ladedahhhh....

Let’s be honest…most of us are fucking amazing but too scared to admit it.

Fact: the minute a male friend ( ‘friend’ used lightly, as he sees you in the friendship light however  you see him as husband material) calls you homie, it feels as if the game is over. He has called the final foul, the ref is pulling you out of the game. It’s like when the ref calls the technical foul that everyone but you understands.  You are about to burst into feelings that you don’t even have names for. You want to cry. You want to burn every last love letter you wrote to him last week and then tell your friends to lay the ashes all over your grave because you are done. You have been friend zoned. Placed in a weird level where he will show you affection with hugs, but is definitely not having any dreams about you. So instead of being his Aaliyah, you have become the Missy Elliot. You’re cute and all but nothing to stare at when there are other choices. Obviously he really likes you. But more obviously his definition of like and yours don’t perfectly collide. So ‘like’ for him means, “let’s read a book together, and discuss the presidency of Barack Obama”. Whereas you were thinking of “let’s walk through parliament and talk about how we find the universe in each others eyes”. I mean hes thinking comic books and cartoons, when you’re thinking poems and romantic comedies. So what do you do? You’ve been boxed out of the only position you ever wanted since laying eyes on him. You’ve planned weddings, the names of  children and where to retire when all is said  and done. But you’ve been left out in an emotional storm, with someone who didn’t even know that you liked him in the first place. So you cry. Cut up/burn/dispose/or draw on  a few pictures you may or may not have stolen off facebook. You convince yourself you never needed him and proceed to try to fall in love with someone else. But its never really that easy. Because as much as you despise the homie title, you rather be his homie then nothing at all. And so here you are, watching him with the girl of his dreams, and all you can do is dream and hope that one day he’ll notice you. Maybe un-homie you and wife you. But who are we kidding here?

My Friday nights consist of self-loathing and the contemplation of reviving my blog. Normal teens on the brink of adulthood drink away pain, I wallow in hopes to make friends with it.  I am twisted, stuck between myself and I hard place, I am looking into the looking glass and beginning to wonder is this what I want of myself? Depression and a glass of apple juice?  A blog filled with half-witted attempts to be witted, while my brain is filled with thoughts that really needed to be more thoroughly expressed. In other words I am fighting myself. And for once, this discrepancy between my image and self is now in words.  I am not who I want to be. The words in bold make the statement that I want to get across. The question that follows shortly then is what do I want to be?

I must do it myself. Everything I want in this world and in this lifetime will be great, as long as I am getting in on my own agenda and with my own work effort. Independence is a great skill, that many claim to have and few possess and I am trying to be in the minority. Not that I don’t love help, and I don’t appreciate others, but why get to the top because someone else dragged you there, instead of standing at the top knowing you made it on your own. Help is necessary, but dependency  is disgusting. If you can’t do anything on your own, maybe you need to re-evaluate where you are heading and how you plan on getting there because I help people not build them.

to be continued...

Unless your heart, your soul, and your whole being are behind every decision you make, the words from your mouth will be empty, and each action will be meaningless. Truth and confidence are the roots of happiness.


 

I want you to know I am here, I am alive and well. And well, I’ve decided I don’t need you. Caught up in us, I’ve taken away from myself. Stopped myself from living and breathing and enjoying life. I’ve been so caught up in strife, all the things that could go wrong, that I’ve forgotten that I am strong. I am amazing, I am passionate and I am everything that you never allowed me to be. I am done holding on to everything I’ve done wrong, I am moving on. This is to you depression, I am going to take a risk and say our relationship is done.

I don’t do regrets, I am ready to live. Swag.

I look soft and pudgy, like a marshmallow. In other words, I am getting fat and gross. I would try to go to the gym….but I need to do school work. pass the oreos trick.

I didn’t think I would be posting a 3000th post on this site. It’s a blog that started out of emotional frustration and I’m still in an emotionally frustrated spot. Difference is I am not 14 an out of control. I’m 18 with a bit more understanding, and a bit more appreciation of life. Granted my young self still pops up here and there, I’m still in the process of taming that part of me and its an on going process, but the difference is I can now say I am actively trying. And that I am going to keep trying until someone pulls the plug. Basically what I’m saying is…  that i am being with it, whatever that it is.