Sad Chair

"My legs" 

This is Me.

Due to the current events of our pen names being exposed earlier this week, I felt obligated to write this post.

So what is my real name? In case you don't know, or you're too lazy to go look it up on the class list, I'll remind you. My name is Taylor Eastman.

For those of you who don't really know me, I'll tell you the basic facts about me. I'm a junior, I'm a Mormon, my parents are divorced, thus is the reason why I have a family of twelve. I'm almost 18 years old and as much as I look forward to Senior year, I'm even more excited to graduate so I can move to California for College. I have approximately a 2.9 GPA and I scored a whopping 18 on the ACT. I'm a decent student, I have a decent attendance record, and I'm never in trouble with any of my Teachers. I probably could get better grades if I tried harder, but that's the thing, I'm not good at trying hard enough.

But there's far more to me. I have facts about myself that aren't that basic, and not that many people know. I'm not sure where to start, but I guess I'll start with saying that I have a far from perfect relationship with my Mother. There are six different types of narcissism, and she can be classified as four of those six types. She left my family when I was twelve, because she cheated on my Father and thought that there was more to life than being a wife and Mother. (???????????) Well, Mom, yes there is more to life than being a stay at home Mom, but sadly, there's not much more to your life. For nearly six years she's had numerous shitty jobs, and refuses to pay my Father, the parent with custody, any child support. It's not like it matters though, my Dad doesn't need her money, but it's just the act of selfishness that gets under my skin. Although she's a pretty shitty Mom, she's still my Mom, and because she left, I've always felt like I wasn't worth much. I mean, you would too if your own MOTHER wasn't around, and in addition, always likes to comment on my weight, appearance, and GPA. I know I should move on, but it's harder than it sounds, because I am still hers and she is still mine. Because of her views on myself, I've always had lower self-esteem, and I'm sooo soooooo vulnerable to any little comment that anyone makes about me. It's partly because of her, and partly because of something that a boy said to me back in 8th grade. I know, I know, 8th grade, sort of pathetic right? But this was the nastiest comment, and it came from someone I was in love with. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have loved him so much if I wasn't so desperate for someones love, given that my family was going through a rough patch, but I couldn't help it, I loved him, and I thought that people did sexual things when they were in love, and I was! And he told me that he loved me too, but he was a liar. He saw how vulnerable I was, and just went with it. After months of whatever the hell that we had together, he broke it off by telling me that, "I was a fat cunt, and I would never find anyone better than him, ever." Ouch, right? I mean, boys are just mean, right? I should just brush it off and move on like everyone else right? Uh, wrong. My heart shattered into a million billion tiny pieces, and for a very long time, whenever I saw him, it felt like I was breathing through a coffee straw. So who is this boy? I mean I'm too good to say his name. Just kidding I'm not. Sorry, Caden. And if you know me well enough, or called me a slut back in Junior High School, you'll know which Caden it is. After that whole ordeal, it was safe to say that I felt completely worthless, and today, my paper heart did grow back, it's a lot stronger now, and has a fence of barbed wire wrapped around it. I haven't loved another boy since Caden, I'm too scared to let anyone penetrate my heart again, after everything it's been through. And if you thought that I was a slut, now you know the truth. I'm not a slut, just a sad little girl who wanted someone to love her.

I know that the last huge ass paragraph was not in anyway uplifting, but all of that has been on my chest for nearly 6 damn years, and needed to be released. My life isn't always negative, there is plenty positive and happy things about my life too. Unlike most girls, I have an awesome relationship with my Father, one that I in no way deserve. I have two amazing best friends too, and after everything we've been though, and my behavior sometimes, I'm glad that they are still here for me. It's just hard for them to understand that even though my heart is stronger, my skin is less thick. I'm insanely sensitive, and I really, really, wish I wasn't. I have a testimony of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and even though I kind of have a funny way of showing it, I owe everything to this church and my Father in Heaven. Nothing in my life brings me more Eternal peace and happiness, and I wish I was better at remembering that. I love education, even though I hate doing my homework. I love to learn new things, and occasionally, like to study. My favorite subject is English, and I hope to become either a writer or a Reporter one day, although I secretly have always dreamed of becoming an Actress, and have a hidden love for acting. I love people, and at school I don't talk that much, but I'm going to make it a goal of mine next year to be more outgoing and make friends with different kinds of people. If you get to know me, you'll know that I'm really funny and I like to make people laugh, and I love doing nice things for other people. It truly breaks my heart when people don't want to live anymore, because I know what it feels like, and lately have realized just how precious life is. I have a short temper, and I erupt easily and haughtily, and I need to learn to get that more under control. My language isn't always the best, but it is what it is, I'm not perfect. I've definitely learned to love myself more in the past year, and I hope to continue to more and more everyday. I want my first marriage to be my only, and I want to give my children the kind of Mother that my own never could be.

