Diary

I think last year has ruined me.

For a while, I thought I’d finally healed completely. Only now, I’m beginning to think that this is untrue. So much happened a year ago, and I don’t think anyone really gets it - really gets how much of a toll it’s taken on me. I feel like I was deep in some sort of depression – which, might I add, I’m not really comfortable with admitting. Who wants to admit, “Hey, I’m depressed.”? Or say, “I think I might have depression.”? It seems like such a pansy excuse for not being a mature adult and dealing with the crises of your life. And even though I hate to “admit” it, I think I just might have been depressed. I mean, I suppose it’s obvious when this “might have been depression” started.

I hate to even admit how much control they had over my emotions and self-esteem, but clearly, they did. I don’t know, it just seems weak to me to allow others to take away your happiness – and yet, here I am, a person who allowed just that to happen. And maybe it is pathetic – actually no, it IS pathetic - to have let those individuals contribute to my “ruination”, but I just can’t help how I felt, how I feel. These were people – were “friends” – I would have, and did, anything and everything for. I remember I used to get on my knees and thank God for blessing me with them in my life. And then, senior year happened. I feel like such a fucking idiot, a dork, a fool, a cry baby for feeling this way. But that sensation of betrayal hurt so much. I think it even still hurts sometimes. It just really sucks to give your all to someone and have them be a total bitch to you. And again, I know this is crazy to be so shaken up over high school drama – for God’s sakes, I’m damn near a sophomore in college now! – but it just hurt so much. And then for it to feel like no one is in your corner, like no one can see their “evilness” – for lack of better word – other than you! It really makes you second guess yourself, makes you wonder if it’s actually YOU that’s the problem instead of them. But it couldn’t be. What had I done that was so horribly vile to deserve such treatment? Because I stood up for myself? Because, after four years of friendship, I was tired of their subtle snubs and disrespect? It just didn’t make sense how I could be at fault – not completely at least, because I will admit that I could’ve handled that situation a little bit better. So not only did I feel betrayed, but also a bit guilty for any fault of my own. However, I must be fair, it wasn’t their sole fault that I feel this way. Of course, some of this could be attributed to “the deaths.”

I guess it started with Amber, she was the first to pass at least. And again, I can’t help but feeling like a fake, sniveling ass for feeling so saddened by her passing. My reaction to her death makes absolutely no sense. She was a lovely girl, and I really did admire her personality for afar, but we weren’t really friends. It was more so a “my group of friends intermingles with your group of friends, so we’re like pseudo-‘friends’” type situation. So really, her death shouldn’t have hit me so hard, but it did. It was just too sudden and unexpected. One day, we’re talking about how tardy our fathers can be and the next – well, she’s dead. It doesn’t make sense, still. How I feel about it doesn’t make sense. How I cried, how empty I felt, how helpless I felt – all for some girl I was hardly friends with! But the reality is that it did hurt. And I can’t seem to get over it. I believe that’s when the “depression” started to really show. Not long after, I received a text saying that my childhood band teacher had cancer, actually no – had FOUR cancers. Which, honestly, shouldn’t have been much of a surprise since we used to catch him chain smoking after class. His clothes always smelled of smoke but not in a disgusting way, it was actually kind of comforting in a familiar sense. But it was surprising. There was not a doubt in my mind that he would survive. After all, we’d seen him a little while later at Wal-Mart and, besides his lack of hair, he appeared completely normal and healthy. But apparently he wasn’t, because just a few months later, he too passed. And I just remember thinking how this made no sense either, like Amber, he also seemed perfectly fine. But I guess not. Then it was my Great Aunt Ora. She had Alzheimer’s. And being that she was so elderly, her death shouldn’t have been a surprise either, but it was. I remember wanting to visit her so bad, even though I knew she wouldn’t remember me. I just had such fond memories of her, and I wanted one more chance to be with her – but I missed it. Now, every time I have a brain fart or I forget something, I fear that I’ll also get Alzheimer’s and won’t even have my memories of her. And Mom was just so insensitive about everything. I mean I suppose she couldn’t understand how or why these deaths affected me the way that they did – hell, I don’t even understand that – but still, it was just so frustrating for her to want me to just “get over it”. I couldn’t. I tried – really tried – but I just couldn’t.

