The Anonymous Writer

The Journal With No Name
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2012-12-26 14:05:22 (UTC)

Even the birds laugh at me

This journal of mine I'm writing was meant to be just for me. Hence the private and keep out parts of the title of this journal. However I still clicked that circular "public" button instead of keeping this private. I guess I was just curious to see if anybody was interested in me. And it's a complete shocker that people on the web do care about what I have to say! And that my readers is a very, very good feeling! In return for my gratitude I want to read every one of your journals! (Ha, can you imagine that? When I sit down and read I don't only glaze through the written words, I analyze it!) Just have some patience with me, this could take a very long time, but no worries my readers, I don't mind!

You see, the day after Christmas is always the day where I lie around home to relax. (And this year I'm going to try out some of that Pinterest stuff I've pinned! I'm not going to lie, I'm very excited about getting all of my dead skin to flake off.) Whoops. Is that too gross for you guys? My bad.. I don't get easily grossed out with that sort of stuff. I've been raised with seeing real pictures of colons all of my life. Leave it to my mom to raise a child that actually enjoys repulsive parts of the human body... awesome shit right there, am I right?

But anyway... I think I need to stop babbling. This journal was meant for me, right?

Well.... here it goes then!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Journal,

I'm pretty sure Jesus hates me. Even the birds laugh at me. Ok, so maybe I'm being a little dramatic... but still! It's so frustrating to be so damn good at tennis and then absolutely start choking the following week. Literally, I was keeping up with the boys who are juniors in high school. And they're fucking pros. But now here I am having a hard time hitting a ball with the same flow I had the previous week. It's like somebody has stolen my body and replaced it with some bitch who doesn't even know what a kick serve is. (Google it, don't be that bitch that doesn't know.)

Oh yeah and I forgot to add one more thing to my frustration, I'm in a tournament that starts tomorrow! And it's pouring outside! And there's no outdoor courts nearby that I can just play in all day! And Jesus is laughing with that bird right now. Fuck! I was actually excited about this tournament too. I could have beaten all of the players in this draw. But now? I'm lucky to make it past my first round.

I guess it is all of my fault. Looking retrospectively, I shouldn't have had such an emotional week. It was just so hard not to! I was just so worried about my dad. And he was pissing me off. And I was on my period. And I was late for tennis. And just.. everything kind of got chaotic.

Readers, Jesus, and fellow bitches ready for some story time action? No? Yes? Let me just think you said yes. The nos can go suck a dick. That's what journals are all about; stories.

So let's start with Sunday. It was raining. No tennis for this glen coco.

Then came Monday! It was Sam, my-younger-yet-still-older-than-me's birthday. That means, I was stuck at the Melting Pot with my family. I mean.. not to say I was upset with stuffing my face with fucking heaven... I just wanted to keep up with my skills! Let's just say that within those 2 hours there were the people who were getting stronger, faster, and better and then there was that girl who was getting fatter, slower, and worse. Ughhh the frustration that I had to go through throughout the dinner! I missed a clinic for her and never did she once ask me nor thank me about it. And yet I externally remained as that nice, little sister to keep it to myself so Sam could enjoy her dinner thoroughly.

Then came around Tuesday. I was like a puppy peeing on itself being so excited to go to my usual private lesson. (NO I DID NOT ACTUALLY PEE ON MYSELF.) I could finally get back into the groove. I could start hitting with those junior boys again! Only I broke down. At the beginning of the lesson I was doing fine. Not super great. But it wasn't like I could barely hit the ball as I am now! I just didn't run as fast I could to every ball. (Even though I still got to every ball, that's just what you're supposed to do to be becoming a fucking awesome player.) And so my dad told Z, "This is pointless. Give her some sort of drill to make her move her feet!" And that peeved me off. I can move my feet as fast I want to. I just need to really focus on the mechanics of swinging at a ball. (Wow. Tennis really sounds easy from an outside perspective. HAHA that's funny!) But I did this running drill Z gave me anyway. I just didn't do it right. And Z knew that. And my dad knew that. And they both got upset when I tried to laugh everything off. And I knew I needed to be serious, but somehow I was just so miserable I couldn't wipe off my silly grin. And so that lesson turned out to be crap.

