and one day you'll fly away
- November 18, 2008
- serenity23
- 1 Comment
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ah jew conventions! that was so much fun! I'm happy i went :) I met a cute guy. His name is john and we got fake married. We were adorable. But now, sadly, it's over and back to real life. So i guess I'm done writing like a giddy 7th grader. Bummer lol
Anyway,today at school was amazing
I've gotten to the point where not sleeping actually gives me energy
Everything is remarkable, even quantum physics equations
Alll that we are taught has order, makes sense
Yet strangely, while my classmates look around lost
I, queen of the whimsical thought, am always the first to catch on
weird
I think one of my friends is mad at me over stupid girl drama
I hate getting caught in the middle of dumb fights over boys
grr, speaking of dumb boys, matt did the weirdest thing ever in the hall today
He was just walking behind me and M, and when I turned around and noticed him, he made this strange vaguely sexual thrusting gesture
quoi?
I gave him a wtf face and walked away
ew
Oh, I randomly told my creepy gymnastics coach about Chris today
As in the hot and cold asset that is our fake relationship
not the sex part, because chris already told him about that which is strange and awkward
but the point is, I just sort of exploded
looking back to a few hours ago, i realize how dumb it probably was to say anything at all, but i just couldn;t help myself
i was dying to get it all out, tell anyone who wasn;t sam or my school friends and wasn;t already sick of it
but yeah, i don;t know
i really hate my brain sometimes
p.s. since this entry kind of sucks, i'll include this cool fiction essay i wrote for english about an awakening that i actually ejoyed writing because i'm just that cool :)
When they tell me about the accident, I do not go to my room and cry. I do not hug my mother with her arms extended and her mouth held open in a painful o or my father with his invisible sobs and bitten cheeks. Instead, I turn to the front door and go for a run. My feet hit the pavement with that confident thud, echoing from the soles of my sandals to the breath from my mouth. It occurs to me lamely that I will get blisters or shin splints. I keep on thinking it, over and over because it scares me that I can’t make myself care. The first mile comes easy, thoughtless and complete. My legs don’t tire and my lungs don’t burn, the way they used to when I first started running. The first time I swore I’d run across the world and never come home, I had made it less than the end of our street. I was thirteen and stupid and Eric was 16 and stupider. I had hated him then, even when he apologized for letting me see the blood on his arm. Because he wasn’t sorry for doing it, only for hurting me. The worst part of running away is the defeat when you realize you have nowhere to run to. I resented so badly having to turn around and walk home, across that same cracked pavement I’d glided over so powerfully minutes before. Going home and swearing, “No Eric, I won’t tell. Just as long as you stop, I’ll keep it to myself,” and trusting his word meant as much as mine. Hating so much not just that he had done it again a thousand times over, but that I’d actually believed him. My legs and arms propel me to the town line as I force my heart to keep beating. I remind myself to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale. It is so simple, so easy. I focus on blinking so my eyes won’t tear. I flex every muscle to remind myself I am powerful and strong. I try so hard not to think of anything else until I forget what I even wanted to be forgetting. After the second time I caught him cutting, I made it all the way around the block. It was raining then, the heavy kind like little satin bullets sinking into my skin. My body begged me to stop, crying out in bursts of pain from every piece of my insides. I didn’t stop though, because when I did, I saw the beads of blood sliding seamlessly over his wrist. I didn’t want to be that girl, the one with the messed up brother who believes twisted lies. I wanted, I needed his broken face, his whispered apology out of my memory. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t make sense. But running did, because that physical pain was so concrete and predictable. In the end, I stopped only because my lungs stopped first. That was the first time I genuinely hated my body for betraying me. I wished on a star I was invincible before collapsing, soaking, on the cool wet ground. A car pulls up and flashes its headlights, blinding in my face. I squint, and try to run the other direction. “May,” a voice cries out, frail and impaired. It is my mother. “Come home,” she says. “May, please, please come home,” I say nothing at all, because my voice has stopped working. This is mile four and my body is no longer mine. The endorphins and my heartbeat block out all the pain, even my mother’s. I have come too far turn around just yet, so I don’t. I dash through the bushes in front of an attractive white house, dimmed against the dark. They scratch my arms, leaving pretty symmetrical scars. I immediately think of Eric which makes me laugh. I feel insane for a moment, which is somehow gratifying. I realize it is nice not to care. I trained for hours, every day after school. One mile, then two, then three, then four. The goal was always distance, never speed. I wanted to get as far as I could away from him, from his alcohol and therapy and screaming lyrics. It didn’t matter if it took me an hour to make it down the street. As long as I was moving, I wasn’t thinking. For those few interrupted moments, I felt almost okay. The highway comes into view as the side street detour turns into a main road, a point I know to be exactly 7 miles. I feel ecstatic and free, like I have reached some sort of nirvana. My parents are nowhere to be seen. This is the farthest I have ever come, and I am so unbearably proud I almost feel like crying. It occurs to me how strange I must look to cars passing by, a teenage girl running alongside the freeway at midnight. I wonder if anyone cares, or is curious as to why I’m out here. Probably not. They have their own lives, their own problems to worry about. I am a speck of dust, a grain of sand, a tiny mosquito. No one cares, no one cares. I am absolutely nothing at all. When we were little, Eric and I had races out in the lawn. He would always let me win. He used to help me with my homework when mom and dad were both at work. He showed me songs with lyrics too deep for me to understand and read me passages from books about dying. He treated me like an equal because we were friends. Are friends. He’s not dead yet. I imagine life without him, and it hits me so hard that all of a sudden I have to stop running. Midstride, I just quit and sit down on the cold unforgiving asphalt curb while speeding cars fly by, ringing in my ears. Oh god. My older brother is in the hospital because he OD’d on sleeping pills. There it is, straight out in the open midnight air. The truth speaks for itself. I think of my mother, who is probably home by now crying in the kitchen. I think of my father, who has probably gone to bed to sleep off this latest tragedy. I think of myself, and what a horrible person I am for thinking I could leave it all behind. Suddenly, my body feels exhausted and ruined, no longer invincible. My feet are bleeding and my hands shake when I try to study them in the moonlight. How stupid I was for thinking I could run forever. If it’s seven miles or a million, the number can’t be infinite. Everything has to come to an end eventually. A sick sad truth hits me as I realize that even though I still don’t want to go home, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I pick myself off the ground and start off in the direction I came. “seven miles,” I say. It sounds so crazy that I must be dreaming, but I’m not. Otherwise, Eric’s presence in every labored breath couldn’t be nearly so real. “he’ll be okay,” I whisper, and somehow as I say the words, I know that they are true. They just feel too strong and certain to be anything less. I repeat them, because the make me feel safer. They become my mantra, beating along to every walking step I take back home. “He’ll be okay,” I know this because even if no one else cares, I have enough faith to compensate. “He’ll be okay,” And, given time, so will I.