And then lastly, I guess it was the finances. We’ve always been poor, but this year it was just so much more noticeable. For the longest, I didn’t even think I’d be able to go to college. And that only led to these absurd thoughts. I became so apathetic about everything. I stopped really caring if I would be able to go to college. I began to seriously consider being a waitress for the rest of my life. I’d almost convinced myself that I didn’t even want to be a doctor anymore – a dream, one that I’ve had for as long as I could remember, just dashed so easily. I didn’t even really apply for college or scholarships until second semester. It was like I was trying to sabotage my life. I was always tired. I’d wake up and promptly fall asleep on the bus ride to school, before class, in class, at lunch, again in class, on the bus ride home, and then again for the night. Day after day, all I could do was sleep. Nothing mattered. My grades slipped and I was always late to class. And I found that I honestly didn’t care. The weird thing is, I don’t think anyone really noticed these changes in me. And all that did was really make me reflect on my life, and the impact I had on the lives of others.

So it shouldn’t be surprising that death soon became a constant theme within my thoughts. I’m not suicidal. I’ve never thought of actually killing myself – mainly because I’m such a scaredy-cat and I also didn’t want God to send me to Hell – but I did often wonder what the world would be like if I just…died. How would people react if I died? Over and over and over. It was all I could think about. Would anyone, besides my mom, care? Would Peggy make a half-assed announcement at school about how I’d be missed? Would those sorry excuses of human beings regret how they treated me? Would they cry at my funeral? Would they even show up? And it wasn’t just myself. I became fearful of everyone around me dying. I began to wonder how I would survive if my mother, my brother, my dad, my grandma, my friends, or anyone I knew, died. I haven’t told anyone about that. Death is such a morbid topic, and I doubt anyone would be able to understand me if I brought it up. So I just don’t.

But back to why I feel so “ruined”. My parents and family are so proud that I go to this school and get “good grades”, but they obviously aren’t seeing what I’m seeing. They think I’m being hard on myself, but in reality I’m not being hard enough. They think I’m such a good student, but I don’t think that I am. Not anymore at least. I can’t seem to shake that apathy that overcame me a year ago. My grades are mediocre, and I hate that. I’ve never settled for mediocre before, but now I just feel stuck in a state of mediocrity. It’s so frustrating. I want to be great again, but I just can’t encourage myself to be that student who goes the extra mile and get all A’s like I used to. Even now, I should be writing a rough draft for English or studying for Bio or Chem, but I just can’t seem to care. I want to, but I can’t. And on top of that, everything that used to bring me joy, doesn’t anymore. After my childhood band teacher died from his four cancers, I just had no urge to play the clarinet anymore – which is ridiculous considering that I spent approximately a decade of my life enjoying band and playing the clarinet. Now I just feel guilty whenever I walk by the music building. Also, I find that writing just isn’t what it used to be. I used to love writing my own stories. Now I can’t even will myself to do that. And on the off chance that I do catch that spark of inspiration, it’s like my repertoire of elegant vocabulary tumble out of my ear. Even writing this is difficult. The words I want to use escape me, and I’m left behind with absolute crap. This entry itself is absolute crap. I feel like I can’t express myself. I’ve become so inconsistent with everything: my health, my grades, my spirituality! I hate the way that I am. God has done so much for me – I shouldn’t even be at this beautiful private university, but He found a way to get me here! Every time I fail Him by reveling in sin, He takes me back with open arms – it’s just beautiful! And despite His grace, His kindness, His love and protection, I can’t even will myself to get on my knees every night and pray! I’m ungrateful, and I know it, but I can’t seem to change this about me.

I just miss the old me so much. I was so happy. I didn’t cry at random like I do now. I didn’t get angry out of nowhere. I didn’t hate who I was. I was working on building a good relationship with God. I felt like I had friends, like I had people who cared about me. I felt loved in every way, I loved my life, I loved everything. And now, I just feel broken. I feel spoiled and curdled like old milk. I feel ruined. I want to go back. I want to be great. I want to be fixed. I just don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to do – I know I need God, but I just don’t know. I’m ashamed of myself. I feel like I’m taking a big shit on the blessing He’s given me. And even though I put on my “happy face” around others, act as if nothing is amiss, and would die – no pun intended – of embarrassment if someone knew how I was feeling – a small, itty bitty, microscopic, part of me desperately wants someone to read this. I want someone to read this and completely understand what I’m going through. I want someone to be able to read this without judging me. I just want someone to be there for me for once.