The Good Old Days

Some people say that the "good old days" are stupid. Why? Perhaps because looking back at the history of the US, America today is better than ever. Less racism, less cruelty against certain groups of people, a more stable economy (Ha! Funny!) etcetera, etcetera...but really, I'm talking about MY good old days. The days when I wasn't so outgoing and social. I miss the days when I suffered in silence and I miss the days when every school day sucked and was just another marking point in my miserable life, because back then, I wasn't a bitchy, obnoxious, hormonal, mean, selfish fifteen-year-old. I could blame any number of things for my behavior, like stressful work at school, or tense relationships with friends, or even just exhaustion from a long week. But after three or four or five months of the same excuse, it begins to sound like a lie, even to my own ears. I don't miss the collective sighs I get from my parents, and I certainly don't blame them. I can't even blame my every meltdown, every tear shed, every door slammed as just an onset of hormones, because when it comes down to it, most of it is just because I can't get a handle on my emotions. I use my family as a punching bag, as an outlet for my stress, fury, sadness, and confusion. And they don't deserve it. Heck, I wish they could just snap and say, "TO HELL WITH IT! I AM DONE! DONE!!" But no, instead they just take it and deal. I can't control this monster inside me, and I'm not sure where the ten-year-old Katie went. I don't know when her extended vacation is over, but I'm just about ready to call someone to snatch her and replace this monstrous, practically demonic teenager. I would readily take a couple slaps to the face, some verbal and emotional torture, and even some mortifyingly embarrassing mistakes over this. Anything but this. Absolutely anything. I can't take living inside my own skin. I don't hate myself, not quite, but I certainly don't like me, either. I'm debating whether to say "Fuck off" or say "Kick your shoes off and hang around" and apparently my body was already decided the latter is best for me. I don't agree. I want the good old days again. My heart aches for it; my eyes stream with unshed tears knowing I can be so much more genial, so much warmer, so much kinder, and yet simply can't. It kills me. I don't like myself; heck, I HATE myself. I want to rip my skin, and hope to holy hell there's something besides bones underneath it. I wish I could tear my flesh, piece by piece, and see ten year old Katie lying there, under it, and I'll be all like, "Hey! There you are! I've been looking for you for forever, man! Glad to have finally found you!" And then peace will be restored to the universe and yay everything's great. Unfortunately, it doesn't work out that way. Unfortunately, in the *real world* life isn't fair. Life brings ups and downs and more often that not gifts me with the downs rather than the ups. Still, I carry on, because what good is mourning that which you don't have? It doesn't do anything for you, certainly. But that's what I get, I guess, for being such a brat. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?

Female Intellect Superiority--Why it's True

"Here's all you need to know about men and women: women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason why women are crazy is because men are stupid." ~George Carlin

There are some times in life where I see a case of pure idiocy and even without looking, know it's a male that's creating said idiocy. I don't know if it's obliviousness, ignorance, knowing the truth but refusing to acknowledge it, or just plain stupidity--but whatever it is, I'm afraid it's contagious, and I rather appreciate my intelligence...

As well as I am afraid of the Idiot Disease spreading like wildfire. I was in US1 today, and as usual, there's always one person (always a guy) who cuts in with something sexist.

Today's example was a real fun one:

Mr. K--my teacher--was helping us with essays about the Civil War. Being the *feminist* I am, I'm researching female spies and their role in the success of ending the war. It's quite fascinating, really, except as Mr. K was talking to me about one in particular, a female spy by the name of Belle Boyd, working for the Confederacy (the south; the north was the Union), when this jerk called Joe cuts in with:

"That's such a lie! Like women can ever do anything right? Whose stupid idea was it to send women into the war? Why aren't they at home, kissing babies and doing dishes?"

I swear to God, if I didn't have my friend Shayna holding me back, I might have clenched my jaw around Joe's neck or maybe pulled an arm out of his socket. What year does he think this is, 1950s? FYI, sweetheart, not all women are the "Ooh, I broke a nail!" or "Uh...what?" kind of girls that we are all branded to be.

I also resent the fact that so many guys I meet look at my *blonde* hair (it's STRAWBERRY BLONDE, IDIOTS!!!!) and start by telling me a dumb blonde joke.

Are you really going to introduce yourself by mocking me? I'm not a violent person, but get on my bad side and I will cut you down to the size of Flat Stanley using just words. Many people don't know this, but swearing and hurling useless and over-used insults at girls like, slut, whore, bitch, cunt, etc. isn't effective. Shocker! In all actuality, it just fuels my fire. You want to call me a bitch? Fine, go ahead. Call me a whore? Whatever, I'm a big girl, I'm wearing my big girl undies.

