The Monster

I do not know how he came to be so large. At times it seems that his youth has passed me by, and we have grown quite familiar. At first, I did not notice him lurking in the corner, slowly growing into something gruesome and abhorrent. In fact, I do not even know his name, though I have a fond disdain for him.

The room was once a mere room- a cube of white-washed walls, a window here, a screen door there. My childhood days took place under the white, simple shelter of the room. Sleepovers and birthday parties were thrown within these four white walls.

But, as most children do, I grew. The room and I, we matured in unison. One reflected the other; each a variable of a direct variation. I clothed the room with lace curtains as it clothed me with feminine cardigans. I furnished the room with each milestone of my life. Trinkets lay about, memories of former moments that would not be forgotten.

Each time I found a new memory, I placed it in the perfect spot. A lamp next to the sofa; a pearl necklace in my creaky wooden chest. The room became a brief memorandum of a million evenings personified by four creamy, off-white walls. Here I placed a thimble; there I placed a dictionary…

And over there, in the last corner of the room, I placed a small piece of my most vital organ. What I did not know, friend, is that a heart- when placed in the right conditions- will regrow and heal itself.

However, when placed in the wrong conditions, it will regrow into something new entirely.

I kept growing, and the room kept growing, and this dark seed kept growing and growing. He became the monster.  His putrid stench lingered in the fourth corner. He was not living, only being. A cavity perhaps? A black hole. One who stood near him would stifle a gag and glance away. Visitors came to admire the room, yet left with noses upturned. My room, though dressed with lace and decorated with summer days, was contaminated by the monster.

I tried time and time again to remove the unwanted beast; but no amount of bleach, no amount of tears, could detach him from the last corner of the room. When friends came to visit, I would cover him up, but he was not to be hidden.

My friend, I have learned to live with the monster. He is, after all, the offspring of my own broken heart.  Meals can be eaten quietly from across the room. Movies can be watched from the left side of the sofa (as long as I keep the volume low, the monster doesn’t mind). I have accepted that the monster may be budged or ignored, but never removed. To anyone else, he will be seen as a blemish, a failure, a mistake; but I know the monster. He is vile, brutish, seductive. He is sweet, sickly sweet, sour. He is death, he is forever, he is the end.

My friends, take care, for you may one day find a monster of your own. When you do, I can offer only one piece of advice to you:

Do not look into his deep brown eyes, lest you find that they are beautiful. Do not look into his deep brown eyes, lest he pull you in closer.

Growing Up Sucks

Bonjour, mes amis. My heart is tied in a million knots. See, I’ve been trying and trying to make friends at school and stuff…. And it’s so hard. Truth be told, I miss the people I loved in Garland. And I miss the people I loved in Albuquerque. I mean, there were only a few, but they mean so much to me. It’s so hard to drop everyone, especially when it took you a year and a half to get close to them, and I put so much effort into those few relationships.

I started thinking about it, and I realized that when I felt happy, it was because I had someone to relate to. Two someones. I could talk to them and they would get it. I always had someone to vent to. I don’t have that now. Maybe it’s bad that I need someone to vent to, but I just don’t know what to do. I’m so much stronger when I’m strong for someone. When somebody needs me. But nobody needs me, and I’m not sure how to be strong for myself. I’m so torn between needing someone to cry on and needing somebody to be strong for, but I don’t have either of those. I’m over here pretending to get happier, and I’m falling apart, and I just don’t know what to do. I wish I knew what to do. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I need somebody, I need somebody. I need somebody… I don’t know what to do.

I Will Conquer!

Two new life lessons: throwing up at school is humiliating, and mountain dew works wonders. Feel free to come to whatever conclusions you will.

The whole situation has gotten me thinking about new beginnings. They’re so hard! You have to let go of things. That’s what I have trouble with. Letting go.

