The Sad Truth is, the Truth is Sad.

"A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you." ~Elbert Hubbard

Really? Is that really true? Because I've had many 'friends' who turn out to be less than...loving. What I love is that the truth--which this person asked for in the formation of our friendship--is ironically the thing that drove us apart in the end. Isn't that funny?

No, not very funny at all. Another sad truth? I really think it's true, that a *romantic* relationship really does ruin a friendship. Unfortunately, once the truth is out there, the other person's feelings laying there on the table, how do you go back? Is that even possible? And is it better to have the other person pretend that what they said never was vocalized? To have that odd, strenuous tension stretching between you? A quiet abyss of the unsaid, hanging above you, tauntingly out of reach?

I wish that it hadn't happened, I really do. But you know what you could have had the decency to do? You could have told me how you felt about us...after the fact. Not went through our mutual friend because you were too scared of me to say the truth to my face? Really? Am I terrifying? Or am I just a reminder of what you screwed-up and can never get back?

We all make mistakes, you know. In fact, if you don't, you're probably not human. But the fault lies not in the mistake, it lies in the inability to admit to your wrongdoing. It's true...and yes, the truth often hurts, scars deeply, sometimes without ever healing...but what's the harm in trying? Trying to patch things up?

Truthfully, I think we were both screwed from the beginning. I don't know what I was thinking. But I can't do it with you. Not anymore. After these injuries I've acquired from your brashness? Yeah, I'm done. With you. With us. With whatever we had.

I'm done. With. Every. Single. Thing.

Now that it's out in the open, I can breathe again. Can inhale knowing the air I'm taking in isn't tainted with your influence, with your cold distance and unwillingness to talk to me.

Know what? You're not worth it. No friendship is worth it if in order to make it work, one person does everything.

I'm tired of it, and frankly?

I've never felt so fucking free.

My Fist and His Face

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe the lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together." ~Marilyn Monroe

Oh, Marilyn, I so hope you're right. Those four words--I told you so--taste so bitter and unappealing on my lips, yet it is screaming for release. The words pummel themselves against the walls blocking them out, kicking and punching and slamming and smacking and using that violent pulse inside to get them what they want.

But, for whatever reason, my resolve--or, better yet, strong will--stops the words before they can fall...especially because if I did let them out, I don't know if there's anything that will help put them back in.

I've spent days and days and days, up and wandering and thinking and pondering and devouring and KILLING myself by thinking about him. His name, his clothes, his hair, his smile...the smile he gave me sister right before he not only took the smile away, he stole her heart, too.

I'm not talking any Romeo & Juliet, either. My sister might be the most resilient, most intelligent, most beautiful and kind and understanding and all-around fantastic person I know, but...well, even my sister can't handle what he dished out. Just seeing her expression and the tears in her eyes that always linger, like ghosts of a happier time, a time we want back...it tears me apart. It makes me want to go up to him and jab my thumb in his eye. Lord only knows he deserves it. I am not a violent person--truly, I'm not--but I can't stand people doing harm to those I love.

You want to mess with them? You're messing with me. So I'm protective. Sue me. It's not just a one-time thing, either. Three times this has happened. THREE TIMES!! I ask you, how can my sister not understand her worth? Has time spent with him weakened her to a point that she feels like...like she's nothing? How anyone could be so cruel as to reduce a star as bright as my sister to nothing...I can't fathom it.

Because my sister is far, far, FAR from nothing. No, I don't even want to jab my thumb in his eye. I want to MURDER him. I'm actually crying as I write this. You don't mess with my family and my friends if you want to live. Okay, so I'm a pacifist, but whatever. Leave people I love alone!

The way he treats her now...he's pouring fifty pounds of salt in her gaping wound.

Really, can you get any crueler?

(My) Mother Appreciation Day

"Men may be manly and brawn and macho, but when it comes down to it, women rule the world. More intelligent, more insightful, kinder, and all-around more kickass. Especially my mother." ~Me, just a second ago

I realized something really important. My mom is awesome. Amazing. Totally fabulous. Unparalleled in her job. I've always loved her and always will, but sometimes when you stop to think about it, not only do you love those who have grown with you just as much as you've grown with them, but you respect them.

My mother is my role model. Does she drive me nuts sometimes? Yes. Does she make me want to pull out my hair and cut it into tiny pieces? Absolutely. But I'll bet you anything I make her feel the exact same way (and she doesn't have much hair to spare).

But at the end of the day, she's the one standing there when I need a hug. When my six hours at school SUCKED and I just need someone to vent to who will actually listen and not interrupt (cough Meghan cough). So that leaves...my mom. What would I do without her? I'd probably die. I'd WANT to die, anyhow.

I love how whenever I am struggling with body-image issues, my mom's always the one there who tells me I'm beautiful. Even if I'll never believe her, she will always say it. When at the end of the day I want to curl in a ball and stay there, she coaxes me out using gentle words and the allure of a cuddle.

Let's be honest. I've never met a cuddle I didn't like.

My mom rocks, and I really haven't said that enough. So, mom? Wherever the heck you are out there, I love you. I always have, and I always will. Stubborn, beautiful, courageous, selfless, wise, and always giving, you are my role model, and will continue to do be so, even after you are gone.

I love you so much, mom. And I cannot say how sorry I am that I simply haven't said it enough. But from now on, I'll say it everyday. Just so you can always know how special and amazing you are to me.

Here's to you, mom. Here's looking at you.

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.