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.