But in a way, they’re refreshing. You get to become whoever you want to be. That’s what I’m trying to do, but it’s hard. People who have never been depressed don’t understand how hard it is to be happy. I mean, I really am trying! It’s such a mess sometimes. I’m a mess. But I’m getting there. There are lots of things that hurt, but I’m really trying to get past them.

I’m trying to see things differently. There was a time, before all of this happened, when I remembered to smell the roses and remember the color of the sky. When I asked simple questions like “Why are Justin Timberlake’s songs so long?” or “What are Oreos made of?”

That’s what I’m working for! Yes, there are people I will hold onto, cherish, and love forever and ever… But even though things are different, I gotta get out there with my head up and live life. It’s hard to do some days, like this morning…. But I gotta do it. I just wish that people could get it. That I’m trying. That I would rather be happy. They act like I’m trying to be depressed. This is where it stops.

I’m tired of defining myself by my problems. Looking back, the people I loved the most meant a lot to me because they taught me that the way I think of myself can define me. I’ve spent so much time missing the people I had to leave behind, that I haven’t thought about why I love them.

People- think about the things that your loved ones teach you. Remember them forever! My bestie, she taught me to look forward and see what I can do with my future if I try. My other best friend, he taught me that I am worth loving, and I am worth taking care of myself. It’s time for me to remember all these things that I have learned, and use them.

I can do this, guys. I can be happy if I want to. Sometimes I’ll feel terrible and depressed, but I’m gonna keep trying. That’s the way it’s gonna be. I will conquer. Yayuh.

With droopy feelings but high hopes,

-Kenny

“Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.”

Starting Over..?

You never realize how much your blog helps you until you go ages without it. But guess what… Here I am!

My family, again, has moved. HUGE move. Let’s just say I went from a huge city to a town that doesn’t even have a supermarket. My entire school is the size of half  the freshman class at my old school. It’s a major change of culture, and I’m not used to it. I have always been a city kid. The last time I lived in the country was eighth grade, and we all know how that went.

The truth is, handling life has been really hard for me lately. I had finally settled into my old school. I finally had a few real friends- friends I could actually talk to and be real with. I finally felt like I was on the verge of something amazing. I felt loved and taken care of. I had my best friend (you know who you are), and my boyfriend (you know who you were), and my sister. I felt like I could handle life, no matter what. My eating disorders were slowly going away, my homework was getting done with time to spare. For a brief moment, I was so happy.

That’s gone now. I have to start over. I’m here at a new school where I’m known as the new kid, and the things and people that I cared about are gone. My sister is moving away this weekend, and then I will be alone. I won’t have anybody that I can really talk to. I already feel so lost and alone. I’m so glad to be able to blog again, because it really is one of the only outlets I have right now.

It’s true.

I’ve started running most days because it helps me clear my mind and get rid of some energy. Keep in mind, I’m really not in shape. The amount of running I do is probably pathetic. But it’s so much more than I thought I could do. I guess running is a mental thing. Sure, it kinda hurts physically after a while. But whether you keep pushing yourself or not is really a matter of what you decide to do. You can run a lot longer than you first think.

Aside from that, I’ve joined debate. I haven’t actually done a debate yet, so there’s not much to be said about that… But I am working on a case so that I can debate on the 23rd. I hope that goes well.

Basically, I’m kinda struggling day to day right now. Some days I feel okay, and some days I’m doing well just to stand up and walk somewhere. I’ve been really good at hiding it lately, but I feel so alone. I think that… All these people are gone from my life, just like that. And for some reason that makes me question what I’m worth. Like, did they really care as much as they said? Did they really care as much as I did? I think I put way too much faith into people. In the end, I am always the one that held on while they let go. I hold on and hold on. One day, those people will need me, and I will be right here- regardless of the fact that they were gone. That’s the way it is with me. Once I’ve loved someone fully, I don’t stop. It’s a painful reality.

Plus, I’m really sick. I’ve been sick for the past…. 4 weeks? Yep. My mom thinks I have mono. I’m refusing to have mono because that would mean no running. But I’m really tired of being sick. I just want to feel better already. Is that so unrealistic?

