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2016-05-20 15:42:04 (UTC)

dull, dull, dull

"Leave Me (Like You Found Me)" by Wilco [something about this song rubs me the wrong way. It's soft.]

I'm somebody just like you
Content with being blue
And leave me like you found me

May 20, 2016 Friday 3:45 PM

So's I feel like a-shits. Dunno why. Or maybe I do. Ugh. Yesterday I missed my fucking dose again! At least I took it in the afternoon. Still, you're supposed to take meds regularly so that's. Great.

I have been able to enjoy my life and stuff, but I've still been depressed and it's a real pain in the ass. This morning, I couldn't even will myself to get up and go to school. I mean, eventually I did, but not until like ten. Which isn't so bad. That's the beginning of third period AKA gym class, which I did not attend – I ended up sitting in Sandwich's room.

I've sucked so much since the AP and SAT tests. I have barely done any homework, god damn. I wish I could just sit in precalc all day. Him giving us a series of papers and I could just... do the problems, focus on math rules and stuff. Take my mind off my empty head (hah). Not even poisoned with hate, just... void of anything, everything. Kind of. Ugh.

I just sort of hate everything at the moment. Well. I love my friends. Except for Adrian. With all the "intellectualizing" he does. I wish I could stop noticing that. I wanna complain some more about it, but I've already done that enough.

Today, I stared at Isaac. He gave me a funny looked and asked me why but I hadn't even noticed. It's just that Isaac sits directly across from me and his face is probably the nicest thing in sight (in art class, at least). Adrian's eyes are beautiful too – they're light green – but I can't look at him right now. Hope this fades.

I want.. to die. A little bit. I just want to be someone else. So badly. I hate this body, I hate this head, I hate it hate it hate it.

Told Adrian I hated my hands yesterday. I said it in passing because I'm pretty positive I've said it before. Adrian today complimented my hands?? Kind of?? So yeah. Good for him. Why am I such a shitty friend, god damn it...


Mr. Rayes (semi-famous english teacher who owns a fucking tesla and is signed up to get the self-driving one) has a student teacher, who I will call Mr. Towel, only because it sort of rhymes with his real name. He went to Skidmore (casually inserted that fact into a conversation with me this one time, which I thought was funny because in the context of what he had been saying, that tidbit seemed soooo unnecessary – but maybe that's just me) and um. What?

Oh. Yeah. Mr. Towel. He's sort of been teaching us lately. He graded my essay on Thoreau, which I complained passionately about during an entry on Tho Tho a couple days... weeks?... ago.

Hah. I was actually worried about my Thoreau essay. I knew it was good. It was probably the best english essay I've ever written, because for once I was passionate, but the reason I was passionate was because I thought it was stupid for us to be writing about ignoring deadlines when our essay was on a deadline.

Speaking of which: I turned the essay in two weeks late. The day before the fucking essays were handed back haha.

Anyway! I turned the essay in and was all, "Oops I was a little passive aggressive in my writing I hope the teacher doesn't get offended."

But when he handed it back, Mr. Towel actually said it was the best essay he'd read all year and that it was college level. I was already grinning and happy and he asked me if I was considering majoring in English or Creative Writing or something. I said, "It's pretty much the ONLY thing I think about," which is true.

I decided a month ago (more or less) that whatever I do will be related to writing.

I know I'm doing that science program and I have a feeling I won't have much time to dedicate to creative writing or even journaling but I always find time anyway.

I think writing is the reason I have so many interests. Why I love math and science and history and art and... pretty much everything I learn, actually. Because in writing, this knowledge can be so useful. You can use it however you want.

So even though I fear next year's program, I'm... glad I'm doing it.

I'm actually extremely anxious. Like, I can feel it in my body in a way that I am not used to anymore. Not that being used to it makes it any better. I'm just – so afraid I'll be lonely. As long as I have people with me, to bond with, I'll be fine but if I'm alone, this whole program will be a thousand times harder.

Oh yeah. This really smart senior – I think she's first on the senior honor roll, and she's in a STEM program where she takes this super advanced physics class at my dad's university. Oh, and she's enrolled in an Ivy League for the fall.

Anyway, she came up to me. She's friends with Liv and I asked Liv to inquire (what a strange word) about AP Calc and it's level of difficulty. So she came up to me directly and said, "Take the class. Take it. If it ends up being too hard, the teacher is very understanding about dropping it, but I think you'll be fine. You memorized, like, two hundred digits of pi in three days!"

It was 160 and I had two weeks but like. That was so flattering. She thinks I'm good enough???? I mean. I know I'm good enough for AP Calc. It's the time commitment I'm worried about. I want to scream.

I've actually been screaming inside my head all day. I've been in a good mood, but also... not. I had this terrible dream.

First Pat died. My parents said she'd died of some bladder issue (okay so – why do my dreams always get so specific? I remember when Laney died in my dream, the doctor explained that her hippocampus had been damaged which resulted in asphyxiation. After I woke up, I checked to see if this could happen, and it can although probably not in the way it did in my dream. It was like that with Pat, too, but I can no longer remember the specific terms used by my mom when explaining the cause of her death. I hadn't been listening very well either.

I had fallen to my knees and felt as if nothing were real). I think I had this dream because I haven't seen Pat in at least a month. I've obviously been stressing out so this fact has been killing me for awhile. I really need someone to talk to.

Ethan was also in my dream. I fucking hate when he's there. He looked like he used to in high school, before he grew his stupid beard and before he started smoking cigarettes. Skinny with the clothes hanging off his body, always slouched but also tense and – what? He was a weird guy. Is a weird guy?

I don't know why he was there. I didn't even question it too much. He was sitting on our couch as if he'd never been gone, barely gave me a second glance (too busy watching a movie). I began to speak with Caroline and I hoped Ethan would notice how much I've grown up (personality–wise) in his absence. Not so he'd be impressed (ok maybe a lil), more so I could slap him in the face with it. Childish, I know, but I don't claim to be mature.

Later, I went upstairs into my room. Caroline was there, downing the pills left in my prescription bottle. I screamed "No!" and pried the bottle out of her hands, but it was already empty, so I began dialing 9-1-1.

But my phone kept malfunctioning and when I finally did manage to get 911 on the phone, everyone had gone on vacation. They were all, "Sorry, it's a holiday." And so I sat defeated next to my sister, telling her to puke it back up. She refused.

I remember my mom asked me to do that. I also refused.

So we sat with each other and I was watching her die. She regretted downing the pills, but neither of us could do anything about it.

I dunno. We lived in space, though. That was cool. My dreams made me very sad, though...

I hate this whole entry. Or I guess loathe it. That somehow seems different. Hate seems so passionate, immediate. Loathing, meanwhile, is a slow burn. Still intense, but sort of lazy. A much better description for how I feel about my words, about my body, about... me in general.

Separate me from my skin.

Sorry. I'm okay. Just a bit dull.