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in trying to deduce the negative feelings I’ve been having (not towards anybody, just about life) I realized I got so used to the sad part being a part of me (since I’ve been minorly depressed for the past six years) that when I’m really-and-truly happy for longer than two seconds, I get scared and reach for the comfort sad brings. I wrote something ages ago about how comforting it was feeling sorry for yourself, which is one reason crying makes you (me) feel better. loving yourself is important, and I feel that people who’re depressed actually love themselves very much, more than they love others. Not exactly a healthy love, more of a self-comfort one. It’s perfectly safe as long as it doesn’t over-run your life and doesn’t spread to those around you.
I’m finding confidence and knowing what I’m doing are making me feel good about myself without feeling sorry for myself (which is what you’re sposed to do while you heal, but not do to the point where you’re re-opening wounds so you have an excuse).

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not exactly sure what else to say here, but I’ve got lots of feelings an stuff. I just am trying to put them into readable words.
I like to do things for people so they’ll be reminded of me/miss me when I’m not there, etc. I don’t want to be forgotten. When I was in elementary school my mom would pick me up three and four hours late because her meds made her sleepy all the time and she’d fall asleep on the couch, essentially “forgetting” me. I knew it wasn’t her fault, and I loved her, so I’d just smile at all my teachers as they went home and say “she’ll be here any minute” even though I felt like curling up in a ball and crying. Instead of crying over that though, I’d cry cause someone would throw a crayon at me or something. I remember hearing the words “stop it, you’re gonna make her cry!” so many times during those years, usually shortly after I’d put my arms on my desk, and my face between my arms. I learned to cry silently so nobody could hear and I wouldn’t have to hear them say that.
middle school was a little different, in that I didn’t cry over every little thing anymore. My friend Laura would walk home with me (we lived jus down the street from eachother, in a mobile-home-park) and I didn’t have to worry if I’d been forgotten. I think I grew a lot in that space of time. I know I figured out that I went to school for a reason other than I was sposed to. I had to get good grades so I’d have different teachers the next year. Thus, my grades started improving and people didn’t pick on me so much. I had my own group of friends and we stayed away from the people who liked to make fun of others.
in high school, life was -completely- different. mom had to pick me up from school again (since we lived ten miles from school), but instead of being forgotten, someone else would pick me up and take me to his house. My freshman year was just about as bad as I could get, grade-wise. I even flunked my absolute best subject, English. (didn’t flunk it, I just didn’t go to english 2 the next year. I took comp and lit, and -that- teacher didn’t understand why I was in her class, so she made me her assistant.) I started spanish (which I did well in) but I had a P.E. teacher who would go crazy if every sudent didn’t finish the mile-lap in like, five minutes. I remember she was fired over easter vacation, and we got a really cool teacher after that. My sophomore year was the last year where I actually knew what I was doing, what my goals were, what I was going to do with my life. I was the teacher’s pet in most every class (cept history, I was too busy talking to Heather and teasing her about Ray, stuff like that) and I’d established myself with a group of friends (most of who I still speak to to this day, at least online).
Junior year was really bizarre. All I remember of it was mom taking me to the police station to file reports against John, and I’d get out of school early to do that, and being kicked off the sound-crew for the fall play, “Picnic” because Kelly decided at the last minute that she wanted to join. I wasn’t even told my ms. gassmann, David told me they didn’t need me. I’m still friends with David and Kelly :p I had Drama third period, right before Spanish with Sr. Maes (sp 3). I remember walking into spanish early and sitting at my desk, and my head promptly falling into my arms in the familiar fashion of elementary school. Sr. Maes (I liked him, he reminded me of a really sweet monkey) patted my shoulder, asked if I was ok, and then handed me a roll of toilet paper. I cleaned up before anybody came into class (not like I wear makeup) and nobody even knew bout it.
Senior year…I had Senioritis until I realized I wouldn’t graduate, so I took a night-class and graduated with -exactly- the right amount of credits.
and somehow during all of this I managed to fall in love with a guy who was a complete asshole. I still wonder about what might’ve been. What if I’d never begged him to move back with me to cali? would we be together now, still living with his parents, maybe with kids? Of course now I don’t want any of that, not with him. I know that if I’d never realized what an asshole he was I would’ve been in that situation, and I would’ve wanted out, at some point.
I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life, mostly due to naivete and my extreme gullibilty. I still try not to believe everything I hear, but it doesn’t exactly work all the time.
someone could be telling me they loved me, and I wouldn’t believe them, and they’d truly love me. on the other hand, someone could be telling me they loved me, and I’d believe them. but they wouldn’t love me in the least.
I know who I love, and I know that I’m happy. I don’t want all this happy to be fake due to me believing something that wasn’t true.
only time will tell, ne?