I’m essentially trying to start life over. This is a new place, and I can be a new me. I’m working hard at my school work. I’m trying to decide right now who I’m going to be, because this place doesn’t know me, so I can be anybody… But it’s not working, because I’m not happy. So I don’t know what to do. I don’t know, I don’t know, and I need somebody. I need to feel like somebody cares for me right now. Like maybe there’s somebody in this broken up place who won’t let go. Why do people always let go? They give up. I’m a hopeless mess, so they give up. Maybe I need to become worth enough to hold onto. Is that it? People won’t hold onto me for more than a little while, because I’m not worth that. I get it. They’ll hold onto you until they can’t see you anymore. Once you’re this far away, they’re gone, gone, and you never existed.

The thing is, I’m trying hard not to act like I’m depressed. As far as I can tell, showing actual emotion isn’t getting me anywhere. The world doesn’t like that type of thing. It’s an inconvenience to all those people who are actually happy. (How dare I slow down the average happiness of America?) You don’t get it, people! I am trying to be happy! I am trying to play your games! I’m just not good at it.

So what do you guys do when you’re depressed? I kinda wanna know, because this sucks, and I’m starting to really wonder if there’s a point.

-Kennedy

“I got out, I got out, I’m alive, and I’m here to stay.” — Jake Bugg, “Two Fingers”

What People Don’t Understand

What do people do when they go insane?

When I was ten years old, I would tell myself that one day I’ll be just like all the others. They won’t have to be afraid of me, because my mind will work right and I won’t randomly cry in a rush of emotion. I never knew why it was that I couldn’t be like everyone else. I just thought differently, I guess. Back then it was like a shadow. I knew it was there, but I never acknowledged it. I tried to forget it and pretend that I could be completely normal. I got worse somehow, as I got older. Sometime during those years of secrets and vulnerability, I slowly let myself fall into a very, very bad depression. I know I’ve mentioned that a lot, so those of you who read my blog know that I’m talking about eighth grade.

Last time I ate Lucky Charms, I was afraid that if I ate one of the marshmallows before I had eaten the rest of the cereal, I would get addicted to them. There was a time when I was having a serious conversation with a friend, and over her shoulder I saw that this girl’s backpack was unzipped. And I wanted to scream, “Oh my gosh. Please zip your backpack.” Then I forgot what the conversation was about. I just kept thinking. “Omg. It’s just a backpack. Stop thinking about the backpack! Kennedy! Think about something else! Say something! Please, stop thinking about that and say something!”

And eighth grade sucked. Something happened to my mind that year. I think it had been there all the time, but it had only been a shadow. I don’t know what it is now. Some disorder, maybe. Probably several disorders. But it’s such a trap. It keeps me locked up in this stupid thing…. I don’t want to call it depression, because it’s not just that I’m sad. I feel like I’m a maniac. I disgust myself for no reason but that I can’t be like other people.

I made my brother eggs. I forgot to spray the pan. “Kennedy, you can’t even make eggs. What the heck CAN you do?”

Sometimes people tell me something that makes me think of freshman year, or eighth grade, or that one day, and I start crying. Why? Why do I let memories hurt me? After SIX years? Do normal people do that? I doubt it. I always let these stupid things control how I feel. I’m such a moron.

I ate two corn dogs today. And I was so proud. 

I think I’m just sick and tired of thinking that I can’t do anything because I’m me and not somebody else. I freak out over random things. People don’t like me. It’s not hard to meet people, considering high school people are okay with awkwardness. But then they get to know me, and they stop considering me a friend. People are afraid of me. Have I ever hurt people at my school? Nope. I’m just different somehow. And so I don’t let people see who I really am. They don’t like who I really am. If I personally tell you about myself, consider yourself a VERY close friend of mine.

