they're your family. I can't take any of you with me. And if you ask why, I'll say it's because of the injustices you committed that I've witnessed. I simply can't stomach any of it. If I remember you're my family, I'll run straight back.

So I've set up this barrier. You over there. Me over here.

I'll pretend our house is a television. I'll pretend it's nothing but a made-up story on a random channel. I'll pretend I can turn it off whenever I please. I'll pretend it doesn't affect me, and that you're just putting on a face for the camera. I'll pretend the emotions aren't real, and I'll pretend I'm the audience, just observing a stage.

Because I've tried. I've tried so hard. And I'm not surrendering- there's no white flag. I'm obviously not strong enough to stop this yet. I'm not experienced enough, old enough, wise enough. I haven't got the answers, stop asking me questions. I'll come back when I can do some good. I'll come back when you've learned from your mistakes, and I'll hope that when that time comes, you're all still alive and well. God knows if you all make it to that point, it'll be a miracle.

It makes me angry. It makes me depressed. It's the root of all my problems, a burden I've got to carry because it's part of who I am. If I could stifle it, I would. It's the burden of family.

...
How am I supposed to become the best possible version of myself when so many negative things are bringing me down?

I think I could quite possibly be "demisexual," which is "a person who does not experience sexual attraction until they form a strong emotional connection with someone, often (but not always) in a romantic relationship."

I've never felt sexual attraction for a person. Ever. Of course, I know I have "turn-ons" or "kinks," but I've never wanted sex with anyone. I know that of certain celebrities I'll say "wow he's sexy," but to me that just means that I find them attractive- something about them is attractive. And honestly, I'm more attracted to their personality or their spirit than their body. I have the same attraction to Garrett Hedlund from Tron as I do CL from 2NE1. Kate Winslet and Tom Hiddleston are even the same in my head.

I've always wanted to be in a relationship with someone. But it would be a long time before they got anything sexual out of me. I think that's why it grosses me out when someone refers to me in a sexual manner- I'm demisexual.

It's not that I prescribe to a label- I do think sexuality is like a spectrum; there are different intensities. It's just, I've always found it odd that I couldn't identify with anyone. People in college (or even my mom) would say something sexual, like they wanted to have relations with another person, and I'd always find that so weird that I couldn't honestly say the same.

I have affinities for people, but that never means I want them sexually. Even in school, if I talked about a crush I had, it wasn't a "normal" teenage thing. I didn't want to be in a relationship with them. There was just something about them that I liked and wanted to incorporate into my life.

If I were to be in a relationship, I know the person would have to try really hard. They'd probably really "want me" for a while, but have to just wait. And it's not because I'm a virgin. I really honestly don't want sexual contact with people. I may want hugs and kisses, but that's affection and not sexual.

Strangely, I do want to someday be with someone in a physical capacity. But because I never express interest in finding a romantic partner (mainly because it seems like all people want is sex), everyone assumes I'm either a lesbian or that I'm just weird. I confess that I'm not attracted to people at all. And it's hard to strike up friendships with people that may be "potentials" because I'm awkward. And it's a disservice to one's friends if you've chosen them as friends because they might mean something romantically/sexually to you later on. Also, as this little demisexual wiki says, "demisexuality may make forming romantic or sexual relationships more difficult for some people. Demisexuals often make first impressions with sexuals of being "just friends", which may make the sexual value the relationship less." Plus, I may not be sexually attracted to people, but I am attracted to people to the point where I'd want to be friends with them. I know exactly what kinds of friends I want, and I know exactly how I'd want my future romantic partner to be.

People and their relationships fascinate me, partially because I gauge what "normal" is and because I don't know how I fit into all of that. I've never been comfortable discussing my sexuality with people, and I realize now that it's because I honestly never knew what it was. I always thought there was something "wrong with me," and I forced myself to pick a person and like them like my friends would. And in order to seem like my friends, I'd go hardcore with the liking. Later on, I realized I never liked the person to begin with.

Even now, I find myself getting caught up in trying to be attractive towards others, just to prove to myself there's nothing wrong with me, that I'm "normal." But honestly, I've never been what Western/American society would consider "normal," in any aspect of my life. Over the years, I've accepted the mold that makes up just who I am, and I am really not afraid of said mold.

When I think about what I want in a person, I just think that I want their insides to be beautiful. I can tell immediately when I meet someone if they have that quality. The friends I have now fit into my "beautiful" requirement, and that's all I ask for. I think this is why sometimes I can see I'd be satisfied with having my family set up a marriage for me, just as long as the person was good-natured. But part of me hates that might be the only way for me to have a happy ending. That because of the way we are in society, the way I want to experience a relationship is unacceptable.

