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So I've been thinking...
Aug. 1st, 2001 03:21 amBetter run for the hills! Hee. I amuse myself. First off, the thoughtful icon for the ferret icons is adorable. Glasses are cute. Well, wire-frame glasses are invariably cute.
Anyway, I was thinking about how honest I am on-line. I just say what I feel, no bullshit. Just knowing that it doesn't matter who I am and what I look like is incredibly freeing. That was one of my main problems with HS. Stereotypes are so deeply embedded into the whole High School experience and it can make that experience a living hell for those of us who don't fit the popular mode.
I couldn't ever tell anyone how I was feeling in HS. I knew that what I felt was fucked-up. God, the few times that I tried to break into those circles always ended in miserable, painful failure. I was one of the girls who couldn't talk to guys, unless they were gay, in which case, I was fairly relaxed around them. They weren't a threat to my well-being because I knew that the reason that they didn't think of me romantically was about being gay and not about me being unattractive.
Girls I had a hard time relating to because I didn't know where they had gotten this ability to interact with guys. And then when I realized that I was attracted to girls too, they became even harder to get close to. Suddenly, both sexes were this big mystery to me that I was afraid to touch or examine. I was afraid to find out how unwanted that I could feel.
I remember the days in HS when I would cut class. I would only do two things on those days; I would either lock myself in a bathroom stall or leave the school to spend the day in a baseball dugout in a field nearby. I was constantly reading romance novels, mostly I think to try to figure out just what these women had that drew men to them.
I can remember the days when the pain got to be too much and I used a knife on myself. It was always on the little band of skin that would be covered by my watch. I only ever did small cuts. I think it was mostly for the pain that proved that I was alive. And I had this twisted idea that if I showed my pain on my skin it would release the pain inside. So stupid.
My mom found out when the school called about my absences. I almost flunked out my Junior year because of that.
After that I went the Centennial Learning Center, a more... flexible branch of the school. I graduated there, in a class of 16.
So, I never talked to anyone. Not really. I never told anyone about the biting loneliness and the aching need to be close to someone, anyone. A need that was filled only by books and desperate prayers to a God that I believed in but didn't fully trust.
I probably only cut myself 30 times total. The last time was a little over two months ago. You can still see the marks on arm, though everyone believed me when I told them that they were scratches.
I still get the urge to cut sometimes. I wonder if that'll ever go away or if every time that my life gets tough I'll think longing of the pain and release from cutting. Fuck.
Anyway, I was thinking about how honest I am on-line. I just say what I feel, no bullshit. Just knowing that it doesn't matter who I am and what I look like is incredibly freeing. That was one of my main problems with HS. Stereotypes are so deeply embedded into the whole High School experience and it can make that experience a living hell for those of us who don't fit the popular mode.
I couldn't ever tell anyone how I was feeling in HS. I knew that what I felt was fucked-up. God, the few times that I tried to break into those circles always ended in miserable, painful failure. I was one of the girls who couldn't talk to guys, unless they were gay, in which case, I was fairly relaxed around them. They weren't a threat to my well-being because I knew that the reason that they didn't think of me romantically was about being gay and not about me being unattractive.
Girls I had a hard time relating to because I didn't know where they had gotten this ability to interact with guys. And then when I realized that I was attracted to girls too, they became even harder to get close to. Suddenly, both sexes were this big mystery to me that I was afraid to touch or examine. I was afraid to find out how unwanted that I could feel.
I remember the days in HS when I would cut class. I would only do two things on those days; I would either lock myself in a bathroom stall or leave the school to spend the day in a baseball dugout in a field nearby. I was constantly reading romance novels, mostly I think to try to figure out just what these women had that drew men to them.
I can remember the days when the pain got to be too much and I used a knife on myself. It was always on the little band of skin that would be covered by my watch. I only ever did small cuts. I think it was mostly for the pain that proved that I was alive. And I had this twisted idea that if I showed my pain on my skin it would release the pain inside. So stupid.
My mom found out when the school called about my absences. I almost flunked out my Junior year because of that.
After that I went the Centennial Learning Center, a more... flexible branch of the school. I graduated there, in a class of 16.
So, I never talked to anyone. Not really. I never told anyone about the biting loneliness and the aching need to be close to someone, anyone. A need that was filled only by books and desperate prayers to a God that I believed in but didn't fully trust.
I probably only cut myself 30 times total. The last time was a little over two months ago. You can still see the marks on arm, though everyone believed me when I told them that they were scratches.
I still get the urge to cut sometimes. I wonder if that'll ever go away or if every time that my life gets tough I'll think longing of the pain and release from cutting. Fuck.