If you made it to the end, thanks for listening to what I had to say. It means the world, and I hope that you will all post more about yourselves; the real you, on your own blogs so I can get to know everyone better.

XOXO

Taylor

I've never been a fan of Poetry, until now

I'd like to start by saying, I've never truly been a fan of Poetry until Nelson.

Before I took this class, I had no idea that poetry could be fun. I've studied it for years in all of my English classes, and they are boring as hell. They're written by a bunch of dead guy who were either insane, depressed, had some form of a drug addiction, or was a pervert. I don't know others views, but to me, it's rather dull.

THEN, fortunately, I discovered the world of Slam Poetry. It's fun, exciting, and it's about real things that people actually care about. I went to SPFY the other night, and it was amazing. I didn't know that most of my peers were creative in that sort of way, and I had no idea that like myself, others wanted to hear.

Currently, my favorite poem is "To This Day" by Shane Koyczan
http://www.tothisdayproject.com/the_poem.html

I just think that this is such a beautiful poem. The first time I heard it, was when a kid on the Debate team performed in the Little Theatre at school. I can't help but get emotional when I hear it. I just love how real it is, it's about one man's story of bullying, but he's not making anything glamorous, or trying to tell a good poem, he's using real examples of things that happened, and I can't help to appreciate that. Although it's a sadder poem, he shines some light at the end and lets everyone know that even if nobody else can see it, you are still beautiful and have worth.

My favorite line is, ".... and if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer, because there's something inside you, that made you keep trying, despite everyone who told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart, and you signed it yourself. You signed it, "THEY WERE WRONG."

Imaginary Friend

         

         People come and go... yet the moon always stays. 

                        "At 12 years old I stared bleeding with the moon." ~ Andrea Gibson

Andrea Gibson is completely correct. When I was 12, the moon made me bleed. At first, I was curious, I wanted to start bleeding, I wanted to know what it would feel like to bleed without feeling any sort of pain. Shortly after, I became familiar with the pain of menstrual cramps, and decided that if I was going to bleed, I'd rather fall down and scrape my knee. 

At 13, I liked to go into the backyard at night, lay in the grass, and gaze at the moon. Even though the sun warms the Earth and gives me a great tan, I've always liked the moon better. It's mysterious, dark, and sexual, and I've always liked that. 

At 14, my best friend lived down the street from me. Once in a while, she would call me upset late at night and ask me to come to her house. I'd sneak out my window, and go comfort her. We would take blankets and climb to the top of her roof and gaze at the moon. One particular time, she admitted to me that she was sexually abused by her Father during the day, while her Mother was at work. She said whenever it occurred, she would sit by herself and gaze at the moon, and it would comfort her. That was the first time I ever realized that the moon could comfort a human. 

At 15, I learned that the moon could comfort myself as well. I was going through many changes with my family, my Father had remarried and I was adapting to life with a step family. The first year was hard and awkward, and I was miserable all the time. I wanted things to go back to the way they were a year earlier. One night I got into a fight with my step mom. I didn't feel like dealing with it, so I went for a little walk by myself. I didn't make it very far when I collapsed and started sobbing. There were very few times when I had felt so lonely. I prayed that things would get better, and even though I didn't receive any Revelations from God, I looked to the moon and I was comforted. It made me realize that just like my step family, it was there for good, so I decided to make the best of things. 

At 16, I learned that the moon came with much sin. In high school, people were changing, instead of doing mischievous things like egging houses in large groups, people were smoke pot and do sexual favors instead. It made me feel uncomfortable, especially the drugs. I saw that people were transforming into people who didn't have bright futures, and I realized that it wasn't a type of lifestyle worth living. 