And then came Wednesday. A chance for me to still get better. (And especially for that upcoming tournament!) I had done ALL of the right things. I got changed, ate, told my dad he was driving me, and set the GPS for my clinic. But my dad managed to take us to the wrong location. And so that was where my jaw had dropped, folks. I had set a GPS for my stressed out dad to follow. But only he could manage to drive to the opposite end of town. So obviously I was late for that clinic! And when I did get there, well, let's just say my body shut down on me. Everything was aching and tightening. I suddenly felt depression engulf me. Every time I saw my dad watching me play during that clinic, I was in pain. I didn't want him to watch. I just wanted him to leave! And that selfish thought made me play horrendous. And so I got kicked out of clinic. No joke. No lie. Z asked me to leave. So I packed up my tennisbag and left as a negative Nancy.

And you know where I went next? I went to the grocery store. My dad drove me there, finally remembering something I told him. And so I went inside and bought a ton of healthy food (and ice cream and those Pillsberry reindeer cookies that are motherfucking delicious.) I should have been happy with my dad that he remembered something. Instead I was so depressed for no apparent reason. My body still ached, and my sense of concentration went out the door. My dad later on explained to me that when I would put food into his grocery cart... well.. it actually wasn't his grocery cart that I put my food in. One time I put food in a grocery cart that belonged to a woman, and she was even standing next to it! She was so confused at what happened, she didn't know what to do. What was wrong with me? I had no clue. At the time, I was searching for the reason of my depression. There had to be a reason! And so I guess I found one.

The funny thing is I found out the reason I was so upset, when my dad ate the cookies I cooked that I so boldly announced to him to not EVER eat. (And yes it was those really cool Pillsbery reindeer ones!) And you know what? I never thought that I'd find out why I was so depressed that night like that. That's just crazy to cry over eaten cookies. And yet I did. I went up to my room and balled like a baby. Now let me explain to you before you start catergorizing me as that typical girl who cries about everything, that I do NOT and absolutely do NOT cry. I hate crying!! It makes me feel like I wasted my time. In that time frame of me crying, I could have solved my problem. But you know what readers? I did cry and I can't change that. And I don't know if I would change that even if I could. I felt so helpless. It was my last resort to feeling better. And better I did feel.

So what was the reason for me feeling so upset? Well gosh, I'm getting there!

I called up a friend while I was crying. I knew she would understand dad troubles. Her dad is actually terrific and is handling with the most stress of all. What with him going to the Bosnian war and dealing with his money-sucking sister and the death of his father and all. But he still didn't always handle Esther's teenage-hormone problems. He just can't muster up enough patience within him to do so. (I've heard he's thrown dishes during some of their arguments.) Anyway I called her and she answered and helped me feel a tad bit better. She was taken back by me crying though. Nobody has ever heard me cry, except for my family. As I've said before, I really hate letting myself cry. And so nervously she tried to work out how I could fix my "daddy problems." And we never got to a solution. I've tried every trick in the book. I've sat down and talked to him. I've joked around with him. I've made him felt bad. And countless other things. But nothing worked.

"Brooke, what is the problem with your dad?!" You say? Whoops. I may have forgotten to add that in there. I'm still a little passionate about that night. Well, the problem with my dad is that I love him to much. I'm constantly worried about his weight. He can't exercise due to this weird thing that when he exercises after eating something he starts getting a rash and a closed up throat. So when he eats, I get upset. Because usually he overeats and overeats and overeats. And half of the food he does eat isn't even all that healthy for him. That poor guy is starting to tell himself that Cap'n Crunch is actually extremely healthy for people. So when he ate those cookies that's a little of what sparked my tears. The other part is the total lack of concentration he has. I swear to god I tell him all about something important and then he forgets about it. And so I tell him again. And again. And again. And finally, I feel so much anger I lash out on him for not remembering the first time. (I swear to god the rest of my family have the same problem with him!) And I'm sure part of this lack of concentration is due to his stress. He's stressed with Mom. And worried about my hippy sister Sasha. (The police and her are on a first name basis.) And I know I should understand that. And I have been. For the longest of time. But it eventually has to stop. Or at least he needs to stop telling me all about his stress in his life. Literally, I know how well he's doing money-wise, wife-wise, daughter-wise, and everything else-wise. And that was just hard on me. Because I wanted to think my dad is this unstoppable guy. That nothing could faze him. That he could solve all problems with no worries.

