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

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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.