But what bothers me is that they just throw these words around like they weigh nothing. Did you know that not too long ago retard didn't mean 'weird' or 'stupid' but instead meant 'special' or 'learning-challenged'? It wasn't an insult. Of course, unless you're referring to a female dog, 'bitch' wasn't exactly ever a compliment.

But still.

And I reserve the right to say "Eat your heart out, bitches," because P!nk said that, and God help me, I love her and she's...well, let's face it. She's P!nk, and f**king awesome! Honestly, even though I'm not gay, I would totally date her if she was many years younger and not a celebrity.

But it is an insult to my intelligence when guys simply fling around these insults. Once, they might actually have been offensive. But now they're just words people throw at you when they're not creative enough to come up with a witty insult.

So in other words, they've lost their meaning.

The whole point of this post was mostly for venting power. It's true, though, I think. Call me biased, call me a Femi-Nazi, but I'm right. Most girls are extremely brainy. We know more than just the best places to buy shoes--much more. But since people--ahem, cough, cough, GUYS--don't give us the chance, I guess you'll never find out, will you?

Such a shame. You're truly missing out on so much.



Empty

I'm done. I'M DONE. I know I should have done my work, I know I could have put more effort in--I get it! But for the love of God, leave me alone! I think I was so happy and so on Cloud 9 about having so many friends that the oblivion of it all made me forget the studious, great-grades part of me that has always been inside.


And because of that, I'm not getting into college. Because of that, I've screwed myself over tenfold. Funny thing is, it isn't funny. I hate myself for doing this. I hate myself for putting my own happiness first instead of putting the importance of good grades before...I'm a terrible, terrible, terrible student.


And in English? B!! A fucking B! That's never happened to me before! I've always gotten AT LEAST an A!! Why?! Why now?!


It doesn't make any sense! Or maybe I'm blaming all my anger on everyone else because I'm too ashamed and guilt-ridden to admit my mistakes. Oh, who am I kidding? My 'mistakes?' I think a part of me all along knew exactly what I was doing, but didn't care.


And look how that worked out! Jesus...when am I going to stop doing this?!

And to think, even just for a second...

Goddammit, I am so stupid! So, so, so, SO stupid!! How could I be so fucking idiotic?! It shouldn't be possible!

Aw, shit, now I'm crying! Me! CRYING! Okay, well, it's not like I've never cried before, but this--I'm crying over THIS! Talk about pathetic, why don't you?

Speaking of 'pathetic' why don't I talk about what 'this' is? Fact is, these past few weeks I'd been telling myself--FOOLING myself, more accurately--that I was well-liked, that I had friends, that my life was good...

Okay. So my life IS good, but that's not the point. The point is, at some point today, I got...lost. I don't know a better word, honestly. Maybe it was the fact I saw HER and my resolve crumbled. Maybe it was because I realized something bad about myself, about the way I've been acting--truth is, lately I feel (and I may not be right) like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. I mean, I'm not lying or anything, but this outgoing, friendly-with-everyone girl is new to me. Foreign. Like, she might as well be an alien species.

I don't know how you can LIE about becoming vivacious and energetic, but if you can, I'm probably the best example of such.

I'm scared. I sort of want to go back to the way I was: introverted, shy, and withdrawn. Being so open with everyone is a terrifying roller coaster ride, and I want to get off as quick as possible.

Which brings me to my next point: you see those people--read about them in books, or see them in movies, or even walking down the hallways at school--who are so extroverted, so comfortable around everyone that almost everyone likes them, and have you ever wondered if maybe their *perfect* exteriors aren't as perfect as they seem to be?

I've sort of become that person...and when someone touched me, I could feel my resolve crumble. I could feel myself withdrawing again. My *perfect* exterior was slowly cracking, and I don't know how much longer this façade can go on for. Personally, even if this IS me, I want off this! I don't like this girl. She's new territory, and I want her to go away!!

I want the life where everyone ignored me back. Why? Because I know better than everyone that now, since I've become Miss Congeniality, I ignore someone and someone must have died, or, better yet, I get, "Why are you in such a shitty mood? You're always happy and now you're being bitchy."

Excuse me? I may have my moments, true, but I'm not a bitch! Maybe I'm just sick and tired of becoming this person I've never wanted to be! So now, I feel forced to put up my defensive walls, shielding my emotions from my exterior, because GOD FORBID a tear falls and OH MY GOD, Katie isn't perfect? GASP!!! SO hard to imagine!! Everyone, alert the media!

I want Boring Me back. Screw my 'friends.' I'm done making myself vulnerable, goddammit! I keep doing that, and each and every time I get myself burned! You'd think by now I'd have learned, but apparently not.