So yeah that was the problem I had with my dad. Er.. problems I guess.

I eventually retried the strategy of sitting down and talking to him. I told him everything I had just told you. And probably a little more, but that'd just be getting a little too personal to say what I told him. (I've got to leave some of the confidential stuff out. I'm not some slut giving out information about myself!) Anyway you wanna know what happened? Because what happened turned out to be a fucking soap opera. Jess, my oldest sister home from college, came down to listen. And my mom got home from work halfway through my talk with dad. From the outside perspective, imagine seeing a girl still crying her eyes out trying to calm herself down. She's calming herself down to be taken more seriously because what's she talking about is a very serious thing that has been apart of her life for too long. Then there's a father who sitting on the couch 2 yards away from her. He's listening in on everything, but trying to counteract on whatever she has to say. Our "discussion" lasted a little over an hour or two. The mother chimed in and was on the daughter's side. The sister was on her laptop listening on in, but keeping her smart mouth shut. Eventually I told him that this was being too dramatic and that I just wanted him to know I love him and that he needs to start acting like a role model. He thought that this chaos I unleashed upon him wasn't my real problem of why I was upset. But you know what? That's a lie. I know it was the problem because after I got myself to stop crying I felt like I was no longer Atlas holding up the weight of the universe.

And so everything was better between us. But I made everything even worse between my parent's relationship. I don't know if the cost of ruining their relationship even worse was worth the stress uplifted from me. But it does feel pretty good. And they look a little happier. But I guess that's just the holidays talking.

Oh and then there was Thursday! It rained out. Well.. it started raining when I got there. It was kind of embarrassing being early, so I went into the ladies room. (I'm new to this tennis club. I don't know many people. I am a pussy. Deal with it.) I regripped my racket and I guess one of the pros (another name for tennis coach) saw me and was looking for me. Autumn, one of my friends, came inside the room to go to the bathroom and saw me. She told me tennis was cancelled. And so I called my dad and sat on the couch next to the main pro. I was kind of embarrassed because I was hiding from everybody. And I'm sure he knew that, but I made that dumb excuse that I'm shy about gripping my racket anyway. It didn't matter much though because we talked for a little bit, and I learned that he really is interested in me coming to these clinics. (Remember that "gift" of being in people's shoes?) I can tell he does not see me as just a girl he sees as an income. No, he actually sees me as being a really great tennis player. And I'm excited about that! But still, I didn't get to play tennis that day.

And I didn't play Friday because it was the end of the world. Also known as the day where you shouldn't be outside in North Carolina because there were too many crazies.

Saturday I played. But that was uneventful. Basically I apologized to Z about my behavior. And he accepted it. He really sees me as being a really great tennis player too. And as a good person. So he was confused about why I was so depressed. And cautious about that depression too (probably because of this other story where I was depressed for a while.) Anyways I played, but it wasn't very good. In fact it was awful. But I still tried and that's all that mattered.

And now here I am. And here it is being Wednesday. And in the distant future there is my tournament that held so much fucking potential for me to win. I guess everything happens for a reason though. And I'm going to try my best even if I didn't get as much practice in as I hoped for. And if the birds laugh at me while I'm playing, then let them laugh. I know that one day that laughter from the birds won't seem like they're laughing in a mocking way. Instead that laughter will be because of how humorous my obstacles were. That will be a day where I truly can feel like everything is well. That day will come. That day will come, but it needs some effort from me. And that day starts today. Or tomorrow. Or whatever the correct answer is. Ha! I don't even know. But hey, you've got to give me props on trying!

Signing out,
Brooke Something

P.s. Sorry about talking all about tennis. I'll talk more about my social part of my life soon. I promise. I just really needed to get that out of my system.


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