Now, at 17, I've learned to appreciate the moon in a way that I never had. It's a symbol of strength, mystery, and will never end. As a human species, things will change, and relationships will end, but the entire human existence can always count on the moon. 

Space Camp... Wherever it is and may be

I've put off doing this blog for a while... but since my grade is suffering I'm going to attempt it now.

I'm not exactly sure what Space Camp is, I mean I've actually been there once in sixth grade, and I hated it. It was a nerdy place where the advanced elementary students went for an overnight field trip, after they had raised enough money to go by selling scented pencils and beef jerky to their more athletic and popular peers, of course. Definitely not my steeze.

But this post is not about literal Space Camp, it's a fantasy place where all your hopes and dreams live. I know that none of my hopes and dreams will even come true until after graduation, so I guess I can explain my plans after graduation, I mean if anyone's even interested.

What will actually happen: Once I graduate, I'll move back to Southern California. I won't attend school for a year, instead I'll live with my Grandmother and get a job, in attempt to save money and become a resident of the state so that out-of-state tuition won't send me into bankrupcy. The next year I'll start attending Junior College and stay there for at least two years, and get all of my shitty general electives out of the way. Then I'll attend an actual University, to study what I want to get my degree in. In the meantime, I'll attend an LDS singles ward, probably get married and pop out a kid or twelve like any other Mormon girl.

What I'm hoping will happen: When I get out there, I can be noticed by an agent for either my talent, good looks or charisma and become an Actress and win more Oscars than Meryl. I'll marry some celebrity and become Kardashian wealthy. I'll be decked out in jewels, fur, and leather, and Fancy by Iggy Azalea will be playing when I step up in the hiz-house.

Not a very realistic expectation, but hey, neither is Space Camp.

At the end of the Day

                                   

I've never experienced death. 
But I've seen other things die. 

I know what it's like to murder a test.
                                                         If you ignore me, you're better off dead.
                                                                                                                      I've seen many marriages die. 
It was you who killed our friendship, not me. 
                                                                    It was YOU who shot my heart, not him. 
                                                                                                                                  
            & YOU ARE THE BACKSTABBER, NOT HER

My beautiful white shoes were drowned in beer at a $5 concert. 
                                                                                                 My clear skin was plagued with acne. 
My dreams died and got replaced by the new guy, Reality.
                                                                                                  I never asked for a new Mom. 
I never imagined that creativity could be so easy to kill.
                                                                                    I never thought I could miss you this much. 
It's not supposed to end like this.
                                                   It's not supposed to be the death of me.


                                                                                     But it's not over yet. 

A letter from me to you

Dear you,

Whenever I talk to you, I develop a massive headache. You sound like Kim Kardashian. I can't believe you dyed your hair blonde, you're not Beyonce. You look way too dressed up all the time. I mean, who honestly wears heels and leather pants to school? And WHAT is with the makeup???? You have a beautiful face, but all that makeup makes you look like a transvestite. Although you always look ridiculous, it's the personality that drives me insane. I've never fully understood why you always thought you were so much better than me. Not just me, but everyone. I get better grades than you by far. I remember going to your house in eighth grade and seeing straight F's on your report card. You're an awful singer, and an average dancer, so why do you think you have the right to judge everyone? The real question is, why do you still keep acting like nothing ever happened between us? Do you not remember three years earlier? You were my best friend, but best friends aren't supposed to make each other feel like shit. You told me that people only included me in conversations because they didn't want me to feel left out, not because they actually liked me. You said that boys didn't like me because my teeth were too crooked, and I wasn't beautiful like you were. You spread rumors throughout the entire school about how I was such a slut. Do you not remember how I confronted you? How you spit in my face, so I slapped you? I do. You were an awful friend, possibly the worst I could ever ask for. You may be beautiful on the outside, but your soul is ugly. We have nothing in common anymore, and a history of fighting, but you still have the decency to come talk to me about your 23-year-old boyfriend who's coming down to visit you from Seattle next week, and how much he loves you.

With love,
                Me

PS: This guy doesn't love you, he wants pussy.

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Fear

/fi (e) r/

An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

I don't like to think about my fears. They scare me. I push them back inside the deepest, darkest parts of my soul, and tell them to stay there. I don't share them with anyone, not even my family or best friends. I try not to dwell on them, and act like they do not exist. In order to hide my true feelings, I spend far too much time with my friends or on social media. I shop until there's only $20 left in my bank account, and I dance like no one's watching. But the the truth is, I am afraid. 