I was thinking yesterday that I should spend some more time with my friends. I only talk to like two of them. Oh wait. Those are the only ones who like me.

People seriously don’t understand. They think that I really like attention. Haha! Oh goodness. I mean, if you were injured or something, nobody would think you wanted attention. Because that’s physical! What’s the difference? I’m not asking for attention. Even if I was, what’s wrong with wanting to feel like a person? I don’t want people to pity me. I want people to accept me.

I’m tired of being afraid to go to school just because my teachers are going to be mad that I was sick and stayed home last Thursday. My teachers hate me, because I’m different from some people. Actually, they pretend to love me because I’m mature. But I’m sure they actually hate me. Either way, they act like I’m pitiful. Somehow they just know that I’m not normal. People have a “mental problem” radar. Like, they see you and walk the other way. Except for those people who think they have to be EXTRA nice to you.

My chemistry teacher waited until everybody was gone to ask me if everything is going okay. She asked if everything is okay at home. “Kennedy, you seemed very… distraught… this morning. Is everything okay at home?” My director asks me if I’m doing okay. Every fifteen minutes. He knows that if he doesn’t, I’ll probably start freaking out about something random. 

Something happened to the way I see things. I question everything. If someone says “that’s the way it is,” my mind starts freaking out. How do you know? What if that’s NOT the way it is?? What if you see blue and I see orange? Nobody would ever know! What if you say one thing and I hear another? Perception is freaky.

I had a dream last night that I had an older brother who died in a car wreck. I was in the hospital for my mind problems, and I just wanted to leave. So I made myself forget. I would start to feel sad and I would say “I have a cousin named Mason, and he’s in the hospital. He’s waiting for me to visit him so that he can get better.” And every single time, my friend Alex would look at me and say “Kennedy, no. You had a brother named Mason and he’s in heaven.” And I was stuck there. I couldn’t get out of that hospital because my mind was broken. I would force myself to forget people’s names, because I didn’t want to remember that I met them in a hospital. And it worked. I remembered nothing of reality. But I could never accept that I had a brother named Mason and he was in heaven.

I’m terrified that maybe one day I’ll see things that aren’t things. Or I’ll forget things. What if I had a brother named Mason and he’s in heaven and I just forgot? Sometimes I look in the mirror, and my reflection tells me that I look like crap.

This post is so unorganized. It’s very tempting to delete it and start over. But then I would get frustrated and call myself a failure and I would go to sleep and never get the feelings out. So I’ll try to sum it up with a list of reasons why I’m a maniac:

I have so few friends, because I don’t feel the need to talk to people. I can’t eat because I gave myself an eating disorder. I can’t think about things sometimes. I can’t stop thinking about things sometimes. I cry at random. My parents don’t understand that I CAN’T go to sleep, because I’m going to dream about my brother Mason. Sometimes I stare at the floor and block everything out, because noises annoy me. I cringe if I see something fast in the morning. Mornings are for slow things. I start pacing and I can’t stop because if I stop, then I’ll start thinking about everything. I can’t sit down during second period on A days. I’m a maniac and I hate myself. I can’t tell anybody that I need help. I can’t say no. All I can say is “Suck it up, Kennedy,” because that’s how I’ve grown. I get mad at people because they’ve told me my whole life to suck it up, and sometimes I can’t. There are things that I want that I don’t try to gain, because I’ve been told that I can’t do that. I can’t have that. I can’t have that role because I do not act. I cannot write because others can write better. I have a few people who love me, and I don’t want to lose them to my insanity. I’m tired of having problems. I don’t know how to make it stop. I’m going insane, I’m going insane. What do people do when they go insane?

Can you relate? Evidently not.

-Kennedy

“Everyone is thinking it, but nobody’s saying it. Everyone is saying it, but nobody’s feeling it. Everyone is feeling it, but nobody’s seeing it. So how am I supposed to know what’s real?” –John Reuben, “Freedom to Feel”

“I’m afraid I can’t explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?” –Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland