Post by Cat on Dec 22, 2005 0:35:18 GMT -5
Not to long ago, a close aunt of mine died, and when I got the phone call, I just went "Oh. Okay." and hung up. I didn't even sound hurt. I sounded bored to me, as if I couldn't feel a thing. It's not just that. I get angry all the time now. I don't know why, or how or at whom or what, but I just get so angry, and I don't allow myself to go and break things, or scream, or most of the time even cry because then someone would see and then they'd probably pick on that or find someway else to try and take me down a notch or whatever.
Whenever anything bad happens, I can't react. With my foot, it's like I'm just going day to day, and if it hurts oh well, if it doesn't, well didn't make a difference when it did. I haven't written anything in forever, well, nothing that I wrote by choice anyway. There's always newspaper articles and things that Mr. Swartley has us write in Contemp lit, but those don't really count. Whenever something horrible happens, it just hits me and bounces off, like a rubber ball against a brick wall. Before, I might try to sound sympathetic or say something like everyone else does such as "oh, that's too bad" or something to that effect. It's almost as if a part of me died, and I don't mean the ankle. This time a year ago I was writing, I was scared of people yes, but I was writing, I was thinking, and now, I just don't know anymore. I go to sleep at night, wondering when it'll be okay again, and wondering when I might be able to get a little peace. Then I'd hear arguing or my stepsister's music up to loud, and realize that I don't know when.
It's like nothing I do makes a difference. That aunt that died, she had cancer, and I had tried to make her feel better, she liked frogs and I had mader her a necklace and a couple of bracelets to try and cheer her up. I made her a little mobile with paper butterflies on it, hoping she'd look at it and feel happier, maybe get a little stronger day by day and beat the cancer. And then, in the end she died anyway. It's like that every time. Last year, a boy who had recently become my friend died, and I had been hoping he'd wake up, and he didn't either. My mentor from up in Michigan did the same thing, I watched her get weaker and weaker and weaker, and I kept praying, hoping and wishing that she'd beat the cancer like she had before, as though if I made it a certainity in my mind, it'd become reality. And then when Mom came to school to give me the news, nothing. Not even a damn tear. I just picked up my stuff and walked out of the audition, as if it was no big deal.
My stepsister calls me bitter on a regular basis, but I never really wondered 'til now...if it doesn't have a little basis in reality?
Whenever anything bad happens, I can't react. With my foot, it's like I'm just going day to day, and if it hurts oh well, if it doesn't, well didn't make a difference when it did. I haven't written anything in forever, well, nothing that I wrote by choice anyway. There's always newspaper articles and things that Mr. Swartley has us write in Contemp lit, but those don't really count. Whenever something horrible happens, it just hits me and bounces off, like a rubber ball against a brick wall. Before, I might try to sound sympathetic or say something like everyone else does such as "oh, that's too bad" or something to that effect. It's almost as if a part of me died, and I don't mean the ankle. This time a year ago I was writing, I was scared of people yes, but I was writing, I was thinking, and now, I just don't know anymore. I go to sleep at night, wondering when it'll be okay again, and wondering when I might be able to get a little peace. Then I'd hear arguing or my stepsister's music up to loud, and realize that I don't know when.
It's like nothing I do makes a difference. That aunt that died, she had cancer, and I had tried to make her feel better, she liked frogs and I had mader her a necklace and a couple of bracelets to try and cheer her up. I made her a little mobile with paper butterflies on it, hoping she'd look at it and feel happier, maybe get a little stronger day by day and beat the cancer. And then, in the end she died anyway. It's like that every time. Last year, a boy who had recently become my friend died, and I had been hoping he'd wake up, and he didn't either. My mentor from up in Michigan did the same thing, I watched her get weaker and weaker and weaker, and I kept praying, hoping and wishing that she'd beat the cancer like she had before, as though if I made it a certainity in my mind, it'd become reality. And then when Mom came to school to give me the news, nothing. Not even a damn tear. I just picked up my stuff and walked out of the audition, as if it was no big deal.
My stepsister calls me bitter on a regular basis, but I never really wondered 'til now...if it doesn't have a little basis in reality?