I'm afraid of relationships. I'm terrified that one day my marriage will end horribly like my parents, and I'll end up hating the father of my children like my parents are towards each other. I'm afraid of having a crush on someone, because what if they ever found out that I liked them? What if someone told them, and their only response is "ew". I'm afraid that you all will read my blog and think that my writing is bad, or irrelevant, because writing is one of the only things in life I'm actually good at and enjoy doing. I'm afraid that I'm not good enough for my step family. I'm afraid that they don't really care, and when I move out of state next year I'll never receive any calls or texts, and when I come home to visit everyone's initial thoughts are, "It's so much better around here without her." I'm afraid that I'm bad at small talk. I don't like to discuss weather with people, I want to talk about God, and childhood memories, and what their parents are like. I'm afraid that all the girls in this school are thinner, prettier, and happier than I am. I'm afraid that my Mom will get a divorce for the third time. I'm afraid of how sensitive I am. Just because someone doesn't think I'm amazing, it doesn't give me the right to resent both them and myself. I shouldn't take everything so personally, but I just do, and I can't help it. I'm afraid of how suicidal I get when I'm feeling down. Just because it was a bad day, it doesn't mean that I shouldn't care whether or not I wake up the next morning. I'm afraid that I have too many fears, and one day I'll become all of my anxieties and insecurities. 

But if we are talking irrational fears, I truly am terrified of getting diarrhea in public. 

How to Build a House

Lets pretend that my life is a house, and everything about me is a brick. 

The foundation of my house would be cracked, because so is my family. My parents are divorced, so you can't build a strong foundation when a fundamental part of the structure is missing, right?

The first layer of bricks were all my hopes and dreams when I was a child. I wished to be tall like a supermodel, and to be very, very thin. I wanted to smart, and good at everything. In High School, I wanted to be a cheerleader, prom queen, and most popular. I wanted all the boys to love me. I wanted to have bouncy blonde hair. I wanted to live in a mansion, and drive a pink Ferrari. Basically, I wanted to be a Barbie bitch.

The second layer of bricks is the disappointment I would've had if my eight-year-old self saw the seventeen-year-old version of myself. I'm not tall. I'm only two inches away from being a midget. I'm not extremely thin. I like ice cream too much. I don't have blonde hair, but I do have an ombre if that counts? I drive a white 1996 Nissan Sentra. And there's no way in hell I'm a cheerleader, I can't even touch my toes.

The third layer of bricks is the realization that I'm glad I'm not a Barbie bitch. Unlike most girls my age, I'm proud of myself. I'm not always happy and content, but I can say that I'm proud of who I'm becoming.

And the last layer of bricks is what I dream of. I dream of winning an Oscar for Best Actress. I dream of having hair that goes down to my butt. I dream of having an ocean front mansion and waking up next to Dave Franco or Zac Efron or some hot piece of man meat every morning. I dream of not only being proud, but of being happy and content with myself.

10 Reasons why School is crippling my spine and killing my will to stay alive

School is the bane of my existence. Here's some reasons why.

1. Teachers. Do you not understand that I have a life outside of school? Sometimes I'll turn shit in late, GET OVER IT. It doesn't mean that you have the right to bitch at me and act like my future is on the line.

2. I hate people. I go to school with 2,000 other kids my age and I can count the people I actually like on one hand. I'm not anti-social, I just don't like associating myself with self-righteous assholes.

3. It's over six hours long. Hey Administration, why don't we come to school at 10 and leave at noon? There's an idea. Write that one down at your next meeting.

4. They don't let me sleep. You people make me come here at 7:45 in the morning and make me slave away til the latest hours of the night doing my homework that was assigned, and you have the decency to rudely wake me up in the middle of your lecture? Really?

5. It's nine months out of the year. Like it's great we have summers off, but what about spring? And fall? And winter....

6. Homework ruins my holidays. I couldn't even fully enjoy my Christmas vacation or spring break because I spent most of the time working on huge ass projects or studying for tests that were due the second we get back.

7. Homework: A
    Classwork: A
    Participation: A
    Test: F

    Final Grade: F

???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

8. I have to wear pants.

9. Twitchell.

10. Sophomores.

Miss INDIEpendent

I can honestly say... I don't like Hipsters. 