I think I'm just going to have to wait a while to find someone willing to be that person in my life. I'm not talking about "the one;" I just mean that I am honestly unable to pursue that because it's just not who I am. I'm tired of trying to be what I am not. I just want to be the purest, best version of myself.

And I think putting this all to words is part of the journey to get to that point.

Body Issues

It’s getting to the point where I don’t want to talk about clothes or exercise or food with my family.

Every time I mention something health-related or finding clothes to fit my body type, my mother starts talking about how I need to lose weight in order to get back to the way I was when I took my senior pictures. I’m not overweight, I eat better than most, and I exercise when I can.

I’ve been trying to explain to my mother that my weight gain didn’t happen until March/April of my senior year, when my hormones started going haywire and my health issues peaked again. That on top of the “Freshman 15” caused me to gain weight. However, January 2011 to March, I started exercising more, trying to regulate my body’s systems, since my parents won’t take me to a gynocologist for my issues. (They maintain that it’s my exercise and diet that are giving me problems.) Yes, I lost my “Freshman 15” and a bit more, but I’m still not where my mother would like me to be.

I don’t like exercising around them. We don’t have any running equipment, and I can’t run outside during the day while they’re gone in the summer due to the sun (I’m supposed to stay out of the sun on my doctor’s orders). They say derogatory things like “It’s about time,” or “Maybe you’ll fit into a size 6 again!” or “Maybe your bra size will go down!”

I don’t like eating around them. “Watch what you’re eating!” or “Don’t have too much of that!” … I have stricter eating habits than they do. I don’t eat red meat, I don’t eat very many dairy products, I’m allergic to a lot things, etc. They either cook what I can’t have or only buy what they like. I have no money to eat how I’d like. (I do in college, however.) As a whole, we eat healthily, so that’s not my issue.

I’m about to tell them that it’s a taboo subject, that they should just not talk about it with me. It’s hindering my self-confidence, and I feel so ugly and misshapen when I’m out and about with them. It’s easy to ignore what others say, to just shrug that off, but you’re supposed to listen to your parents. I hate that. I don’t believe I’m ugly, and I don’t think I’m “overweight.”

However, in order to live the life I want, I do need to lose a bit of weight, which I can do this summer. (Actually, I just want muscles, lol.) I honestly do love myself, and I try not to second-guess my appearance and not be mean to myself mentally, physically, spiritually, and psychologically.

But I can’t acquire the things I want in my life while there’re people around saying such disgusting things to my face. And these are people I’m supposed to love.

Um.

I don't understand.

My mom and dad (and sister) have been on about how I need to start driving, and that I should've learned in high school.

Here are the reasons why I did not start driving when I was 15.

1. No car (my mother didn't want me driving her BMW, and my father, understandably, didn't want me to learn on his giant Dodge Ram.)
2. No insurance (apparently this is quite expensive for little old me)
3. No job to pay for any of it (gas, insurance, car repairs, etc.)

I wasn't allowed to have a job, even a summer one. My parents wanted me to focus on school; they said they'd drive me where I needed to go. They did. I graduated high school, got into college with two scholarships. My parents only have to pay for my housing.

When I went back home after my first year, I asked about driving. Because I was in summer school, I needed to be driven there and back at weird hours. My parents didn't pay very much attention to it this time, only that they would look into getting a car.

That summer, I had friends who wanted to hang out with me. And always, they had to come pick me up or drive me home. I felt guilty about using their gas money or wasting their time to come out to where I live. I would come home late. We'd see midnight premieres or spend the whole day at someone's house. My parents always knew where I was and who I was there with. I don't lie to them- I'd even take pictures of pretty restaurant food and send pix messages.

Yet I always got questions: Where are you going? Who are you going with? When are you coming home? Did you finish your chores? I never minded the questions, yet it seemed as though they didn't want me going out with my friends, people I hadn't seen in months.

This school year, it's become apparent that I need a car to drive around- runs to Wal-Mart, the art supply store, the printing place. I realized that waiting on others to drive me somewhere was becoming troublesome and expensive for them. I'd buy them food or pay for their art supplies to make up for the gas money they were spending. I told my parents about all my troubles, and they realized I needed a car. My dad and grandfather are trying to get me one.

I still don't have a job. No one will hire me because I have no work experience. I can't even get an architecture internship because no one wants someone as young as me. So I have no money.

I come home almost a week ago. I've been sitting at home all day, either sleeping, watching TV, or cleaning. Last night was the first I'd been out in a few days (to shop for Mother's Day). As a cover up, I told my mom, "I told Daddy I wanted to get out of the house, so we went to Target. I've been cooped up in this house forever." She said that I'd better learn how to drive, or else I'd be "cooped up" for the whole summer, as both of my parents work obscene hours.

