Friday, September 6, 2013

Well That Was Depressing: The Optimistic Post

Dear Diary,

Ever have those days where you feel like you suck? Like, where you go about your day thinking, "Wow, I suck"? I mean, for the past few days I've been doing the same 'ol things I always do: wake up from my Android alarm clock to prepare for either a long day of work or school, take a shower if my hair is a mess or just wash my face if the hair decides to not look (and feel) like a broomstick made out of discarded cat hair, spend half an hour slapping on face creams/serums/moisturizing primer that is followed by foundation/concealer/my eyebrows, and grab my shit to head out the door. I've been breaking out lately on my chin and it's driving me wacko. Hormones are to blame, I believe. Whoops, slap on some extra Korres concealer.
Work is the same every time I get there.
"Hello, floor?" I ask the people in the elevator with me. Sometimes I have casual office conversation with strangers.
"You're like the elevator girl!"
"Hah. Yeah."  I leave a pleasant half-smile on my face. I feel like I suck today. 

"So what IS on the fourth floor?" I was questioned before.
"You know, I think it might be more offices."
"I've always wondered!" I left that woman pondering as I daintily left the elevator. Hope she found out.

"Hey, you work here??" One guy asked me.
"Oh yeah, I do."
"Which floor?" He was too enthusiastic for my cynical ass to appreciate.
"Well, second one. As you can see," I give a friendly nudge towards the ONLY other lit-up floor button on the elevator. No shit I'm going to that floor, Smart Sam.
"Alright, well see you around!" He then starts enthusiastically talking to some random guy. Office noob.

Once in the office itself, I sit at the front desk and answer phone calls/crank out some typed law office work and deal with clients' fuckery all day.
"Hello, Law Offices. How can I help you?"
"Yes, which room is your office located in?"
"We are in room two-seventy-C. Right at the corner."
"Okay, thanks."
"No problem. Goodbuh-" Click.
Ring ring.
"Hello, Law Off-"
"Yes, I just called. You said room two-seventy-three and I got lost."
"I'm sorry, perhaps you misheard me? We are in room two-seven-"
"No, no. You need to learn how to say things to people. Say, 'Two-seven-zero-C,' not 'Two-seventy-three.' That's not how you talk to people. Learn how to say the room number correctly.
"Okay, I will try to improve on that. Sorry about the miscommunication sir, goodbuh-" Click. The fuck are you.  

Now, as far as school goes, let's be honest here. Community college sucks majorly. I chose the community-college-to-real-four-year-college route over going to some okay-mediocre schools my previously-lazy ass got accepted to my senior year. I just started full-time community college and it is one lonely ass place. Actually, imagine this: community college = high school - your best friends - your innocence + fucktards who fail at academics + coffee stands everywhere / gas or fastpass money to campus + still living with your parents - freedom + stress. Now add to that equation the fact that you must tell everyone you meet and your family at special occasions, including holidays, that you are in college.
"Ooh, which college do you attend?"  
"Oh, I am currently attending _______ community college.I'mgoingtotransferthough." I always rush the last part.
"That's nice.........." We both know that life is fucking sucking for me right now, even if I finally started getting straight A's.

Anyway, I've been trying to help out homeless people recently. The other day, my brother and I passed by a homeless guy and we just happened to have a shitload of extra Chinese food with us, still warm. Needless to say, the guy took the food, but not first without saying, "Are you sure you don't need it?" We assured him that we did not need it and he responded by saying, "Alright, thank you. I'm going to share it with my friend over there." As we drove away, however, my brother noticed that although the man was white, his hands were covered in so much dirt that they were a charcoal color. He said, "He looks like he's been in gold mines all day using his hands." We then realized that we forgot to give the homeless man a fork or spoon.

Today, I offered a homeless guy some dried mangoes out of my car window and he said, "Aw, no I'm okay." Well, I suck today. Was I just rejected by a homeless man? 
Contrastingly, I felt pretty fucking sucky the day before and as I walked towards work with some Starbucks in my hands, a homeless man called out to me, "Good morning, gorgeous." I mumbled a morning greeting to him and felt my level of suckiness elevate.