I used to get told by my teachers that only you can change yourself. To a certain extent it's true, but what happens if people don't like who you really are? Even scarier, what if THIS is who I am? I'm not bright and outgoing. That's never been me!

I'm not a faker. Sure, I may lie about stealing some Oreos from the pantry now and then, but I'm not a faker. I've never been one, and I hope I never will be. But it's unfathomable, this new persona...if, in fact, this is me, what if I hate MYSELF? What do you do then? It's one thing if other people don't like you, but if this is who I truly am, then how can I change?

Answer: I can't.

Why won't you leave my dreams?!

So last night, I dreamed of you. Again. Really, why is my brain so fixated on dreaming about you? Are there meds I can take for that? It's really worrying; I don't want to be dreaming about you any more than you'd want to know I've been dreaming about you. It went like this:

Me: Where are we going? My feet hurt and you're taking me on a wild goose chase. So not okay!
You: Calm down already, would you? We're going to picnic. Is that a foreign concept?
Me (slapping your arm): No. You're a jackass, you know that?
You: Yep. You've told me that more than one time, I believe.
Me: Hmmph! And yet it hasn't sunk in yet. I think Meghan should now about this.
You (alarmed): Meghan?! Oh hell no! You do that...you do that and I'll--I'll do something bad!
Me: Wow. Really threatening, Brian. Seriously, I'm terrified.
You: Oh, shut up, why don't you?
Me: Jesus! A bit touchy today, aren't we?
You: You think THIS is touchy? Trust me, you don't want to see me when I actually am touchy. It's a nightmare.
Me: Funny, that's not hard to imagine.
You: Screw you.
Me: Nice insult. Try again?
You (ignoring me): Aha! See that gazebo up ahead? We're picnicking there. Go ahead, the steps aren't going to bite you. They only get hungry once in a while...I'm pretty sure their blood thirsty appetites are satisfied...for the moment, at least.
Me: Fuck you!
You: Thank you, Katie. I really appreciate that.
Me: You're not welcome. Ever.
You: Okay, then. At least you're being honest.
Me: Damn straight! You're the only one who acknowledges me giving you shit but yet doesn't care.
You: Don't you ever wonder why?
Me: No. I'm afraid of the answer.
You: It's not bad.
Me (reluctantly): Are you...are you sure?
You: Yep.
Me (sighing): Okay, fine. Why?
You: Because I know even if I did care you wouldn't change...you're stubborn like that.
Me: You didn't JUST notice, did you?
You: Would it matter?
Me: No. Probably not.
You: Yeah. That's what I thought.
Me: Smart ass.
You: You got it--that's my middle name.
Me (snorting): Right. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.
You: But it does, doesn't it?
Me: Mmm. It does--if only it was your middle name on your birth certificate.
You: Unfortunately, my parents didn't know they were giving birth to a smart ass until I turned four years old.
Me (shuddering): Yikes! What a nightmare.
You: Yeah. They hated me.
Me: I can see why.
You: Nice, Katie. Good to see you care.
Me: You know it!

You + Me = Disaster

I know, I know--I'm a regular Einstein, aren't I? (Unfortunately, this is the only type of *math* I know-how sad!)

Seriously, though, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that we're never going to fully get along. In fact, in only the one and a half years we've been friends, I think I've already gotten ten strands of white hair!

Thanks a lot.

Some days I wonder if I'm not going to end up as the 40 year-old virgin.

Okay, so I'm only fifteen--and I get that. But have you ever felt so absolutely, incredibly ugly? Like to the point where you just see yourself in the mirror and shudder in disgust? Maybe I'm the only one whose ever felt this way, but sometimes I just want to smash my fist into the glass and dissolve my image. I'm ugly. I'm unwanted.

Yes, I've got my family. Yes, I've got my pets. Yes, I've got doctors and therapists and librarians and blah, blah, blah.

And some days (usually less than often) I've got my friends. But usually I go to school and even though I interact with people; even though I have great friends and we always have a fantastic time together, it still leaves me feeling empty.

I've never been one of those girls who's only real ambition in life is to be pretty, popular, a size negative one, and date every single boy in her state. I'm just not that type of person...

But, and I have to admit this, I find it hard not to get nervous when every single guy in my school thinks I'm just one of them. Because I like it that way, I do--but at the same time, even if I didn't date any, could some at least acknowledge that I'm a female? Ahem?

I guess my only real point now is, am I really that terribly ugly? If I am, please say so. You're only making it hard on me to tell me I'm beautiful. (That's for you, Mom! Don't try and tell me those motivational comments like, 'you're a beautiful young woman' are not just something you picked up at Mommy School!) Say I'm ugly, and at least I'll know you're honest...

If nothing else.