My mother and I had a frank "back and forth" conversation about this. I told her plainly that in high school they didn't want me driving, and she denied it. The conversation ended with, "Yaminah, you're going to end up like your aunt! She gets people to drive her everywhere and uses the bus because she won't learn how to drive! She's 60 years old! Just take my BMW. I need a new car anyway." My father promptly said that it'd get stolen. (Which is completely untrue. People at my college drive Audi, Lexus, BMW, and Mercedes cars all the time.) He said, "I'll get you a car."

I don't understand this attitude. They said they'd get me a car and I'd learn how to drive. Fine. I don't understand their attitude towards my outings, which are bound to be more frequent if I could drive.

I just don't understand why they question where I go and what I do when my 13 year old sister is going to eighth grade "prom" and an afterparty when I, at that age, was barred from that. I don't understand how my sister is allowed to go to parties at hotels where boys go, and I could never, and still cannot, do so. I don't understand. I've never lied about where I was going or who I was with. I've never misrepresented my intentions or acted inappropriately when out of the house. None of my previous activity has ever indicated that I would behave in a way that would disappoint them. The worst thing I ever got in trouble for was not cleaning my room.

When I entered puberty, I became restricted with what I could do. I couldn't go to parties with boys, and I couldn't sleep over at friends' houses. I never complained, just told my friends that I couldn't go. I couldn't date, of course, and I couldn't go to school functions like prom or homecoming. I couldn't go to the mall with my friends (the first time I did that was over a break in the winter.) I couldn’t wear bathing suits. I couldn't wear shorts, or shirts that showed my shoulder. I was eight years old when life started to change in that way. I never rebelled, and I never said anything. I just did as I was told. And now, I'm finding that the impact of those things is hurting me slightly.

I'm uncomfortable around people of the opposite sex to a point where if I sit down to talk with a male (that's not in architecture), it just becomes awkward. Several people have confessed to me that they thought I was a lesbian because of this. This spills over into my interactions with females as well, but most people think I'm just a bit odd because I don't interact with new people well.

I'm noticing that my parents and other people I'm around (mostly other people) assume that I have "someone special," and that I'm just private about my personal life. The sad thing is that after my first degree, my parents will probably ask me about marriage/ a boyfriend, and I know I'll have nothing to say about it. How could I, when I was barred from the opposite sex since puberty?

But it'll be just like this driving thing. They'll deny it all later on, and use my sister as an example that they never said those things. My sister's "prom" dress has straps that don't go over her shoulder, and you can see her knees in the dress. My mother buys her new clothes. She goes out with friends over the weekend, and is involved in extracurricular activities that I was never allowed to do. She wears makeup and has a cellphone. She's had boyfriends (that my dad doesn't know about), and she's had her first kiss.

Yet I sit here, having panic attacks because I don't know how to address my male professors. I don't have many clothes that I like- they're hand-me-downs from my mother and aunts, or things that don't fit me properly. I don't have many friends because I was taught that I didn't need friends to live a fulfilling life. I don't know how to network. I get headaches if I get in a crowded area. I hate crossing the street.

I live like the world is a TV show that I watch. I interact with it, yes, but mostly I just watch casually and float on through. When I think about myself relationship-wise/sexually, I don't apply a gender to myself because I watch everything from my seat. I've never had a serious want to be in a relationship with someone. (Even in school, after the guy figured it out, I didn't like him anymore because it lost its appeal.)

I don't understand. What did my parents think would happen if I stayed at home cleaning and cooking and studying? I wouldn't say I'm afraid of the world- I just literally don't know how. And yet because I've watched people all these years, I'm the first person people confide in. I'm the first person people tell about problems. My mother confides in me. My father confides in me. My grandfather has said things to me that he won't tell to others. My sister confides in me. People die, are hurt, and hurt themselves, and others cry to me. I don't cry. I don't show emotion. I play the role that they want, which is to be strong (for them) and tell them words they want or need to hear. I've advised all of these people, helping them right their wrongs, and yet I don't know how to do it for myself.

My mother says I'm free to do what I want. But that's not true.

I do enjoy being myself. I never notice I'm short until someone points it out. I never notice I carry a little more weight until my mother points it out. I never notice my clothes are reused year after year until my father points it out. I never notice I'm single until someone else points it out. I never notice I'm eccentric/eclectic until my sister points it out. I don't mind any of these things that others consider flaws. I really don't.

But when my parents say to me that nothing ever stopped me from learning how to drive, I hold up my hand, telling them to stop right there. I tell them the truth, as I always have, and yet they deny it. What tomfoolery is this? I just don't understand this.

I'm really tired of thinking "oh I can't buy this- my mom will see my bank account" or "no, I can't wear this- my dad will think this about me" or "no, I can't say this, they'll think I approve of this." I never let other people in my life dictate how I live my life- except my parents. I get the bulk of my money from them, I live in their house, and I am their child. I can't just say "fuck it, I do what I want," when it comes to them. I can say that about my professors. I can say that about my classmates. But I can't say it about them.

I've told my parents that at times, I'm not proud of them. I'm not proud of his homophobia, or my mother's issue with weight-gain. I'm not proud that they do and say things that hurt others. But I've never told them that I'm struggling to grow in the shadow that they've cast. There are just things you don't say.

And I'm the type of person that just takes it and takes it. I may complain on the internet or to my friends, but I never complain to them. And one day I just snap, lock my parents in a room, and scream at them what they've done wrong. I've done it several times before. I've told them that someone has to yank them back down. And they sit there, in fear of my rage. But I never yell about things that pertain to myself. I never have.

But this driving thing, it bothers me. It bothers me, not because they wouldn't let me drive before and that's why I'm in this predicament. It bothers me because they deny what I've said. Of all the offenses people commit against me, only three things that bother me: lying to me, hurting me psychologically, and not listening to the words that come out of my mouth. I can forgive the first two things, but the last… I don't lie to the people I love. I never have. I can't. So why would they deny what I say? Is it because they don't want to own up to the responsibility that they messed up back then? They have to reap what they've sown.

I just don't understand.

myself

I sit here in my bed, cuddled in my blankets before this computer not knowing what to say or how to express myself. I sit here crying, angry and disgusted with myself.

I wonder if my fear of speaking up against people stems from me not wanting to hurt them or because I am weak. I wonder if my polite, nice aspects about myself have turned from being a virtue to a hindrance.

And I wish someone would show me how to become stronger, to become who I want to be. But no one can. I have to rely on myself, and not knowing where to begin disgusts me.

At what point do I break? At what point do I scream and shout and lash out and take back control? Because now I feel so helpless. But not that I can't do things myself. But because I'm letting myself down.

I can't lie to myself. I know what has to be done. I know how I should do things. What stops me? Am I that worried of what others think? Am I so weak that I have to acquiesce to others and be what they label me as?

I know what I want. I know in my heart what's right. I know in my soul what I need in order to make myself happy. Why can't I just screw everyone else and do it?

I look at myself, my eight-year-old self and ask everyday if my younger self would be proud of who I have become. And I don't know that answer. When did I become so weak? When did I become so disgusting, so unwilling to stand for myself and all I hold dear?

I never ever wanted to be viewed as weak. I don't care if I'm ugly, fat, poorly-dressed, an asshole, unintelligent, but I want to be strong. I want nothing else than to endure. Nothing else.

When did my endurance transform into becoming a doormat, being stepped and tramped upon? Endurance is staying there, when it gets tough- unwavering, surviving.

...

When that teacher proposed that I didn't have the drive to become an architect- I'm not angry that he said it. I'm just wondering if that's how I seem. Do I seem frivolous, unworthy of carving any bit of my destiny with my own hands? Because I'm not. I truly am not.

It disgusts me that I haven't shown anyone else the vision of myself that exists in my head.

Do people really see me as short, young, inexperienced, timid, shy, slight, frivolous, dumb, and silly? Do I really seem that way? Maybe I should stop helping others. Maybe I should dress older than I am. Maybe I should stop smiling. Maybe I should stop telling jokes to cheer others up. Maybe I should grow a foot. Maybe I should be gregarious. Maybe I should go out to parties. Maybe I should take up drinking. Maybe I should stop making brownies for my classmates. Maybe I should lie. Maybe I should straighten my hair. Maybe I should stop having faith in people. Maybe I should stop trying to be in others' lives. Maybe I should change my entire view on everything I stand for.

Doing those things, is that what's going to make you respect me? Make you think I'm serious? Make you think I'm intelligent? Make you think I'm worth a damn?

I would say I'm sorry, but I won't apologize for your skewed view of myself.

...

I think this might be the last time I put up with this mess. I'm done. The moment my line was crossed was when that professor told me that I had no drive for architecture. Usually, I would think that because this has happened so many times in my life that the problem is me. No. Not this time. I've thought it over, and I'm done beating up myself when I'm not wrong. Next time, I'll aim my fists at the person who's attacking me.

I'm done feeling hurt. And I'm done with others labeling me. I'm done with people laughing at my opinions, and I'm done with the crap I put up with on a daily basis.

I always equate myself with water. I'm done being a winding river, intent on slowly shaping my environment. I'm focusing on being water rapids with a waterfall at the end, because that's obviously the only part of my nature you'll pay attention to. You thought it was an easy boat ride, but goddamn, you will rue the day. You're going to drown.