Well, I thought that my last post was far too depressing to even publish and planned on writing a happy-go-lucky post tonight, but that obviously did not turn out the way that I expected.
As a girl in these modern-day times, sometimes I just feel unconfident.
Boobs too small. Thinks about saving up for boob job. Still contemplating.
Skin not clear. Thinks about seeing dermatologist. Still comparing myself to others.
Not tall enough. Thinks about buying those new lace-up booties. Still think that's stupid as fuck.
Butt isn't in a bubble shape. Thinks about doing squats. Still not caring enough to do it consistently.
Hair not perfect. Thinks about getting extensions/hair cut. Still don't know what I really want.
Fuck Instagram/Tumblr/Facebook for allowing us all easier ways to compare ourselves to each other. And the porn industry/import models/Hooters girls. Thanks to those girls for doing absolutely nothing productive for society 98.95% of their days on planet earth.

-That Girl, maybe I'm still going through puberty. But I'm fucking 18-years old. I can marry, win the lottery, smoke, and have legal, consensual sex goshdarnit. 

Thursday, September 5, 2013

I Want To Want You/Living With Bi-Polar Family Members

Dear Diary, ^This is really, really funny.

A lot of girls want a boyfriend. They want to feel needed (to fill a void). Some girls get lonely often, so they need a guy to comfort them. Some girls go crazy over a guy, wanting him so bad it hurts.
For me personally, I have a certain numbness in my heart that isn't easily shaken. Sometimes I seem like I'm really falling for this guy or another, but when it comes down to it, I just want to feel like there's something that is of value, of the risk, within the capacity to stand the test of time. Though I don't act like it whatsoever, I am an authentic existentialist at heart. It's hard for me accept that anything actually matters and I often ponder about how small and meaningless everything truly is in a person's lifetime. I choose to take this as positive as I can though, soaking in scenic views and appreciating the kindness that people show to each other, when I know that actual attachment to anything will do nothing but let you down.  
I can go back to my twelve-year old self and relive what my mom did to me to make me feel helpless as an adult woman now. Flashback time? I guess so.
When I was about twelve, a young kid with a positive energy and sentimental attachment to certain things because of the constantly changing home-life I had with divorced parents and all, I used to collect a few toys and trinkets that gave me happy memories. Even though the house was a fucking mess with my mother and grandmother borderline pack-rats when it came to food and random items, I had one desk that I would do homework on and on my desk I would neatly organize all the items I owned of worth to me. It was a table of friendship bracelets I had hand-made or gotten from friends, small ceramic pots and other crafts from school, necklaces from my dad, little art projects I created with my older brother which gave me hope for happy memories in the future (my favorite: "my first boat that I built" made of cardboard, a straw, and a triangle-cut white paper). I lined up everything I cared about and the table allowed me to feel a serene sense of control and organization in a fucking messy life. My mother has bi-polar disorder and does not see a doctor to treat it, though she had been medically diagnosed by a therapist whom my brother was seeing in high school. My brother has type 1 bi-polar disorder, mild depression, ADHD, and anxiety issues, yet, he is the best guy I've ever known and you'd never believe that he has any mental illnesses if you just talked to him or spent time around him. Bi-polar disorder gives its receivers manic episodes of extreme emotions, usually triggered by high stress and it usually comes out in people in their mid-20's or late teens. As a girl growing up feeling out of place pretty much all of the time, I would verbally fight with my mother to no end. We pretty much hated each other until I turned 17 and learned to get away from her when she gets emotional. My mother actually said to me before that she would, "get possessed by the devil," or that she would have blind, black-out kind of anger where she literally cannot control her actions because she is just so angry and cannot help but to do terrible things. One time she grabbed a scarf my thirteen-year old self was wearing and she held it place for a few seconds, wherein I couldn't breath. Then she drove me to school. I had nightmares that she would kill me for years after, and once in a while I still do. I can't even count the number of times she took all my shit, loaded it in a car and drove my crying, confused 10-year-old ass to my dad's house as she repeats how I don't love her and that she can't handle me any more, hates me, calls me stupid, lazy, bitchy, selfish, hopes that I become homeless with nothing of my own one day, only to pick me up from my dad's house the next day with apologies. With her violent mood swings and my dead-beat drunken and gamble-addict of a father, I doubt I would have made it through high school without my older brother, the most sane one in my life. Anyway, when my mom would get her "blind rage" type of episodes, she would throw everything off of my precious desk at me or on the floor in front of me, breaking and shattering all of my treasured possessions. I would sob and ask why she would do that to me and I'd basically get sweared out every time.
At some point, I stopped putting things I liked on the desk. I've had problems being opinionated about things I admire ever since.

-That Girl, wanting to want somebody.
On the bright side of my life, Ender's Game is about to be a movie!