What's a hipster anyways? Someone who loves coffee, but refuses to go Starbucks? An individual who will buy a plaid shirt from the DI for $4, but will spend $200 on Zuriicks or Dr. Martens? A man or woman who claims to be creative, so they work as a barista? 

Hipsters are walking paradoxes. 

I honestly don't believe that such a thing even exists. I believe in being different, and independent, but "hipster" is not a good way to describe those things. I don't think listening to Bon Iver or owning a pair of gel shoes makes you different. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't. Because the truth is, everyone is different in their own way. There are not two people on this Earth that are exactly alike, not even identical twins. 

white is alright.

The other thing is, why is it such a negative thing to be "white"? I'm Caucasian, I'm from America, and so all are of you, so why should we be ashamed of that? For example, the book, "Stuff White People Like", why does it have a negative connotation? Am I supposed to feel stupid for liking Asian takeout? Or feel unoriginal for enjoying a girl's night in with my friends? If that's really the case, then Hipsters should feel stupid for having tattoos, black people should feel unoriginal for playing street basketball, and Mexicans should feel ashamed for enjoying drunken, unprotected sex. Everyone should just stop having interests because it's too "unoriginal" or it's so "been there, done that". 

However, I do agree with the negative connotation associated with white girls. 



I mean, if you're honestly taking pictures like this, you may want to re-think your entire existence. 


P.S. To all you "Hipsters" in Alpine: You are white, privileged, LDS, kids. You are not "hardcore" or "grungy". Just because you smoke weed or listen to Indie music, it does not make you the shit. 


P.S.S. I couldn't be a Hipster even if I wanted to, because I look terrible in beanies. Plus Folk music gives me a headache. 

?Nicole?

I wont use your real name because it will give both of our identities away. So I'll call you Nicole.

Nicole is one of my best friends, except I never see her. I don't hear from her, or get to know how she's
doing. Nicole has only been to four months of High School, even though Junior year is almost finished. Nicole hasn't had an easy life. Her closets relationships are with Heroine, Cocaine, and Meth.

She spends nearly six months of the year in a treatment center, trying to get better. But she doesn't get better. Her cravings get stronger every day. It breaks my heart, but there's nothing I can do. I feel small and helpless. She tells me I don't know how she feels, or what it's like. She's right. I don't. I don't know what it's like to have a close sweep with death, and I don't want to know. I'm glad I don't know.

I can't be friends with Nicole anymore. It breaks my heart, but I can't. My Dad forbids it. But even if he didn't, I'm not sure if there would be any reason I would want to stay. I can't watch her kill herself. I can't go through this anymore. She has put me in dangerous situations before, and that's selfish. Nicole, you are selfish. Why can't you just stop? Can't you see the way you're slowly suffacating everyone around you?

I Can. 

My Heartbreak

Insert skeleton emoji here 

Valentine's Day always makes me think of you. 

I saw you on Valentine's day at school. We made eye contact in the halls during passing time, and I hate when we do that. I'm not sure if it's because of Valentine's day, or something else, but I got hit with a thousand different emotions. Nobody can make me do that except for you, and I'll hate you forever because of that. 

I still don't understand why I was in love with you. And yes, it was love. How did I know? Because I can't describe the way I felt, I'll never able to. If I try to, it won't make any sense. You made me feel like I was at a spa in Asia and I put my feet in a tub of water and a thousand tiny fish were kissing my feet. When we were together, I was dumbfounded. I could barley carry a conversation with you because it felt like a spaceship was going up my spine. When we kissed, I didn't want to stop. I wanted more, but not like sex, I wanted more like I wanted to give you myself completely, and I wanted you to do the same for me. 

The day I realized that you didn't love me back was one of the most devastating experiences of my life. It was back in middle school, and I waited for you after class, but you didn't leave with me, you left with her. I felt humiliated. I felt used. I felt like nothing. 

It was definitely a rude awakening. I promised myself back then that I would always love you, and I still feel the same way three and a half years later. I love you. You haven't made these years easy. Even though it's obvious that you are more into lust rather than love, I can't help but feel like you love me too. I know you still love me too. If you didn't, then I wouldn't catch you staring at me like the way you do. You don't like to talk about your feelings for me, like the way I don't like to express mine for you. I keep them inside the deepest part of my heart that I keep from everyone except for myself, but here's the truth. 

The truth is, I haven't given up on you. If you ever wanted me back, I would welcome you with open arms in a heartbeat.

The truth is, I used to doodle in all my notebooks about you. Your name, initials, my name with your last name.

The truth is, I've named all of our children. And I want them to look like you because I love the way you look. 

The truth is, I still care, and something tells me that you do too. 

I'm just too scared to admit it. 

Dear Daddy

Dad, 

Thank you for taking on the role of both parents for practically my entire life.

Thank you for not abandoning your children after your wife left, like most men would do in that situation.

Thank you for sticking up for me as a freshmen, and yelling at Caitlin and her Dad after she spread rumors about me throughout the entire school.

Thank you for teaching me how to drive. (Even though it took a year and nine months).

Thank you for taking me on a daddy daughter date to see "Mr. Bean's Holiday" in fifth grade.

Thank you for all the times you've had to run out in the middle of the night to get me medicine or feminine hygiene products.

Thank you for pushing me to always try my best, even though quitting is my steeze.

Thank you for scaring away all the boys (sarcasm).

Thank you for keeping me from hanging out with people who could have potentially be dangerous.

Thank you for telling me I'm beautiful on the days I felt indescribably hideous.

Thank you for being my favorite man in the world.

Thank you for being you.

The Girl who chased Butterflies

I was an awkward child, to say the least. 

I mean, how could I not be? My teeth made me look like a little beaver, and I could have passed off as a child from Dehli with a mole right on the center of my forehead. I preferred to be outside playing with neighborhood kids instead of inviting a girl friend to come over and play in my little mint green room packed full of creepy porcelain dolls (now it makes perfect sense why I didn't like being in there).

I had far more insecurities as a 10-year-old than I do now as a 17 and a half-year-old. All of these insecurities came from my Mother. She made me feel like a piece of shit before I even knew what that meant. As a child, my favorite food was mac'n'cheese. So what if that's all I ate, and I liked to wash it down with two glasses of milk, causing me to not poop for days? (my glory days). Well apparently it was an issue, because it made my stomach bloated. Who cares? She did. So she enrolled me into all kinds of athletics to help me trim down, but I quit all of them after about two months. Did it really matter to you that I liked to wear flower clips in my hair, and gaucho pants, and crocs? That's what my chubby little body liked to wear, so you didn't have to bitch every time I dressed myself. Just because I talked back to you, it didn't give you the right to hit me. Dad never hit me.

In first grade, the other kids made fun of me. I didn't have any friends. I was the weird one, the odd one out. Nobody hardly ever invited me to play games with them on the playground, so I chased butterflies in the grassy field all by myself. The reason nobody ever talked to me was because I didn't talk to them. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, they wouldn't like what I had to say, just like Mom did. The next year, I became more sociable at school, and the rest is history.

My Mom never gave me confidence. I had to search for it myself. When I was twelve, she left our family, and even though I'm still bitter about it, at least now I don't have to walk on eggshells in my own home. I can be who I am, I don't have to pretend or feel discouraged anymore. In some ways it's sort of sick that I'm more confident now then I've ever been. If I could go back 10 years ago, I would go to the little girl with buck teeth crying in her ugly room to hang in there, and that life will eventually become happy.

Some people wish they could relive childhood. I do not. 

Gandhi Inspired my School

Be the change you wish to see in the world. - Mahatma Gandhi 

This may be a cliche post, but this is my blog, so I can write whatever I want, right?

Anyways, here's a short message that I'd like to share with all of you about my experience at "Be the Change" a few weeks back. After all the stupid games played in order to break the ice with your peers, the awful dance moves, free Chick-fil-a, crying with your families, hugs, and inspirational messages given by fellow students and teachers, I've come to a conclusion about high school students.

Every single person at this "World Class" school goes through shit. Our parents get divorced. Our Dads loose their jobs. Our homes get foreclosed on. One of our siblings dies. Our Moms get diagnosed with breast cancer. Our best friends go to rehab for a drug addiction. We go through hard, tough, sad, lonely, shitty situations in our family or personal lives. So why, do we as high school students still find it alright to put each other down? Life butt fucks all us anyways, so why do we still do it? Would it really kill you to smile at someone who looked down? Would it hurt your popularity to invite someone who didn't have any friends to be your partner in class? Would you get cancer and die if you were nice to other people?

We are so conceded and self righteous during our high school years. In the words of Lorde, "I am not a white teeth teen. I tried to join, but never did. The way they are, the way they seem." There are people in the halls of our school that fade into obscurity. Nobody knows who they are, but they all know who we are. They want to have sleepovers with the cheerleaders. They want to go to prom with Hannemanns. They want to show up at a party, and have people compliment their outfit, and carry out a conversation with them because they want to, not out of pity. But it doesn't happen.

We should all read this and feel ashamed. I know I'm ashamed of myself for realizing I also do these things to others. 

Humanity

The real question is, how do I know I'm really Human?

How do I know? How do I know if my family and I are really robots? How do I know if my best friend was made in a factory or not? How do I know if my neighbors are from a neighboring planet? How do I know if my boyfriend has a heart or an artificial one? I guess I'll never know for sure, but here's some things that make me feel alive.

• I know I'm a human because I have a body that pumps blood through my veins. I need oxygen to breath and water to drink I have a brain that helps me make decisions, but my heart always gets in the way. 
• I know I'm human because I need love to survive. I need to know that I am loved and accepted, and I need to love other people. I'd rather suffer the physical pain of being hit by a big yellow school bus rather than see my Father pass away or be rejected by my best friends. 
• I know I'm human because I believe in a higher power. I believe in God, I believe in Satan, and I believe in Jesus Christ, my savior and Redeemer. 
• I know I'm human because I can thrive in the simplicity of things. A laugh. A smile. A bed. A skirt. A bottle of shampoo. A book. A movie. A kiss. A song. A scoop of ice cream. 
• I know I'm human because I can use my body to create. I can create words with my mouth. Art with my hands. Tiny humans with my love. 
• I know I'm human because I know that the sun will rise and set every single day. I know that each new day is a new chapter in the novel of our lives. Some days good things will happen. We'll get that high test score, or receive that gift we've always wanted. Some days bad things will happen. We'll fight with the ones that we love the most, or hear something that we could go our whole lives without hearing. 

I know I'm human because I'm not perfect. I'm just one person made entirely of flaws and imperfections. I'll make bad choices. I'll make mistakes, but it's ok because I can learn from them. I can do better. 

If I were a robot, I would be made of shiny hard metal or plastic. Every day would be the same, and nothing could break my heart because it's made out of titanium. Nobody would love me, they would only use me to get a job done, and everyone could turn me on or off whenever they wanted to.

Introduction?

I've Never Been Good at Introductions. 

But unfortunately, life is all about them. When we are born, our parents introduce us to the rest of the world, by sending out little announcements that tell everyone our full names, birthdays, weight, and height. On the first day of kindergarten, your Mother spends far too much time making a poster for you to bring to your class, so you can introduce yourself, along with a bag of snacks to share with your peers, in hopes that they will like you. In junior high school, you can't rely on poster or snacks anymore, now it's all about what clothes you wear, how you did your makeup or styled your hair, and when you introduce yourself to your class, the looks on their faces say it all, whether or not they liked you, and want to sit by you at lunch or invite you to hangout after school, or if you're better off joining a nerdy club or team so you can meet other freaks just like you. In high school, the introductions stop because after three years of hell, everyone knows each other's business, and everyone already has a group of friends, and there is not room for one more. I could go on forever about introductions, but all I really have to say is that an introduction is a statement made by you in order to get others to like you. Sadly, they have never worked out in my favor. 

So who am I?

If I really wanted you to know who I am, then I would just put my name up on my blog instead of coming up with a shitty pen name that exposes my lack of creativity. But I can tell you this. My real name is almost as shitty as my pen name. My favorite sound, sight, and smell is rain. I hate how sensitive I am. My biggest fear in life is never marrying or getting a divorce. I like sitting on my ass and eating s'mores ice cream more than I like running on a treadmill. I procrastinate way too much. I'd rather be on tumblr than do homework any day. I'm loyal. I have a hard time being nice to people I don't like. I still pretend I'm a movie star, and my dream is to win an Oscar for best actress.

I know that was long, and you probably got bored and stopped reading halfway, but I have lots to say.